#he was drinking the fresh water I poured to their bowl
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I’m making this observation based on nothing but the fact that I have a bitchass white cat but white cats are cowards who run from confrontation instead of fighting like real cats do (the panther on my phone)
#he was drinking the fresh water I poured to their bowl#then diana camw and bit his tail#he fleed#and diana started to drink from the bowl instead#he is A BITCH#like man this little girl is like half of your size and in heat rn what can she even do to you??#cats#diana#hermes
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"Keep up."
“Keep up” he said, blowing out the cloud of smoke into her face and pushing the bong towards her.
She wiped the little bit of vodka that had spilled on her lips away with her hand and pointed to the bottle of soda behind him. “Chaser, please,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse and her throat burning.
“Finish the bowl first,” he held the tool over the bowl
She pressed her lips to the glass and started to pull. The smoke was thick and starting to yellow when he pulled the bowl and let her try to clear it - but her lungs weren’t big enough and she couldn’t help but cough, and cough, and gasp, and -
He pushed the soda bottle into her hands, and she managed a swallow before she was coughing again, hard, harder than before, seeing spots each time. Trying desperately to catch her breath, or some air, or some relief, until finally she managed a few raw lungfuls and slouched back into the chair.
“You said you could keep up,” he laughed.
She made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine. That had been hours ago, at dinner at that upscale steakhouse, and she’d meant it about the moscow mules they’d been drinking - and about the vape pen outside, she had to admit.
But it was pride that made her say it about the edible in the uber, and about the detour to the dive bar downtown and the three shots there. The ride back was hazy but they’d definitely hit the pen and made the driver mad, she remembered laughing as he drove away.
They were at his house, and as they were standing at the door she’d kissed him. She remembered being in the kitchen, and him pouring her a mixed drink that tasted like candy and coffee. That she blamed on stubbornness, demanding he pour her just as much, and proving she was tough by hitting his pen.
But then she’d said - something - and now they were downstairs and she was proving she could go shot for shot and dab for dab and she couldn’t remember if her shirt being off was part of that deal or if she was just hot. How had she ended up sitting in his lap?
“Do you need a break?” he teased. He sounded like he was teasing. And she did need the break, needed fresh air and water and maybe to lie down for a while in the dark, but she couldn’t stop now. He was teasing her, she had to prove it.
She looked at him, the words taking too long to form. “Is it a shot or a dab?” she said, avoiding the question.
“You’re way behind, silly,” he chuckled. “There’s no way you catch up now.”
“What?” she twisted to face him. “Why? What am I at?”
He pointed to the table, to the other side, where there was a line of shots laid out. Four. The room was already spinning. There were pennies - nickels? Why were there coins? - between them, and one on each end.
She must’ve looked extra confused.
“Six dabs and four shots,” there was a slur in his voice as they shifted a little in the chair, and she leaned into it, into him. His arm was around her waist, she was so hot and she couldn’t move but that at least felt nice and his chest rumbled when he spoke. “I am, right now, six dabs and four shots ahead of you.”
Her heart was racing, she felt - not tired, but drifty. She tried to stand, he groped her ass at just the perfect time to weaken her knees and she collapsed back onto him. They were both laughing, then he looked down and kissed her, and she was grinding on his thigh as they made out like teenagers. She was reaching back for her bra when he stopped her.
“You said not until you proved you could keep up - or are you giving up?” he asked.
She remembered it as he said it. They’d been in the kitchen, he’d offered her an energy drink and had said it was ‘pretty intense’ and that he wouldn’t think less of her for not keeping up, and she’d told him that not only could she keep up but that she wouldn’t fuck him until he admitted it. He’d laughed and asked if that included his Friday night ritual, and she’d said it had - why did she keep agreeing to things like that? - and then he’d told her about the dabs downstairs and she’d gotten dizzy with excitement.
Now she was just dizzy. She relaxed into him and he groped her again, and she moaned a little despite herself. Feeling herself start to black out, she was reaching for the shot glasses and the suddenly -
- they’d moved, she was straddling his knee and he was holding the bong to her mouth, something was different but the only thing she could do was keep inhaling, even if her lungs were almost full. She twisted away from the glass but before she could exhale he clapped a hand on her face, covering her mouth, holding her nose, and she couldn’t do anything but writhe in his lap and struggle for air.
“Seven, six, five, four,” he was counting - why was he counting? She couldn’t breath, her lungs were burning and she felt like her chest would explode.
She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as everything started to fuzz and dim, trying to hold on -
- and he pulled his hand away just a little, just long enough to blow out the cloud he’d made her hold, but before she could inhale the hand was back and now her starved lungs were screaming for air -
- for some reason, him laughing at her was hotter when she couldn’t breathe. “I like the way you arch your back,” he chuckled into her ear. “Going to show me more of that later?”
She nodded weakly, barely hearing him.
His hand moved away and she was gasping again, pulling forward as she filled her lungs over and over, desperately.
She looked up. Three shot glasses and four of the coins, piled over on the side. She couldn’t feel her face but there were only two shots left, she was catching up, and she couldn’t help but smile even as she steadied her breathing.
“What the fuuuck,” she slurred as she finished catching her breath. “What the fuck was that?”
He picked up a shot glass and her mind blanked - how was she supposed to take that shot when the room was moving so fast? - but then he raised it to his own lips and knocked it back.
“Do you not remember? You said if I made you hold it for just as long, it’d have to count for two.”
She shook her head and the room tilted with her. He coughed a little as he set the shot glass down in the pile with a clink, and slid two of the coins over to the pile. She stared at it for a moment before it clicked.
“Wait, what about the shot?” He laughed and she blushed and finished, “aah, what?”
“You really blacked out, huh?”
“Maybe a lil’ - a little bit,” she admitted. “It’s a lot. You’re a lot.”
“You don’t remember arguing about hypnosis?”
She shook her head. “Hypnosis is fake. And stupid.”
“We already - right. Well, deal was I take your shots for you and you try it. No harm, right?”
She rolled her eyes and reached for the next shot glass, pulling it toward her. He was saying something about it not being a good idea, and it was almost too heavy to lift, but she was determined to - prove him wrong? No - but she was determined to do it, and as soon as the glass hit her lips, even before she tasted the burn, she was gone again.
She opened her eyes, like in a dream.
He was talking and his words were like velvet in her ears. Convincing words, important words, the words didn’t matter as much as how they sounded, and they sounded like beautiful music, pulling her thoughts down into the melody.
And she was about to fully fall away when she heard that voice, telling her to keep up.
Far away, in her body, she felt - so much sensation - and then her body was getting heavier, and heavier, and she started to sway, and drift, and she was nearly falling, so heavy that no part of her could resist.
Then she heard his voice in her ear, and as he said the words it was easy for her to keep up.
And then his hungry mouth was on hers, but he was exhaling delicious smoke, and she breathed it in and it sent her reeling, she was barely holding on through the dizzy haze.
As she started to black out again, his voice was in her ear, reminding her she would always find a way to keep up.
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For my dear @lyralein (@support un-naughty my girl, you coward!!) and her mastermind of a mind, that came with the (correct) thought that Mr. Alex Keller would be a big shot at French porn.
And et voilà! ✨The porn✨ (and when I say porn, I meant it. There is no plot.)
Masterlist
Working for the CIA has granted Alex the opportunity to visit a multitude of countries, to meet unbelievable people and to push his limits on uncountable occasions.
In a couple too many times he has been at the verge of death, buildings collapsing, missiles flying a tad too close for his liking, friends turned enemies in the blink of an eye… But after all, that's what he signed up for.
Plus, sometimes, it also had some advantages.
Like meeting you.
And hearing your voice so sweetly call for him. “Monsieur, Keller!”
He whips his head around towards the sound of your voice like a dog well trained, turning to look at you standing on the porch of the little palace you lived in.
He drinks you in, standing barefoot on the first step of the short stair, pretty white summer dress accentuating every curve of your body and moving along the jiggle of your body as you effusively waved your hand at him.
He takes advantage of the distance, enough for you to not be able to tell the ungentlemanly places he rests his eyes at. The top of the dress, pulled to the center in a bow and pushing your boobs together calling him in like a siren's song.
He doesn't peel his eyes away from you, unable to do so; walking up to where you stand smiling like an angel upon him.
You shouldn't be calling him. The daughter of the owner of the wine yard shouldn't be talking to the lowest class of the employees. Alex's body is covered on a thin layer of sweat from working outside under the sun, hands grimey with dirt and clothes less than appropriate to be talking to you.
Still, when Alex slightly kicks the stairs to remove the loose dirt from his boots to not bring it inside, you are quick to jump at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him under the shade.
“You shouldn't be working at this time! It's too hot!” You reprimand him, the french accent obvious on your tone making him smile.
“Désolé, mademoiselle…” He attempts to excuse himself, cutting himself short when he sees the offended expression on your face at his french.
“Where did you say you are from again, monsieur Keller?” You ask, trying to switch the language to English again.
Alex looks at you, trying to remember what his last lie was so he can match it. “Quebec.”
You nod, raising your eyebrows at the doubt he is actually from Quebec but choosing to indulge him on his lie. You point to the washbowl on the table, a kind smile still on your face as you order him. “Wash your hands and face, I'll get us something to drink.”
And with that you disappear into the house, letting him the full view of your behind as you walk away. He turns again towards the bowl, using the fresh water to wash off the dirt from his face and hands, cleaning under his nails to make sure not a crumb of dirt has the chance to pollute you.
The door creaks when you open it again, a small tray on your hand that you quickly set on the table beside him. An unnecessary intricate jar full of iced lemon water with two just-as-intricate glasses beside it. But the first thing you grab is the small towel with your family initials embroidered in it.
He picks it up, patting his face and hands dry and checking he did a good job at cleaning himself before handing it back. You drop it on the table, slightly bending forward to pour the water on the glasses, and Alex's eyes are glued to the curve of your ass.
The heat of the summer hits you too, no matter how much of a local you are and he can tell by your clothing choices. The dress you are wearing is so dainty the beauty marks of your skin are visible through the fabric, as well as your lack of underwear.
It causes Alex to swallow a groan at his reaction over such a small detail when he feels his dick stir on his pants at the thought of pulling your dress up. His hand moves on its own, creeping closer and closer towards the flimsy material keeping the touch of your skin from him.
You turn around, filled glass in hand, jumping when you feel his hand rest on the curve of your hip but still, you look at him with the warmest smile on your face. You look down to where his hand is placed, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“So pretty…” He mumbles, grabbing the glass on your hand without moving his other hand.
“The dress?” You ask, warmth rising to your cheeks at his touch while you try not to break the contact with his blue eyes.
Alex furrowed his eyebrows for a second confused before softening his expression. “...yeah, pretty dress.”
He is the one to break eye contact, dragging his eyes over your body, down to the hem of your dress. He bends forwards, glass still on his hand as the other moves to rest right where the dress ends.
Teasingly, he walks his middle and pointer fingers up your thigh, flicking the skirt up with each step and exposing more bare skin of the leg, while you watch on with bated breath.
He looks at your face again, so he doesn't miss your expression when he finally lets the palm of his hand rest on the softness of your thigh; dangerously close to your core.
“Monsieur Ke- Monsieur Keller!” You call him, trying to sound scandalized when he starts to close his hand, the fat of your inner thigh being squeezed.
But no matter how appalled you try to look, leaning back against the table; Alex notices how you slightly pull your thighs together, pushing his hand towards the middle in the process.
He turns his wrist in one swift motion, with the palm of his hand resting on your cunt. Making you jump to wrap your hand around his wrist, keeping his hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together.
His index finger moves between your folds making you whine as you close your eyes, your hold on his wrist losing strength. It doesn't take long for him to feel wetness dribble over his digit. The feeling making you unclench your legs, allowing him more space between them.
The arousal slowly dripping from your core allows him to slide more easily his finger along your folds, making it easy for him to probe at your entrance, making you close your eyes as little moans and whimpers start to fall from your lips.
Such delicious sounds making him thirsty, but not for the glass of water on his hand. He tries to set it down on the table, but unable to peel his eyes from your pleasured expression he knocks it down making the water run over the surface of the table.
It snaps you out of it, finally pushing his hand away and you stand, turning around to pick up the glass. “I- I better clean it up.” You hurriedly say as you place the glass back on the tray as well as everything else on the table.
He tries to call your name when you turn, but his words die on the back of his throat when he sees the wet fabric of your dress stuck to your plush ass. And it is enough to have him walk behind you, following you inside the house and into the kitchen just a couple of steps behind you.
“You were right, I shouldn't have been working…” He says, making you turn once more with a surprised expression on your face. “I think I might be overheating, mademoiselle...”
You look up to him as he walks closer to you, unable to say anything, intoxicating on his proximity. And when his hands finally wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you against his hard chest and his lips crash against your, the only thing you can do is kiss him back.
He moves his hands up, cupping your face as he hums at the satisfaction of finally feeling your lips against his. Then takes one more step forwards, keeping you trapped between the countertop and his body.
You can feel his groin pressed against your abdomen, feeling it grow and harden with each swim of his hips against your body. The need to feel his skin under your touch making you pull his shirt out of his trouser so you can bury your hand under, your nails dragging over the firm muscle of his waist.
His lips pull apart from yours to kiss his way down your neck, sucking your taste in and letting his tongue roam flat against your skin, feeling your pulse rise up at his actions.
One of your hands moves to the back of his head, tangling your fingers with his hair as you push his face into your neck. “Alex…” You softly moan when his tongue presses on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
He shushes you, smile appearing on his face. “Now, now, sunshine… Where did Monsieur Keller go?” He asks, pulling back, standing to his whole height as he lets his hands rest on the counter behind you, caging you in. “Let's not lose our manners, alright?”
You nod, mimicking his movements when he does; you mind already getting driven by your body and not your brain. You follow his gaze when he looks down and see his hands pulling your dress up again. He licks his lips at the sight of your thighs trembling with anticipation and he knows that if he pulled them apart they would be glossy with your arousal sliding down.
He chuckles when he sees you look so bashful, averting his eyes but still unable to look away from him, needing to see what his next move will be.
To your dissatisfaction, he lets the dress down; which makes you look at him with questioning doe eyes when he steps back. You are about to question the reason for his change of heart when you see him pull the chair from the kitchen table.
