#I still have to properly write out the entire lead up to this

[askinkiskarma]

I have a lot of thoughts about arcane and rather than dealing with them on my own i thought i would try to write them out and see how other people feel and maybe have a conversation about it, because the beauty of art is sharing it and seeing it through your own eyes, as well as others’ - the beauty of art is its ability to ignite and spark a conversation… a change.

Arcane is very important to me, because of what it represents - humanity, in all its aspects and kaleidoscopic facets, in all its glory and in all its misery. What made it unique is how inherently relatable and universal the feelings and experiences the characters go through and how inherently human their problems are at their core, and whilst they were able to keep a lot of those sentiments in season 2, I feel by act iii they forsook a lot of what made arcane special.

Very rambly thoughts ahead, I do apologise, and please tell me yours, I would love to speak about it and process it.

To me arcane was always about class struggles, about oppression, about what happens to the oppressed when they are pushed to the brink, about how that affects a person’s journey and their fates, and putting faces to those struggles on both sides of the equation - vi, an orphaned child who was forced to grow up too quickly and parentified to the point she felt like she had no value outside of being a protector; jinx - a brilliant mind who fell victim to trauma because there was no one able to help her outgrow it or deal with it; silco - a man who has seen the oppression first hand and chose to fight it regardless of the sacrifice it took. I could keep going and going but Arcane was a phenomenal display of character and morality, and an almost perfect attempt at the shades of grey that make most of us who we are. No character was without flaw, and no character was unjustified in their actions in their own minds and due to their own particular set of circumstances.

I think most of the gripes I have with season 2 stem from two overarching themes: time and ambition. But before I go into this, let me praise it for a bit because despite all my grievances, I still think it is the best animated piece of art of all time and I still think it's better than 99% of anything I've ever been invested in. Although almost redundant to even talk about, I want to shine a light onto the animation. I have to give so much credit to every single person involved in bringing this series to life, because it is a spectacle from the first frame to the last, and the amount of talent, effort and passion it took to do this can never be put into words.

I will bring up things I loved about it as I'm talking what I didn't, because they are very much entrenched. My biggest complain about season 2 is that, the fact that it was only one season. I believe everything they've set out to achieve and every plot point they introduced could have been properly addressed and done justice in in one more season, and therefore, none of the problems I'm about to go into would have ever been an issue.

Imagine this: season 2 starts exactly as it did, with the first three episodes dealing with the aftermath of jinx's actions and the loss that drives Piltover into deplorable reactions, with Caitlyn and Ambessa at the helm, descending into fascism, Cait driven by blind rage and the prejudice she's been fed her entire life without an active effort into trying to overcome it, Ambessa driven by ambition and desperate attempts to one-up the Black Rose organisation. However, the season progresses differently - to me, this conflict and its consequences should have been what this season was about.

Simple yet deeply impactful, tackling the themes they set up in the last season, tackling the intricacies of what would lead the characters into their actions - for Cait, expanding on the way grief, fear and guilt makes you regress back to your most ignorant, primal, selfish self; for Vi, the way a lifetime of being told she's responsible for everything and everyone and her unbridled desire for love and family made her abandon her core principles and join the people she hates in order to kill the monster she thinks she's responsible for creating; for Ambessa, the way her deeply embedded and deeply repressed fear of the Black Rose coupled with the Noxian belief in strength and sacrifice and war made her give up one her core beliefs that warriors are forged through blood sweat and tears and not through magic and reach out to Singed, therefore becoming an almost caricature of herself etc etc etc.

That coupled with the overarching conflict between Piltover and Zaun, how Piltover's actions are the breaking point for Zaun, as well as the personal conflicts between Jinx and Vi, Mel and Ambessa, Vi and Cait, potentially Jayce and Cait once Jayce realises Cait has become someone she would have absolutely despised just a few weeks ago, would have made for a compelling and powerful season that kept to much of the themes of the first season and could have been the stepping stones for a larger conflict that could have been introduced but not expanded in this season - Viktor and the Hexcore, the bigger battle between humanity vs the arcane, the Black Rose and their involvement in everything.

Season 2 would introduce Isha as a positive role model for Jinx and a way that Jinx would be able to be rescued from the nothingness her life had become - Isha could have been a symbol for Zaun, and the reason Jinx would decide to become the face of the revolution for Zaun independence. Season 2 could have ended with the Jinx and Vander moment in the prison, or with her reaching out for Vi after her KO in the pits. Season 3 then could have dealt with everything else, and been a great way to introduce other characters and other conflicts (Mel and the Black Rose), which I assume will be part of the next series about runeterra.

I think this season and what it was trying to achieve was great, but its biggest downfall was that in its ambition, it fell short of what made it great. Because whilst the fighting and the animations and the moments we did get with the characters were great, there wasn't enough time to make them justified or fleshed out, and in that, we lost the essence of what people loved the most about Arcane - the eye to detail, the accuracy in character writing and portrayal.

I loved seeing Cait and Vi together and I loved seeing them get into conflict - I did not, however, love that Caitlyn went from being a dictator to redeeming herself in basically one episode with no consequences for her actions. Vi should have been mad, she should have been furious, she should have held her accountable and she didn't. I wanted them to have a much earned sex scene, but not in a prison, which overlooks the insane amount of trauma Vi has suffered in Stillwater and how insensitive doing it there comes across as.

I loved seeing Jinx and Vi reunited - but for a story that started and was always at its core a story about two sisters, there was not nearly enough done to explore their very complicated and tumultuous relationship and bring it to a satisfying conclusion. Not one scene in which they talked about their issues, where they opened up about the past, where they resolved anything before Jinx eventually died, and then, not even one scene of Vi mourning her or what her death represents to the overarching story or to Zaun.

I loved seeing Jinx get better, and her character was actually the highlight of the show for me this season, but a lot of it felt rushed and not properly explored - by the beginning of act 2 she seemed basically perfectly sane, and even after losing Isha, she seemed perfectly in charge of her emotions and was able to surrender herself and make perfectly rational decisions, which doesn't seem in line with all we know about jinx. Not to mention Isha was never mentioned once in the whole of act 3, and neither did Jinx becoming a symbol for Zaun amount to absolutely anything in the end.

I hated how much like the fandom, and the characters themselves, the writers seem to overlook Vi completely. She got the short end of the stick at literally every turn and I thought she would have gotten a semblance of justice in the end, but she didn’t. She forsake everything she knew and believed in because Jinx needed to be killed - Jinx was actually better and fixed herself without any of her involvement, so she betrayed herself for nothing. She finally opens up to Cait and cries in front of her, begging her not to change because she’s already lost everything - Cait betrays her like 5 minutes later and attacks her, abandoning her, then comes back like nothing happened and Vi doesn’t give a shit and forgives her immediately. Finally gets Vander and Jinx back? Loses them both again in the span of a few days. SHE EVEN FUCKING GOT A BAD ENDING IN THE HAPPY ALTERNATE UNIVERSE WHERE EVERYONE ELSE WAS HAPPY LIKE WTF. I could keep going and going about Vi and all the ways she was done wrong but I’d be here forever so let’s move on but #justiceforvi

I liked the Jayce and Viktor conflict and I actually believe everything they've done with that they handled well, since it was basically the main plot of the season, and I loved the way ekko's storyline intertwined with theirs, but this could have been handled even better in a season dedicated to it, and I wish it hadn't come at the expense of Jinx, Vi, Cait and the conflict between Zaun and Piltover. Watching this show felt a little bit like watching season 1 of game of thrones and then halfway through season 2 we're actually in season 8 and the white walkers are here and nobody cares about the iron throne anymore and everything that happened we're supposed to forget about and focus on jon snow vs the night king and it's so confusing cause I kinda cared about Ned Stark and who killed Jon Arryn and i’m kinda still mad that Cersei killed Lady and I’m still curious about Bran and his visions and Varys and the importance of choosing a leader who cares about the small folks and and and ???

This is such a long post and I’m very sorry and I’m writing it on my phone so it might not even make sense but I needed to get some of it out because this has taken over my life.

I probably will have more thoughts as I’m processing this more but for now pls tell me i’m not alone and pls tell me your thoughts 🤍

[chaosandwolves]

since I was granted a freebie would you mind telling me about Wait for me to come home? 👀✨

Hehe

Yes this is a cuuuute one if I may say so

I was thinking... what if something happens to Connor and his wife and Buck ends up actually being the father of his son?

And as tragic as it is, and as scary as it is, it makes him happy.

But it's also overwhelming af but the 118 got his back.

Eddie got his back.

Buck moves in with the Diaz boys so Carla can look after both Chris and the baby when the boys are working.

And they so naturally transition into being a proper family together that weeks later, it takes Eddie a whole five minutes after leaving the house to realize that he just kissed Buck good-bye... On his lips…

A lil snippet of what follows

If he sits in his car for 10 minutes outside his house the next morning before he gathers the courage to finally go inside, no one has to know.

And no one has to know how he can feel his heart beating in his throat and how his hands are clammy and how he feels like an awkward teenager as he walks through the front door.

He takes deep breath and ignores the slight instability around the edges of his voice when he calls out, "I'm home!"

For a second he thinks he might be in luck and Buck is out running some errands.

But then he appears in the door frame of his bedroom with his son resting content in his arms against his chest and Eddie's heart skips a beat.

Eddie doesn't know what to do and remains frozen in the hallway, his head simultaneously way too frantic and way too quiet to be able to come up with anything coherent.

Buck, however, doesn't leave him hanging for long.

He moves out into the hallway, takes two steps before coming to a halt right in front of Eddie. His voice is so rich and smooth when he greets him with a soft "Hey," that it sends a warm shiver down Eddie's back.

But instead of reacting to this greeting like a sane adult, Eddie, for some inexplicable reason, raises his hand and waves.

It's not even a proper gesture, just some awkward little movement of his hand as he replies, "Hi."

For a second he's convinced that Buck can hear how violently his heart is hammering against his chest and that he'll call him out on it.

Buck, however, grins one of these grins that spread over his entire face and that lights his eyes up so that they take on the color of a sunny summer sky.

And Eddie gets so lost in it that his brain forgets to process what happens next.

Buck leans in, the grin on his plush rosy lips growing even wider and suddenly these exact same lips are pressed against Eddie's.

He can feel how Buck breaks into a full on smile under the soft touch of their lips before he pulls back and Eddie can see Buck's eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and joy.

"Welcome home."

Eddie blinks and before he can gather his thoughts which had evaporated the second he felt Buck's lips brush against his own, Buck turns on his heels, walks into the kitchen and nonchalantly announces, "I made pancakes, abuela's recipe," as if he didn't just rattle Eddie's entire world and moved it off its hinges.

Eddie blinks again, his fingers rising up to touch the spot where he can still feel the kiss lingering on his lips. And for a moment he just stands there in utter disbelief and pure awe.

Eventually, Buck's voice brings him back into his body when it sounds from the kitchen over the familiar rattling of the espresso machine that Buck insisted on buying, "Cofffee?"

Half laughing, Eddie breathes out and briefly shakes his head to reactivate any functioning brain cells which he's not sure exist anymore in the first place.

But then he at least finds his voice again. "Yeah, yeah."

A soft smile remains on his lips as he follows Buck into the kitchen.

