#and he decided to just smile or like try to talk to them

[readwritealldayallnight]

Part 2 of ‘Bird Watching’ aka hot construction worker Simon x single mom

In truth, lying was something that came second nature to Simon Riley

He’d lied to his teachers in school about where he got his bruises and burn marks from, if they bothered to ask

He’d lied to his brother while their parents argued on the other side of the wall, telling him that everything would be okay

He’d lied to his dad about where he’d been all night, telling him he was making less money at the butcher job than he really was

Whatever lie he had to give to get through the day, get through the night, get through his childhood, he would offer up without so much as batting an eye

And as he got older, he started stretching the truth for different reasons

Whatever his CO’s needed to hear from him in order to let him do his job, then he’d let them hear it, true or not

Whenever people started asking too many questions, well-equipped sarcasm became his right hand man in avoiding the truth

Lying had always come in handy for Simon, whether it was a life or death situation or goading Soap into believing an obviously fictitious story, carefully chosen words and slight exaggerations had never steered him wrong before

This one, however?

Well, as he sat in an all too colourful daycare office with murals of ducks and bunnies watching over his every move, Simon began to wonder if this was one lie he shouldn’t have told

But then again, he wasn’t telling this lie out of malice, or greed, or ill-intent… he was doing this for you

Because at the end of the day, he’d be lying to no one apart from himself if he were deny how often you popped into his head

Ever since he’d first squinted through the glaring sun and spotted you through that flimsy chain link fence, since he’d heard your voice over the rumble and roar of construction behind him, since he’d spent less than ten whole minutes talking to you, it was as though something within him had started brewing, started changing

Similar to two live wires coincidentally meeting until an inevitable spark shoots through the air, akin to a wind chime that hadn’t rang out in years suddenly beginning to sway to and fro with the promise of strong winds on the horizon, or closer yet to that moment Franklin’s key and kite were struck by lightning and history was forever changed, meeting you had stirred something loose within Simon

For too long now, Simon felt as though he were nothing more than a man stuck behind the wheel, lost in the storm on an infinite stretch of road that would never lead him towards home, no matter how many maps or compasses or tools he may have, he was on a steady cruise control headed nowhere

But since he’d met you, since he’d learned about the situation you were in, you and your sweet little baby bird just as alone as him and up against the world, since he’d made up his mind and decided he’d help you in whatever capacity you’d allow, it was almost as if the fog had cleared from his tired eyes, as though he was finally glancing up from the maps and realizing that ‘home’ could be down any stretch of road he took, if he was willing to take it

You’d stumbled into his life on an afternoon like any other, instantly making a home for yourself in the recesses of his brain by that very same evening

His eyes now were constantly glancing at the phone number now tacked onto his fridge as he went about his routine, your smile appearing behind his eyelids as he tried in vain to fall asleep at night, or the image of the soft swell of your cleavage bouncing as you’d walked away playing on a loop in his mind until he’d accept he wasn’t going to be getting any shut eye until he allowed his hands to slip beneath the blankets

His early mornings were no longer spent cursing having to be up before the sun, instead he found himself staring at the empty spot across from him at the table, wondering if you were awake too, perhaps trying to soothe a fussy baby back to sleep, or feeding her from the same swollen breasts Simon selfishly wished he could suckle from as well

Or were you still laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling as you too struggled to fall asleep? Too worried about finding your baby bird a spot somewhere before the money ran out? Stressing yourself over things that Simon wished he could fix for you? That he knew he could fix for you?

Less than 24 hours after your first conversation, Simon had hounded just about every living and breathing soul working on the construction site, determined to come up with at least some bit of information, someone to contact, something that would lead him in the right direction, but everyone seemed to be just as in the dark as he was

He wasn’t easily deterred however, nor was he lacking in imagination, when he decided he was unwilling to return to his flat that night without being at least one step closer to having a valid excuse for calling the number that called out to him each time he walked through his kitchen, and so if no one apart from Simon happened to notice that every single blueprint disappeared from the site that night, well that was just unfortunate wasn’t it?

He’d nearly missed the phone call he’d been hoping to get the next morning, preoccupied with having to change his bed sheets after having dreamt of you again all night as visions of your soft body had him feeling like a teenaged boy again, he managed to snag his phone just before the ringer ended

As expected, the site manager had been on the other line, practically beside himself as he told Simon how he’d arrived at the site and discovered that some troublesome teenagers must have snuck in during the night and done away with their building plans, asking Simon if he wouldn’t mind driving to the supervisor’s office and snagging some copies

Simon had already been halfway out the door before he’d hung up

The foreman’s office was cluttered beyond belief, disorganized chaos he sifted through carefully to find the one piece of information he needed, and there amongst the loose papers and pencils and measuring tapes, was the next piece to the puzzle he was slowly solving; the buyers contact information

The blueprints were delivered back to the site in no time, having been kept safe in the back of Simon’s truck the entire time, and a carefully concocted story about needing to run to grab supplies for the job was believed by everyone as the tall man climbed back in behind the wheel and weighed his options

He could reach out to you now, he’d been able to find you the owner’s name, along with an email and phone number to contact, the promise he’d made to you was done, his duty fulfilled

He knew he could call, and you’d be overjoyed to hear from him, that you would be eternally grateful for his help, thanking him endlessly… but that would be the end of it, wouldn’t it? His role would be fulfilled, his duty done and over with, no other valid excuses for you to keep him within your orbit, he’d just be a kind stranger who’d done you an incredibly kind favour

But as Simon pondered that choice, he wondered, why stop here?

You were alone with a newborn, stressed enough as it was, you didn’t need more work being added onto your already full plate, he may as well go the extra mile and help you out even more, right?