He turns it, sliding it until it's right in front of you. You look from the chair to his face, questioning his plan; and instead of answering your unspoken question he simply sits down, pushing it even more forward. He pulls your dress up again, stuffing the hem of the dress into your cleavage as if it was a napkin to keep it away from his meal.
He pushes down on your chest with the same movement making you lean back on the counter, propped up on your elbows and with a seamless movement, he slides his hands behind your knees and effortlessly moves then to rest over his shoulders.
The surprise of the movement combined with the way he presses his tongue flat against your folds takes every ounce of strength away from your body making you lay flat on your back.
He groans at the taste of your arousal on his tongue, his fingertips sinking into the fat of your thighs around his head when he dives in again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, catching at your clit with a flick.
It makes your thigh tremble, threatening to close; which only encourages him further. Repeating the motion, feeling them flex on each side of his head; his hearing getting muffled with each stripe he licks.
But no matter how tightly you suffocate his skull between them, he can still hear loud and clear the moans and whines dripping from your lips.
He finally opens his eyes, not even aware that he had closed them as soon as he got a taste, letting the rest of his senses enjoy your body. But once he opens his eyes, he can't close them back.
From between your legs, the first thing he sees is your abdomen flexing at the feeling of his mouth lapping at your clit, your back arching at the attack of his tongue. The dress that he so carelessly stuffed on itself, sliding out of your cleavage with your movements. He wishes he could undo the bow keeping your boobs from his prying eyes, but not yet, not when he can prolong it and savor every minute for longer.
The only thing he doesn't love it's that he can't see your face, your head falling back; only letting him see your chin. He wishes he could see your face, see the product of his work in the shape of a pleasured expression just the way he's listening. But he'll see it later, when he's buried deep into you.
For now, he buries his tongue as deep as he cans into your cunt, feeling your inner walls clamp down on it when his nose rubs against your clit deliciously as he shakes his head. It makes you spread your legs, urging him deeper with a hand on his head. You manage to prop yourself on your free elbow, looking down at him. With your fingers tangled on his brunette hair and his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh to keep you close.
His pupils are blown, two black voids looking at you when you finally manage to make eye contact with him for a fraction of a second; before it is the last drop throwing you over the edge.
Your legs closing against his head again, unable to muffle the moan of his name as you come down from your high. His head is pressed so tightly against your cunt he can't even breath, but he would so gladly die there.
The moment your legs free his head he pulls back just enough to breathe, inhaling your smell in the way. He kisses the inner side of your tight leaving a wet spot and then stands again, standing between your legs licking his lips like an animal after eating.
The sight of your body, sprawled and fucked under him, get his dick impossibly harder. Then you raise your hand, using your thumb to collect the juices left on his mustache and before you can pull your hand back to lick it yourself, he grabs your wrist keeping it close and sucks your finger into his mouth. His scorching hot tongue cleaning the juices from your hand without breaking eye contact, it makes you whimper softly; cupping his face with your thumb still inside his mouth and you pull him closer.
“Monsieur Keller…” You whine, calling him like a moth to a light. “Please…”
“I know, love, I know.” He says once he pulls your finger out and he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands find their way around your waist pulling you closer and you circle his hips with his legs.
He picks you up, just for a second before sitting back down on the chair with you on his lap. Your hands rest on his shoulders, being you the one to kiss him this time. He can feel you grind your hips against him, the softest whine falling from your lips at the feel of the rough material of his jeans against your sensible cunt.
He moves his hand down, undoing his belt so he can pull his length free. You wish you could see it, but the dress serves as a tent when it slaps against his abdomen. The little wet spot of his seed turning translucent the fabric so you can see the red tip underneath, angry with the lack of attention.
You raise your hips, letting him slap his length against your folds; your arousal getting it slicked and desperate for the feeling of your warm walls engulfing him like a vice.
But he's not the only one desperate for it, and the moment his tip catches on your entrance you pull down in a swift motion taking all of him in, moaning into each other's mouths at the feeling. His hands rests on your hips, keeping you in place.
“Stay there for me, sweetheart.” He moans, head falling back over the backrest of the chair. “Just keep it in for me, fuck…”
His hips move in the smallest thrust, the movement would pass unnoticed if it wasn't for how deep it reaches inside of you. He finally pulls his head back up, coming face to face with your chest. And no matter how pretty the dress is or how good it looks on you, it's the only thing keeping him from seeing you and it's time it goes away.
His hands grab each side of the bow, easily getting it undone and groaning when your boobs finally spill over. He hugs your middle, burying his face between your breasts taking your aroma in before he starts to lap at them.
Licking, sucking and biting every centimeter, his hips immobile making you whine pathetically at the delicious torture of both his attention and the lack of it.
You whine his name again, needing more than just his mouth on your chest. “I know, I know, sweetheart. Just let me taste you some more…” He tries to say, words dying down on his throat when you begin to move your hips.
“T-tu… tu es… trés…” He tries to say again, so enamored with the feel of your tight cunt around his cock it makes him switch languages.
He doesn't get to finish his attempt before you push your hand over his mouth, pushing his head back. “Enough with the shitty French, Monsieur Keller…” You moan, the feeling of his length hitting every sweet spot inside of you getting ruined by his continuous butchering of your language.
He apologised against your hand, doing it again when you beg him to fuck you, your thighs getting tired of the cramped position. He pulls your dress up, pulling it off your body, finally having you completely exposed to him. His hands roam your body, getting distracted from his original plan.
Only remembering when you whine his name again, picking you up to lay you down on the kitchen table like the most precious and delicate piece of art. You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with lust and hunger in your eyes.
He spreads your legs, laying his dick flat against your folds, sliding it in between making the two of you moan softly. It finally gives you the chance to catch a glimpse of his length.
The droplet of precum slowly falls over your mount of venus when he glides forwards, allowing you to see the glistering layer of your arousal mixing with his.
He moves you to lay on your side, moving your leg up, your knee almost touching your shoulder when you prop yourself up on your elbow. And at the same time he buries himself to the hilt, the double stretch making your mouth fall open as you look at him, a deaf moan waiting to be spilled.
“Big stretch, sweetheart “ He grunts as he sets himself inside of you, bending down to kiss your open mouth. He might have already been inside of you when you were both sitting down, but the new position has you feeling it all again as if he didn't.
The moan finally comes to life when his hand meets his shaft, collecting the fluids flooding for your cunt to wet his thumb and rubbing soft circles around your clit. You moan his name, your hand grabbing his shirt to ground yourself.
“Fucking hell, sunshine… Taking me so fucking good…” He moans, hiding his face on the crook of your neck. “Fuck… This cunt was fucking made to take me, love. Fucking perfect, you are. My fucking perfect sunshine.”
His thrusts start to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping on skin getting louder and louder; only overshadowed by the song of moans falling from one mouth to the other.
He is still almost completely dressed, his pants still over the curve of his ass. So slowly sliding down with each snap of his hips, the belt clinking with each movement. It works as proof of his desperation to be inside, no matter how uncomfortable the clothes are, it is not worth it wasting time on taking it off.
Not when your cunt is sucking him in so deliciously, each rub at your hooded clit making you clench around him; urging him impossibly deeper. His shaft dragging along your wall, caressing each and every sweet spot inside of you.
It has you closing your eyes with your eyebrows furrowed, an expression that would make him think you were in pain if it wasn't by the loud moans of his name leaving your lips like a mantra.
“Open your eyes, please, sweetheart… Look at me, love.” He moans, moving his free hand to cup your face so you will look at him. Resting his forehead against yours, your breath hitting his chin. “I wanna see your pretty face when you cum, sweetheart, please.”
You finally open your eyes, looking right into his when he slightly moves back and it is like an arrow went through his heart. He notices how your free hand grabs the arm on your face, not wanting to let escape any kind of contact and his heart melts when he notices you lay your face on his hand, kissing his palm.
Such a small gesture that has his blood rushing to his head making the tip of his ears blush, as if he wasn't balls deep into you. But he feels his ball tighten with the want for release, and he can't miss the opportunity to feel you come undone around his dick.
So using every ounce of self restraint he pulls the hand from your face away, moving it back to where you are connected, rubbing his thumb over your clit making you mewl.
He can feel you get tighter and tighter as your orgasm approaches, making it harder for him to move freely at the immensely pleasurable feeling.
It's only when he finally feels you unclench, your head falling back in a silent cry and your legs shaking slightly; that he feels you cum, your arousal spurting out of your drenched cunt with each thrust of his hips.
He groans, having missed your fuck out expression when you let your head fall and deprived him of the desired sight. So he moves his hand from your clit, moving it to the back of your head to move it forward so you look right at him.
And you look so beautiful, if he died right there he would die happy, so he can't help himself when he bends forwards, kissing you sloppy and nasty with his horny brain.
The last thrusts of his hips hard and deep making you bounce and whine, moaning softly and long when you feel him spill deep inside of you. A shiver running down your spine at the warm sensation, your hand on his shirt falling down to help you support yourself.
And it's when you pull apart from the kiss, hair sticking to your forehead from the sweat, your chest rising at an unsteady pace and your cunt still pulsing around his length that he realizes how deep under his skin you have buried yourself.
He can't keep living like this, not able to sleep in the same bed as you every night, waiting for another opportunity like this, hoping everyday will be the day. He needs to see your smile everyday, to have your number, for you to have his surname, everything. Absolute smitten with you, enamored even. Falling so deep in love after such a short period of time, his heart aching at the thought of pulling away, how could he not love you when you are so obviously his soulmat-
“D'accord! That was a good one, let's wrap everything up, tout le monde!” The director shouts, bringing the situation down on Alex.
He suddenly realizes everyone around the two of you, the cameras, the crew, the assistants, the director.
The whole vineyard owner's daughter plot of the porn movie was a bit odd from the beginning, but when he laid his eyes on him he didn't give a damn about the plot.
Being a CIA agent had made Alex live in strange situations, but starring on a porn movie in a foreign country had to be the top one.
He barely remembers how this was related with the mission, something about some suspicious money being moved along with the crew. But in all honesty, he would also move all his money after you.
Especially when you clench for a last time around his girth, the aftershock of you orgasm that makes him groan as he finally pulls out. “Sorry” The two of you mumble, chuckling at the echo and blushing like you didn't just fuck eachother brains off.
He helps you stand back on your feet, his hands resting on your waist and unable to peel his eyes away from your face.
“Are you alright, Alex?” You ask, rubbing his biceps in a consoling way.
And you look at him so softly, almost unaffected by the whole ordeal, that it sends Alex into a spiral. Were those noises you were making real? Was the way you were clinging onto his shoulder true? Would you moan his name just like you moaned his surname?
He needed to know the answer to those questions, and there was only one way to find out.
“Y-Yeah, don't worry about it, love.” He says making you smile wider. “But I was wondering… do you know any good restaurants in the area? Maybe one you wouldn't mind having dinner at with me?”
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Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.
With Nico hischier!!
Thank you for requesting 🥰 I know yall probably wanted to see nico taking care of reader, but as yall know I'm a slut for reader taking care of the boys and this just felt so perfect.
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Nico was arguably the most stubborn mother fucker you had ever have the pleasure of meeting in your entire damn life. He was strong and kind and loving. He prioratized everyone before himself. Whether it be you, his family, his team, or a random fucking stranger on the street.
Which is how he ended up with the fucking plague. (It wasn't the plague, but your dramatics tended to get the better of you when you were mad at your boyfriend.)
"Nico Hischier, get your ass back in bed before I douse you with chloroform," you threatened, pushing his chest firmly back towards the bedroom.
"I'm fine, schatz-" he was cut off by a coughing fit that had him doubling over. Your demeanor did a complete 180° as you stood beside him, rubbing his back soothingly and muttering sweet words.
"Seriously nico, my love," you say, cupping his face between both hands after his coughing fit had passed, "you need rest,"
"But the team-"
"The team will be fine. They are in good hands. Plus, the faster you rest up, the faster you can get back to it." You say, stroking your thumbs over his cheekbones. He's burning up, and it makes your heart pang in your chest.
"But Schatz i- "
"Nico, please." You beg with a sigh, "if not for your sake, then for mine, so I'm not worried about you?"
Nico concedes with a sigh, walking back to the bedroom, "Let it be known this is to ease your worries and, not because I am sick,"
You roll your eyes fondly, tucking him into bed, "Of course, my love. Thank you for resting, for me" you plant a tender kiss on his forehead.
"Schatz! Dont kiss me, what if you my germs?" He says hoarsely, trying to fight off another coughing fit.
You cross your arms, staring down at him smugly, "I thought you weren't sick?" You tease.
He pales, realizing his admission. He opens his mouth to try and form an excuse but breaks out coughing again. You shake your head and brush his head back from his forehead. "I'm going to get you some cough medicine."
Nico tried to protest, but he's too busy hacking his lungs out. You wince and hurry to the kitchen, scrambling through the medicine cabinet for the cough syrup. You grab a bottle of water and Gatorade and go back to the bedroom, where, thankfully, Nico's coughing fit is over.
Setting everything on the night stand you pour the cough syrup into the spoon and feed it to him gently.
"Egh," he sticks out his tongue in disgust. You can't help but giggle.
"I'm gonna make some fresh ginger tea and some soup, and you'll be right as rain in no time, ok honey?" You say smoothing the crease between his eyebrows.
Nico has given up the tough guy act. He nuzzels his head against your hand, and you place another kiss on his forehead, much to his disdain. "Do you want me to turn on a movie?"
Nico shakes his head, "I just want you," he says tugging on your arm.
"I know, honey, I know," you coo, "As soon as I'm done making you soup, ok?"
"Ok, don't take too long," he flashes his infamous puppy dog eyes, and you're practically melting at the seams. "Keep drinking lots of liquids, ok?"
He nods, "And I'm right in the kitchen, so just shout if you need anything,"
He nods again, and you press one last kiss to his forehead before turning on 101 Dalmatians for him on the TV.
The soup doesn't take long. It's your mom's famous chicken noodle soup recipe. You ladle the soup into a bowl and grind fresh ginger, turmeric, cinnamon, and honey into a paste and fill the rest of the cup with hot water.
Nico looks worse than before. His skin is pale and clammy, There's a pile of tissues on the nightstand. His nose looks red and irritated, and he's sniffling consistently. He has the duvet pulled all the way up to his chin, and it's tucked around his shoulders to keep the cold out. Your poor Nico.