[cosmic-waves7]

could u write karma with a s/o that doesn’t get into trouble? Kinda like an opposite like they’re still outgoing but the type to never skip and only wanting straight A’s and are kinda sensitive in contrast to him? (🫶🫶ur writing is so cute idk if you still write for karmaa aaa!!😭)

Note: I will NEVER stop writing for karma 😤😤😤

Honestly?

He doesn't even really notice you at first.

Another student in class-E, just like any other.

Obviously that is until you managed to score higher than him in maths during exam season.

It started off as a miniature rivalry, very one-sided might I add.

He'd come to you smirking by the end of the next exam with a mark higher than yours only to be surprised when you smile widley and congratulate him.

Every. Single. Time.

Huh?

You're not supposed to do that, your eyes are supposed to burn with determination and annoyance. You're supposed to snatch that paper from his hands and wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

Clearly not.

Its not even a fake smile, there isn't even a hint of malice in your eyes.

It's almost as if you're happy for him.

You don't even know him, not properly at least.

This really changes perspectives for the assassin so now he's shifted into doing everything in his power for your recognition.

Which doesn't seem to be very hard to gain as he notices that you're a bit popular in class.

Not entirely popular, but if students come up to you they'll only get a sweet greeting every time as if they're a long-time friend of yours.

You're basically Koro-sensei's golden child. Wide sparkling eyes every time you put your hand up in class to you answer his questions, he could weep at how adorable you are.

Everyone comes up to you for anything really.

Help with homework, a quick check in, or just to talk. You're always so easy to talk to, so gentle all the time.

Even Itona will quietly chat with you in a corner.

You're just so...approachable.

In Karma's eyes that's unfair. He needs to catch your attention and now.

Maybe to prove something to himself or just boredom, he doesn't need a reason.

So now he's the one asking for homework help. He can answer the questions in his sleep, you know it too.

He's still gonna play dumb, tap you on the shoulder and muster up his best clueless look.

Even in class, Karma has "coincidentally" managed to switch seats to be your desk partner.

You didn't hear it from me but maybe an octopus-like teacher has something to do with that.

Anyway.

Now that you're basically knee to knee with him in class, this allows karma to charm his way into your every day life.

Constantly stealing away your time with anything he can possibly think of.

He'll do this thing where he just wraps his arms around your shoulders and sultry whine into your ear.

"_____, help me please?"

He'll even throw in a pout.

Nagisa has to pry him off of you.

You don't even ask why he's suddenly around you nearly 24/7, you're just glad to be of help really and though you think he's a bit strange he's quite sweet.

A well known charismatic (possible) sadist, but sweet.

Class trip? He's sitting next to you on the bus.

Getting ice-cream? He already knows your favourite flavour.

Study session? You'll need to work together, being the two top students in class it would only be sensible to partner up for academics. This lead to him coming over a lot and vice versa, need to keep those grades up you know.

Spending the weekend at home? Don't be silly, you're flying to the country of your choice on a whim with a certain red-haired 'friend' of yours.

Having rich absent parents really does come in handy sometimes.

But this whole game is tiring him out.

You've gotten close, yes. He's flustered you plenty, yes. But you haven't confessed to him at all!

It's infuriating.

He wants you to like him at least, because he's teetering on the edge of obsession for you.

Because 'friends' don't hold hands all the time, they don't hug longingly or stay up late thinking of the other.

It'll all click in to place when he just goes red in the face, kisses your cheek once and just spews his feeling out like a flood.

"I like you."

"...Oh."

(⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ )

Coughing, he'll look away and pretend like nothing happened while trying desperately to renew his previous charm.

can the ground just open up and swallow him already, oh god.

“I…like you too.” you shyly smile

karma.exe has stopped working

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[colourstreakgryffin]

HELLO! If you are taking requests can you do a Dazai Osamu! Reader with Alastor, Lucifer and Husk? Both romantic and platonic please. If you are uncomfy with it its perfectly fine!

Hehe! Okay. I actually haven’t gotten Lucifer or Husk yet and I like both of ‘em! I’ve written about this character before, Dazai Osamu but since it’s different, I’ll try it but i am sorry, I can’t manage over six over six-to-seven headcanons for the three boys in both platonic and romantic so just romantic it is! I hope that’s okay!

Alastor

Romantic

Alastor feels like he has to have you on a leash 24/7 and whilst it’s annoying, he wouldn’t mind being near you all the time. You’re a cunning and sophisticated person but you’re also quite suicidal and lazy at times so he has to have a eye on you all the time to ensure he won’t walk into you trying to make a joke, out of stabbing yourself

Alastor is quite protective. You’re a suicidal maniac and you even openly say to him you want to properly die with him, die with a handsome man and he is repulsed by this idea so he has to always cling you onto him to control your very bad habits and bad mannerisms. He will get you over them eventually, as your boyfriend, he cares about your health and he is thankful that you reciprocate

Alastor is glad when you’re more into your funny, caring state. When you’re more of an approachable and good person. Because then, it’s a golden opportunity to bond with you and not act as your damn suicide prevention police. He much prefers when you’re not fantasising and being picky about how you get erased then fail to complete these processes

Alastor’s quite impressed by your skills. You’re the strongest and youngest mafia leader back in your human life and your current sinner life so you have the passion you act you don’t and you’re more mature then you behave as. He is proud when he can watch you take charge and lead around the Hotel with your own knowledgeable being the main guide

Lucifer Morningstar

Romantic

Lucifer is a goofy sweetheart so you bet your ass that he is very good at keeping you passive and giggling, away from your dark mind. You’re always smiling and joking around with the King of Hell since he can handle you very well. He is as caring but he treats you like you’re made of glass. Something he won’t stop doing until your obsession over suicide dies out

Lucifer likes how mysterious you can be. You’re not entirely open, which he understands whilst being immensely open himself. He will just have to win your trust and your ability to express yourself over time as your new partner. You’re dark and enigmatic, if not the opposite of Lucifer and it’s a wonder why he likes you so much and he could write a book about why he likes you

Lucifer loves how committed and willing you are. You’ll do even the most shady things for him and he always feels both extreme pride and the extreme desire to scoop you up in his mighty six wings to kiss your face off. You’re so loyal and you do so much for him, it’s not a surprise that he sticks to you like he’s glued onto your hip

Lucifer is actually quite protective to you. He doesn’t want you touching even the smallest weapon, even if you’re an adult as well but because of your mental issues and how suicide trigger-happy you are. At least, you do have a good sense of humour and have a fun-loving side through how much you tease people, it’s adorable! Lucifer does like them, it, for some reason, soothes him hearing you play around more genuinely

Husk

Romantic

Husk is a grumpy, quiet but yet patient and considerate man. He may be older but he is still caring and makes a wonderful partner. Especially for this carefree and relaxed soul, one who expresses their suicidal tendencies quite a lot. Husk knows about your suicidal desires and for that, he has such a sharp’s tiger eye on you

Husk(in reality, of these three boys) is the most healthy to date. He is gruff and emotionless on the outside but compassionate and gentle on the inside, he is a Tsundere at best and he doesn’t mind being stern with you when you’re falling down a rabbit hole or trying to harm yourself like it’s some comedy show. You’re life is beautiful and you need to see that

Husk relates to you a lot, on deep levels. You’re both lonely, you’re both lazy, you’re both basically done with everything but you have each other, you both hide your real selves and your genuine personality under a armour of behaviours, so Husk acts as the proper one for you two. He tries to encourage you to join him whenever-wherever and to try put your wits and intellect to good use. He’d feel so proud of you if you did

Husk always sticks around you. He never leaves you alone, he doesn’t want you hurt so he takes you to bed with him, he cuddles you to his side whenever you’re both walking, he even comes into the bathroom with you. He does it for many reasons, mainly because he feels so comfortable with you

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and��

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[livelaughlovesubs]

OKAY SO LIKE I WAS WATCHING BSD AGAIN SINCE I WAS BORED AND MY MIND SHIFTED TO SAIGIKU

His senses are like super heightened riight? SO THOUGHT HE'LL GET OVERWHELMED SO EASILY BY A FEW TOUCHES

WHAT ABOUT NOT A FEW TOUCHES? LIKE GETTING A BIT ROUGH WITH HIM?

POOR BABY GETS OVERWHELMED BUT IDK HE TRUSTS HIS LOVER VERY MUCH?😭💖💖

Whats that word ag ain

OVERSTIMULATION!

(I barely see ppl writing sub saigiku :(()

Ahhh, he’s so cute though, him with his ketchup Mayo hair ^^

Dom!reader x sub!jouno - reader is gender neutral (like always)

Warning: teasing, hand job?, tongue kiss, nipple play, sensory deprivation (cuz he blind-), overstimulation, spanking (thighs), hickeys, bites, scratching, a little manhandling

At first it was just kisses, gently brushing your lips against each other, like a couples first kiss. Your hands wandered around his body, taking the lead with suggestive touches. You cupped his face, after that your hands wandered to his waist to hold him as you two made out. The light touches made him feel fuzzy, it was as if you were teasing him with a feather. Fingers dancing across his chest, making short stops around his nipples to play with them properly. All of that was done with one finger, running up and down his torso or circling the area around his pink buds, you wanted to stimulate him with as little touches as possible.

It was to test the water, to see how much he’s enjoy it. Surprisingly, or as planned, he was already shaking. Jouno was just so sensitive whenever it came to you, and you utilised your advantage to the fullest. “Ughhmm~ y-y/nmHhm..!” He tried to call out to you, hoping that you’d stop with the games. In truth he was embarrassed about getting hard over something like this. Instead of responding as he wanted, you bit his bottom lip and pulled. The bit was harsh enough for it to become bruised and he yelped in surprise. “Ah-ahh..!?” You took the chance and shoved your tongue into his mouth, causing him to gag for a moment.

Then everything gradually became more aggressive, the once innocent pecks turning rougher. No longer were you only kissing him all shyly, instead, you grabbed his hair and locked your lips with his, causing him to be trapped in your arms. “Mhmm…guuhHgh!” He groaned, unable to hide the growing excitement he felt. That’s when one of your hands left his waist and moved up to his chest again, flicking his nipple before pinching it. You rolled it around between your fingers, watching it become harder the longer you play with it. Jouno immediately tried to move away, but your hand was still yanking on his hair. Poor boy couldn’t do anything but scratch your back while whining desperately.

“NghHH..~ mHHMhg!!” He tried to pull away again, a pathetic try to escape all those overwhelming sensations. The anticipation and fear was eating him from the inside, he had no idea what you would do to him next and it excited him. Not to mention how his senses were heightened compared to regular people, which did not help his current situation. His nails were digging into your skin, and it hurt, at least it would have hurt if you weren’t so focused on the male in front of you. You didn’t even noticed the new wounds he was inflicting upon your body at this point.