At least, that’s what Simon kept telling himself now, as he sat in a too small chair inside of a much too colourful office, avoiding the judgemental eyes of the painted woodland creatures staring at him, as though they knew what his intentions were, waiting for none other than the owner herself

“Hi there, sorry to have kept you waiting.” The woman says as she walks in, reaching a hand out to greet him as he stands to meet her halfway. “My assistant director says you’re here from our newest expansion? The East end location?”

“Yes ma’am, that’d be the one.” Simon offers politely, lowering himself back into the chair he hardly fits in once she rounds the desk and sits down as well. It would make sense that that was what her assistant has told her, as that was the story Simon had offered, reasoning that he had to speak with the owner about the project, not giving them much choice when he showed up to the office unannounced

“There aren’t any issues with construction so far, are there? We shouldn’t be expecting any delays?” She questions, getting straight to the point. Simon appreciates that she isn’t wasting any time with small talk, he also wants this done quick, he’s got a pretty bird waiting on him after all

“No ma’am. Everythin’s on track so far.” He replies easily, omitting the small hiccups she doesn’t need to know about. “M’afraid that’s not why I’m ‘ere today.”

“Well, what can I help you with then?” She questions, an over plucked brow raising as she tilts her head

“Had a few questions ‘bout the nursery we’re buildin’ for ya.”

“Oh, well- I believe the specifications were in the plans for-”

“Not so much ‘bout the building itself, ma’am.” He cuts her off, not unkindly, but clarifying his point. “Was more so wondering ‘bout- well, it’s a decently big plot o’ land we’re working on. How many lil’ ones are meant be in there?” He asks, trying his best to ease his way into this conversation

“Currently, plans are set to have two preschool classes, two toddlers classes, as well as an infant class. With full capacity we could have up to 88 children in the centre. Why are-”

“How many of those spots are for the babes?”

“We can have up to 10 infants at most.”

“Alrigh’, and how many o’ those spots are available?” He finally asks, cutting to the chase, ripping the bandaid off. Simon watches understanding cross her face and she lets out a small scoff, not rude, but more so like she knew she should have expected as much

“Ah, I see now.” She says with a knowing smile sent his way. “I appreciate your interest in our centre, and I understand nursery spots have been scarce in the city, but I have to be honest sir, we do have a wait list policy. There are numerous families already signed up wi-”

“It’s a little girl.” Simon cuts her off firmly this time, not wanting to entertain whatever rejection she was preparing to give him. No, he wouldn’t be leaving here without good news for you, he couldn’t do that. He ignores the painted birds mocking eyes as he steels himself as presses on. “She’s just a tiny thing. Eight weeks old, almost nine now I suppose. Her mum’s got to be back to work, hasn’t got much of a choice. There’s no family ‘round to help or nothin’. She needs this spot for her.”

The woman’s lips thin as she looks at him with understanding, with sympathy, none of the things Simon cares to see unless she’s nodding her head in agreement. He knew it might take a little push to convince whoever was behind the desk to do the right thing, to help him do right by his birdie and her baby bird, and so he’s not ashamed, nor above saying:

“I’ll make sure the job’s done early.”

At this, both her brows now shoot up, obvious intrigue now painted across her features as she blinks at him.

“Pardon?”

“I will see to it that everything is ready ahead of schedule. Personally. The sooner the place is open, the sooner you start making money, the sooner kids are in and sooner parents are happy. Everyone wins.”

Simon watches her ponders his words, gears turning in her head as she thinks it over. She could easily refute him, call him out for being out of line and send him on his way, tail tucked between his legs. But Simon knows a desperate person when he sees one, knows just what people want to hear, and so he isn’t surprised when she’s suddenly standing from her desk, crossing the room to shut the slightly ajar door, and he smiles to himself slightly, knowing he’s won.

“Now when you say ahead of schedule-”

“Could have ‘er ready by the end of the month. I’ll pull the strings, make it happen. You leave it to me and it’ll be done.” He answers easily, confidently, like there is no question in his mind he can offer up such promises and see them through to fruition. Hell, he’d build the entire goddamn thing by himself day and night if that’s what she wanted to hear, whatever would convince her

“I mean-” she says, letting out a long sigh as she leans back in her chair, opening up a drawer and rummaging through for something or another. “I can’t lie, this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve made exceptions for someone, especially one of our own builders.”

Simon nods along, pleased with the way this is going thus far, though things take an abrupt turn when she next says:

“I would still like to meet with your wife and daughter first, just to iron out the enrolment details and confirm whether this would be a good fit, but I can- I could potentially find a way to make this work.”

And Simon knows this is the moment where he’s supposed to correct her, where he’s supposed to speak up and clarify that no, you aren’t his wife and she isn’t his daughter, that she’s misunderstood him and that the two of you are strangers he met earlier this week- fuck he doesn’t even know your baby’s name yet for crying out loud- all of this could fall apart tremendously as soon as she asks even a single question that he won’t have the answer to, potentially jeopardizing this entire thing for you and her, and yet-

“Brilliant. The missus will be thrilled.”

Alrighty first off, apologies for the delay between posts, writers block and life in general are so ew, but we’re so back babe

All the love on the first part was so unexpected and so so appreciated!!! Y’all have me looking like this with every comment and reblog and tag-

Gonna strive to have part 3 out before the end of the weekend hopefully, don’t want to keep you all waiting so long again

- M 🫶🏻

[rin-may-1103]

Aspiring Escape Artist (part two)

Last | Master Post | Next...

"Why don't we all head inside, yes?" Mr. Wayne suggested, waving his arm in the doors general direction.

"Yes, that sounds great," Ms. Clance agreed, turning to Danny like she was debating whether or not she should drag him inside. Danny was very against that idea and glared at her. She huffed but turned and started making her way up the stairs.