You set the soup on the nightstand, along with the tea, and gather his pile of tissues to throw them out. "Come on, Nico, sit up for me," you nudge gently.
"Can't Schatz," he murmurs "too cold,"
You pad to the closet with a sigh and pull out one of Nicos fleece hoodies. "Put this on, baby." You say handing it to him. He reluctantly removes himself from his blanket cocoon and pulls the hoodie over his head. He takes the bowl of soup gratefully, and you slip under the blankets beside him, curling against his side.
"Thank you, my love," he murmurs, pressing a kiss against your forehead.
You wrinkle your nose, "Ew, I don't want your germs Neeks!" You squeak, dramatically rubbing his kiss off your forehead.
He chuckles and then coughs. After he finishes his soup and complains the entire time he drinks the tea, the two of you fall asleep curled into one another. And if a week a later Nico is the one spoon feeding you medicine, and disposing of your snotty tissues well...
That's what love is.
#guess who's still not doing her assignment 🤪#feeling silly goofy#its due in an hour!#and instead here i am!#nico hischier#nico hischer x reader#nh13#nhl imagines#nhl blurb#nico hischer blurb#nico hischer imagine#hes so precious
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Hi Sarah, more of Eddie's wish and serial killer Eddie pleaseee, I'm afraid I'm obsessed ❤️
Hiiii lovey!! So I went with Eddie’s Wish because this scenario just popped into my head and it fits with them so I hope you enjoy💖
-find all things Eddie’s Wish here✨
Tag List: @miss-celestial-being @edsforehead @starrywhitenight @mrsjellymunson @5sosjay @emma77645 @akiratoro420 @elegantkoalapaper @squidscottjeans @mikromoon @daddysmodifiedprincess2 @niallerlover8022 @twilightsfairie @pausmoon @pauphs
*You just wanna warn Eddie he’s not gonna like how this movie ends but he doesn’t wanna believe you*
“You’re not going to like that one.” Eddie visibly flinches as you appear in his living room while he’s getting ready to start a movie he just rented from Family Video. “It’s going to make you cry.” You state as you walk into the kitchen so you can make a cup of coffee, having had some issues sleeping the past few nights. Eddie turns so he’s facing the kitchen with his eyebrow raised and his hand on his hips.
“Make me cry? Really?” You just nod your head as you pour water into the coffee maker, Eddie looks down at the movie on the coffee table and picks it up so he can read the back of it one more time. “How is a love story going to make me cry?” You poke your head into the fridge and let out a groan when you see there’s no more creamer left so you just grab the carton of milk instead.
“Because,” Eddie puts the movie back on the table before heading into the kitchen. “It just will.” You explain making Eddie roll his eyes as you wait for your coffee to be made. “I don’t want to spoil it for you so you’re just going to have to trust me on this.” You turn so you can lean against the counter as Eddie opens the pantry so he can start making some popcorn for the movie.
“Trust you? I don’t even know you.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes at him as you grab a bowl that will fit all the popcorn from the shelf and hand it to him. “Thanks.” He mumbles as he puts it on the stove while he waits for the popcorn to be done in the microwave.
“You don’t know me but I know you.” Eddie looks at your over his shoulder as you reach for the coffee pot and pour some into the mug you grabbed from the shelf. “Extremely well actually so just trust me when I say you’re going to cry.” Eddie can’t help but feel nervous about the movie now because even though he will never admit it, you’re right you do know him that’s the whole point of your existence so he should at least trust you when you say he won’t like something.
“Cry because it’s sad? Or because it’s just a gross romance movie?” He asks as he dumps the bag of popcorn into the bowl while you add some milk to your mug of coffee. You put the milk back into the fridge before passing him and heading back to the living room with your fresh cup of coffee.
“I’m not spoiling it for you.” Eddie just lets out a groan as he walks into the living room with the bowl of popcorn. “Can I have some?” You ask as Eddie sits on the couch as far away from you as possible, he answers you but placing the bowl directly in the middle of the two of you.
“Do you even have to eat?” You laugh as you take a handful of popcorn from the bowl making Eddie glare at you.
“Yes I have to eat and drink as well as sleep I’m just like a regular human Eddie I’m just temporarily invisible to everyone but you.” You explain before shoving the handful of popcorn into your mouth making Eddie chuckle at how ungraceful it is.
“Right you’re totally like a regular human with the way you can just magically appear places and just happen to know every single thing about me.” You ignore his teasing and reach over and grab a box of Kleenex off the coffee table and throw them at Eddie making him look at you with an annoyed look on his face.
“You’re gonna need those.” Eddie just places them on the side table next to him as you get up and hit play so the opening credits can start.
“It’s just the Notebook it can’t be that sad.” He mumbles as you get comfortable on your side of the couch. You know by the end of it Eddie is going to need a hug and probably a few moments of cuddling to get him to stop crying but that’s okay, that’s what you’re here for.
#Eddie’s wish#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson au#eddie munson x imaginary friend#eddie munson series#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you fluff#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson slow burn#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#eddie munson#my little dungeon master baby
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RippleClan: Moon 41
Oilstripe and Weedfoot have whitecough. Oilstripe lets Fennelspot share his troubles with her, hoping he’ll feel better afterward.
[Image ID: Fennelspot and Oilstripe talk while Weedfoot rests behind them. Under both Weedfoot and Oilstripe, it says + CONDITION: WHITECOUGH. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: THE STORM PROPHECY.]
Whitecough was never fun, but under a skilled paw like Fennelspot’s, it was easy enough to manage. Having both the deputy and one of the Clan’s few historians sick would cause some issues in routine, but Rustshade silently stepped up to fill Weedfoot’s paws as she rested, so the Clan wouldn’t fall apart. Despite the ample resources available to care for Weedfoot and Oilstripe, Fennelspot still had a few worries pulling on his pelt.
One of the main complications was the half-conscious loner sleeping in the back of the den. Ever since Shadowdrop and Burdockcreek brought her to camp, she had been in and out while Fennelspot assessed her injuries. The horse had broken her back, Fennelspot could feel it, but when he nipped at the loner’s tail and back feet, she flinched. There was hope for the stranger, she just needed to wake up.
The other issue, however…
Fennelspot focused on preparing black cherry bark tea for Weedfoot and Oilstripe. He watched as the water in his small pot boiled and the bark danced inside. He had a leather wrap in his mouth and a leather apron wrapped around his neck and covering his chest; Rattlepelt had managed to reverse engineer SlugClan’s mouth covers many moons prior, bringing an end to pot burns and all the other issues that plagued caretakers and clerics at the oven just two years prior.
As the tea reached its peak flavor, Fennelspot grabbed the pot’s tall handle and lifted it off the grillstone. The hot flat side of the pot rested against his apron. He carefully poured the hot tea over his special medicinal filter and into a fresh bowl. He put away the apron and cover and picked up the tea bowl. Walking slowly but surely, Fennelspot headed for the quarantine den.
RippleClan had Palepaw to thank for discovering the quarantine den. She had been going about her business in the dirt place when she saw a slim opening in the back of the shipwreck. That opening led into a part of the ship that Fennelspot and Downstar thought was forever locked to the Clan. Perhaps it opened due to the passage of time, or perhaps it had always gone unnoticed with its proximity to the dirt place. Regardless, Fennelspot and RippleClan’s future clerics could safely care for their contagious patients without infecting anyone else.
Weedfoot and Oilstripe slept on soft nests surrounded by the softest pelts Rattlepelt could craft. Both mollies wheezed slightly as they slept. As the steam of the black cherry tea filled the den, Oilstripe stirred from her dreams, sniffling.
“More tea?” she sighed.
“Drink as much as you can,” Fennelspot said, placing the pot between her and Weedfoot.
“Are you sure it’s working?” Oilstripe groaned, throwing a paw over her muzzle. “My throat’s on fire.”
“You’re just sensitive to the symptoms,” Fennelspot said. “They’ll be better once you drink this.”
“Where’s Troutkit? We were comparing our claws…”
“She helped put the bark in the tea. She wanted to make sure her mother was alright.”
“She’s a good kit…”
“That she is.” Fennelspot ran his tail over Oilstripe’s shoulder. With the tea ready for the sick mollies, he turned to leave.
“Wait.” Oilstripe sat up, clearing her throat. “Something’s wrong with you.”
“What do you mean?” Fennelspot asked, trying to keep his pelt relaxed.
“Duskkit was in here,” Oilstripe chuckled awkwardly. “Not in a ‘guide us to StarClan’ way, she was just wandering. She said my whitecough was ‘making it hard for Fennelspot to think’. Think about what?”
“You shouldn’t worry about it,” Fennelspot sighed, shaking his head. “It’s cleric’s business.”
“I have an ear to that world,” Oilstripe reminded him. “I don’t have anything else to do right now. If you need to work through it, I can offer some advice.” Fennelspot hesitated. Was it appropriate to discuss what he knew with a historian? He supposed Duskkit wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t meant to discuss it.
“I went to the half-moon meeting last night,” Fennelspot said, sitting with his back to the exit, “and Locustseeker spoke to me. They gave me a prophecy.” Oilstripe’s eyes sparkled. “A storm within a storm gives the dark a chance to shine. Look to the sky for the call to action. I can’t tell if the dark is good or bad.”
“This is the first prophecy you’ve gotten since we founded RippleClan, isn’t it?” Oilstripe muttered. “Whatever it means, it sounds important. You told me that prophecies come from the All-Seeing, right? So any of the StarClan cats I see around camp likely won’t know too much.”
“Keep an eye on strange weather patterns,” Fennelspot said. “If we see something in the clouds, that likely means this ‘storm within a storm’ is happening.”
“One of the storms is likely not a real storm,” Oilstripe said. “It could be emotional? I don’t know who would lose it in a thunderstorm, but the details of prophecies are historically blurry until they unfold. Did that help?”
“It did,” Fennelspot sighed. He placed his paw over Oilstripe’s. “Thank you, Oilstripe. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”
“I feel the same,” Oilstripe promised him. “Now let’s see whether you’re poisoning me with this tea.” Fennelspot couldn’t help but laugh as Oilstripe trudged to the tea bowl and drank her medicine.
(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)
(Oilstripe: 45, female, historian, charismatic, ghost speaker)
Fennelspot doesn’t notice the injured loner waking up.
[Image ID: Fennelspot faces away from the brown molly. Underneath the brown molly, it says LEVEL UP! ??? -> SPIKE.]
---
Fennelspot returned to the medicine den once Weedfoot woke up and drank some of the tea. Both she and Oilstripe would recover quickly, although neither could hunt until their whitecough was all gone. Fennelspot wasn’t the sort to feel confident in his skills, but he trusted that those two would be fine.
The stranger was still asleep when Fennelspot got back. A fresh basket of late autumn herbs sat in the middle of the den. Clammask must have collected some medicine for Fennelspot while he was caring for his patients! That would save him some time.
He dragged the basket to his stores and began to sort. It was good to have someone else pondering the prophecy with him. Hopefully one of the kits in the nursery would want to be a cleric when they reached apprenticeship. Troutkit seemed interested in herbs. Perhaps—
A sharp growl rippled through the den. Fennelspot jumped, knocking over his basket. The stranger was awake! Fennelspot had placed her in a simple brace to keep her spine straight, but the loner shifted and groaned under the uncomfortable pressure of the stick on her back.
“You need to stay still,” Fennelspot stammered. He snatched a bundle of pain-killing herbs and set them at the stranger’s side. “My name is Fennelspot. You’re in RippleClan’s camp. You were trampled by a horse, do you remember?”
“It hurts,” the stranger whined.
“I’m sure it does,” Fennelspot said. “The horse broke your back. Our Clanmates brought you here. These herbs should help with the pain.”
“My back?” the stranger groaned.
“Yes, your back. Can you feel your tail? Your back legs?”
“That’s all I feel!”
“Please, eat this. I’m here to help you. You can trust me.” Fennelspot nudged the painkillers closer. The stranger moaned, but licked the plants up. “Don’t sit up. I’ve positioned you in a way that should ease pressure off your back and help your spine heal. You should be able to walk again, but it will be a while.”
The stranger took deep, shaky breaths. She turned her head away from Fennelspot. The ginger cleric carefully scanned the stranger’s brace. He adjusted the soft leather straps keeping the stick in place.
“I’m sure this is a lot to take in, and I want to give you time to get balanced,” Fennelspot eventually said, “but it would be good to know your name.”
“Spike,” the stranger muttered.
“Spike,” Fennelspot sighed. “It’s a good name. Let me know if your pain doesn’t settle. There’s a lot I can do to help you. And when you want to learn more about this place…” When Fennelspot looked back down, Spike’s eyes were shut. It wasn’t clear if the molly had actually fallen asleep again or if she was trying to ignore Fennelspot. He understood either way.
“Rest well,” he sighed. With his patient settled, Fennelspot ran off to inform his leader of the newcomer’s name.
(Fennelspot: 98, male, cleric, insecure, trusted advisor, incredible runner)
(Spike: 16, female, loner, wise, good speaker, lore keeper)
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Drunk Deeds
Dracule "Hawk-Eye" Mihawk x F!Reader
Notes 1: I wanted (Y/N) to have met Zoro at some point in the pre-time skip as a foe (She lost) and since Zoro is an exceptional swordsman in her eyes, she (forcefully) choose him as her teacher after their brawl, unfortunately for Zoro, Kuma repelled you to the same place as our fav moss head. Note 2: I completely forgot about ages, but reader is older than Zoro, bc I find it funny for a grown woman to beg 19 y/o boy to teach her his swordsman ways. Note 3: It isn't specified if she is a straw hat, I left that open. Note 4: All this does not matter because I never mention it anyway.
Warnings: Oral(female receiving), wine involvement in a sexual activity.
The taste of grapes remains on your tongue, the calm, an almost invisible buzz of alcohol was underlining your headache that's been long forgotten now that the causes are thrown outside, out of your domain of expertise.
Your eyes wander over to the World Economy Newspaper, the major source of information covered in sweet propaganda and untruthful words regarding the newest attraction, the aftermath of the Summit War of Marineford. The monochrome pictures are scattered on the page and long paragraphs cry out for attention. Truly a tragedy to have greed decor and cover the crimes against humanity committed by the Marines.