The other hand has been teasing his pelvis the entire time, now you finally went further than that and poked his tip. That action alone was enough to draw another moan out of the male, he was literally melting in your affection. It became even more noticeable after you began rubbing the head, running your thumb over his slit. Gosh, he was so sensitive there it was driving him insane~

After much consideration, you decided to be nice to him and released his locks. Some of his strands were ripped off by you and dropped to the mattress below you two. “GaaAhh..! Ughh, wah-ngHghh… y/n, yo-you..!” Saigiku pulled back the moment he noticed you loosening up your grip, face all blush and red while tears decorated his cheeks. Then he started trembling like crazy, all while complaining, “to-too much!! Ah, I-i can’t take… anymo-moreee!! ♡♥︎～”

How adorable, he’s like this already when you don’t even consider this the beginning? You couldn’t hold back a cheeky smile, the hand around his crotch moved even lower, this time slapping his thighs softly. The fingertips were covered in precum, so now there were strings connecting his inner thighs with your hand. Your other hand was groping his toned pecs now, while you leaned down and lined your lips up to his ear. “Your tits are like a girls~ aren’t they cute?” Then you licked his earlobes, coating them with saliva as they reddened. “No-Noo… stop, nghh, don’t tease me y-y/n! Tis’ too much.. ♡ ah-aAAhNHgg”

Not long after you trailed off and sucked on his neck, leaving behind as many hickeys as you pleased. You even took special care to place them there where others would see! Then you’d also mark and bite him, ravaging him like his body was a canvas for you to paint. He sobbed so sweetly, hiccuping and whimpering whenever you’d touch him a tad too much. His dick twitched around, sometimes even hitting his own tummy. The tip was a dark crimson due to all the relentless teasing, it was leaking precum uncontrollably. All this overstimulation was driving him into a corner, he was so close to begging you to let him cum.

Suddenly you pulled back entirely, ripping him of any stimulus he previously had. “Ah! Hu-hUghnn..!? Wait- why did you..Nhh, s-stop..?” He asked you, the expression he wore one of confusing and despair. Don’t stop, you can’t, this wasn’t nearly enough for him! You smirked, he could guess you did just from experience. Then you gave him an halfhearted explanation, chuckling as you said, “I thought I was doing you a favour since someone looked like they were about to die from how good it felt.” Like a curse his lips were sealed tightly after that, he had to pause for a few minutes to get his act together. After returning to his senses he bawled his hands, which were still wrapped around your back, into fists before pleading sweetly, “do-don’t stop…please.”

[ohnococo]

Sleep Tight | Hiromi Higuruma x Reader

Higuruma’s job leaves him busy, which means the two of you spend far too long as two passing ships, unable to indulge your urges.

He asks for one night to catch up on his sleep, then he’s all yours - but it turns out his body isn’t quite willing to let him make it through that night without being taken care of.

❥ WC: 2.4k

❥ Notes: a request for @bas-writes - Higuruma is so fun to write, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

❥ Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, SOMNOPHILIA (reader receiving), fem bodied reader/no pronouns used, established relationship, wet dreams (mentions of grinding, oral sex/deep-throating), mentions of masturbation, mentions of semi-public masturbation, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, creampie, sleepy sex

Higuruma feels like a complete fucking idiot.

He’d been pulling all-nighters for weeks now. Coming home well after you were asleep, then forced to get up and leave only a handful of hours later. His work was hard at the best of times, but not even having the respite of time with you had turned it into something much like running a marathon in lead shoes. But the only way out of it was through, and when things had finally settled down you were so eager to make up for lost time.

But… that extended lack of sleep and all of that stress had caught up to him. He’d apologised and apologised again and it still didn’t feel like enough, but he just needed one good night of sleep and he would be on you like it was the last day of your lives the following morning, he’d promised. And you’d accepted, being the caring partner that you are.

Except he didn’t even make it to morning, not properly. Or rather, Higuruma wasn’t counting it as morning, considering the sun wasn’t even up yet. But here he was, barely rested, still so tired he felt almost delirious. And here he was, so fucking hard his balls hurt and he thinks he might have discovered you can actually be so horny that it leaves you with a pounding headache.

It’s not the first time he’d woken up either. The first time, he’d opened his eyes, realised he was humping the mattress, and checked the clock to see it was midnight. You weren’t in bed yet, and he was still exhausted, so he ignored the stirring in his pyjamas, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Then he awoke and found himself hard again, cock pressed against the heavy duvet, trying to tent it despite not standing a chance against its weight. It was past uncomfortable at that point, but he turned to look at the clock and see those gently lit numbers telling him it was only just past 1 am. Once he’d heard you sighing next to him, he’d realised that you’d only just come to bed. It felt unfair to wake you, especially when his limbs still felt so heavy and he was tired enough that rolling onto his side was a feat. So again, he readjusted himself, and fell back asleep.

The next time he’d woken up, it was around 3 am, and he’d decided that his pyjamas weren't helping with his discomfort, constricting the erection that had returned once again, this time accompanied by a dream of you sitting on his lap and grinding against him. He’d groaned outright at that point.

First his work keeps him from sleeping, keeps him from you. Then the accumulated tiredness keeps him from you instead. And now, the result of so many days without satisfying his insatiable need for you keeps him from getting the sleep he needs to solve his little problem. An endless loop of torment for a man like him, who is more insatiable than most.

When he’d tried to adjust himself in search of a little comfort, he’d found his clothes sticky and clinging to him, precum having made them nearly translucent over this stressful night. He’d done what he could, sliding them off and kicking them out of the bed entirely before letting himself doze back off with that small semblance of relief.

But now it’s 4 am and his cock is throbbing, rudely interrupting his dream of you waking him up with your mouth on him. It was so vivid he’d almost been convinced it was real until he turned to see you were lying next to him, asleep, and not between his legs looking up at him from where his cock was buried in your throat.

Higuruma groans, wiping sweat from his upper lip, staring at the ceiling with his arms helplessly by his sides. He decides that his body won’t be letting him get any sleep until he solves this problem. Then he decides his mind had been admonishing him for being so selfish. Taking all the extra hours he can instead of delegating his work, denying your offer to empty his aching balls, and here he was dreaming of only his own pleasure. So he decides to focus on you first, at least enough to ensure you get yours. He slowly slides the duvet off of you both to pool at the bottom of the bed, and feels almost giddy at his absolute luck after his poor cock had been through so much turmoil.

It’s as if it were meant to happen, with you laying on your back, legs spread, shirt shoved up from tossing and turning of your own. You’re so ready for him, ready to be touched, that he can’t turn back now. He crawls slowly, pausing when the bed creaks or dips too low, until he’s settled himself between your legs. Face to face with your thinly veiled pussy, he can see a wetness of your own has formed, nearly outlining the contours of your slit, and he has to bite his fist to stop from groaning at the sight. It solidifies it for him, sheepishly jerking himself off over on his lonesome side of the bed could never be an option after looking at you in this state.

He moves his face closer, breathing you in, releasing that breath shakily onto your skin, and presses a slack tongue to the damp fabric. His eyes snap up, watching your reaction, but you only let out a breath barely louder than the last. He licks slowly, slowly upwards, eyes rolling as he gets a hint of the taste he knows so well through that dampened fabric, and when even that doesn’t do much to wake you, he concentrates his efforts on your clit.

It’s swollen enough to make its pert little self known through your clothing, and when he flicks at it with the tip of his tongue you let out a deep sigh. It has that little hint of something more that makes him realise that you’d almost certainly been just as pent up as he had. As his guilt at leaving you high and dry swells, so does his cock as his mind inundates him with vivid images of you clenching your thighs and squirming while missing having him there in your bed. Images of you frustrated, whining his name when your fingers and toys couldn’t do what he could. Images vivid enough that they almost felt like visions of what had indeed been happening in his absence. You, left here touching yourself night after night but finding those orgasms didn’t quite go as deep as they needed to without his cock and face and fingers to ride.

That’s more or less how the weeks had gone for Higuruma, when he felt like his head was going to explode during his late nights at work and the only way to stop it was to lock himself in the leaky bathroom on the abandoned floor above and beat his dick hard and fast while scrolling through whatever sweet little pictures you’d last sent him to remind him that you were home and waiting and meals weren’t quite as nice without him there to enjoy them with. It was never really satisfying, just a means to an end so he can think of something other than whining into your neck while you milk him dry.

It makes his heart clench, saddened and flattered at the unconfirmed but may-as-well-be-true-to-him thought that you might be helplessly fucking your pussy to thoughts of him. That maybe you were even dreaming about it now, like you couldn’t have the real thing, and you hadn’t - for far too long for how insatiable the two of you had been during your seemingly endless honeymoon phase. Higuruma thinks that he’ll never make you go so long without him again, even if he has to fuck you in his office, even if you have to climb on his cock while he’s passed out and dreaming of you sitting on his face.

These thoughts and the taste of you on his tongue act as a pincer attack on his hazy mind. It makes him forget himself, swiping his nose at your clit as his tongue busies itself trying to press at your entrance through the thin cloth keeping him from you. It’s not gentle, or subtle, but Higuruma isn’t thinking straight, not now that his mind is sending him on a spiral of filthy thoughts about how he needs to make you cum so hard you forget every night you’d been alone. He licks and nuzzles and sucks until your underwear are clinging to every contour of your pussy and even then he hovers so very close to grazing his teeth along your folds before he just catches himself.

It’s too much, because it’s too little, and his aching cock begs him to take care of you both as soon as possible. By the time he’s sitting up to settle between your spread legs his hands are shaking, and he has to hold his breath to steady them as he peels the sodden fabric away from you and pulls it to the side.

The way you glisten in the moonlight has him emotional, enough that he swears there are tears welling in his eyes - a pressure relieved by letting out a low sigh, shaky and distraught, as he pumps his cock in his hand and lines it up with you. Half of him wants to toy with you further, gliding his head against you, seeing if you’ll mewl for it the way he has to hold himself back from crying out for you, but the other half wins out as his cock throbs just from the lightest touch against you.

He pushes in, and the sticky sound of diving into your wetness makes his stomach clench, eyes rolling back as he bites his lip to stop from making the pathetic noise his body so badly wanted to release. He starts to push deeper, pausing and shaking his head as he realises it’ll just leave him cumming far too quickly, and that’s not what he’s here for right now, so he pulls back. His knees slide forward, nudging at your legs gently, as he repositions himself and starts making shallow thrusts, his tip just reaching deep enough to press and slide until he has your lips parting to release soft moans and your chest rising and falling faster and faster.

He grazes the pad of his thumb over your clit, holding his breath when it makes you clench around him, so he does it again. You only get wetter for him as he goes, warmer, more malleable as you beckon him to sink deeper and fill you completely, but he knows he has to wait, for both of your sakes. So he shuts his eyes, head falling back as he keeps the first few inches of himself lazily working at you, knowing he’ll get there eventually even like this.

You sigh, and squirm, and clench him again and again, sounds of your bodies like a wet squelch of a kiss as you work his tip even in dreams, and Higuruma doesn’t dare look at you - knowing that’ll be the end of him if he sees exactly what he’s feeling below. Instead he works his way just barely deeper, willing himself to enjoy the journey until that telltale clenching lets him know he can let go fully.

But his hastily laid plans change as you let out a moan and your knees lift towards your chest, a sound too loud and a move too big for you to still be sleeping. He looks down to find you looking as desperate as he feels right now with your curling toes and clenching hands. He doesn’t know when you woke up, but he knows you’re awake now, even if your eyes are closed, and your hands are down by your sides gripping the sheets tightly. He thrusts deep, for the first time in too long, and it makes you open your eyes, coming face to face with him as the tight squeeze of being buried so fully sends him bucking forward and catching himself with hands on either side of you.

“You’re awake.”

You laugh, breathy, clenching at him with the sound as he sets a new pace of long thrusts, “You’re fucking me.”

The hot breath of his laugh collides with yours as he gives you that lovesick smile that only has your pussy desperate to be ruined by him, so you wrap your arms around him and kiss at the corners of his mouth as you instruct him to finish what he’d started. “Go on, then.”