The other, he can't really say kids because he's pretty sure half the people standing in front of him were over the age of eighteen, but they still lived with Mr. Wayne, apparently, so kids it was. The other kids continued to try to stealthily watch him as they made their way into the building. (He refused to call this place a house; it was bigger than Sam's manor for Ancients' sake.)

The gray-eyed girl waited for him, the not-so-happy but happy sparkle back as she watched him approach. Pausing for a moment, Danny turned and gently patted the bush closest to him, it had been practically begging for attention for the past ten minutes and Sam would have throttled him if he had just ignored it.

She treated them like demented puppies, and it's against every unspoken law (in danny's books, atleast) to ignore a puppy.

The gray-eyed girl (man, he was going to have to learn their names, Ancients, why were there so many people here?) tilted her head curiously, eyeing the plant he just patted.

"My friend has plant powers," Danny huffed, which was true. Sam still had lingering plant control and a connection to the green because of Undergrowth. Danny was just leaving out the fact that he also had plant powers. He wasn't sure why he always got new powers after beating new powerful ghosts, but it happens, and now he needs to pet the plants because they get sad if he doesn't.

(Jazz theorized once that the new powers were due to his half-a nature, but then they looked at Vlad and decided it was probably something else.) (Also, why in the world did he get ice powers and then almost immediately plant powers? like, seriously, why?)

"Close friend?" Gray asked, turning to follow Danny inside.

"One of my best friends," Danny agreed. Man, he missed them. He'd have to figure out how to get out of here soon; there was no way he was going to just not see his friends on Tucker's birthday. Which meant he had about a week to bust out of here and get back to Amity. Oh, and stay under the radar so Vlad doesn't find him.

Glancing around the entry hall, or was the term foyer? like, the place was fancier then most five star hotels he's seen (which he wants to make clear, was against his dying wishes. fuck vlad and his not hard earned money.) like, sure, it wasn't all white modern minimalist like the hotels, but he's pretty sure the vase just sitting a little too close to the edge of a table was worth more then a human heart on the black market.

"Welcome to Wayne Manor," Mr. Pennyworth started, closing the doors with a heavy thud. He didn't lock it, though, Danny noted. Probably because Ms. Clance still needed to leave.

"may I have your coats?" he asked, holding out his arm to Ms. Clance and looking over to Danny. Ms. Clance immediately started to shrug off her jacket and dropped it onto his arm without a second glance, trying to talk to Mr. Wayne about an office or something.

Danny shook his head, "No thanks. I prefer to keep my things with me." especially in a new place, who knows what they'd do to his stuff. last time he handed anything over it had been locked up and never returned. (or well, not returned until he stole it back right before leaving, but that's getting into semantics.)

"So, Daniel was it?" the older guy from the first three asked, smiling brightly and trying to act casual. He was failing.

"It's Danny," Danny huffed, glancing around to study the others.

Gray was nice, he had a feeling they'd get a long fine. she was like an open book, all her opinions and emotions right there for him to see. Though that just meant she was awear of them and could easily hide them.

The others not so much.

Eyebags looked tired but alert, watching Danny like he was a new puzzle. Which was fine, Danny could deal with that. He probably wasn't as bad as Jazz or his parents were when obsessed with new things, so he goes lower on the list but not off.

Mr. Casual over here was watching him AND the others, which meant he was probably the peacekeeper. That or he was the one who antagonized the others into acting without them noticing. Same as eyebags, then.

Blondie looked like she was planning how to prank him right then and there, but also like she was evaluating him for something. Like he thought earlier, she'll probably stick around until she gets bored. So, hmmm. Keep an eye on more than eyebags, but probably not a problem.

there was a kid maybe two-three years younger than him trying to hide on the stairs out of view, he looked pissed off and annoyed. Something was telling Danny he should stay away from him. So, definitely going to the top of his list right next to butler man.

And finally, Mr. Wayne. He was smiling and chatting with Ms. Clance like he didn't have a care in the world. And it would have been believable if it wasn't for the fact that the man was easily steering the conversation away from the stuff Ms. Clance wanted to talk about, without Danny around, before leaving. Which means Mr. Wayne wanted Danny to be part of the conversation, probably to get both sides of the story.

He was smart and knew how to manipulate situations without people catching on.

Also, top of the list, then.

"Only people who want to kill me call me Daniel," Danny added, watching as Ms. Clance tried to bring up his file and fell for another diversion.

"Really?" Eyebags asked, actually surprised for some reason.

Oh, wait, murder isn't normal. Ha, to live a normal life. It must be boring. Couldn't be him, even if he wanted it. There was nothing normal about growing up with mad scientists, and nothing normal about being half dead and a vigilante.

"Yeah, my friends and I made a chart and everything. Granted, we didn't have many people to add to the list to compare with, but it's checked out so far." Danny admitted, turning to face Eyebags.

Honestly, it was just Vlad, his parents, a few GIW agents, and those very few times his friends almost killed him. But come on, they all called him Daniel at some point. Therefore, it totally checks out.

"Huh," Mr. Casual blinked, glancing at his siblings before shaking his head. "Right, so uh, why do people want to kill you?"

"Because they're Fruit Loops," Danny grumbled, finally deciding to approach Ms. Clance. Might as well get this done and over with. The longer she stayed, the less time Danny would have to scout the place by himself later, after all the introductions.

Next (to be written)

[baby-yongbok]

"Let Me Make You a Mommy"

SKZ Hyung Line x Reader

⤷ Smut | drabbles/hard thoughts

⤷ WC - 1.6k [total]

⤷ CW - Breeding kink, praise, teasing, overstimulation, anal sex, unprotected sex, power play, body worship

⤷ A/N: I started writing for one and then I just decided to do all of them... Maknae line will be posted next friday!♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Chan

He’s buried deep inside you, slow and low, with his forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning your name like a prayer that keeps getting answered.