Whether it's the gruesome pictures or the liquor you drank to rid of your thirst, the dry feeling on your tongue stays unnerved, it returns every few minutes you take in the wine.
It should be a familiar feeling, you think as you, yet again, grab the wine glass by the base of the stem, the clear rim is tinged with the soft color of your lipstick and there is a small amount of fluid remaining in the bowl, which you gulp down quickly, putting the empty glass back on the red tablecloth, you take a moment to swallow the last of the rich liquid. Then spinning the glass stem in between your fingers, you can feel your ears clog as the drunkenness heats your cheeks, though the wine does little to quench your thirst, the pleasant aftertaste left in your throat spreads throughout your consciousness, warm cozy fondness soon turns you drowsy and gasping for air.
Swift slamming of a cup in front of you makes you snap open your eyes (when did you close them?), and before the panic sets in an unknown voice interrupts the alarms going on in your head.
``You should know your limits.`` As soon as it came, the dread you felt quickly disappeared, and familiarity settled.
``S-Sir Mihawk!`` your flustered self is met with piercing Hawk eyes, thanking away whatever excuse that was quickly dancing on your tongue. ``Y-you have an extravagant taste in... Uh, wine Sir!``
The thought of when he had returned, or how you didn't notice his footsteps get lost in your clouded mind as his judgemental eyes wash over you, they settle under your skin, and for a moment you think pouring ice-filled water over yourself in snow would be better than the predatory gaze he sets upon you.
It isn't like he forbade drinking the wine he has hidden in every corner of the castle. Still, a drop of nervous sweat travels down your neck.
You swiftly turn away from his stare, eyes landing on the cold water-filled cup that he rudely slammed against the table, apparently for you to drink. Without words, you pour the water down your gutter, cool liquid satisfies the overheated core within, to the point that your worn-out teeth hurt from the cold sensation. By the time you set the partly empty cup down, Mihawk had already sat at the head of the table, away from you.
``Thanks for the water...``
For an unknown reason, his choice of seat made your heartache.
``Hm.``
Looking at the man, without his signature coat and the hat, felt surprisingly intimate, despite knowing each other for two weeks, all four residents, including yourself fell into a fresh routine quite easily. A routine that Mihawk adapted quickly and religiously maintained.
The hawk's eyes look up from the morning newspaper that he grabbed without your permission, and if it was anybody else, you might have said a snarky remark.
``Hand me the wine bottle.`` You have no issue being bossed around, you are more confident when following the orders of others, as annoying and humiliating as it is for somebody else, it doesn't bother you, especially when it comes to the warlord in the room, his orders are minimal, rare, and you don't feel any control from him, unlike Zoro who seems to get annoyed on your behalf whenever the older man 'dictates' your actions, leading to pointless remarks sent in your way.
Don't you feel lesser?
You stretch out your arm, sluggishly grabbing the exquisite bottle, and gently placing it in the rough hands of the swordsman.
You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he pours himself the said wine, grabbing the glass and before he drinks, the man tilts his head down in a thankful gesture toward you.
No, I don't feel any lesser. Why? Because Mihawk does not mean demean.
It isn't until he puts his lips onto the rim that you finally recognize the stained glass. Your eyes widened.
``Wha-Hey! Don't drink it!`` you flung up your arms in the air, however, no amount of blushing could stop him in time.
``That's my glass!`` You watch as his eyes open, the wine and glass still resting on his mouth, his incorrigible face is misplaced as you mumble embarrassed whispers his way while hiding behind your hands.
A second passes, ten seconds pass. The silence suffocates your flustered face hidden behind your arms away from the prying eyes of no man.
``Huh.`` The sound escapes his (probably) lipstick-stained lips, it shatters the awkward pause between you two. ``I... apologize.`` A faint blush on his heated cheeks is swept under the rug.
It takes you a bit to let your hands down, even longer to look at him in his static eyes.
Only after he grabs himself a clean wine glass, do you stop hiding your flaming cheeks away from him, sneaking glances at the open ruffled neck his white button-up shirt includes. The residue from earlier sits beautifully on his chapped lips, giving a faint shine from the lack of proper appliance. The color stains the transparent rim, laughing and teasing you, spreading countless unknown emotions that make you shy away and maintain eye contact with a tablecloth.
``Is there something on my face, (Y/N)?`` His double-ringed eyes land on your form, which you realize is too open for sneaky glimpses you've been giving him. Unaffected by your embarrassment.
You don't know if it's a drunken haze that gave you the confidence out of thin air, but you're sure at some point you've lost yourself in the slow hum of alcohol.
``Mm. Yeah actually.`` He raised an eyebrow at your response.
The feeling spreads like a lit steel wool, the fire following your lines of sanity as it leaves only boldness exposed to a hawk. You bet everything, and by everything you mean your life, the only thing you seem to carry that has any meaning in this meaningless world, on this action.
A chair falls onto the ground. Next, you're bending ninety degrees in angle, right arm rests on your knees as you're standing in the face of a gentleman, left hand travels to the man's lips, pale in comparison to the ghostly skin, rough and torn by the sea, the frown adorns his complexion as your pointer finger pad gently smoothes the color that pops off of him. It sticks to your skin, lipstick revealing your fingerprints.
It sticks like the smell of sake clinging onto the man. The scent that only now you've picked up, due to the proximity. He must have had a great time with Zoro outside.
His eyes watch, stern and unrecognizable as you pull your digit away from his mouth, in slow-mo you let him realize what the subtle, teasing smile on your face was about. He tries to gather what decency remains within, tries to not look down as your shirt reveals soft flesh underneath, concealed in the shadows.
By now you must have caught onto the distant smell of sake clinging to his button up, however, it does not seem relevant to either of you.
Sweat dribbles down from his temple, yet his hand moves up to grab your hip, and his body follows after it. Standing upright.
In your slowly widening eyes, he sees your confidence crumble like the boulders he used for training back in his youth, so effortless to demolish under his eye.
He looked down at the roses that bloomed under your eyes, wide and shaken for an unknown reason.
``Are you flustered?`` There are no words that meet him, his question causes your hands, resting on his chest, to tighten. He already knows the answer.
He drags your body closer, feeling your heat under his skin. His thigh drags your nether region unintentionally rubbing the cloth between your bodies. A hiss escapes your lips, his eyes narrow. ``Y-you're so...!`` You say between your clenched teeth, face heated.
Mihawk's arm tightens around your torso, shoving his knee further until he makes your buttocks meet the edge of the table. The wine bottle rocks back and forth.
``So?``
You are trapped.
``...So... Frustrating...`` Your eyes shut tightly as his lips meet yours. The strong aftertaste of Sake hits your wet muscle since the wine was not enough to cover it. His tongue eagerly entangles with yours, leaving you breathless. Through the clothes, you can feel his hand on your waist trail up your ribs and rest across your chest. It grabs at buttons and frees your body to his eyes.
Your heart thunders in your ear. Embarrassed you grab at his shoulders as he grabs at your thighs, kneading it before dragging you up and on top of the table. With great vigor, his hand removes whatever restriction was between your private parts, dragging and tossing it away. His lips never leave you, even when you struggle for breath, he leans over you, caging your body beneath. The lust drowns everything else, the sight, smell, and sense, for a blissful moment.
It ends unwillingly. The golden eyes watch, and yours stare back, both breathe heavily. The connection is broken when he goes down, leaving you leaning on your elbows to watch as he gazes at your folds with dark desire swirling in his ringed iris.
It's too much. Too blush-making for you. Lying flat on the table as your wrists desperately shelter your eyes. The moment goes on for what feels like forever.
And then the sensation hits you like a truck.
The cold, wet, bright red liquor drips onto your opening, blazing your face in complete blush as the loud sound of wine meeting ground fills the air.
Your hand flies down to hold yourself stable, letting the uncomfortable feeling overwhelm you.
Turning red, you could only gaze into his eyes that stared at your entrance, hungry for something. After a pregnant pause, he put the wine bottle on the floor, leaving your bottom half shining with red tints.
``Are... Are you insane?!`` your eyebrows turned up, voice shook. ``What are you doing?!`` flailing around you try to move away from his grip, inner thighs soiled in alcohol.
``I apologize for startling you.`` a sly glint lights up in his pupil, proving his apology otherwise. His hot breath disappears as he puts his mouth on your labia and quickly presses his tongue inside you without waiting for your response.
His grasp does not falter, instead strengthens and brings your bottom half closer until his nose finally meets your clit, lips gently travel over your folds, pressing sweet kisses on them that sprinkle over to your inner thighs. Tasting the alcohol with no shame in his actions. Tiny whimpers slip by as butterflies flutter in your stomach, pleasure makes your knees weak as he flicks at your opening. His tongue sneaking around your clit, sucking, circling, discovering with determinded precision what would shatter you to pieces the quickest. The wet sounds escape from his pressings, no doubt tasting and smelling the liquor as his tongue gets closer and closer to that one spot.
He sends shivers up your spine and uses his thumb to harshly rub against your clit, but once Mihawk finally found his desired destination inside of you, there was nothing that would get him to look at something but your pleasure-filled face finally unleash and listen to your cry that he compares to a siren's call, designed to enchant a lone pirate such as himself. He nestles and nuzzles his way through your meager whimpers, enthusiasticlly licking your addicting taste.
It's a shame your time together does not last forever.
#op mihawk#hawkeye mihawk#dracule mihawk#one piece mihawk#mihawk x reader#One piece#one piece x female reader#one piece x reader#one piece x you#mihawk x you#mihawk smut#idk what possessed me to write this down#let alone publish it.#.my writing.
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Way To A Man’s Heart
Word Count: 1.5k
Cole wraps his arms around you and rests his chin in the crook of your shoulder, “MmHm! This smells good already!”
You laugh as you continue to brown the meat in the pan, “Well, I know how much you love pasta.”
It was date night and you were cooking Cole’s favorite food for the both of you at your place.
“Have you ever made spaghetti for me before?” he asks.
You’re thoughtful for a moment, “No, I don’t think I have. Usually you’re the one to cook pasta.”
“Well, I do love pasta,” Cole chuckles in your ear.
You giggle, “I’ve noticed.”
You set the spatula aside for a moment and pick up another utensil and stir the pasta you’re boiling the next burner over. Cole sidesteps with you, still glued to your backside. You turn your head to look up at him as best you can, “Cole, if I trip-“ you laugh.
“Well, I’ll be here to catch you, Sweetheart,” he says simply.
You laugh again and set your utensil back down and then pick up one of your spices and season the meat again. Then you start to turn away from the stove, but Cole’s embrace prevents you from getting very far, so you gently pat his arms, “Okay, I’m going to need you to let go of me for this one,” you say.
Cole relinquishes his hold on you and you turn towards your counter where you already have your other spices, a tomato sauce can, and a glass bowl waiting for you. You open the can of tomato sauce first and pour it into the bowl and then you measure out your spices and add them to the mix. Cole leans on the counter and watches you work, a lovesick grin on his face. You stir the seasonings together and then you take out a small cutting board from your cabinet drawer and grab a knife, “Hmm…Cole could you get me about a dozen Oregano leaves?”
“Oh, sure,” he says striding towards the fridge and opening it.
“Oh no, Cole, I meant from my Oregano plant, it’s in the windowsill,” you direct, pointing toward the other room.
Cole’s eyes widen and he turns to you with a smile on his lips, “You’re growing Oregano?!” he asks both surprised and delighted.
“Mmhmm,” you nod, “I need you to pluck them and then wash them for me, please?”
Cole leaves the room to find your Italian Oregano plant and you take down a bowl and then fill it with cool water from the kitchen sink. Next, you turn the meat over and chop it into finer pieces and that’s when Cole returns with the requested Oregano leaves.
“I don’t know why I never thought of growing my own Oregano myself, seeing as how much pasta I eat,” Cole says.
“Fresh Oregano definitely makes it taste way better,” you say.
“Oh man my mouth’s all watering just thinking about it,” Cole says placing his left hand on his stomach.
You hold up the bowl of water for him and Cole drops the leaves into it.
“Now, what am I supposed to do here?” he asks looking to you for instruction.
“Just give them a rinse and swirl them around to make sure there’s not any dirt or anything on the leaves,” you say.
Cole does as you say and then you take the bowl from him and drain the water and remove the leaves. Then, you place the leaves onto your cutting board and proceed to chop them into tiny pieces. Once you’re satisfied with that you brush them from your cutting board with the back of your knife into your sauce bowl and then stir them all together. You check to make sure your meat’s cooked all the way through and then turn down the heat slightly and stir in the sauce. You bring all of it to a boil and then turn the heat down to simmer and cover the pot with a lid. You check on your pasta again and it’s almost done.
“Want me to set the table?” Cole asks.
“Yes, thank you, Cole,” you say.
Cole takes some plates from the cabinet and begins setting a place for you both at your little table while you clean up your counter space. Cole also sets out a couple of glasses for you both and even fills yours for you after he asks what you want to drink from the refrigerator. You hear a subtle click and turn to glance over at him and realize that he’s also lit the candles on your table with his lighter. Your timer for the spaghetti finally goes off and you don the oven mitts and remove the pasta from the stove and then step over to the sink where you have a colander waiting. You pour the hot water out of the pot and into the colander until only the spaghetti noodles remain. Then you turn to look for a place to set the pot down, but find that you didn’t set a pot holder down on the counter yet. Cole sees your struggle and swiftly finds one for you in the drawers and sets it down in front of you.
“Thank you, Sweetheart,” you say after placing the pot down and giving him a kiss.
You turn off both burners on the stove and then set another pot holder down and move the sauce pan to it. Cole more than happily brings his plate to you and you fill it with spaghetti noodles.
“Is that enough?” you ask.
“A little more?” he asks.
You give him another scoopful of pasta and then pour the sauce over the pasta. He returns to the table and then to your surprise brings you your own plate on his return trip to the counter. You fill your plate and set it back down in your spot and then you uncover the plate of garlic bread you’d made earlier and move it to the table between you and your boyfriend. You take your seat as Cole immediately digs into his spaghetti, twirling his fork in it and shoving it all into his mouth.
You laugh and then take a bite of your own food.
“Mmmhm!” he exclaims, mouth still full.
He takes another huge bite before finally getting any actual words out, “Darlin’, this is so good! Your spaghetti’s even better than mine,” he praises.