It’s playful, a soft challenge that has him hissing as he settles on his pace, heavy balls slapping at your ass as he makes sure you feel every inch of him you’d been without. He tries his best to keep his movements steady, but is all too aware of how he stays buried deep a little longer before pulling back with each thrust. He goes on like this until he’s barely leaving your heat, the thatch of hair scattered at his base rubbing against you with his desperate rocking.

Then you’re squeezing him tight, with arms and legs and pussy alike and it has him crying out. His full weight falls on top of you as all of his energy goes into thrusting - and staving off his body’s desperate call to release until you’re good and ready to squeeze it out of him on the tail end of your sleep-heightened orgasm. He sucks at your neck, sloppy and wet and barely muffling his shuddering groans until you’re finally cumming on his cock and rocking yourself up into his movements.

He sputters, whines, lets hot breaths loose against your neck as he cums right alongside you with the pull of your hungry heat. It’s a relief so great that it leaves him feeling boneless, like he was floating with only your body to keep him from drowning face down as his body and mind reset after cumming so hard after so long.

It’s much the same for you as well, with Higuruma acting as a weighted blanket over your body, the heat of him staving off the chill of the room as your skin cools down. He’s drifting off first, as is expected with such a tumultuous night, and you follow suit, only half thinking of the earful he’ll be getting in the morning for cumming inside of you.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

for bucktommy prompts - tommy smiled as he looked down the aisle at his extremely soon to be husband.

This prompt actually came at the perfect time because I already had some semblance of an idea on my head, so thanks for pushing me to write it!

If anybody else has a prompt, send to my ask and I'll write a little something something ❤���

********

Buck nuzzled further into Tommy's warmth. He'd slip beneath his ribcage and tightly wrap around his actual heart if he could. Tommy squeezed his arms around him tighter

"We should probably get up." He said placing a kiss on the top of Bucks head.

"I don't wanna." He replied muffled into Tommy's chest.

"Me neither, kid, but we've got a big day ahead, plus an early flight tomorrow - I'd like to be at least somewhat prepared."

Buck knew he was right. The plans had all come together in a rush last minute. One minute they were discussing ideas for Bucks birthday, and the next the plans were made, tickets bought, and bags were packed. Despite Tommy insisting, much to Bucks chagrin, that he leave the clipboard at the station, everything had ran pretty smoothly. Mostly because Tommy was the one doing the organising. He may not have had a clipboard but he had a way of making sure things were done properly.

"What time is everyone arriving, again?" Buck asked.

"Food is coming at 6pm, everyone arriving 6:30pm."

"So we have some time then.." Buck climbed on top of him. Tommy always struggled to resist Bucks advances. The way he so eagerly wanted to show Tommy how much he loved him. He indulged Buck for a few moments, leaning up into his languid kisses, before gently pulling away.

"Hold that thought til tonight." He said, half lifting Buck from him.

"But-"

"Nope. Later, Romeo." He placed a kiss on his forehead and got out of bed.

***

"I still don't understand why we had to get this dressed up." Chimney complained pulling at his shirt collar.

"Because it's Bucks birthday and he wanted a nice celebration. Besides, it'll be good seeing eveyone and not have half of you in uniform or dirty turnouts."

They got out if the car and Maddie took a bag from the trunk.

"Whats that?" Chim asked.

"Oh just some party favours Buck asked me to bring."

"There's my favourite girl" Buck greeted them at the door immediately picking up Jee-yun into a hug.

"Look at you!" Maddie admired Bucks deep burgundy suit. "It's nice to see you dressed like a grown up." She teased. Buck smiled.

"It is a special occasion. Gotta make some effort."

"Since when have you thought birthdays were special?" Chim asked.

"I think that's kind of obvious Howie.." Maddie answered pointing behind Buck. Tommy walked toward them in a navy blue suit so perfectly fitted it had to have been tailored she thought. He smiled them and reached a hand to stroke Jee-yun's hair.

"Hi sweetheart."

"Hi uncle Tommy!" She excitedly responded.

"Hey guys." He kissed maddie on the cheek and gave a hug to Chim. Everyone else is in the kitchen"

"Yeah sorry were late. Someone wouldn't leave until she found her rabbit." Chim gestured to Jee-yun.

"No problem. Come on." Tommy and Buck led them to the back ontonthe kitchen where the rest of the 118 were. A buffet was laid out along the entire length of the counter, and an array of drinks sat on the island.

"Finally!" Hen called out to Chim as she walked over. "Whats with the curtains?" She asked pointing to the heavy black drapes covering the bifolding doors that lead out to the back deck. "That ocean view is the best part of this house."

"Uh.. there's a problem with the deck. Couple of the boards have weakened, and didn't want the kids to go out there when it's not safe." Tommy answered. Chimney noticed a look between him and Maddie buy didn't acknowledge it.

"Ah. Good thinking."

"Happy birthday, kid." Bobby said walking over.

"Thanks cap."

"You looking forward to your trip?" He asked.

"Trip?" Lucy asked

"Buck here is abandoning us for two weeks to go on vacation." Chimney answered.

"Ooh where you going?" Lucy.

"I'm taking him to a cabin in Vermont." Tommy replied kissing Buck on the cheek.

"Stop being so adorable" Lucy responded.

"Is everyone here?" Tommy asked Buck.

"Yeah, I think so."

"You ready?" He leaned in and whispered quietly into his ear.

"I am." He smiled warmly back. Tommy nodded knowingly at Maddie.

"Right, I think it's time for some real celebratory drinks." She announced before removing a couple of bottles of champagne from the fridge?

"Champagne? Fancy!" Lucy declared taking a glass. Maddie handed everyone a glass and asked for everyone's attention.

"I just wanted to wish my big little brother a happy birthday. I know that you wouldn't want to share this day with anybody else than those here in this room. I love you so much and I'm so ridiculously happy for you." She raised a glass and everyone followed suit.

"Happy birthday!" They cheered together.

"Also! I think Tommy has something to add.

Everyone looked to him standing a little awkwardly. The man fought fires for a living but standing in a room full of people made him nervous. He hated being the center of attention.

"Thanks everybody for coming. So, as you know tomorrow Evan and I are going on vacation-"

"Boooo!" Eddie called out eliciting a laugh from everyone.

"However, it's not just a typical vacation were going on."

Everyone's faced were a wash of confusion.

"You getting married or something?" Karen suggesting jokingly. Tommy and Buck looked at one another with a smile neither of them could hide.

"Wait.. you're.. are you eloping?!" Chimmed asked. Everyone was standing wide eyed waiting for the answer.

"Uh.. not exactly." Buck answered. "We're going on our honeymoon." Tommy moved to the back and pulled away the black curtains to reveal the deck.

Chairs were placed all around - a mismatch of them, begged and borrowed - facing two small potted palm trees, a few feet apart wrapped in twinkling lights. More twinkling lights and lanterns hung all above and around giving the whole deck a beautiful warm glow.

"My uh.. my sister was right." Bucks voice was a little croaky, thick with emotion. "There's nobody else we would rather share this moment with that you guys. Our family." He turned his attention to Bobby. "What do you say. Cap? You wanna marry us?".

Bobby smiled broadly.

"My pleasure, kid."

There was a few moments of silence before the room erupted into joyous noise.

Oh my god!

Congratulations!

I can't believe it!

You sneaky son of a..!

The next 10 minutes were spent with everyone embracing them both. And chastising them for keeping it a secret.

Maddie opened up the bag she had brought in, took out a box and opened it to reveal an array of small  buttonhole flowers.

"Wait, you knew?!" Chim said to Maddie.

"Of course I did. Who do you think helped decorate?"

"I knew two of those chairs looked familiar. They're ours! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Howie, I love you - but you can't keep a secret to save you're life." Chimney started to protest but quickly conceded.

***

"I can't believe my little brother is getting married." Maddie told Buck after pulling him aside. Everyone else was taking their seat outside.

"I know, right?" He said, almost not believing it himself. "Is it.. is it weird that I kind of wish that Daniel was here to see it?" Tears formed in Maddies eyes, remembering their brother.

"No, its not weird. I think he'd be happy for you too." She said with a sad smile. "But hey, mom and dad are going to lose their mind when they find out, so you have that to look forward to."

"They're only now just starting to accept I'm dating a guy - I did not want to have to deal with their thoughts and feelings about marrying one. Besides they missed your first wedding so really im just carrying on the Buckley tradition."

Maddie lightly smacked him on the arm. He raised his hands in defence.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry." He laughed.

"Seriously, I'm so happy for you, Evan." She brought him into a hug.

"I'm happy for me too."

***

"So Buck told me you dont have a best man?" Eddie asked Tommy as they walked outside.

"Actually I wanted to talk to you about that." He turned his attention Chimney. Chim looked around before looking back at Tommy.

"Me?"

"You saved my life. I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for you." Chim smiled at him. "More importantly, if you hadn't of called asking for my help I wouldn't have met Evan. So all this-" He gestured to everyone taking their seats on their beautifully decorated deck "-wouldnt be happening if it weren't for you."

Chimney sniffed away the emotion he felt and reached out to shake Tommy's hand.

"Absolutely." He smiled and Tommy pulled him into a hug. The same type of hug he gave him after he saved his life - tightly held with his face against Chimneys to show just how grateful he was.

"Speaking of best men, you better go see if your boy is ready." Chim told Eddie. It was a given be would be Bucks best man.

Things started to quiet down as eveyone started to settle into their seats. Tommy stood at the front. Chimney to his side, looking towards the doors waiting for the love of his life to come out.

Tommy thought that it was only when you were about to die that your life flashed before your eyes. As he stood waiting, heart thumping in his chest so hard he thought for sure everyone could hear it, he thought about all the choices and moments in his life that lead to here.

All the hiding, all of the hate, all of the heartbreak. His parents, the army, even Captain Gerrard. All people and experiences that pushed him further away from who he wanted to be. Further away from happiness. He thought about all the times he'd come home from work to an empty house. All of the birthdays he'd spent alone. All those moments that he was convinced that he would never be loved.

As his eyes swept across everyone sitting in front of him - Chimney, Hen, Bobby, and everyone else he'd gotten to know at the 118 since they reconnected - his heart warmed even more. He finally had the one thing he had yearned for since he was a child. A family.

And as Maddie pressed play and the sound of Lauren Daigle's 'Hold On To Me' began playing out, the biggest smile spresd across his face as the most beautiful man he'd ever had the privilege of knowing walked out and he saw the rest of his life walking towards him.

Evan.

***

Tommy helped a drunken Lucy into Hens car, the last of the guests to leave, then walked back into the house and closed the door behind him. Buck was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, waiting. Tommy walked towards him slowly.

"So, Mr Kinard, what do you want to do now?" Buck closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Tommys neck.

"Show my husband how much I love him." Then he crashed his lips into Tommy's.

[grandline-fics]

HEYYYYYY

I really love your writing so much and I am glad the requests are open

Can I request a fem reader and law in which both of them has a crush on each other but no one will admit it ?

Until they get into and argument and law gets so mad and confesses??

Angst angst angst to fluff pls

And thanks for all ur work!!