You’re both so gone - sweat-slicked, sheets ruined, nails raked down his back. He’s been talking the whole time, voice dropping into that raw, ruined register that makes the filthiest things sound like gospel/

 So good, so tight, fuck, I missed this, made for me, you’re mine.

And then-

“Gonna make you a mommy.”

It slips out so fast he doesn’t even realize it at first. It’s not until your breath catches and your body freezes that he catches himself. And then he’s frozen with you, silently trying to find a pathetic cover up he knows won’t work. You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed. 

“What…?”

Chan blinks. His mouth opens -then closes.

“I -uh…” A breath. “I didn’t… mean to say that.”

But you heard it. The way his voice cracked, the way his hips stuttered like the thought of it nearly made him come.

“You sure?” you ask, soft, curious. Not judging. Just listening. 

He groans, burying his face in your neck. “Don’t do this to me,” he mutters.

You laugh. “You did it to yourself.”

He’s still inside you. Still hard. Maybe harder after what he’s said. So you press your hips up just a little, clench around him, and ask, “You want to make me a mommy, Chan?”

“No,” he growls. Then again - less convincing, “Yes.” Then, quietly, “God, yes.”

He kisses you like he’s overflowing, confessing a deep dark fantasy. Maybe he is and it’s hot. The look in his eyes as he conjures up every single thought he’s ever had about breeding you full. 

“I think about it,” he admits. “When I’m alone. When I’m fucking you. When you smile at me in the kitchen like I wouldn’t drop to my knees for you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I want you full. Round. Mine.”

You’re soaking now. And he feels it.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?” he murmurs.

You smile. “Not a chance.”

He growls again, grabs your wrists, pins them above your head.

“Then I guess I better make it worth it.”

And this time when he says it - “Let me make you a mommy” - he says it on purpose.

Minho

“You want it that bad?”

Minho’s voice is honey laced with venom, seeping into your spine as his hand pushes you down, face to the sheets.

He’s been working you open for what feels like hours, patience laced with punishment. Slick, stretched, and aching - but he still hasn’t fucked you where you need it most.

No - he took your other hole instead. Buried himself deep there, groaning like a sinner at the altar, while you writhed and begged beneath him.

“God,” he mutters, dragging out slowly, just to push back in with a ruthless roll of his hips, “this tight little ass’s already trying to milk me. But you want more, don’t you?���

You whimper, trembling, broken open and empty.

“Minho, please - please-”

He stills. Entire body locking up, voice turning cold and dark.

“Say it right.”

You blink, dazed. “W-what?”

His thumb brushes your lip from behind, a cruel mockery of softness. Then he thrusts just deep enough to make your eyes roll back.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, low and cruel. “You want my cock in your soaked little pussy? Want me to fuck you full and watch it take?”

You’re dizzy with it - with him - slick pooling between your thighs, untouched, throbbing. He knows it. You’ve been clenching around nothing all night.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say what you want.”

And then he drops it - just above a whisper, but it crashes through you like a bomb:

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You gasp - wrecked.

“Minho-”

“Say it,” he hisses. “Or I’ll finish right here. You’ll be dripping down your thighs, and you won’t get what you’re begging for.”

You're trembling. Desperate. You choke on it.

“P-please,” you whisper. “Make me a mommy.”

He groans - so loud it echoes in the room.

And in one breathless, brutal motion, he pulls out and thrusts deep into your soaked cunt, bottoming out so hard your body jolts. The stretch, the fullness, after so much denial. You scream his name like it’s a confession.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, heady and deep like his pace - already punishing. He’s got one hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “Should’ve said it sooner.”

You’re sobbing now - too much, too good - each thrust tearing you in half and stitching you back together.

“Gonna fill you up so deep,” he pants, losing control now, “gonna stuff you full like you’re meant to be - fuck, baby, I’ll give you everything -”

You can feel it coming - his orgasm, yours, both tangled into something molten and terrifying.

And as you fall apart beneath him, tears streaking your face, voice shaking, he leans in close, breath hot against your ear.

“You’re my baby” he whispers, so sweet it hurts. “All mine, full and leaking.”

Changbin

He holds you like you’re breakable - even though you’ve already begged him not to be gentle.

The sheets are a mess. Your thighs are sticky, trembling from your second orgasm. Changbin’s flushed and breathless above you, gaze flickering between your eyes and the place where your bodies meet, like he still can’t believe this is real.

“You okay?” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

You nod, breath hitching as his hips roll again, cock dragging against your soaked, swollen walls.

“Too good,” you manage, “Feels too good - Binnie, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he says, leaning down to kiss your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “You always take me so well.”

Then he slows, presses deep, and stays there, buried to the hilt, eyes locked on yours.

And in the quiet, he says it:

“Let me make you a mommy.”

You blink, stunned still.

His voice is soft. Barely a whisper. But it shakes.

“I want it,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want to see you round with me. Full of me. I think about it all the time.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s still inside you. Still hard. Still there - every inch of him trembling with want.

“I want you like this forever,” he murmurs, slowly moving again. “Messy and mine. I want to come so deep you feel me for days.”

You moan his name, hips rising to meet his.

“You’d be such a good mom,” he groans, thrusts picking up. “So beautiful. So fucking sexy.”

“Binnie-”

“Let me give it to you,” he gasps, panting into your neck. “Let me fill you ‘til there’s nothing left but me.”

You come again with a choked cry, clutching at him like he’s oxygen. He follows seconds later, voice breaking as he spills inside you - hips stuttering, arms locked tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to the idea of you, forever.

And when it’s over, when your bodies are tangled and quiet, he’s still there. Still holding you like a promise.

Still whispering, “I meant it.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin touches you like art. Slow, careful, like you’re something sacred he’s not sure he’s worthy of touching.