You blush, “I don’t know about that, Cole, you make some pretty good pasta.”
“Mmm, I’m serious,” he says taking another bite.
You giggle at him, “Slow down, Cole, you don’t need to eat so fast, there’s plenty more where that came from.”
He continues to chew and even closes his eyes savoring it.
And when he finally swallows and opens his mouth to speak again, “True, and this is so good I’m definitely going back for seconds.”
You laugh, “That’s sweet, but you always go back for seconds.”
“Only when it’s your cooking, Sweetheart,” Cole says.
You raise an eyebrow.
“Okay, your cooking And pasta,” Cole relents.
You turn your attention back to your dinner and take a couple of bites of spaghetti yourself before breaking off a piece of garlic bread.
“It’s just you know what they say?” Cole says letting the question hang in the air.
You look back up at him as you munch on your bread, waiting for him to finish. But you only find him smiling fondly at you with a soft look in his eyes.
“No, what do they say?” you ask.
“That the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Cole says sweetly.
You smile and shake your head, “Oh, you,” you say and reach out across the table for him.
His right hand meets you halfway and he takes your hand in his.
You stare up into his eyes as his thumb strokes over your knuckles, you then lean forward over the table and Cole rises to meet your lips. You hum as you part from him and Cole settles back down into his chair.
“Hmm, garlicky,” he says licking his lips.
“Oh, sorry,” you say covering your mouth with your other hand.
“Oh, Honey, you’re fine. In fact it’s reminding me that I haven’t had a chance to try the garlic bread you made yet,” Cole says.
He then picks up a piece of garlic bread from the plate in front of you both and bites into it.
“Mmm,” he hums in approval once again.
You laugh lightly, “Well, I don’t know about food being the way to someone’s heart, just that I know you’re already in mine.”
Cole gasps quietly and his face softens to a look of awe, before he smiles so wide it crinkles his eyes, “You’re in my heart too, Honeysuckle,” he says, “And it didn’t require you making me pasta.”
“Although I’m sure it didn’t hurt,” you tease gently.
Cole reaches up and cups your face in his hands and then he leans over the table and kisses you again.
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The Gloaming
An Outlander/Jane Eyre crossover
Read chapter 1 here
Read chapter 2 here
Chapter 3: Wolverton Hall
An imposing grey stone building, Wolverton Hall looked like the kind of place that would be draughty even in the summer. A thick wood bordered it on two sides and in the pale morning sun it almost melted into the landscape. Boots crunching on the gravelled forecourt, Jamie headed towards the front door. Made of oak, it held a sizeable wrought iron dragon’s head as a knocker. Rapping with the metal ring, he took a fortifying breath and waited.
The minutes ticked by and Jamie wondered if the servants had been given the day off. At length, the door opened and he was greeted by a man in his mid-thirties wearing a fine blue coat. Jamie stuck out a hand by way of introduction.
“James Fraser, pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir”
The man in the blue coat’s eyes widened as he took Jamie in.
“Good heavens man, what happened?! Are you all right?”
No overcoat, arm in a sling, suit torn and muddied: Jamie looked quite the sight. As first impressions go, it was a terrible one. His face fell, convinced he’d be turned away from the house before even starting his new job.
“I ah...got into a spot of bother on the way here from Lerwick. But if ye have a laundry I can use...”
“Oh don’t worry about any of that, I’ll have one of the maids sort some clean clothes for you. Do you need a doctor?”
“No, I’m fine; really, Mr...?”
“Abernathy, Joseph Abernathy. I’m the butler here at the hall.”
To Jamie’s great relief Mr Abernathy had a kind face and, smiling, ushered him into the house.
“Now, if you’re sure you’re all right Mr Fraser, at least let me take your bag for you.”
“Thank ye, Mr Abernathy”
Jamie followed his host through to a wood-panelled parlour. Hunting trophies adorned the walls and suspended from the ceiling was a candelabra at least triple the size of a carriage wheel. Mr Abernathy poured Jamie a glass of whisky and bid him to wait while he went to speak to the cook about lunch.
Settling into a plush leather armchair, Jamie sipped his drink - enjoying the heat it brought to his belly. His chair was positioned beside a sizeable fireplace, the fire within crackling and popping as it warmed the room considerably, allowing his bones to begin to thaw from the chilled morning’s walk. Despite this, Jamie noticed a definite coldness to the house. It felt like he’d walked into a museum rather than a family home.
After being provided with fresh clothes and a bowl of warm water to clean himself up, lunch was served in the butler’s sitting room. Jamie was presented with a steaming bowl of stew and a large chunk of crusty bread, his empty stomach grumbling from the mere site of it. The meat it contained was was juicy and tender, leaving Jamie struggling to remember when he’d eaten a cut that wasn’t sinewy and requiring several minutes of chewing in order to swallow it. Those times, he dared to hope, were in the past and he wolfed the meal down, eagerly accepting seconds.
While they ate Mr Abernathy told him about Wolverton Hall. Built by Lord Jonathan Randall in the 1720s, it had remained in the family ever since. The present occupants were the English widow of the late Lord Franklin; Lady Claire and their son Fergus. Eight years old and with a mop of wild brown curls, he was a cheeky lad with a good heart. The information put Jamie at ease considerably.
“Is the family home at present?”
“No, her ladyship and Master Fergus are away on business. We’re not expecting them back until early next week”
Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. His shoulder would be healed by then; the last thing he wanted was his new employer to think he was unfit to perform his duties.
After lunch, Mr Abernathy showed Jamie to his new room. At the workhouse, bed was a canvas cot in a room with twenty seven others. At the blacksmith’s it was a mattress on the floor separated from the workshop by a thin sheet. Walking into his quarters at Wolverton Hall, he was dumbstruck. A canopy bed, writing desk, window overlooking the kitchen garden and a fireplace all to himself. As far as rooms in large houses went, it was perfectly standard, but to Jamie it was a palace.
The rest of the afternoon was spent touring the house and grounds. Marvelling at the fine stable of horses kept at the Estate, Jamie was in awe that all this finery was for the use of just two people. Assuring Mr Abernathy that he was well enough to ride, he saddled a grey speckled mare that afternoon and trotted through the wooded paths surrounding the house. There was so many new areas to discover and despite the chill in the air, Jamie was excited to begin work. It gave him a little thrill to know that he’s be back in the saddle again, especially riding horses as fine as those kept at Wolverton Hall.
As he lay down to sleep that night (on what he was quite certain was the softest bed he’d ever rested upon), Jamie reflected on the day. Despite their short acquaintance, he’d decided Mr Abernathy would be a source of congenial company; something that had been sorely lacking in his life for many years. The Butler was clearly a man of intelligence and Jamie had enjoyed discussing a number of subjects with him over supper. Originally from America, Abernathy had met the Randalls whilst they were travelling through Europe, and having no fixed plans himself had accepted an offer of employment. That had been eight years ago and in spite of the remoteness of the location, he found the situation suited him perfectly.
“Plenty of time for reading, Fraser. My mind can travel, even if my body does not. Do you read?”
Jamie had nodded in the affirmative and they’d spoken of their favourite tomes; Mr Abernathy offering to show him the library the following day.
“It’s an extensive collection, plenty of things to keep one’s wits sharp. Lady Randall is an erudite woman and would be pleased to have another reader in the household I’m sure”
“What else can you tell me of Lady Randall? I’m afraid I know very little of my new mistress”
Abernathy smiled at mention of the lady of the house, telling Jamie that when he’d first met Lady Randall she was one of the funniest and liveliest people he’d come across. Hailing from Oxford, which is where she’d met Lord Randall, they’d married when she was just 17. Doing the quick calculation, Jamie was surprised that a woman of the mistress’ age would be shut away in one of the remotest corners of the country. Intrigued, he wondered if perhaps she’d not recovered from the death of her husband to such a degree that she chose to shut herself away from the world? Keen to understand what he’d be dealing with, he pressed the butler further.
“I hope it isn’t out of place for me to ask, but did the passing of Lord Randall affect her deeply? Does she mourn him still?”
Mr Abernathy’s fork hit his plate with a clang. Collecting himself he quickly stood and began clearing the table.
“Yes very much. A wonderful man was Lord Randall. A great loss to us all”
It had been clear to Jamie that Abernathy was lying, but the butler’s diverted gaze told him that the subject was closed. Lying in bed hours later, Jamie pondered the reason for Abernathy’s reaction. Had Lady Randall been driven mad by grief? Was he worried that Jamie would leave if he knew the true state of his mistress?
Jamie did not have too much time to ponder this, as with a full stomach and a comfortable place to sleep for the first time since he’d been forced from his beloved Lallybroch, he was soon drifting into a blissful slumber. When dreams came however, they were not of Wolverton Hall but the golden eyes and gentle touch of the mystery woman in the forrest. Jamie smiled in his sleep.
#outlander#outlander fanfic#claire beauchamp#jamie fraser#thanks for reading#the gloaming#fanfic#jane eyre
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looking out
summary: in which harin sees hajoon again
set: 5 nov 2019
word count: 1.7k
warnings: mention of food and drinks; swearing; angst
an: words in bold are korean, words in bold and italics are italian. send an ask/dm to be added to the taglist. feedback and reblogs are much appreciated 💐
harin’s masterlist
Harin gasped as she was embraced in a hug before the door had fully opened. She wrapped her arms around her brother as he slightly lifted her off the ground. They pulled apart with a kiss on the cheek, walking into the apartment.
“So?” Hajoon asked as Harin got a good look at his townhouse apartment. He went into the kitchen to continue preparing their dinner.
Harin nodded, impressed at the place her brother called home. “It’s great. It really is.” She walked past the dining room and onto the patio. “The garden is a nice plus!” She called out as she returned to the kitchen.
“Yeah, Tommy was adamant on getting this apartment because of the garden,” he said, stirring one of his pans. Tommy was his close friend and roommate.
“Tommy is very smart.” She walked up to her brother, watching as he moved on to chopping an onion. “What’re you making?”
He gathered the cheeses and eggs that he was going to mix together. “I know you can’t cook, but can you really not tell?” He teased, measuring how much of each ingredient he needed.
Harin rolled her eyes. “This truly just looks like you put your entire fridge on the island.”
Hajoon paused from where he was fetching the herbs he needed. “That’s insulting. I’m making lasagna,” he told her, adding the fresh parsley to his bowl.
Harin looked over the pots and bowls on the island. “Now it looks… more recognisable,” she said, causing Hajoon to scoff as he began to grate his cheese. “How’s the restaurant?”
Hajoon had started a restaurant with Tommy in 2017. Their restaurant, Seoul in Rome, specialised in Italian and Korean cuisine, influenced by their upbringing.
“It’s going good, it’s going good. We bought the open space next door to ours, and we’re gonna turn that space into a fine-dining area. We’re going to add a kitchen on that side so that we don’t confuse the ingredients for the different sides.”
She walked around the island, standing by the barstools “That sounds exciting. I think. I’m not quite sure…”
“It’s exciting,” Hajoon said, getting started on assembling the lasagna. He spread two spoons of sauce over the bottom of the baking dish that he was going to use, adding two layers of noodles over the sauce to cover it. “Thanks to the money you give us every month, we were able to save all the extra cash and put it towards buying the open space.”
“Yeah, well… I’m a humanitarian.” She bragged with a shrug. “But I’m glad that everything’s going well with the restaurant. I’ll have to pay it a visit while I’m still in New York.”
“Sounds cool! I’ll give you a tour of the place and show you what we’re planning on doing,” he said, adding half of the cheese mixture and sauce. He added the remaining noodles, cheese and sauce before retrieving the aluminium foil and covering the dish with it. He placed the dish in his preheated oven, setting an oven for thirty-five minutes on his phone. He turned around to face his sister. “You know you can sit down, right?” He asked, staring at the barstool she was standing next to.
Harin rolled her eyes as she pulled out the nearest barstool for her to sit on. “Forgive me for trying to work on my posture. Eomma might kill me if I don’t start standing up straight.”
Hajoon chuckled, washing his hands before drying them. “Would you like anything to drink? I can offer you water, soda, fresh fruit juice, and wine,” he listed off, walking to his fridge.
“For a house owned by two men, you sure do have a lot of choices,” she teased, holding up one finger.
He understood her request, fetching a glass from the cupboard. “We’re not just two men, we’re two chefs, so our fridge is always stocked,” he told her as he poured her water before passing it to her.
She accepted it with a smile, taking a sip. She played with the end of her hair as Hajoon began cleaning up the kitchen.
“What’s wrong, noona?” He asked, putting the herbs he used away.
Harin shook her head as she answered, “Nothing’s wrong.”
He shot her an incredulous look. “Then why are you playing with your hair?”
She stopped flicking the tips of her hair this way and that, reaching forward to hold her glass. “Um, I… I have something to tell you.”
“Okay,” he said, putting down the pots that were in his hand and moving to stand in front of her.
“Um… I–” she groaned. “I got back together with Dongwook,” she blurted with a shy smile on her face.
Hajoon inhaled deeply, his chest moving with his breath. “Hm,” he hummed before returning to organising the dirty dishes.
“Wait, that– That’s all you have to say?” She expressed her shock.
“What else should I say?” He asked, his voice void of all emotion.
“I don’t know. Maybe ‘Congratulations!’ or some shit like that?”
His back still faced his sister as he asked, “Why would I say that?”
“Because this is a happy moment for me and you’re happy for m–”
“I’m not happy for you,” he interrupted, causing Harin’s smile to drop.
“You’re not?”
“Why would I be?”
“I… I’m dating Dongwook again! We– He’s… We’re back together.”
Hajoon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And why would I be happy about that?”
“He’s… He’s Dongwook. He’s great, he’s–”
“The guy that broke your heart?” He asked, turning around and crossing his arms. “Or is this a different Dongwook I don’t know about?”
Harin nervously bit her bottom lip as she watched her brother. “He’s the same one, but… he’s changed. We talked about it. I forgave him. You can be happy for me.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“The only times I had ever seen you cry were at concerts, at–at–at your plays, or on other random days, like my graduation. He had you crying everyday for months. So no, I won’t be happy that you’re back together with him, okay?”
Tapping her fingers against her glass, Harin tried again. “Well, he said his family is happy we’re together again.”
He scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “Of fucking course they are, Harper. Why wouldn’t they be over the fucking moon that you’re giving him another chance to break your heart, hm? I mean, I can’t believe how naive you are!”
“I’m not naive.”
“Then why are you doing this! Why were you expecting me to give you flowers and shit for telling me this? If I reacted joyfully, it would mean that I don’t give a shit about you,” he said, turning around to get started on the dishes.
“Hajoon-ah, I know that you have some resentment towards him, but he’s changed. I know he has, and if you just give him a chance, you’ll know it too. I’m a grown woman, okay? I can make my own decisions without you judging me.”
“And when those decisions leave you calling me because you’re having a panic attack and you can’t breathe, I’ll remind you of that.”
A silence overtook the kitchen, only the sound of cars outside filling the room. They didn’t speak for almost five minutes, both trying to calm themselves down.
“You’re the–” Hajoon swallowed past the lump in her throat. “You’re the first person I’ve told. You’re the first person I wanted to tell.”
Hajoon shook his head, refusing to turn around and look at his sister. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
“Harrison. Harrison! Are you being serious, right now?”
He sighed. “Can you take the plates out? They’re in the cupboard over there.” He pointed to his left at the overhead cupboards.
Harin nodded, feeling a dull stinging at her eyes. She sniffled, trying to regain her composure. “You know what? I lost my appetite, so I’m just gonna go back to my hotel.” She moved to stand up, waiting for him to say anything.
“You do that,” he said after almost a minute of silence.
“Okay,” she muttered. She walked past the living room and picked her bag up from the couch before going to open the front door.
“Woah! Hey,” Tommy greeted, standing by the door as if he were just about to open it. “Sorry to interrupt your sibling bonding session, I need to fetch something from my room.”
“It’s fine, I’m leaving anyway.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. See you next time, Tommy,” she said, pushing past him and walking down the long hallway. She turned the corner, continuing to walk down the hallway until she reached the elevator. Pressing the down button, she waited for the lift to come. After less than a minute of waiting, she heard hurried footsteps.
Tommy put his arm against the wall as he panted. “Harry said– Oh, just give me a second.” He took a few deep breaths. “Harry said to text me when you get to your hotel.”
Harin nodded, her lips pursed. “He doesn’t even want to hear from me. Great.” She hurriedly pressed the elevator button again.
“Hey, I know it’s not really my place to say, but… Harry may be younger than you, but he looks out for you like he’s older. I don’t know what your argument was about, but I’m pretty sure he was reacting from a place of protectiveness and–”
“I don’t fucking care what place he was reacting from,” Harin interrupted. “I just want this fucking elevator to work so I can go sleep.” She repeatedly pressed the button, visibly annoyed.
“Oh, uh, that button doesn’t work,” Tommy told her. He reached forward to press the up button, the elevator making a ding! sound as it began moving to her floor. “It’s getting fixed next week… But, just give him some time. I’m sure once he’s calmed down, he’ll tell you that he’s sorry.”
“Thanks, Tommy, but I… He needs to fucking grow up,” she muttered as the elevator arrived. “I’ll text you later,” she said, pressing the button for the ground floor before the doors closed.
Harin leaned her head against the back of the elevator with a sigh. She knew that Hajoon had some resentment towards Dongwook, but she didn’t know just how strong it was.She didn’t need his approval to do what she wanted, but to know that he was so against it… hurt.
©️ jang harin
#ficnetfairy#snsd 9th member#snsd ninth member#snsd oc#snsd addition#snsd added member#snsd extra member#snsd member au#snsd imagines#kpop oc#kpop addition#kpop added member#kpop extra member#kpop au#kpop imagines#jang harin
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Friendly Sex - Chapter 7 - The Unknown Part II
This was going to be the beginning of Chapter 8 but it would have interrupted the overall flow. So, gentle reader, please accept this cutscene smutty offering.
Chapters warnings: MDI (18+ only), pwp, smoking, p in v sex, dom/sub undertones, slightly mean!Eddie, doggystyle, rough sex, spanking, vaginal spanking, choking, use of the word slut, masturbation, overstimulation, explicit smut, explicit language, all sexual interaction is consensual.
________________________________________________________
You awake in a daze, feeling overly warm and confined, a heavy weight slung across your stomach. Eddie is wrapped around you like a Boa Constrictor, your back pressed snugly to his chest, light snores tickling your neck.
Lifting your head slightly you glance at the illuminated alarm clock 0245, so much for 5 minutes you snort internally.
You shift trying to get comfortable again, but now you're awake you realize how thirsty you are and that you definitely need a pee. You gingerly slip out from Eddie's arm, his snores continuing interrupted as you pull on your panties and what you think might be Eddie's shirt, your own lost to the recesses of the darkness.
It's like navigating a field of landmines as you creep across the cluttered bedroom floor, stubbing your toe several times, silently cursing in pain.
Ducking into the bathroom you notice the rest of the trailer is still dimly lit, having left everything on in your haste to get to bed. After relieving yourself you splash some cold water on your face and neck, stealing a quick spray of Eddie's deodorant for good measure before moving back into the main living area.
It takes you three tries to find the right cupboard with the glasses, pouring yourself a large cup of water, leaning against the sink as you drink.
You spy Eddie's pack of cigarettes and lighter in the key bowl by the front door, picking it up and slipping out to the awning covered porch, perching on a grubby broken down sofa.
It was a chilly night, but it felt refreshing after being stuck to the human torch, you light up blowing the smoke out in a long exhale, enjoying the silence. It was incredibly peaceful this far out of town, not that Hawkins was a central hub of activity, but even at home cars would pass every so often through the night, here at the trailer park though it was literal crickets.
Soon you were lost in your thoughts, body exhausted but mind working overtime, you had never expected sex with Eddie to feel so intimate, so meaningful. It scares you more than you want to admit, so you resort to once again telling yourself that your feelings are borne out of lust, Eddie is simply fulfilling a need.
"Can't sleep?" Eddie's drowsy croak cracking like a whip in the still air, making you jump. You shake your head, eyeing him guiltily as he reaches for the slowly burning down cigarette, sitting next to you clad only in his jeans.
"Someone stole my shirt." He says gesturing to his bare chest, casting a glance at the Hellfire club logo covering your own.
"Crime is such a problem these days." You say wryly, leaning back against him.
"You'll catch a cold out here." He mumbles taking a deep drag, hand chafing absentmindedly at your thigh.
"I was gonna come back in soon. Just needed some air." You say, rubbing at your tired eyes, suppressing a yawn.
"Ah yes, clean, fresh air." He hums sarcastically, stubbing out the butt of the cigarette in an overflowing ashtray.
"C'mon sleeping beauty." He hauls himself up, hand outstretched to you, leading you back into the trailer. You noticed he had turned off the television which was just showing static earlier, along with the various lamps, the only light now coming from the crack under his bedroom door.
You clamber back into bed shivering slightly at the change in temperatures, Eddie immediately brings you into his arms, your head pressed atop his chest listening to his heartbeat.
"Is this ok?" He asks quietly.
"Yeah, it's nice." You say softly tracing over his spider tattoo.
"I knew under that tough exterior, you were a cuddler." He laughs, fingers tickling at your side.
"Fuck off Munson." You grumble, breath suddenly leaving you in a 'umph' sound as he flips you onto your back, lightly pinning you.
"You know, you tell me to fuck off a lot sweetheart, it's not very nice." He says seriously, but you see the mischievous glint in his eye.
"I never said I was nice." You challenge, experimentally lifting your hips, pelvis brushing against his steadily hardening cock.
"Mmm, no, but what was it you said princess? Oh I remember, 'you can punish me later'." He grins. "Do you want to be punished?" He asks and you can tell this is his red light, green light question.
"Yes." You whisper against his lips.
"Yes, what baby?"
"Yes please." You all but beg.
His hand instantly moves down to land a firm slap against your cunt, making you produce a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan, back arching.
"Such a slut." He laughs, kissing you hard, fingers sliding through your wetness, before delivering another smack which has you crying out against his mouth. "Think you can handle another, you little brat?" He says hand hovering, you bite your lip nodding frantically, keening as his palm makes stinging contact once more.
"Good girl." He soothes, stroking gently at your throbbing clit, you grip at his shoulders, canting your hips desperately.
"Please." You whine.
"Please what baby?" He mutters infuriatingly, circling a little faster, teeth nipping at your jawline.
"I wanna cum." You whimper, tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to catch his lips in a kiss.
"Oh I know you do sweetheart, but you're going to have to work for it." He taunts, smirking cruelly as he withdraws his hand. "Get on your hands and knees for me princess."
You move on shaking limbs, until you're on all fours, Eddie moving behind you, his hands massaging your ass.
"Do you remember I promised I'd fuck you like this?" He murmurs, kissing along the small of your back where his t-shirt has ridden up.
"Yes." You breathe out, shivering in anticipation.
"You still want me to?" He asks, fingers tracing over your dripping slit.
"Yes please." You say, pressing back into his touch, giving him another green light.
You hear the tell-tale rip of a condom wrapper, Eddie's hand gripping you firmly about the hip as he slips in, both moaning in synchronicity. His thrusts are immediately hard and rough, pounding into your cunt, catching you off guard.
You scramble for purchase on the bedsheets, his hand pushing down on your back so your ass goes higher.
"Fuck baby, look at this pretty pussy, swallowing my cock." He pants, delivering a small swat to your ass.
"Ah - Ed's!" You cry out, shocks of pleasure sparking through your body
"You like that sweetheart, like having your perfect little ass spanked?" He coos, hitting you again, the slapping of your bodies filling the small room.
You slip your hand between your legs, rubbing insistently at your clit only to have Eddie pull it away, taking your wrists behind your back to rest above your ass using them as leverage.
"Not yet baby, you're still being punished, remember?" He jeers, using his free hand to spank you harder, the skin welting under his touch.
"Eddie, choke me please." You beg, shocking yourself.
"Jesus, you sure?" He asks breathlessly, still slamming into your wet cunt, you nod furiously tilting your head up from the bed. "Oh my god, you're something else, hit me if I hurt you sweetheart." He says frantically, ringed fingers grasping at your throat.
It's pure filthy bliss, you feel like you're imploding and exploding all at once, Eddie rhythmically squeezing and releasing every few seconds.
"Touch yourself for me princess." He groans, you do as you're told, rubbing frantically at your swollen clit, feeling him ram deeper. "Make yourself cum on my cock."
"Eddie, baby, fuck." You whine incoherently, sobbing as your orgasm hits like a freight train. He lets go of your throat, leaning over you, kissing you messily.
"Oh my god, you're so - fuck - tight around me, I'm gonna cum." Eddie grunts, hips stuttering to a halt, pulsing deep inside you. You're panting heavily, body wracked with shocks, heat blooming from your sore ass cheeks, you'd have bruises in the morning you were sure of it.
Eddie pulls out as gently as possible, but you're completely unaware floating somewhere in a boneless puddle.
"You did so well sweetheart." He murmurs softly, hands running delicately over your back. "I'm so proud of you."
You want to say something nice to him but you're so tired you settle for sticking your hand out in a thumbs up, Eddie erupting in laughter.
"Come on baby, we gotta get cleaned up and get some sleep."
"Leave me here, in my cocoon of filth." You huff into the pillow.
He responds by placing kiss after kiss to your half hidden cheek, you reluctantly turn your head to face him, so he can plant one on your lips.
"Shower, cuddle, sleep and I'll let you keep the shirt for the rest of the night." He mutters against you.
"Fine, but you might have to carry me."
Taglist: @avalon-wolf @mystars123 @lolalanaie @eddiemunsonsgf2 @eddieslildarling @bakugouswh0r3 @sidthedollface2 @81rain @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @winchester-angel @bimbobaggins69 @tuskjohnny @fckyeahlames @thecomfortgoth @alanamarie @miarosso @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @somespicystuff @eddiethesexy
Sorry if I missed anyone!
#eddie munson x reader#eddie stranger things#eddie x fem!reader#eddie munson#eddie munson x afab reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#eddie munson smut#stranger things#eddie munson x y/n#eddie x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson 18+#strangers things eddie munson#reader insert#eddie munson x afab!reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#friendly sex fic
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this is my second ask aaaaa. So what about milf!reader having 2 childs and a husband alr. And they move into another country and thei neighbour is the only one jamie bower jejaksbabs. He helps her packing out their stuff and they talk and talk ykk... after some months of the reader breaking things only for jamie to fix them the reader finally gives in and thes fuck on the kitchen counter. LOVE YOUR WORKS BAE!!!! UR SO UNDERRATED TAKE YOUR TIME <333
ahh hi my love!!! i was so happy to see you in my requests again <3 i hope you like it darling :)
Treat You Better- Jamie Campbell Bower x Reader
୨♡୧ warnings: smut!! cheating, praise and degradation! not proof read!! pls point out any mistakes loves!
୨♡୧ note: MY TAGS ARE FIXED!!! YAYY!! if you're seeing this on any tags and you haven't seen me before, check out my jamie masterlist!! i've been shadowbanned or something like that for a month now so there's quite a lot on there you may have not seen before!! anyways...
When your husband told you he had a new job, you were thrilled. Hoping it meant that you’d have more money to spend on your kids as you were a full-time housewife. You had never wished for this life, but you didn’t mind it. Your children, Max and Leah, were 2 and 10, meaning it was almost impossible to find work flexible enough around your husband’s, and you didn’t yet have enough money for a full-time babysitter, they’re expensive! So your husband’s new promotion was definitely needed. Although, you had to move for it.
Packing up your life felt strange, yet oddly freeing. In this new town nobody knew who you were, meaning you could have a fresh start. When you first saw your new house, you couldn’t believe the size of it! And the neighbourhood looked very welcoming and pretty.
All afternoon, you had neighbours visiting to introduce themselves. Which would have been lovely under any other circumstances, but you were currently chasing your children around the house, making sure they don’t get lost or break anything valuable from the dozens of boxes in the house. When you heard another knock on the door, you just sighed. Preparing to tell the person you were too busy to talk, you pick up a box and open the door.
And holy shit, you were glad you did.
“Hi, I’m Jamie I live at number 46- oh, are you busy? I can come back another time?” You stared at the man. He was beautiful. He was the kind of man that would be on magazine covers, the kind of man to model and fly across the world first class.