DESCRIPTION: mutual pining but fear of admitting your feelings leads to an angry confession

WARNINGS: angst to fluff

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,563

A/N: Thank you for this request! I hope I brought enough angst and fluff for you. I struggled a bit with getting the scenario in my head to properly work so hopefully you like it!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

-------

“I am your Captain, this isn’t up for debate!” Law snapped, glaring at you from across the room, the harshness in his tone making all of the others in the crew freeze in their preparations for approaching the surface. It was almost as if the slightest movement would bring their Captain’s fury onto them. You bristled from his words, returning the glare in full force. Why was he being so difficult about this? All you wanted was to get off the Polar Tang and stretch your legs, feel the sun on your face again for the first time in what felt like an eternity. But no, once again you happened to be one of the few chosen to stay behind. “Well maybe it should be!” You shot back.

It was meant to be a random draw so things were kept fair but it seemed you always ended up being left behind. The last time you’d managed to be on the surface was far too brief for your liking, a quick restock trip with no time to enjoy relaxing with your other crew-mates. Those left behind on the Polar Tang had set chores and tasks to see to while also being vigilant of any trouble approaching the ship while it was under water and keeping an eye on the island for any signal the Law and the others needed help. You were tired. “There’s plenty still staying behind here, they won’t miss me!” 

“The choices were made. You’re staying on the ship.” Law repeated far too evenly and you couldn’t help but flinch at the note of finality, if you pushed anymore he really would get angry. You clenched your jaw and threw him one last furious look in the hopes to hide how hurt you were before turning on your heel and storming out of the room. With every furious step you took, you berated yourself. Why were you putting up with this? Why were you backing down? Well because it seemed like you were a glutton fro punishment. You had feelings for your Captain and you’d rather stay on the crew and under the water than risk him throwing you off the crew entirely. You just wished you knew what you’d done to make him regard you so lowly.

When the slamming of a door echoed back into the control room, Law sighed and left in the opposite direction to finish gathering his things for when they reached the surface. It wasn’t until you were both gone that the rest of the crew let out shaky breaths. This wasn’t the first time this argument had risen between the two of you but this time the atmosphere was definitely worse. 

Law couldn’t help but hate how he spoke to you and the look on your face made him feel so much worse but this was something he had to do. He wouldn’t admit out loud that he was having feelings for you but he did. He knew he did. That was why he refused to risk your safety, not after the last time he let you join him on a new island. You two had been exploring old ruins and he had indulged in the moment with you, smiling slightly and even giving the odd flirty, witty comment back at you. Then because of his incompetence, his lack of usually sharp observation he hadn’t noticed the floor crumble until it was almost too late. The image of your startled expression and body falling towards the spikes underneath the ground still flashed in his mind uncomfortably. If it hadn’t been for his ability you would have been gone forever. It was selfish, he knew it was but he had to keep you safe.     

Later that night when he and the others returned, you tried to hide how hearing them laugh and talk about all they had seen filled you with bitter jealousy. You knew you couldn’t handle sitting through the rest of the night hearing their stories that they’d share with the others left behind this time who were eager to know what they missed. Quickly you welcomed Law and the others back on board and excused yourself, ready to just stay in your room until morning. As you were about to leave you were stopped by Law taking your arm. You roughly pulled out of his grip and kept walking. He was the last person you wanted to look at and you hated how much you wanted to continue feeling his hand on you, in spite of all he’d done.

For the next few expeditions to new islands you stopped putting your name forward, knowing there was no point in getting your hopes up briefly just to be crushed again and again. Instead you just got a head start on the tasks that would need doing. However one day you froze when no one put their name forward. “None of you are going?” Law repeated, looking around the room. He was going to kill them. It was a rule that no one could leave unaccompanied, after some past incidents that included him. 

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“I think I my allergies are acting up.”

“I went last time.”

“I think I caught Penguin’s allergies.”

The excuses floated around the room pathetically and Law ground his teeth together. Slowly he looked to see you standing against the doorway, staring him down with arms folded. You weren’t going to ask. If he was so desperate to go on land he had to be the one to speak. Swallowing then lump in his throat, Law forced the repeated image of you almost dying out of his head and let out a low sigh. “Go and get ready.”

Finally on land you let in a long breath of relief and couldn’t help the broad grin stretching across your face while the wind lightly fell across your skin. It felt like part of a weight had been lifted off of you. Some weight still sat squarely on your shoulders and you cast a glance in the direction of its cause only to frown when your Captain quickly looked away from you. Sighing you rolled your eyes and walked across the beach, heading for the trees. Unknown to you Law was fighting his own guilt. Getting to see you smile, really smile for the first time in ages had thrown him. He’d missed seeing that part of you. Quickly he was able to fall into step beside you, staying close in case of any danger but still he kept out of encroaching in your personal space. You were pissed at him and he deserved it. 

“So let me guess, another five minutes and you’ll come up with an excuse to go back?” You asked dryly. Now that you were both out of earshot from the others it felt like now was as good a time as any to air out what his issue was with you. “Can’t have me disgracing the name of the Heart Pirates by being seen on land.”

“When have you ever disgraced the crew?” Law asked, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the rainforest terrain.

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’ve been pretty much demoted to the ship’s maid with no explanation other than ‘Captain’s orders, stay on the ship.’ I just want to know what I did.”

“Nothing. You’re-”

“If you say I’m overreacting or reading too much into things Trafalgar Law I will punch you.” You growled angrily, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I am not stupid. I know you’ve been manipulating the draws to make it that I stay on the ship and you owe me an explanation!”

“Because I care about you!” Law snapped finally his hands gripping your shoulders tightly, forcing you to look at him. “I was barely able to protect you last time. I couldn’t risk it happening again or worse, not being able to prevent something worse from happening. I’d never forgive myself.” You stared up at the man with wide eyes, your lips opened lightly as you tried to register the declaration. You were also slightly confused about what he had meant about ‘last time’ but when you searched your memories you remembered it. The ruins and him saving you from being skewered from a pit full of spikes. 

“We’re pirates, Law.” You told him when you finally found your voice. “I had a bounty and a wanted poster long before I joined your crew. I know the risks that this lifestyle brings and that includes the possibility of getting hurt. But you’ve hurt me a lot this last while, even if you thought it was protecting me.” 

“I know and I’m sorry.” He muttered, watching your hands lift to settle over his that still gripped your shoulders. “I swear I didn’t intend for you to think I thought you were weak, I-”

“I know, you care about me.” You smiled warmly. “I care about you too, why do you think I put up with that nonsense for so long? But you have to make it up to me.”

“Yeah? How do I do that?”

“For starters you can kiss me.” You smirked watching Law freeze in surprise. Taking advantage of his momentary state you secured your grip on his wrists and pulled him forward. “It’s not up for debate, Captain.” 

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Came across this in a fic again and I have to vent for a moment here: Ed's hair isn't unclean or not taken care of. Ever. Even at his lowest, in the first two episodes of season two, his hair is light and blows with the wind, it's got perfect waves, there is zero grime in it. Impossible Birds Ed hair has clearly been fairly recently washed, combed out and conditioned. Ed canonically loves soap, and you don't get that hair without owning a comb or brush and frequently working oil into it. He's at sea! The air is salty! It'll dry out your hair, but Ed's hair doesn't ever look dried out. The day he decides to commit suicide he puts his hair up into a lovely bun, with whispy stands framing his face. I have no idea what some people are watching, because Ed taking meticulous care (and most likely also putting pride and love) into his hair is clear, on-screen canon.

Like, if you want to write about how he was neglecting himself in his depression Kraken era? There's plenty there for you on screen as well! He sobs all night, probably sleeps on the floor if he sleeps at all. He doesn't wear his knee brace. He drinks and does drugs (and admits to that being poison to Frenchie!). He's pushing everyone away, he's pushing himself hard into a role that made him passively suicidal even before the breakup depression. He doesn't watch his back during raids At All. There's so much self harm there to address. If you want to, it would probably be plausible to add him not bothering to properly care for any wounds he might obtain during a raid. But he clearly doesn't neglect bathing and hair care. They're probably the only elements of self-care he actually still does during this dark time!

Even rock bottom Ed doesn't neglect his hair. And that says things about him! It's also something I'd love to see actually addressed in fic (will probably write it myself one of these days...): Taking good care of his hair, putting on jewelry, doing his makeup, these are things that seem to bring Ed joy or relief in his darkest moments. Where's my fic about these quiet moments of self-care being a straw he clutches to when everything else is terrible?

I love a good bathing together/doing each other's hair fic. It's intimate and loving! And Stede and Ed are prime material to write a mutual caretaking and bonding over it couple! Ed canonically loves soap and taking care of his hair! And Stede brought an entire fucking bathtub on a ship, the wonderful madman. S1 Stede's hair is always carefully curled, and we know that's not its natural state (it's wavy but not in this manner) from seeing him in S2, away from his certainly plentiful bath and grooming equipment. Stede probably has an hour of daily hair routine! We know he has nice smelling, probably expensive soaps. Where's the fic where they share in this?

There's so much potential! They can show each other their favourite care products! Sometimes they'll work on each other and sometimes not at all! Ed's rich hair oils will make Stede's hair all sticky and weird! Ed will think it's hilarious and adorable, he'll try to ruffle his hair and make it stick up worse and Stede will pout! 🥺 He'll look like this, just with weird spiky hair! One ill-advised day they try putting Stede's curlers in Ed's hair and then they almost can't get them back out because Ed's hair is so long and has lots of natural wave and it'll cling to the curlers and it's awful (they laugh about it afterwards, once Ed has very carefully brushed his hair out again and it no longer pulls at his scalp).

Makeup was a thing done by men and women at the time, especially for aristocrats (as seen in Episode 5), so Stede will know his way around hoity toity makeup, meaning rouges and whites (contained lots of lead, yuck!). Meanwhile Ed does pirate costume makeup for Blackbeard endeavours, that's a whole different thing. And both of these are makeups they don't actually enjoy doing (Stede avoids heavy makeup for the party, and Ed's Kraken makeup is part of his whole Everything Is Awful And I'm Making Myself Feel That look). But we see Ed do nice makeup that seems to be him! On his supposed to be final day on Earth, he cleans away all the Kraken coal, he cleans up his cabin, he gets rid of drugs, booze, Izzy (everything that was harming him), he does up his hair really nice and in a style that's very much Not Blackbeard, and he puts on a gorgeous bit of eyeliner that really brings out his eyes. And now that they're safe and happy together, when Ed decides he wants to look pretty today, not only can Stede lose his marbles over the look, Ed can also show him how to make his own eyes pop like that. They can stand in front of their mirror together, giggling and trying not to poke anyone in the eye.

Like. This is a fancy bathroom items for fancy bathroom items couple. They will bond over their love of bubble baths and nice smelling soaps and soft oils for hair and skin! They will learn each other's routines and how to do them just right for them. Let Stede learn that Ed loves his baths scalding hot (Stede has to wait a while for it to cool before he joins him in the tub because he'll get all pink and lightheaded). Let Ed learn how to put in Stede's curlers for him if Stede wants his hair to look extra fluffy the next day. Let Ed learn to massage Stede's back and Stede learn to massage Ed's knee. There's so much potential for loving caretaking with this ship. The trope doesn't at all require Ed to not know or not want to take care of his hair and hygiene. Fuck's sake.

[eldritch-spouse]

i cannot believe no one has suggested this

imagine zizz walking in (or waking up to) on his queen humping one of the plushies

[This isn't exactly what you want it to be, but I had a massive brain vomit moment. Fem reader. There's art in this one.]