His hands move like he’s sculpting you, thumbs pressing into the wet between your thighs like he’s shaping something that’s already his. His eyes are wide, lips parted, gaze so tender it makes your chest ache. Every breath is drawn out like he’s memorizing you all over again. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, kissing your belly, your hip, the soft underside of your breast. “I want to give you everything.”

You press into him, breath hitching, and he just melts - forehead to your chest, hands gripping hard at your hips like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “Shit,” he whispers, voice shaking. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He lines himself up, cock thick and heavy, dragging through your folds until you're gasping, aching.

“Breathe,” he tells you. “I’ve got you.” Then, he’s pushing inside - slow at first, like he’s afraid to break you. His mouth presses to your throat, his breath warm and shaking.

“Fuck - you feel like heaven,” he says, voice already cracking. “Every time.”

He starts slow, almost too slow - hips rolling like waves, each thrust deliberate. It builds heat low in your belly, that unbearable pressure that keeps you pinned under him. You’re nails skin into his shoulder harder with each time he sinks into you, making love. 

And then - something shifts.

You say his name, soft and wrecked. You beg him to go faster. You wrap your legs around his waist and meet his thrusts with your own, and that’s when the calm snaps.

“I want it,” he pants, his voice breaking against your skin. “I want to fill you up - want to feel you take all of me.”

Your hands claw at his back. He thrusts again, losing the rhythm, chasing something primal.

His grip tightens.

His pace turns brutal.

And his mouth finds your ear, breath hot and ragged.

“Let me make you a mommy,” he rasps, voice wrecked and raw and so, so honest. “Please - let me fuck it into you, let me give you everything - every fucking drop.”

You moan, breathless, trembling under him, and that’s all it takes.

He breaks.

“You want that, don’t you?” he pants, fucking you hard now, rhythm punishing. “Want me to fuck you so deep you don’t know where I end and you begin?”

Every thrust is frantic now - deep, bruising, like he’s trying to imprint himself inside you. His moans turn into whimpers, praise falling from his lips between curses.

“So good for me - fuck, you’re perfect - gonna look so pretty carrying my baby, fuck-”

When he finally comes, it’s with a shattered cry of your name, forehead pressed to yours, his whole body trembling as he pours everything into you like it’s a prayer. A promise

And you believe him.

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Nineteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, teeth-rotting fluff, mentions of minor ptsd, the "do you want kids" talk, therapy, sexual content.

Notes — The queen of fluff strikes again. They're so in love it hurts. Enjoy this intermission from the angst before we get to Spa.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Hungary)

Max was having headaches.

Not debilitating, not anything he would admit needed painkillers. But Amelia noticed the way he squinted at the sim screen, how he blinked a little too often under the harsh lights, how he’d logged fewer hours this week than he had since he was seventeen.

She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t want to push him.

But it gnawed at her, heavy and sour at the pit of her stomach.

Because she knew Max. Knew how he worked. If he thought for even a second that she might tell Christian or Helmut or, God forbid, the FIA, he'd lock it down even tighter, wrap himself up in barbed wire and throw away the key. Anything to stay in the car. Anything to win. 

Still, it scared her. The idea that maybe the crash had done more damage than he was willing to admit. That maybe he was hiding it from her, from everyone, in order to be given the all clear to keep racing. 

She leaned against the doorway to the RBR sim room one evening, arms crossed tight over her chest, watching him fight through another lap. He was good at pretending, but she saw the way his hand came up to the back of his neck when he thought no one was looking, how he massaged the side of his head, quick and angry like he could force the ache away. 

Her fingers twitched at her side. She wanted to walk over. Put a hand on his shoulder. Make him stop. But she didn't.

Instead, she just said, quiet but steady, "Don’t be stupid, Max."

He flicked his eyes toward her, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth, but didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

She already knew what he’d decided. And she already knew it would break her heart trying to change his mind.

— 

Amelia sat at the kitchen island, watching her mom buzz around the kitchen, throwing together something that vaguely resembled a pasta salad. She scrunched her nose at the sight of it, half-finished, but already tragic, and fought the urge to say something. She hadn’t been lying to Lando over a year ago, standing in her garage, when she’d told him her mom was really only capable of cooking one thing successfully. And there was definitely no chicken in sight.

Her iPad was open in front of her, specs from the latest floor upgrade zoomed in on the screen, but she wasn’t really looking at them. Not properly. She was too focused on the strange, unsettled feeling curling in her stomach.

This was her first time at home for weeks, maybe even over a month, and she’d missed it, she had. She really had.

But something felt… different. Off, in a way she couldn’t quite pin down.

“I think I should get my own place,” she said eventually, voice quiet but certain.

Her mom spun around, salad tong still in hand, blinking fast.  “You— you don’t want to live at home anymore?”

Amelia shrugged, trying to find the right words. “No, it’s not that. It’s not that I don’t like it here. It’s just…” She trailed off for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I feel like a nomad. I’m living out of hotels most of the time. And when I am in England, I’m split between here, Glastonbury with Lando, and Milton Keynes at Max’s flat. I have all these different places that feel half-mine. But nowhere that’s actually mine, you know?”

Her mom set the salad tongs down carefully, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. She didn’t look angry.

Amelia pressed on, rushing a little now in case she’d somehow managed to made her mom sad. “I still love it here. I do. But it feels like… like my childhood home, you know? Not my current home.”

There was a small beat of quiet. Then her mom gave a soft, bittersweet smile. “That’s what’s supposed to happen, honey. You’re supposed to outgrow home. I’m glad you feel ready.”

Amelia relaxed a little, shoulders unclenching. Then her mom added, almost too casually, “Will you and Lando get a place together?”

Amelia blinked. “What? No— I mean—” She stopped herself, brain scrambling to catch up. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I just meant me. Like… by myself.”