“Of course not! Come in!” You grinned, putting the box back down as you shut the door behind him. You walk him to the kitchen- the tidiest room in the house so far- and offer him a drink. He accepts, and then shows you he had bought a bottle of wine with him for you as a ‘housewarming gift.’ How sweet.
“So, how do you like it around here so far?” He asks, pouring the wine into a glass for you- he had opted for just a glass of water, he had to drive somewhere later.
“It’s great! Everyone’s so welcoming, the area is beautiful and- Max put that down!” You quickly rush to your son, who had picked up a coffee mug from one of the many kitchen boxes. You take it from him before any damage was caused.
“You have a kid?” Jamie grinned, waving to the little boy in the corner of the kitchen who had started to giggle.
“I do,” you smile, “two of them actually, this is Max. Leah is upstairs starting to unpack. I had them quite young- Do you have any kids?” You ask, sipping on your wine.
“No, I’m only 33! I want to one day, though. When-”
“You’re 33?!” You almost spat out your drink in surprise, “there’s no way you’re older than me! What’s your secret?”
“Now that would be telling,” Jamie laughed. You liked his company. In these few minutes, you had felt more of a connection that you have with your husband since Max was born. “Do you need any help with that?” He asks, motioning towards the box of plates, bowls and glasses that you were trying to put away. You should’ve said no, but with your husband at work any help was better than none.
“Only if you don’t mind, please?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, darling.” He says, standing up. You didn’t have the time to notice earlier that he was quite tall, and he had tattoos?! You should be careful around him. You knew this could end up getting messy.
Jamie helps you around the house, unpacking and doing some heavy lifting, you were so grateful. You end up telling him about your husband, how he’s rarely home, how he leaves you to look after the kids… And Jamie isn’t scared off- much to your surprise. Instead, he suggests helping out when he’s home, whether it means looking after Max whilst you pick Leah up from school, fixing the broken door handle on the bathroom door or even just being there for you to talk to, seeing as you haven’t made any friends yet. Although this may be quite sudden, you trusted Jamie. You could tell he had no bad intentions.
Before you knew it, it was 5pm, and your children were hungry. You and Jamie spent all afternoon getting to know each other, talking about your upbringings and childhoods, your old home town, his career as a tattoo artist, and then, as if a dagger had hit you in the chest, he told you about his girlfriend, who was currently in Malibu on a girls’ weekend, but y/n, you have a husband!
“I don’t know, what do you want for dinner?” You ask your daughter, who had also taken an interest in Jamie and convinced him to play uno with her.
“I could pay for us to get something in? There’s a Domino’s in town if you like pizza?”
“Yes please!” Leah grins, looking to you with pleading eyes.
“I couldn’t expect you to pay, not after all the help this afternoon-”
“I get discount! My girlfriend’s brother is the manager, and I’ve had dinner by myself for too long.” Me too, you thought.
“Fine.” You gave in, “but only if you let me pay for Leah and Max’s.”
—————————♡—————————
Months had passed since moving in, and you had seen Jamie almost everyday since. You met his girlfriend, Emma, when she got back from Malibu, she seemed nice enough but there was something off about her. The way she flinched when Jamie kissed her goodbye didn’t sit right with you.
To see more of Jamie on a one to one basis, you had started calling him when Max was napping, Leah was at school and your husband was working. You’d tell him you’d broken something and he’d come over to fix it, this included the loose door handle, squeaky kitchen cupboards and the broken wheel on your husband’s office chair. He never seemed to mind, he was happy to help, giving you the feeling that your feelings towards him were in fact requited.
One day, your husband decided to take the kids out for the day to ‘give you a break’, which clearly you didn’t mind, as you could only think of one thing- having the house to yourself with Jamie. A couple hours after they had left, you were dressed in only a skimpy nightdress and a long silk robe, your hair tied up messily. You found Jamie’s contact on your phone and called him, he picked up almost instantly.
“Y/n, listen I’m a bit… busy right now.”
“Oh, I wasn’t calling to ask for your help this time,” you say with a smile on your face, “I’m home alone, I was wondering if you’d like to come over? Just to talk, of course.”
“I could do with that after the day I’ve had,” he mutters, “sure. Give me 15 minutes and I’ll be there.”
Grinning as you hung up the phone, you quickly ran downstairs to begin tidying the house- making sure there was nothing on the floor to trip on.
The sexual tension between you and Jamie had drastically risen over the last two weeks, there was one time where he had held your hips in place as he moved around you- this had playing on your mind ever since it happened, you had even touched yourself to the thought of his hands gripping your hips as you-
Knock knock knock
You were quickly ripped from your fantasies.
“Hey,” you smile seductively as you open the door to Jamie. Something about him looked different, you couldn’t quite tell what it was.
“Hey,” he says back, his eyes scanning your body.
You step to the side to let him in, and you lead him to the kitchen. Something still didn’t seem right with him. Neither of you spoke for a couple moments, you just stood opposite each other. You leaned against the countertop, tapping your nails gently on the edge as Jamie typed away on his phone.
“I broke up with Emma.” He says, breaking the silence, “I found out she’s been cheating on me.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t be,” he chuckles, “I’ve been wanting to end things with her for a while now. I think I sort of fell out of love with her, if that’s even possible.”
“I know what you mean.” You say, a sympathetic look in your eyes, “I’ve been feeling that way with Rob- my husband- ever since I had Max. I don’t feel like I love him anymore, and I think he feels the same way, it’s like the spark we used to have just…”
“Vanished,” Jamie finished your sentence, coming closer to you, wiping away tears you didn't realise had rolled down your cheeks with his thumb. His hand resting on your face, cupping your cheek. “It’s like I met somebody new, and she made me realise I wasn’t truly happy with Emma anymore. Instead, it’s been you. I knew you were purposely breaking things for me to come over and fix them, it’s so obvious, y/n. I’ve seen the way you look at me, I’m not as stupid as you think-”
Not letting him say anymore, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He seemed rather surprised at first, but as he began to kiss back you realised how right this felt. As if it were meant to happen.
“Jamie,” you gasp as his kisses trail down your neck, his hands knocking your robe from your body, “I need you.”
“What do you need, darling?”
“Need you to touch me.” You whimper as he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, not caring about him leaving marks on you- you had plenty of concealer.
“Oh yeah?” Jamie’s hands move to your breasts, massaging them through the thin fabric, “like this?”
You nod your head vigorously, getting lost in the feeling. It had been years since your husband had touched you like this.
“More,” you whisper, “please, Jamie.”
“More? You’re so needy, baby. We’ve only just started.”
Giving you what you wanted, his hand slips between your thighs, and he was pleasantly surprised to feel you had no panties on, he whispered a low ‘fuck’ as he felt the wetness dripping from your cunt for him. His fingers rub slow circles on your clit as he smashes your lips together again, this time more hungry and passionate than the last.
You break free from the kiss, lifting yourself on to the counter with a little help from Jamie. You wrap your legs around him, gasping as the fabric of his jeans grazes your clit. He slips your dress over your head, revealing your body to him. Every inch of you was pure beauty, he had never seen anything like it. You were his definition of an angel, and he planned to bring heaven to you.
His face became buried in your cunt, the sounds slipping from your lips were music to his ears. He started slowly, licking a straight line from your hole to your clit, his mouth latching on to the bundle of nerves and sucking gently. Although this sensation was rather new to you, you needed him to stop. You were getting close to the edge, and when you came you wanted it to be with his cock inside you.
“Jamie… baby, stop.” You whine, his head quickly retracks, coming back up in line with you.
“Is everything okay?” He asks, slightly panicked. However you nod your head, grinning devilishly.
“Fuck me. Right here, please. I need to feel your cock inside me, please.” You began babbling as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down his thighs as you reached out to take his top off.
“Such a pretty slut,” he chuckles, looking up at you through his lashes as he lined himself up against you, “begging for my cock, wanting me to ruin her. You just couldn’t wait for me to have my fun with you, could you? You couldn’t wait for me to make you cum on my face, could you love?” He says with a groan as he pushes all of him inside you with no warning, causing you to gasp and tangle your fingers into his hair. “You like it when I talk to you like that, hm?”
All you can do is nod your head, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you was becoming too much, and as you feel his hand slide down to your clit, you could only hope and pray that you wouldn’t float away. Your mind was already fuzzy, and the feeling of his thumb rubbing small circles on your clit only made it worse. You never wanted this moment to end.
“Jamie,” you whimper against his lips.
“Yes, darling?”
You took his hand that was playing with your clit and sucked on his fingers briefly, causing him to groan as his thrust became sloppy. You moved his hand to your throat and looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“Fuck, you dirty girl.” He whispers, his grip on your throat tightening enough to make your breath hitch. After collecting himself again, he got a good rhythm going with his hips as he fucked into you. He moved things out of the way as you laid back further onto the counter, your legs still wrapped around his wait, your nails clawing at his back. You had only just noticed the tattoos on his chest and abdomen, and you thought he couldn’t get any more beautiful.
You felt a familiar tightness in your stomach, it was a delicious feeling that caused you to see stars and throw your head back when you finally got there. In 10 years, your husband had only made you feel this once- although you did have your own hand between your legs- and now Jamie had created this feeling in less than 10 minutes.
“I’m close,” you manage to say through your restricted airways.
“I thought so, just wait a bit longer, sweet girl. Hold it for me, okay?”
You nod your head, Jamie knew you were on birth control- you complained to it almost every day, the way it had made you feel sick or given you a headache. So when you told him to cum inside you, he couldn’t help himself.
“Need to feel full,” you whimper, holding tightly onto Jamie’s shoulders as you looked him in the eye, there was something about keeping eye contact whilst getting fucked that was so attractive.
“I’ll fill you up, baby. I promise- I’m so close, fuck.” His thrusts start to slow down, becoming more rough and hard than fast now, as he holds you close to him, “cum for me, darling.” He whispers into your ear, his hand on your throat squeezes the tiniest bit harder as you were thrown over the edge, getting lost in the pleasure he gave you. With one final gasp, Jamie came undone, his forehead coming down to rest against yours.
After you had caught your breath, you lightly pushed Jamie back so you could stand again.
“I’m going to clean up quickly,” you say, your hands still on his shoulders, “meet me in my room, you know which one it is, right?”
“Of course, you made me put a new lightbulb in it. Twice! In a week! I-”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry- just wait for me in there. We’re not finished yet.” You say with a final kiss to his lips before walking to the bathroom, trying to hide the fact that your legs were still shaking.
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I made the mistake of pouring my water bottle into CZ’s water bowl a few times and now every time I try to drink from my water bottle, he meows and cries at me like he hasn’t had any water in weeks (even when he has fresh clean water in his bowl)
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Summary:
Let him dictate the pace: it was something Oliver’d deemed appropriate from their first, tenterhook conversation. His first call-me-home confessional. Hell, from the natural embarrassment that led Elio to glance away at the al fresco dining table; his blush camellia-pink as they’d reworked Leopardi’s Canti into gobbledygitalian.
This is where that minor panic attack tag comes in useful...
Chapter 7
Oliver’s tempted to loosen his belt buckle as he fills the porcelain wash basin with hot, soapy water. They’d each taken turns to shower and change upon retracing their steps to the villa, at which point Elio’d removed a brimming serving platter from the fully-stocked refrigerator. It really was a feast fit for a king, and savouring a classic vintage they’d gorged on nduja stuffed bell peppers, prosciutto figs, and peppery slices of fresh mozzarella, as an adorably resourceful sheepdog scavenged for crumbs at their heels.
“I’ll scrub, you dry?” he suggests, shutting off the steaming faucet.
“There speaks the voice of domesticité…” Elio replies, snatching a gingham towel from the oven door, but with one dish, four plates, and the bare minimum of cutlery, the task itself is over quickly. “How about a nightcap?”
Oliver grins, bewitched by their reflection in the kitchen windows. “With you? I’m open to anything.”
“Brave words, mon ami…” Elio leans his head on his shoulder then pulls the plug, sending the lathery suds gurgling to the drain. “I know I promised a private performance, but if Maman’s settled…”
“Then by all means we’ll take a raincheck,” Oliver replies, sneaking a kiss before fetching the bottle from the centre island. “I ought to be unpacking, anyway. And the last thing I’d want is to upset her.”
Elio’s expression oscillates between pride and regret as he tops up Polpetta’s water. “Actually, it’s quite the opposite.”
“How so?” Oliver asks, gathering their empty glasses.
“My playing has a tendency to break through her walls,” Elio tells him, ferrying the bowl to the vinyl mat beside her basket. “Both literally and figuratively. But in light of her late-night wanderings…”
“It’s a double-edged sword?”
Elio scritches the sleeping pup’s snout. “Indubbiamente.”
Which means there’s an elephant in the room; one they’ve been ignoring since their hedonistic interlude at the berm.
“So…” Oliver says, pouring out the remaining Barolo. “Bach can keep?”
Elio sips his drink. “Bach can keep,” he repeats, wine-stained lips ripe with invitation. “Your suitcase, too. But you know what needn’t?”
He does - of course he does - and Oliver throws caution to the wind as he curtails his inner-panic into outer-nonchalance. “Us.”
In theory, it should’ve been a continuation, rather than a standing start.
Like catching a single episode of a long-running TV show.
Or picking up a cherished book mid-chapter.
Same river: different water.
In practical terms, however, making love to Elio Perlman serves as a crude reminder that even the best-laid plans are subject to revision.
Let him dictate the pace: it was something Oliver’d deemed appropriate from their first, tenterhook conversation. His first call-me-home confessional. Hell, from the natural embarrassment that led Elio to glance away at the al fresco dining table; his blush camellia-pink as they’d reworked Leopardi’s Canti into gobbledygitalian. Beggars can’t be choosers, and he refused to push him. To take liberties. To come across as opportunistic in view of his ongoing divorce. Yet encased in the sultry heat of Elio’s bedroom their bodies seem almost frozen by the magnitude.
They give it their all. There’s no denying that. But two decades of gilded cages and calcified memories aren’t readily dispelled. Neither is the foreign discomfit that manifests like some grim prophet. A whispering spectre to catastrophize the sunspots marring his faintly-bronzed skin.
The tell-tale wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
The superficial elastosis of his hands and chin that he knows exists, even if Elio alleges he’s hardly aged a day.