TW: Plushophilia (??? There's a doll monster is what I'm trying to say)

Rare are the days where you wake up alone in bed.

Zizz actually sleeps in quite a bit later than you. Granted he usually also settles down for the night much later. Nevertheless, it has become a habit of yours to wake up between his arms, tucked under his chin, or perhaps even being spooned, his hips somewhat restless behind yours.

It must have become an increasingly important aspect of your routine, because you find waking up alone to be more and more insupportable lately. So much so that you groan, immediately disappointed as soon as you register reality- No extra warmth, no gentle breathing beside you, no rumbling purr or claws petting across your hair.

Part of you wants to close your eyes, roll to the side, grab the nearest pile of softness and go back to sleep- Waiting for your King to return so you can wake up properly. And yet, another part is also restless.

What is he up to?

It's not as if you're worried about Zizz, he's probably busy with some project you can't be fucked to care about, but you're almost... Indignant. Some petty little voice in you demands you find the King and plop yourself on his lap, impeding him from working any further as punishment for denying you wake up affections.

When you yawn and make to get up, a slight tug is felt on your arm. Reflexively looking back, you find several of the stuffed companions you share with the ruler crowding your side, as if knowing you intend to leave and attempting to beckon you otherwise. It's tempting.

But not enough to halt you.

Because only a few moments later, you sluggishly take a stand, moving towards the large doors leading out of the bedchambers. All is fine until you turn one of the handles and... Nothing moves.

It actually takes your sluggish brain a couple of static-fillled seconds to register that. The realization followed by another tug, a harsher one to the twin handle, a fierce shove. Nothing. Not a budge, nor a creak.

They're... Locked?

In the relative darkness of the room -Kept this way to cater to Zizz's light-sensitive eyesight- You only note the piece of paper stuck to the left door after an embarrassing amount of jostling the fancy handles. Irritation makes you rip the notice away, squinting so as to make sense of the scribbled writing.

" Your excellence,

I lament to inform you that King Zizz has been called for an extremely urgent matter that requires his immediate attention. Under his command, I was instructed to keep you inside the bed chambers at all costs until his arrival. According to Lord Zizz, it should only take a little while. You may even still be sleeping by the time he returns.

Regards,

Jayde. "

Fury makes you crumple the sheet of paper into a ball, chucking it at the doors as if the force alone would cause them to suddenly part ways.

He's just going to keep you locked up in here like a doll? Like some pet?! The nerve.

For as much as Zizz says he loves you infinitely, incidents like these really serve to highlight a bitter truth you often turn a blind eye to. That he thinks less of you, that he doesn't trust you to handle the smallest things on your own. Maybe because he thinks you can't, that you're so limited to the point of having to be kept in a bedroom like some child.

Mind ping-ponging between all sorts of unearthed emotions, you consider behaving in exactly the way he seems to see you- By throwing a petulant tantrum befitting of someone truly as limited as he thinks you are. And just as a not so smart voice in your head congratulates you for such a thought, a touch halts that process entirely.

You jolt slightly, glancing down. One of the stuffed dolls from Zizz's endless collection lies on the carpeted ground, little rounded hand outstretched towards your foot. Have you seen this one before? It's hard to tell.

He's cute, a crocheted demonoid made of a mix and mash of pink yarn hues. The only other color on him is black, on his wide button eyes, a silk bow around his neck and his adorable tail adorned with jingling bells at the bottom. Why, he's so lovable! Is this one new in the King's collection? That doesn't make sense, Zizz would have shown you if that were the case, he always does. It must have been one you just don't get to see as often- Lord knows some of them are perpetually buried in the ocean of fluff and warmth that suffocates this room at times.

" Aw, aren't you cute? " You coo at the little thing, eyeing his little curved horns as you speak mostly to yourself. They listen however, you know they do.

" You want me to stay? If you reeeeally mean it, I guess I can... "

The choice isn't there, you're just trying to make yourself feel better and avoid getting angry until Zizz comes back.

As soon as you turn back, jingling and rustling can be heard. It's not cause for alarm, you're well aware these cotton and silken entities move on their own frequently, especially when no one's looking their way -It stopped being creepy after the first few days- So you assume the little pink thing is going to crawl back to its resting spot now that you have been successfully convinced to drop the doors.

Instead, you feel a much bigger pair of hands quickly shove your back. You yelp, a clumsy foot catching on your flowing nightgown and swiftly sending you tumbling onto the bed. It'd be lying to say that a small inkling of fear didn't course through you, steadily growing as you gather enough wit and reflex to roll around on the mattress and spot your assailant.

At the foot of the bed stands none other than the same plush you just talked to.

But he shifted.

Now much bigger, the yarn that once composed him has become a finely molded pattern over a much more humanoid form that shifts and moves exactly like your own. An amused, definitely mischievous smile creases the edges of his soft cheeks, covering up a bit of those button eyes- Surprisingly expressive for a thing that's supposed to have a fixed expression. It's extremely odd to admit this, but the more you look at him, the more weirdly attractive he becomes in spite of his strange fabric-based biology. Part of you almost wants to reach out and touch him.

Mild apprehension doesn't allow you to.

These creatures only shift into bigger forms of themselves when there's a good reason for such. Like imminent danger, intruders, tasks that require more refined figures. Most of the time, from what you recall being told, they're content to ragdoll and observe things or simply become inactive. So why is this one so active? Does he think you're going to try to escape? Yeah right, no amount of luck could make it happen.

" ... Buddy? "

The plush monster perks up, and when the ringing of tiny bells hits your ears, you realize he's wagging his tail happily. Not a second later, the yarn entity has climbed atop the bed and looms over your form with great stitched glee in its face. You don't even get to ask him what's happening before the pink thing sinks to snuggle against you in a warm hug.

He's so bizarrely soft.

As the monster silently rubs and nuzzles his head everywhere on your neck, chest and cheek, you can only marvel at the almost unbelievable smoothness of his... Skin? Not really. The sensation is so new that you don't even deign to think too much about what's happening, happily giggling when you bury your own face in the pleasant pink fuzz of his of his head. Okay then, he's just feeling affectionate, you can deal with that. In spite of the plush texture, experimentally grabbing at his arms reveals that there isn't as much give to him as you'd expect, like something more solid lurks beneath that friendly and deceitfully fragile exterior.

You toy with his bow a little, twirling the ends as you sigh.

" I'm not leaving, you know? I can't. "

He nods under your chin, face dipping towards your cleavage as smooth claws edge up the length of your legs. And while you allow it to happen, the gears start turning in your head. They're not really supposed to do that, are they?

You've seen many of the dolls shift, seen them perform a couple of menial tasks, asking for attention, but you never saw them... Being so bold. Sexual even. Are they capable of that? You'd like to think you're not a pervert, but built so well as this one is, maybe this is his function. You have caught the King with pillows and stuffed bedmates between his legs before- It wouldn't be that surprising if they're meant to do this from time to time.

But then... The one currently groping your thighs... If you let him continue, would you be cheating on the demonlord? No. Surely not, right? He uses them for pleasure too, it would be hypocritical of Zizz to become upset over something like this. You hope, at least. Still, you're not sure how to feel about it.

As you lie there still, deliberating on the situation unfolding, his shiver-inducing dance over your legs reaches your thighs. He's gentle, massaging from the outside, upwards, gripping your hips, then following the line of your panties back down to your inner thighs, a sensual and slow stroke that has you relaxing and sighing in pleasure. You recognize the motions, these are gestures Zizz likes to use on you, to hear you softly moan and smile, spreading your legs for him further. It shouldn't surprise you that some -Or all- Of his plushies would know how to touch you too. They're constant observers.

He looks content to have you so pliant beneath him, and you're sure the monster would be rumbling like its master if it was capable of making sounds. The frequent jingling of his swatting tail is evidence enough of his approval. Yet, as pleasant as this is all being, you reach for those pink wrists when a claw tries to slide your undergarments aside.

" Hey. " You start, having to squeeze a little so he puts his whole attention on your face. The doll monster tilts his head. " I'm... We shouldn't do anything, Zizz isn't here... "

The entity tilts his head more, as if not really understanding where you're coming from, silence stretches on for a small eternity between you, your heart pounding in your chest.

You can admit to yourself that it's more than a little thrilling to give this a shot. To see what it's like to bed one of the King's stuffed dolls. After all, there must be a reason he likes them so much... But you don't want to go too far. Not without knowing more.

" We can't- Uhm, we can't have sex, okay? " Gods you've never cringed at yourself so hard.

The doll seems to flinch at the mention of sex, horned head shaking frantically as he quickly removes his featherlite fingers off your figure entirely. Though a smile stretches his yarned cheeks when he wags a finger at you, proceeding to use both hands to frame... His slit.

Because it can only be that between his legs. It's the same exact color as the rest of his body, blending together amidst all the rounds of fabric that compose his body. You can't be blamed for having missed it at first. More important however, is the strand of white yarn stitched over said area, in the same way you'd sew someone's wounds, though with a small bow at the bottom.

It takes a bit for you to piece what it means together.

The monster reaches to try and slip a finger under the yarn, trying to dislodge it off him, but it seems to be well secured. He then casually taps your groin, then his, shaking his head again.

Ah.

" Oh! " Your eyes widen. " So you can't... It doesn't come off? " Penetration is not on the table.

The pink doll nods. Honestly, you have no idea what kind of cock this type of being can have...

" O- Okay. " That does make you feel better about things for now. Though it begs the question. " Did Zizz put that on you? "

Another nod.

His brows furrow as he seems to be thinking of something for a few quiet moments. Then, a tad suddenly, the doll moves off you to thump soundlessly beside you on the bed. He spreads his legs some and makes an eager beckoning gesture towards you.

Not really understanding but too curious to deny him, you do as told, getting the picture when he slides one of your legs over his right one, making you straddle it. This time, when he looks at your face and slowly slides your panties to the side, there's no misunderstanding between you.

Not that your face isn't heating up at the implication.

The monster's chest shifts and his mouth parts like he's mutely lauging. And it makes sense, the doll has probably seen you and Zizz get up to some pretty shameless stuff in this very room, he likely thinks it's hilarious that you're hesitating to do something as simple as ride his thigh.

" Oh shush. "

Soft claws rub down your back, cupping the globes of your ass underneath your gown and starting a slow, luscious rhythm on his leg. The monster happily allows you to adjust, learn what angle provides the best friction on your clit while he kneads and gropes greedily at your cushion.

You don't really consider yourself to be much of a humper.

Of course, you've done it before a couple of times, the difference here being that none of the things you used would stare knowingly at you, would smirk when you shuddered in pleasure or even minutely push back against your movements. They wouldn't squeeze approvingly at your hips and waist, reach to fondle the peaks of your tits- To say that a plush lusts after you would be madness. At least until today.

Restless thighs clench around his own as you speed up, rocking harder, grinding yourself, soaking his fabric in your own chase for a peak that you didn't even know you were craving so bad up until now. Distantly, you wonder how many are watching now, if they feel any jealousy towards the brave and lucky plush that dared make a move.

Unfortunately, you're having trouble getting there on your own, cursing underneath your breath while your body tenses and coils but never enough to trigger that sweet release. There's no way he doesn't see you struggling and sweating on him, the little bastard's likely just enjoying the show. Ugh.