Her mom laughed, warm and a little amused. “Well, think about it. You practically live with him already, in hotel rooms, but still… it counts.”

Amelia frowned, thinking it through like it was a math problem. “Oh. Yeah. That would… probably make more sense, wouldn’t it?” She mumbled. “I don’t particularly think I’d want to live alone, anyway. And I have gotten used to all of his stuff taking up my space—“ 

Her mom just smiled again, all knowing and fond, and went back to massacring the pasta salad.

— 

Amelia smiled to herself and kept her head down, pencil scratching steadily across the paper in her lap. The rumble of the jet engine faded into white noise; background to the way her hand moved without much thought, the way it always did when her brain was chewing on something bigger than her.

Lando, sprawled out lazily in the aisle across from her, leaned over, curious. “What are you drawing, baby?”

Immediately, Amelia tilted the sketchbook away from him, tucking it protectively against her chest. Her ears burned hot. “Uh. Nothing. I mean—obviously something, but I don’t want to tell you.”

He stared at her for a long second, like he was trying to decode her, eyes narrowing slightly in that way that meant he wasn’t sure whether to push or leave it alone. Then he grinned, easy and warm. “Alright. Keep your secrets.”

He leaned back, stretching his legs out. 

Amelia ducked her head again, heart thudding faster than she wanted it to.

She wasn’t lying. She just… wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet. Not to him, not to herself.

In the sketchpad, dozens of early concepts sprawled across the page; lines and curves and arrows scribbled in shorthand. A McLaren.

Not just any McLaren, either.

One capable of winning championships.

Lightweight rear end. Aerodynamic front wing for better rotation. A reimagined floor, designed with efficiency and flexibility in mind for whatever the regulation changes might throw their way in the next couple of years.

It was stupid, probably.

She didn’t work for McLaren. Never had, in any official capacity. 

She was still Red Bull’s weapon — heralded by the press as Max’s saviour. Mini Newey. A hundred nicknames but never just her own, never just Amelia Brown.

But the ideas had crawled into her head after Silverstone and refused to leave. It had started with a little idle thought (If I could build him a car good enough to fight Max…) and now here she was. 

She chewed on her pencil, staring at the half-formed shape of the nose, and tried not to think too hard about what it meant that she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything else. 

— 

They stopped in Belgium before ultimately traveling to Hungary. Lando had family there. Cousins, some distant and some much closer. They’d be too busy to do anything of the sort during the actual Belgium race week, so it was nice to be able to fit them in.

They visited a few over the course of the week; fleeting hellos, shared meals over chipped plates and loud, overlapping conversations. It was nice. Overwhelming, a little, but nice.

Lando introduced her to all of his relatives with a beaming smile and a dozen proud praises—"This is Amelia—yeah, my Amelia"—and she offered polite hellos, dodging kisses on cheeks and handshakes as politely as possible and then doing her best to keep up with the small talk when it was asked of her.

It was a little exhausting, mentally. The swirl of laughter, jokes she didn’t quite catch the punchline of, but Lando never pushed her too far. Never nudged her into the centre of things. He let her stay where she was comfortable, sometimes sliding his hand across her lower back when it got too much, or catching her eye from across a room with a soft, wordless smile.

Mostly, she ended up perched on the carpet with the kids, knees tucked under her, a tiny smile playing on her lips as she held up a toy car and explained, far too seriously, the engine type and manufacturer history. The toddlers listened with wide eyes, clutching their sticky-fingered toys and nodding solemnly as if they understood.

Later, in the car, as they drove back toward their hotel under the pale blue of evening, Amelia sat curled up in the passenger seat, hair pulled over one shoulder, a big blue stain on her blouse that was the product of finger-painting gone wrong. 

Lando was quiet, his hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other tugging her knuckles gently onto his thigh. "You were really good with them," he said eventually, voice soft enough that she almost thought she'd imagined it.

She made a face. “Kids are easy. All you have to do is keep talking and occasionally shove something colourful at them.”

He laughed under his breath. A minute passed.

Then, casual, like he was asking if she wanted to stop for food, he asked, "Do you want kids?"

Amelia blinked, turning her head to stare at him in the half-light. "I— we don’t even live together," she said, blunt and a little incredulous.

Lando’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "Well, we can change that."

She stared at him for a long second, watching the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. Like he wasn’t nervous. Like he meant it.

"Did you talk to my mom?" she asked suddenly.

He shot her a quick, confused glance. "What? No—why? Did you already—? I mean—"

“Okay. I would like to live with you," she said, cutting him off neatly.

For a second, he just blinked at her. And then he was smiling, wide and ridiculous, so big it looked like it physically hurt to contain it.

She giggled, reaching over to nudge his arm. "Stop making that face. You're going to scare the other drivers."

"I'm happy," he argued, grin stretching impossibly wider. "Let me be happy."

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away. She settled back against her seat, watching the trees whip past the window, her heart full and a little chaotic.

"Who gets the bigger closet?" she asked after a beat.

He laughed, a low, warm sound. "You do. Obviously. I’ll just shove my stuff in a corner somewhere."

She nodded. “I do need a lot of closet room. I have two-hundred pairs of shoes.” A few seconds passed in comfortable silence before she tilted her head, thinking. "Where would we live?"

He didn’t miss a beat. "Monaco." 

She wrinkled her nose, instinctively. "That's... a big change."

He glanced over, softer now, like he already knew she'd need a minute with the idea. "Just think about it, baby," he said. "Makes sense for me. Makes sense for you. No taxes. Close to Max if you stay with Red Bull. Close to everything else if you don't."

She chewed on her bottom lip, the weight of it settling on her. A new country. A new chapter. A real home; with him.

He smiled again, smaller this time but just as sure. "We could make it our home."