Mouths part, but don’t press. Tongues probe, but don’t delve. Teeth scrape, but don’t bite. It’s mortifying. Excruciating. More akin to his virginal ninth grade fumblings. By and by, the awkwardness of disappointment morphs with the terror of disappointing, and stripped to their boxers and tees it soon becomes apparent they’re fighting a lost cause.
Oliver lays the fault at jeg lag’s door.
Elio - equally unsuccessful in rising to the occasion - asks if he’s being difficult? Distant?
Categorically not.
“Then what is it? What’s holding us back?” he asks, stacking his pillows against the headboard then sitting upright. “We've been building to this all afternoon.”
Plagued by uncertainty, Oliver cups his jaw. “We've been building to this from the second we met,” he replies, a nebulous dread shocking him to the core. “I don’t get why I can’t… why it’s not…”
Counting down from ten, he studies a Tiffany lamp on the side-table; a clammy layer of perspiration fusing his t-shirt to his sternum. It’s nothing short of suffocating, and all-too-attuned with the signs of an impending anxiety attack he grabs Elio’s elbow, cracking even farther under his kindness when the other man burrows in.
“Tu vas bien…” he murmurs with infinite compassion. “Respire avec moi, mon autre. In for three… pause for three… out for three.”
Nausea pools in his gut. “Elio…”
“That’s it,” he praises, cajoling softly. “Molto buona.” Gentle fingers cover his wrist. “Would it help to talk about it?”
Yes.
No.
Always, according to his therapist. But what else is there to say in this theatre of the absurd except -
“I’m nervous.”
Elio swallows. “Me too.”
Whatever their souls are made of, they’re cut from the same cloth.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever been with,” Oliver continues sheepishly, endeavouring to compose himself. “What if I’m no good at it? What if I’ve forgotten how?”
“And what if you have?” Elio asks, combing through his hair. “Those two phenomena aren’t mutually inclusive. It is often what one knows - or thinks they know - that prevents them from knowing more, is it not? Nobody learns to walk by observing a set of rules. They learn by doing. By failing. By getting right up and doing it all again.”
Even so: “It’s fine to say that now.”
“I’ll say it after, too,” Elio persists, cradling the base of his skull, and it would be funny - the pair of them sprouting lacklustre semis - if it wasn’t completely fucking harrowing to boot. “Yesterday's the past, vita mia. Today is a gift. And whatever does or doesn’t happen in this bed bears no influence on what happens tomorrow. Comprende?”
His tone spares no argument. There are none Oliver wants to give. “Could we just…” emerges instead, and Elio must see it - the lingering storm on the horizon - because the next thing he knows he’s being shimmied into a prone position; his head supported by a slender chest as wiry arms engulf him like a splint.
“Whatever you need,” Elio says, matching him breath-for-breath as he charts the juts of his protubing vertebrae. “Let me protect you, ouais? Let me take care of you for once?”
It’s something he’d done during the post-prandial siestas of 1983. When the knock-on effect of a punishing bike ride sapped them of their energy.
Up and down.
Round and round.
An unspoken proclamation of I’m here. I’ve got you. You don’t have to do this alone.
“There’s a time for rest, and another for words,” Elio says then, the modern equivalent of try again later, and Oliver gulps back sobs of gratitude as a chaste kiss busses his temple, the lub-dub thrum of his heart of hearts lulling him into blessed slumber.
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Can you possibly do a head cannon about the boys comforting the reader during her period? 🤍
Absolutely, nonnie! This is so cuuuuute! I’m so sorry this took so long 😭
It’s only fitting that I finish this request while on my period 😂
Josh:
You had woken up this morning to excruciating cramps and much to your utter mortification a bloody spot on Josh’s blindingly white sheets. He, of course, had brushed off all of your apologies, insisting that they weren’t necessary. “It’s natural, mama, part of the beauty of humanity and being a woman and all that,” he waved his hand with a flourish and flashed you a toothy grin. You shook your head before doubling over as another cramp hit. He winced at your pain, not wanting to ever see you hurting. He quickly disappeared and you heard the water in the bathroom turn on as he drew you a bath, filled with your favorite essential oils. He walked back into the bedroom to find you hugging your knees to your chest as you held your breath. “C’mere, let me,” he said quietly as he tugged your oversized shirt over your head and pulled you to your feet. He reached for the waistband of your panties, but you shirked his grasp. “Baby,” he scolded you gently, “I’m just going to put them in the wash for you. I know they’re your favorite comfy clothes…” You loosed a sigh before stepping out of them and crumpling them up so he couldn’t see the evidence. “Thank you,” you murmured with a weak smile as he helped you into the warm water. After a while, he returned with a fresh towel that he wrapped you in as you stepped out. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you completely and placing soft, sweet kisses across your bare shoulders. “Feel better?” He asked as he pulled you impossibly close, not caring that your hair was dripping and soaking his shirt. “Mhmm…but Josh, I’m so sorry about-” you began, but he cut you off. “I promise it’s okay, baby…they’re just sheets,” he whispered as he kissed your cheek. “Come meet me in the living room?” He looked mischievous, but he almost always did, especially with that Cheshire Cat grin he wore far too regularly. “Josh and y/n movie night?” You asked excitedly and his smile widened. “We haven’t had one in so long,” you whined. “Take out too?” You asked even more enthusiastically, suddenly realizing how hungry you were. “Yup, already on the way. Our favorite Chinese place downtown, and before you ask, yes I remembered to ask for the chopsticks and extra fortune cookies,” he added dramatically.
Jake:
After a particularly long day at work, you were really looking forward to changing into comfy clothes and cuddling up next to your human heater of a boyfriend to watch his cooking shows before bed. Your cramps and bloating had been killing you all day, and you were exhausted. As soon as you stepped in the front door, a delicious scent welcomed you. “Welcome home, love!” Jake called out as you kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat and keys. You sauntered into the kitchen and found him stirring a big pot of what appeared to be tortellini soup. He was only in a pair of flannel pajama pants with his hair up in a wet bun, fresh from the shower and ready for cuddles. You wrapped your arms around his waist as you hugged him from behind, placing a kiss on his exposed shoulder blade while watching him. “Hey baby, smells good,” you murmured against his warm skin. He giggled at the sensation before replying, “Good. I know you’ve had a hard day, so I thought it might help. There’s also a bath drawn, a fresh towel, and a clean pair of cozy pajamas laid out on our bed…why don’t you go get ready while I finish up in here, okay?” You pinched his butt as you walked away, both of you laughing. After your bath and getting ready for the night, you walked back in to find Jake had already placed two bowls of soup on the coffee table, poured you each a drink, dimmed the lights and lit your favorite candles. Peak relaxation. He was seated on the couch with the remote in hand, scrolling through Netflix, trying to decide what to turn on. “You look cute,” he smirked as you walked into his view. “Jake, you didn’t say they were matching pajamas…I love them so much!” You were nearly in tears over that gesture alone. He patted the seat next to him, beckoning you closer. You obliged, sinking down in the cushion beside him. “I love you so much,” he replied as he leaned in to kiss your temple.
Danny:
From your cozy spot in bed, you could hear the front door open and Danny’s keys jingle before falling into the glass bowl by the door. The soft rustle of the plastic grocery bags as they bounced off his thigh while he walked let you know he was coming to you. “Hey baby,” he said softly as he pushed open the bedroom door. He offered a gentle smile as you turned to face him. “I was hoping I’d make it back before you woke up from your nap…but I got you a few things while I was out,” he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your lower tummy, right where you’d been cramping all morning. You puckered your lips expectantly, waiting for him to lean in and kiss you. “Thank you baby,” you replied sleepily as he leaned away. He sat the bags down on the bed, pulling out 3 different brands of variety pack tampons and 4 packs of pads. He blushed as your eyes widened, “I wasn’t sure what brand you wanted and then I realized there were sizes…” His voice trailed off as you giggled and put your hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly in reassurance. “Anyways, I called my sister and she said that you’d probably want midol, chocolate, and salty snacks, so I grabbed everything I could find,” he laughed this time, dumping out an entire bag of different chocolate themed candy bars, chips, trail mix, and the value sized box of Midol. “You’re the sweetest human in the world, Daniel Wagner. I don’t know how I got so lucky,” you beamed up at him.
Sammy:
You and Rose were cuddled on the couch, with the brindle dog resting her head in your lap as you watched tv. A FaceTime notification came through, and your heart fluttered. “Hey Sammy!” You said excitedly as the call connected. “Well hello there beautiful! How are my favorite girls?” He asked with a bright smile as he leaned back on a pile of white pillows, already in bed. “Rosie had such a good day, didn’t you girl?” You sweet talked the pup and angled the camera so Sam could see her wagging her tail. “She got to play with her friend at the park-you remember that chocolate lab that she really likes?” You brought the camera back to yourself and saw Sam just completely enamored with you, listening intently with a easy grin. “Yeah,” he replied with a laugh. “Rose,” he began sternly, “you be careful around those boys..boys are nothing but trouble.” Ever the protective dad. You laughed loudly and Sam echoed it before asking you, “What about you, angel, how was your day?” You sighed and made a face. “I started my period yesterday, so today I’ve been cramping and starving…and now I’m just missing you,” you admitted softly. “I miss you, too,” he sighed. “Oh! Flip open the ottoman really quick,” he beamed at you as he waited. You sat the phone on the coffee table, leaned against the candle in the center so he could see you as you opened the ottoman and pulled out your favorite pullover of Sam’s. You practically squealed as you put on the brown, teddy bear one that still smelled like him. “I thought you took it with you,” you glared at him, remembering him packing it in his suitcase before he left. “I was going to, but I thought you might miss me..or at least I was hoping so,” he laughed as he raked his fingers through his hair. “What else is in here?” You leaned forward only to find a bag of chocolate covered pretzels, which just so happened to be your go-to period snack. You glared at him and his cheeks blushed pink. “Okay, so maybe I knew you’d be on your period and I thought these might help,” he shrugged and you both stifled a laugh. “Samuel Kiszka, are you tracking my cycle again??” You feigned shock, already knowing the answer was yes. “I feel like I should say no…but honesty is important…” he began before pretending to glitch out as if the service was suddenly bad. Despite the “glitch” he managed to say “I love you” before the call “dropped.” “He’s such a shithead,” you thought to yourself as you giggled and opened your bag of pretzels. Rosie leaned forward and retrieved a stuffed duck from the ottoman container and you shook your head. Shithead or not, he always took care of his girls.
#greta van fleet#danny wagner#josh kiszka#jake kiszka#sam kiszka#greta van fleet headcanon#gvf headcanons#headcanon request
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No Questions Asked (Laszlo Kreizler x reader) Chapter 10
No Questions Asked tag list: @fandom-lover-4, @ajeff855, @booksarekindaneat, @greeneyedblondie44
Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee
Fuck.
When was the last time you had a hot bath or even a proper bath and not just a wash down with a damp cloth. You sighed as you sunk lower into the water. Most of the time you had to make do with slightly warmed water in a small bowl.
You could feel all the tension in your body seep out of you.
Money really did make life so much easier, no wonder the rich seemed so relaxed all the time. You glanced over at the clothes you had been given. They weren’t exactly your size but you had definitely worn worse. They were by far the nicest clothes you had worn and you were going to be needing some new ones anyway after you stint in the sewer.
You had made sure that the door was locked when you your bath however you made sure to wedge a chair under the handle. You didn’t want your secret coming out at all. You could hear voices form the floor below you and you sunk slightly below the water. You nose was just above the water line and you looked around the bathroom.
Maybe you weren’t charging Kreizler enough.
*
You practically collapsed onto the plush sofa in Kreizler’s living room. It was dark out and the fire crackled softly, bathing the room in a soft orange glow. You grimaced at the sofa and bounced on the cushions slightly. You hated this sofa because it was by far the comfiest thing you had ever sat on.
You definitely weren’t charging Kreizler enough.
You froze when the door to the room opened and Kreizler entered. The two of you stared at each other for a second and you wondered if he knew what you had been doing. If he did he (thankfully) didn’t mention it. He walked over to a cabinet and poured two large drinks.
“Where are the others?” you asked
“They left.”
“Left?”
“Exhausted after today’s discoveries.”
“Ah.”
Kreizler handed you the glass and settled into the armchair opposite you. You took a large sip and didn’t break eye contact with him. You weren’t going to let him intimidate you.
“How many bodies did you find?”
“Why do you assume that we found more bodies.”
“The one I found a very decomposed,” you said, “The one that was found earlier was fresh and the one from the other week, well,” you grimaced, “You know about that.”
“No other bodies.”
“Huh?”
“We didn’t find any other bodies.”
“Right.”
“You were expecting more.”
“From experience, yes.”
“Of course.”
“What does that mean.”
“You lived in Whitechapel. This must be something you are used to.”
Your grip tightened on the glass and you drew a shaky breath.
“That was different. They weren’t children.”
“Mustn’t have been pleasant though. To live through it.”
Kreizler took a sip of his drink and he raised his eyebrows at you. You felt a pang of anger course through you and you stood up quickly. You downed your drink, coughing as the strong liquor burned your throat.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I understand.”
You looked at him over your shoulder before quickly looking away again. You snorted in disbelief before looking back out the window. The silence was thick and heavy, the atmosphere tense.
“What was it like?”
“What like.” You tone was clipped
“Whitechapel.”
“Words can’t describe the panic.”
“I meant before the killings.”
“Hard to remember a time before them,” you said, “Whitechapel is so linked up with them that it seems like they had already happened before they did. Whitechapel was dark and probably still is. Cramped, you don’t have your own privacy. Too many people and not enough to go around. There’s never enough to go round.”
You swallowed thickly as you tried to find the words. You were surprised that Kreizler remained silent. You were too used to people trying to interject. Telling you how they could make your area better and safer. All of that sounded good but more often than not it was all about people trying to make themselves look better in the eyes of their peers rather than any moral cause.
“It’s better here,” you said, “Not much but better. No dead prostitutes.”
“Only dead children.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I understand.”
You raised your eyebrows but didn’t comment any more. Kreizler didn’t really understand, despite his best efforts.
“It’s late,” you said, “The others had the right idea. I should leave.”
“Are you sure it’s safe for you-“
“I’m used to Whitechapel,” you said, “I can handle myself. Good night Doctor Kreizler.”
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