" Mm- Finger me, please. "

And yet, no matter how sweet your tone was, how you used manners, he didn't budge, smile climbing further up his rosy face as he shook his head, tail thumping on the sheets. The blatant denial makes you halt entirely, frowning.

" Wh- What do you mean no?! " That sounded a lot more aggressive than you meant it to be.

But still, these monsters are servants, their purpose to fulfill the royalty's orders, that's what they strive for. If you tell one to touch you a certain way, surely they'd be more than happy to do so, right?

The entity merely shakes his head again. You're getting a little annoyed by that gesture, even if it's one of the few ways he can actually communicate with you coherently.

Your arms cross beneath your chest, not so much mad as you are confused. " Aren't you technically supposed to obey me? "

The doll shakes with laughter again, and part of you almost wants to push him right off the bed, hormones still jumping in your system. He wags an index again, then wiggles his fingers above his head, between his horns.

As he repeats the motion, you can finally focus enough to make sense of it. He's trying to imitate the blob of energy that his master sports between his own horns. That little thing you've tried to grab before even though it's touch averse, slipping between your digits right at the moment you think you've got it.

The message is clear- He obeys to Zizz specifically.

You make a 'tsk', rolling your eyes at the monster. " So you're not going to help me? "

Another shake.

" Not even a liiittle bit? " And you reach a hand beneath the silk of his dark bow, scratching at his chin.

The contact has him leaning instantly, attitude faltering, his response coming in a clumsy shrug. A sort of "We'll see".

Fine.

Undettered, you offer him no more sweet talk when you resume the previous pace, caring none for his comfort as you steady yourself on his abdomen to harshly thrust your hips on his leg, almost jostling him for a second. The plush monster's tail wags near violently, apparently loving this newfound roughness.

You're not sure what has him so enthusiastic out of nowhere, but any suspicion drops immediately at the first hint of the bumping and grinding his own leg against your twitching cunt, hands eagerly helping you spread yourself. He practically fucks you onto him, seeming to shiver in his own weird manner at the high and whiny noises you belt out.

When your orgasm crashes upon you, the pink creature doesn't slow down, making sure to milk it as hard as he can, he himself enjoying getting humped while you finish, soaking him further in your arousal. Your legs are still rocking gently, the first aftershocks settling in when-

" I'm glad you were able to entertain yourself. "

The way you jump off the monster nearly has your soul leaping out of your throat when you whirl around to find none other than Zizz sitting by the edge of the bed, chin framed by his palms as if he were watching a movie unfurl.

" D- Did-? " How long was he actually here for? How come he manages to be as silent as a mouse when he's so huge?! " I'm so sorry- "

The demonlord huffs. " For... What exactly? "

" I- Well- Your-...? " You glance beneath yourself to the plush monster still laying beneath you with a slightly smug smirk on his face.

Zizz nudges you off the doll carefully, tugging him down closer with a lot less care as he removes his veil. Wide eyes blink in panic, you assume he's going to maybe hurt the entity or chastise you for making a mess of his treasured collection piece- But surprisingly, he clutches the toy's leg and casually licks the slick of your climax that wasn't rapidly absorbed by yarn.

O-Oh okay.

The other seems to like this well enough, letting himself ragdoll, once again wagging that jingling appendage.

" ... He was only doing his job. "

The King releases his minion, sparing you a lidded look.

" You can use me now. "

(As a bonus, here's what the ""doll"" looks like.)

[hungharrington]

okay but could you please write something about steve’s reaction to the reader thinking her boobs are too small for him? because i needed it yesterday and it’s all i can think about

foh sure my friend <3 fem!reader, 1k, MDNI this entire blog is 18+ other than that, enjoy <3

You don't want to be that girl. Digging up a partner's history and trying on comparisons in the mirror til you're sick with jealousy. You know you don't want to do this to yourself, you know that— especially when it always leads to bitter feelings and bruised self-esteems.

But... Steve seems to have a type, whether he realises it or not.

Dana Williams was at least a double-D cup. As was Cindy Prince and as was probably every other girl that Steve's ever gotten into bed with over his sprawling sexual history. Everyone, of course, except for you.

But hey, you're pretty certain you have the tiny, tiny insecurity under wraps. That you can keep it from ruining the budding relationship between you and Steve that is so good, that tastes sickeningly sweet with how well he treats you.

That is, until you're pressed up against the leather of his backseats, his hot mouth kissing yours, hands wandering up higher and higher up your midriff. You don't even notice you do it — freeze up on him — til Steve is pausing, pulling back from you, panting.

"Y'good?" He asks, licking his lips. He checks your face properly, trying to get a read on you. "Everything okay?"

You nod with a hum, trying to settle the nerves alight under your skin. You don't need to be nervous, really, you know Steve wouldn't be so cruel as to dislike you over something so trivial as small boobs. But it doesn't quell your insecurity like you hoped. You still worry what he might think when his hands start wandering again.

Satisfied with you nod, Steve surges forward again and his kiss finds your neck, suckling sweet little marks into the side of it in a way that has you sighing lustfully in his ear. He nips at your neck perfectly, lips hot and teasing, making you squirm —you arch your back into his chest with another soft sigh of his name, your desire boiling hot.

"Mm, feel good?" Steve murmurs into your skin heavily, just as his hand slides up to your chest. You feel your body recoil just an inch as insecurity blooms a mile wide in your mind and in an instant, Steve is halting, again, pulling back from you. His brows pull together, his concern evident on his face as he searches your face.

"Hey, if you don't want—"

"No!" You interrupt, shaking your head. "I- I definitely want to. Believe me, I really want to." You push up and connect your lips with his, a soft and deep kiss that Steve melts under, getting your message across. When it breaks, Steve looks relieved but still, his eyes search yours desperately.

"Then... what?" He looks around the car, looking for the apparent thing bothering you that he can't spot. "Is it the place? I promise no one comes out here but- but we can go somewhere else if you want? Maybe back to—"

You kiss him again, strong and sure and Steve gives a sweet little hmph! against your lips, his hands on your waist gripping tighter. You pull back but stay close, your nose brushing his and can't help but grin. Steve always looks so flushed with love after you kiss him; cheeks glowing, lips pinker than ever... Your stomach does a flip as he regards you with such ardent desire.

"Okay, okay," He nods, a bit breathless. "If it's not any of that..."

He trails off, leaves it open ended for you to answer and you resist the urge to squirm away from the question. It feels silly now, even more silly than worrying about it earlier all alone in your head. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and decide to just be out with it.

"My boobs!" You exclaim, louder than you intend.

Steve's eyes widen a bit. "Your boobs? What- what about them?"

As he speaks, his eyes drop to your chest and there's no mistaking the hunger that creeps in to his gaze. Not so subtlety, one of his hands moves to adjust his jeans as his eyes move back to your face, waiting.

"They're small." You say in explanation. Steve blinks, head tilting to the side an inch in confusion. "Too small," you say, voice a little smaller. "I know in the past you- well, I don't know but I, uh, I figured that—"

"Woah, woah," Steve butts in, expression a little bewildered. His hands on your waist grow a bit surer in their grip and he tugs you closer, the two of you pressed against one another. "Firstly, Steve Harrington is a lover of all boobies. No matter the size."

He's smiling but you can tell he isn't making fun of you; no, in the way Steve speaks in earnest, tone soaked in seriousness, you know he means it.

"Secondly," He begins, leaning in close, dropping a kiss on your neck. He kisses his way down, lips scraping along your collarbones as he does, pulling back just enough to speak. "I like these boobies," he skims the underside of one with his thumb, enough to make you inhale sharply. Steve grins. "Because of the girl attached to them."

A laugh bursts out of you and Steve lasts only a second longer before he's laughing too, lips curved into a grin against your skin. "That sounded so much better in my head." He admits bashfully.

"That's okay," You say, running your hand over his hair soothingly, even as another laugh titters out before you can stop it. It turns quickly into a gasp as Steve's hand shifts up again, palm covering your tit as his thumb rubbing over your nipple that peaks up in interest. He's already back to his lazy kisses on your chest, still traveling lower and you can't deny how good it makes you feel. The fire in your belly burns hotter.

"Gonna let me show you?" He hums, fingers pinching your nipple in a way that makes you keen. His other hand shifts up, reaching to tug your shirt down — but he pauses before he gets anywhere, still checking. He gazes up through his lashes, big brown eyes pleading for longer taste of your skin and you nod, breathy and hot.

"Good girl," He purrs, pulling your shirt down further, his kisses following suit as he begins to suck the first of many little lovebites onto the skin of your chest. Writhing beneath him, moans pouring from you as your cunt gets wetter and the windows get even foggier yet, it takes only a matter of minutes before you find it quite hard to recall any insecurity whatsoever...

[kaorucup]

speculating about the season 3 peepers villain arc

lately I've been thinking about season 3 again and I wanna cope with the fact it won't happen soon, so I want to talk about one of its concepts

(IT'S GONNA HAPPEN MAN, JUST WAIT UNTIL NEW PPG PROJECT AND THE NEW FOSTER'S HOME ARE ACTUALLY DONE)

something that's always piqued my interest was the mention of "peepers being tempted by the darker side" in official season 3 posts. (you know which, we've seen them all). it's not the only one there that interested me, but some concepts like the three new villains due for season 3 were actually deconfirmed by Craig himself in a Twitter q&a, and instead said it would be an existing character.

(I think. I'm not sure about that one)

see, things like that always change when everything is actually in production. I actually wanna make an entirely different post dedicated to the main antagonist and/or conflict because there's a lot of stuff to discuss there. but something that I truly think WILL make it into season 3 will be peepers' villain arc. I think there's a chance they could build off what's already in the show to lead up to this arc.

a quick recap of his attitude towards hater

in season 1, it's clear peepers tended to stay on hater's good side, since he still (somewhat) respected hater's actions in a way since he's been with him for so long + he only followed hater's goal of destroying wander and sylvia since they were their ONLY obstacle in their goal to rule the galaxy

I used this frame specifically because it's one of the only times he scolds hater in season 1 (maybe the only time, I forgot), and even then he's still scared to do so since hater even threatens him after this

and as we all know, by the end of season 1 and season 2 in general, he scolds hater A LOT more often because dominator's arrival spelled doom for the entire galaxy, even the villains. even before that, it was clear hater's obsession with wander was damaging the reputation of the empire, and hell other villains were even beating him on the leaderboard. by the greater hater, he's reduced to the 29th greatest. and now if you add hater's failure to initially properly focus on restoring his control over planets to putting his obsessions (wander in the beginning, dominator by the end) at priority equals one very pissed peepers.

in this particular frame, we all know this is a big moment in which peepers loses it and truly gets mad at hater for losing complete focus.

so when he finally locks in during the season finale it shocks peepers so much it moves him to literal tears. this man has been disappointed so much this season that this final move has made him truly happy. from my fair hatey to this episode, hater's ultimate goal is to save the galaxy to be able to conquer it again. so when that goal is accomplished he finally goes back to doing evil and attempts to conquer the secret final planet, peepers is literally so happy he has a heart eye. (not even close to being straight)

of course he's disappointed once more when hater begins to chase wander again.

"nothing ever changes."

2. peepers has greater plans for himself

"the universe will be mine!"

"if you ask me, I should be the one in charge."

I'm pretty sure I'm missing more moments where he shows an interest in becoming a great villain on his own. in general, it's made very clear that peepers is much more competent than hater. hell even evil sandwich has described him as a "smart guy who actually knows what evil is all about."