Amelia nodded slowly, feeling her brain already spinning into overdrive. "I need to make a list. Pros and cons. Things we’ll want in the apartment. Maybe a balcony?"

Lando just grinned, reaching over to squeeze her thigh. "Anything you want, baby."

— 

“Do you think I’d be a good mom?”

Max froze mid-step, nearly tripping over his own feet. His eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face. “You—fuck, are you pregnant?”

His alarm might’ve had something to do with the fact that she was halfway under his car, only her legs and a shock of messy hair visible as she fiddled with a stubborn screw.

Amelia blinked, glancing up at him from beneath the chassis. “No. I’m just wondering.”

Max let out a breath so heavy it was basically a groan, dragging a hand down his face like he needed to physically wipe the terror off. “Fuck, don't do that to me, zusje. I nearly had a heart attack.”

She wriggled out from under the car, wiping her greasy hands on a rag as she sat back on her heels. “I wasn’t trying to scare you. I’m being serious.”

Max crouched down beside her, arms draped loosely over his knees, studying her with a little more care now. “Okay... why are you thinking about that?” he asked, voice softer.

Amelia shrugged. “I was just thinking—if it ever happened, would I be good at it?”

Max’s face relaxed. “You’d be a great mother.”

She tilted her head, skeptical. “You’re just saying that because it’s what you’re supposed to say.”

He snorted. “No, I'm saying it because it’s true. You love very intensely, you’re honest even when it’s not easy, and you are protective and strong. That's exactly what children need from a parent.”

Amelia chewed on her lip. “Pregnancy is scary. Completely out of my control. Everything, anything, could go wrong.”

Max’s expression shifted, softening. “That’s not something you need to worry about yet.”

She hesitated, then said, almost too quietly, “I think Lando would be a good dad. And I want to give that to him. One day.”

Max nodded. “Then you will. When you’re ready, of course.”

Amelia pursed her lips, staring off to the side. “We... I think we’re going to move in together. Soon. Lando mentioned Monaco.”

Max immediately brightened. “Good! I’m there already. We could be neighbours.”

She blinked, absorbing that new piece of information, slotting it neatly into the mental checklist she was already building. “Oh. Are there any available apartments in your building?”

Max huffed a small laugh, like he hadn’t expected her to take his suggestion seriously. “I’m sure there are.”

She nodded firmly, already halfway down the rabbit hole of logistics. “Okay. That would be efficient.” 

Max smiled at her, patient, fond. “I’m sure that you will find the perfect place, zusje. Don’t worry.”

Amelia nodded again, more to herself this time. 

— 

“We’re not living in Max’s building,” Lando said.

Amelia, perched cross-legged on the bed in his drivers room, immediately pouted. “Why not? It would make life so much simpler, Lan.”

He let out a short laugh, setting his phone down. “Look, I love Max, alright? But living that close to him would be... proper weird.”

Amelia tilted her head, frowning like he was speaking another language. “Why?”

Lando scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Imagine it. Every time we argue, he’s knocking on the door two minutes later—sticking up for you, making me feel like a right dickhead.”

She cracked a tiny smile but stayed stubborn. “But it would be efficient. And Max could help us fix things if something breaks.”

“Baby,” Lando said, laughing, “if something breaks, I’ll fix it. Or we’ll call someone. A professional. Not Max with a wrench and a YouTube tutorial.”

He reached over, tugging her socked foot into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I was thinking somewhere quieter anyway,” he added, softer now. “Away from the main city. Somewhere you can go on your little daily walks without bumping into tourists every five seconds.”

She perked up immediately. “My walks are important for my brain.”

“I know.” He smiled, running his thumb over her ankle. “I even asked Charles where he grew up. There are places, baby; small, quiet. Still close enough if we need to get into town. He said the air’s cleaner too.”

Amelia tapped her fingers against her knee, thoughtful. “Cleaner air is good. Better for respiratory health.”

Lando chuckled and tugged her closer until she half-fell into his side with a tiny yelp. “Exactly. So let’s find somewhere ours, yeah?”

She tucked her head under his chin, breathing him in. “Okay. But if Max gets upset, you have to deal with it.”

Lando grinned against her hair. “I can handle a grumpy Verstappen.”

— 

They were curled up in their hotel room, watching the latest episode of Grill the Grid the night before qualifying.

Amelia sat between Lando’s legs, her back pressed against his chest. He had her squished close, big hands sprawled comfortably across her stomach, pressing just enough to ground her, to help her breathe a little easier.

It’d been a rough day for Max, and the stress had bled into her too. Finally being still, finally letting herself relax, felt like a blessing.

She fiddled absently with her golf ball, thumb tracing lazy circles over the surface, half-listening, until the first trivia question came up.

Without hesitation, she rattled off the answer.

By the third question, Lando was laughing, reaching for the remote to pause the video after each one. “Alright, genius,” he teased, chin nudging the top of her head. “You get first go. Beat all of us.”

She answered every time without missing a beat.

He kept pausing, and she kept getting them all right, and after a while Lando wasn’t even pretending to be surprised anymore. He just squeezed her a little tighter and said, “Smarty pants.” 

Amelia smiled, small and shy but real.

Lando pressed a kiss into her hair. “I should start taking you to pub quizzes. I’d make a fortune.” 

She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn’t pull away.

— 

She felt... clingy.

Sitting next to Lando in hospitality, she stared at him, hands itching, burning to reach out, to grab him and never let go.

It had started yesterday. A coil of anxiety tightening in her stomach, left over from Silverstone. Aftershocks, she supposed.

She’d googled it, of course. Trauma responses. Hyper-vigilance. Perfectly normal, the internet said.

She didn’t feel normal.

She kissed Lando goodbye before qualifying, smiling as best she could, and ignored the way her hands trembled when she pulled away. She didn’t look back, even though everything inside her screamed to.