3. I FINALLY SPECULATE ABOUT THE VILLAIN ARC

So with all that background information out of the way, we reach the actual speculation.

these Tumblr posts by Frank Angones about season 3 are what got me to write this post. with this info in mind, I have a little scenario to share here

at the beginning of season 3, Hater would become a hero to the galaxy (following up from the ending to the end of the galaxy), and even though he tried conquering planets, he wound up either not conquering them or doing good deeds instead, to his own—and peepers'—dismay. again, taking the end of the galaxy's ending in mind, he clearly intended to conquer the new galaxy. however, it's clear he's definitely not as willing to do so and admits to peepers at one point that he tends to think about not being a bad guy. this of course breaks peepers' heart (yeah in that way too), and in a fit of rage leaves the empire.

he escapes to somewhere (idk where) and from there the antagonist(s) of season 3 either pick him up or kidnap him. from there they show peepers their ways and begin tempting him to join them.

from there more new scenarios can be made, depending on their motivation. Frank Angones has also stated that "there are worse fates than galactic destruction". in a future post about the season 3 antagonist(s), I'll explain more about what this could mean. since the post only says he could be tempted, we don't know if he would actually temporarily switch to their side.

if peepers joins an antagonist: he likely takes in their ideologies and hater (?) may have to remind him of his evil ways or something

if peepers declines: he realizes who he is to the hater empire and makes a move against the antagonist

secret options: the darker side is actually an actual villain (the antagonist(s) aren't "villains" like hater and dominator)

the scenarios are similar but I'll share them

if peepers joins them: he uses his knowledge and evil traits to the max to begin committing atrocities and stuff like that. hater and/or wander has to do something about it

if peepers declines: he realizes the villain is insane and goes back to hater (very, very, very small chance for a redemption, but maybe it will because wander can help him or something)

(I'm iffy on this one)

4. one final piece of speculation related to his backstory

when writing this post, I made two and two and found out something.

I don't tend to trust fandom wikis that much, but since the information seems to be accurate and aligns with what Frank is saying, I think all this implies the watchdogs mock peepers a LOT for being the shortest watchdog. what's also slightly implied is that his napoleon complex (in which he happens to be insecure about his height, which has been shown quite a bit in the series itself. "you are tall" being part of his motivational tapes, wander raises his soles to give him a sense of growth, the platform boots as a gift).

so if this is a big part of his origin story, I assume that way before he joined the hater empire with the other watchdogs, peepers was mocked for being the shortest. so when he and the watchdogs pledge allegiance to the empire, he "feels like he has something to prove", and begins from the bottom like most of the watchdogs until he's done so many evil things that hater notices him and promotes him to commander.

so now with that in mind, it makes sense why peepers would lose his mind over hater potentially giving up evil after pretty much devoting himself to evil for so long

once again, I yapped what I needed to yap and I'm satisfied

oh my god I spent like almost 3 hours researching and writing for this dear GROP

Edit: now that I think about it the way he said the line about the watchdogs feeling special and important in their interviews was actually kind of spiteful, which makes sense (poor guy wants to feel like that more often.....)

[hey-august]

Making Buggy detach all of his limbs and putting his arms and legs nice and safe in a chest with some sea stone. Using what remains of him as your personal little toy and watching him squirm on the bed, unable to do anything about it. Sitting cross legged with that writing torso on your lap, slowly stroking him, watching how he buckled under your touch and isn’t even able to wriggle away from you.

Easily being able to flip him around, either on his stomach so you can get a nice grab on his ass, or on his back, when you decided that you want to play with your favorite living Dildo and ride him. You sink down onto him and it’s so cute to see his shoulders move upwards, like he wants to grab you by the hips and help you sink down on him, but only being able to wiggle the stumps a bit, like they desperately want to touch you as well.

Or being real mean and lying all naked and ready in front of him. You know he’s been sooo good the entire night, it’s time for a reward, he can come over and fuck you now if he wants to. Come on! You know he can make it! Can’t he see how ready and horny you are for him? And then watching him struggle as he makes his way inch by inch over to you, struggling to even get to you at all, till he’s finally with his head on your pelvis but can’t seem to close the last few inches so he can line himself up with you. “Please. Pleasssse I’ve been so good. Please help me fuck you pleasepleaseplease.”

Taking pity on your poor, poor clown and hoisting him up by his waist a little, making him almost sob when he can finally slip inside you and fill you with uncoordinated, off balance thrusts. Pulling a few loose strands of hair from his face as he just keeps humping you in what feels like a shallow parody of his usually hard, precise movements, but this is for his pleasure right now, not yours.

You’ll get yours after he came, making him clean up his cum from between your legs before you give him back his missing limbs…. Or maybe you’ll keep him like this a bit longer, just so you can properly take care of him after and wipe the sweat of his body, having him melt into your arms utterly relaxed, not even having enough sass in him anymore to complain when you heap praise onto him while you rub his stumps. Maybe you’ll ask him if he wants to stay a little bit longer like this, content in having done a good job and knowing that you’re still here with him. Wonderful, generous, strong you, taking care of him in a state he wouldn’t let anyone else see, let alone enjoy so much if he was with anyone BUT you.

DAMN ANON. WOW.

Pulling a few loose strands of hair from his face as he just keeps humping you in what feels like a shallow parody of his usually hard, precise movements, but this is for his pleasure right now, not yours.

Thank you for this. I, uh, don't know how to follow this whole entire feast, but I'll try because you got the thoughts goingggg~

WC: ~500

Starting off, it's just fun to cuddle the clown without all those arms and legs getting in the way. Really. So Buggy indulges you and pops 'em off for some cozy snuggling.

And without his wandering hands…well, someone has to take that role. One thing leads to another, and it becomes a thing.

You need time for some personal relaxation, but with a little extra assistance? Arms and legs go in the box and you have your fun clown toy to play with how you want. To use how you want.

And when Buggy tentatively offered on his own for the first time? Well, wasn't that fun.. You made sure he had a damn good time. You tucked him tight between the pillows on the bed, perfectly propped up for everything you had planned.

The messy make-out sesh that he was whining through by the end. Biting your lips and blubbering for more - please! How you slowly undressed him. Well, exposing what you can. Tugging at his shirt collar while you kiss his neck and nibble his collarbone. Waiting until you see his nipples poking through the fabric. Pushing the hem of the shirt up, exposing his stomach and the blue hair trailing down… Undoing Buggy's pants while he's thrashing in place is fun. He can't move much because of the pillows, so it's more like awkward air humping.

Of course, once his dick is out, you ease back and undress yourself. Slowly. Buggy's erection is like a metronome, pulsing with each heartbeat.

This is when Buggy learns what pillows must feel like when they're being used for alternative purposes. If your hands aren't resting on his chest, your fingers are digging into his shoulders and practically moving his body underneath yours.

His world is literally shaking and he loves it. So much that he cums much faster than he wished. His back is arched, his limbs are thumping around in the box, and he is begging, pleading, crying for you not to stop. Keep going. Keep using him. Please, please.

Buggy was a different man in that moment. Someone new. Something was unlocked. He didn't really come to until you were nudging one of his arms back into place, trying to find the spot where it would reconnect like it should.

It works. For a second. The arm pops back off and Buggy's not sure if it's because he's so damn exhausted, or if he wants to go for another round. (He's tired. Really. He falls asleep moments later, snoring like a chainsaw. Limbs everywhere, like he was attacked by a chainsaw.)

Also, anon, I had to dig up this mini-Buggy thing that I wrote ages ago. Who know this guy would come back around lmao.

[dokries]

hiiii my moon :3 im here to request a dino f2l drabble hihi! if u want more details then maybe dino has a crush on a classmate (yn) and sees her eating alone at lunch one day n decides to go sit w her >_< could lead to a confession maybe? ur choice :P i hope it isn't too much & ill be waiting excitedly ヽ(^o^)丿

oblivious

pairing: lee chan (dino) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, high school au, classmates/friends to lovers

word count: 724

warnings: mentions of food, chan is a down bad loser who’s oblivious

author note: HI DORI thank you so much for requesting <3 this was so fun to write (i was literally giggling the entire time he’s such a Loser) so i hope you enjoy 🫶 lots of love !!

masterlist

chan hopes that it isn’t too obvious that he’s always looking after you.

well, that is his job as class vice president but still. seungkwan already teases him for how “down bad” he is but come on, how can he not like you as more than just a friend, with your sunny smile and easy disposition?

chan refuses to admit that his crush on you is the reason he doesn’t sit with the rest of his friends at lunch today—he’s just doing his job as the vice president, and making sure you’re not alone because the person you usually sit with has been sick for days on end.

you sigh, bored as you play around with the food on your plate before chan puts his own down on the table in front of you, and calls your name to pull you out of your thoughts. “hey!”

you sit up properly once he gets comfortable and smile at him, and he pats himself on the back in his mind for making the right decision.

“hey, chan! i thought you usually eat with seungkwan and vernon…?” you say, pointing over to where his friends are sitting, and where seungkwan is making kissy faces at the two of you.

thankfully, you’re oblivious, and only giggle at the silly motion as chan glares at his best friend, his ears becoming a deep shade of red.

he turns back to you clearing his throat and with his hand up, mimicking the position he took when taking the pledge after he was elected. “as your amazing vice president, it is my duty to make sure all students are represented and treated well, which includes me making sure they’re included—even if it’s just sitting with them at lunch.” chan winks, giving a small bow when you clap politely for his dedication.

he picks at his food, mumbling, “besides, i would always sit with you if i could.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at chan. “what did you just say?”

his eyes widen, and he starts to talk frantically. “hey—i just mean that you’re a really cool person, and you have a really nice smile—no scratch that. wait, i don’t mean that you don’t have a nice smile—” you laugh, cutting him off, and he gives you a dopey smile before he realizes what his expression looks like.

“what i mean is…i think you’re good company. nothing more, nothing less!” he nods, proud of himself for covering up his mistake—nice one, chan.

however, his cover up doesn’t seem to be that good because you smirk, leaning closer to him. “is that so? the way you talked about me doesn’t make it seem like i’m just ‘good company’ to you now, does it?”

chan gulps, taking his carton of strawberry milk and chugging it down before he speaks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s done.

you grin at him, before placing a chicken piece in one of the compartments of his tray. “you can just say you like me, you know.”

when chan doesn’t respond, you freeze, apologizing immediately. “chan, i’m so sorry if i read the vibes wrong, i didn’t mean to make assumptions—”

your vice president interrupts you with a sigh as he puts his face in his hands, and peeks at you through them. “…was it really that obvious?”

you pause before nodding, and biting back a grin. “so i was right?” you don’t hold back your smile when he nods tiredly and you let out a sigh of relief. “and here i thought i was being obvious.”

chan’s jaw drops as he struggles to find the words. “y—you? no way, i had no idea.”

you sigh, already knowing that fact. you always go out of your way to help him fill out the attendance sheet, collect the textbooks for him even though it isn’t your job, and even buy him snacks from time to time!

“oh, chan,” you smile lovingly at him. “you’re just a little oblivious guy, that’s all.”

he shrugs, face turning red. “i could be your oblivious guy…if you want me to.”

“yes, of course i want you to be!” you grab chan’s hands in yours and squeal, and he can’t help grinning.

seungkwan was definitely wrong at the beginning of the year; being the vice president certainly has its perks.