If it were up to her, none of them would be taking part in the weekends running. 

Not Lando. Not Max. Not Fernando. Not anyone.

She caught herself before the spiral could dig deeper, bracing one palm against the wall of the motorhome and forcing a deep breath.

She couldn’t live like this. Couldn’t let one crash, no matter how terrifying, poison the thing she loved. The thing they all loved.

But reason didn’t quiet the fear.

It didn't steady her hands as she watched Lando climb into his cockpit on the livestream.

It didn’t stop her from hugging Max tighter than usual, long enough that he gave her a puzzled little look before he was called away.

Even GP noticed. He kept glancing over, subtle but persistent. “You okay?” he asked, at least a dozen times throughout the session.

Every time, Amelia just nodded without looking at him, glued to the data, clinging to logic, to numbers, to anything she could control.

It helped. A little.

— 

Lando out-qualified Daniel by a mile.

He was cocky and proud, chest puffed out as he peeled her dress off later that night, caught between frantic and careful.

His mouth was hot against her neck, pulling soft, desperate sounds from her lips, her back arching into him. Then his hand tangled in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.

He was smirking. Full of adrenaline. Hungry. “You think I deserve a reward for my performance?”

Amelia blinked up at him, sweet and soft and unbearably hot. “Anything you want, Lan.”

— 

The next morning, she clung to him, legs tangled with his, her hands wrapped tightly around his wrists. Holding him, having him, needing him close. The warmth of his body against hers felt like the only thing that was grounding her.

He kissed her nose, then her forehead, her cheeks, and chin, finally landing on her lips. The slow, deliberate kiss deepened, but she pulled away just enough to speak.

“I think I need to talk to somebody. A therapist, probably.”

Lando froze, his fingers still brushing against her skin, a soft hesitation in his touch. “You’re... Fuck, I knew something was up. I could feel it, but I didn’t know for sure.”

She gave him a steady, matter-of-fact look, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Yeah, that’s because I hid it from you. Didn’t want you to worry."

His face softened, and the guilt crept in. “You should’ve told me, Amelia.”

She shrugged, her stomach twisting under the weight of his gaze. “I didn’t want you distracted…”

"Don’t be stupid." His words were sharp, but they didn’t make her flinch. His hand found the back of her neck, pulling her gently against him. “You tell me when you’re having a shit time, okay?”

She sighed, pressing her forehead to his. “Sorry.”

His fingers slid through her hair, his voice steady but soft. "No more hiding it. Right?"

She nodded, barely, but it was enough.

“We’ll find someone good for you to talk to,” he said after a beat, his hand moving to stroke her hair.

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his collarbone affectionately. “Okay.”

— 

She popped her head into Fernando’s garage, offering him a soft smile. He came over, gave her a quick squeeze, and gestured proudly to his helmet. “Pretty, huh?”

She nodded, indulging him with a grin. “I like it. How are things going with Esteban?”

Fernando sighed. “Ah. He is… complicated. A good driver, but a terrible teammate. He does not see how both things can be true at once.”

She glanced over at Esteban’s side of the garage. “He’s passionate.”

Fernando nodded thoughtfully. “He is. That will be his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness.” He kissed her cheek and shooed her off. “Go, go, before Verstappen finds you here and threatens to keep you chained to his garage.”

She hugged him again, leaning in just close enough to murmur, “Adjust your ride height. Two centimetres higher.”

Before he could say anything, she gave him a sly smile and disappeared down the paddock.

— 

She sat next to Checo in the strategy meeting, slouched low in her chair, sneaking cursory glances at him every time he slid his phone under the table toward her. They were playing chess; badly, if she was honest, but that was half the fun.

Checo would make a move, tilt the screen toward her, and wait, barely suppressing a smug grin. She'd frown, tap out a counter, and slide it back without a word.

No one else seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

Checo was a lot of fun. Easygoing. Quick to laugh. And, as it turned out, a little reckless with his queen.

Amelia pinned him in three moves flat.

Checo huffed under his breath, shaking his head at her. She just shrugged, eyes back on the screen at the front of the room like nothing had happened at all.

— 

It was raining. Not hard, not anymore, but enough to slick the track and raise every hair on the back of Amelia’s neck.

She stood, stiff-backed, arms folded across her chest in the Red Bull garage, the whole world around her muffled and distant. She could hear the shrill whine of the engines as the formation lap wrapped, but it was like she was underwater. Distant. Fading.

Max was P3. Lando was P6. Fernando was lurking, dangerous as always. The Mercedes were ahead, unpredictable on a damp track.

Amelia flexed her fingers, breathing deep and slow. 

The lights blinked above the front of the grid, one, two, three, four, five, and before she could even brace herself, the race started.

Chaos.

Immediate, all-consuming chaos.

Bottas missed his braking point into Turn 1 and plowed into Lando. She didn’t even see it happen, only saw Lando’s car snap sideways, broken, ruined, like a toy in the rain.

She flinched so hard she almost dropped her iPad.

And then Max—Max—

She watched it in horror, too slow to look away, as Max’s Red Bull got collected in the chain reaction, bodywork flying, his car crumpling along the side-pod.

Her knees buckled; she caught herself with a hand on the pitwall.

Someone shouted. Someone else was already running to grab spare front wings. Alarms buzzed in her headset, engineers yelling over one another.

“Max has heavy damage,” GP was saying into her ear through the comms device, voice low and tight. “We’re evaluating. Standby.”

Her hands trembled.

The cars crawled through the carnage, half the grid limping back toward the pitlane. She stared at Max’s car as it crept past, side torn open like a wounded animal, sparks flying out the bottom.

“Still going,” she heard someone say. "He's still going."

Somehow, Max was dragging the car around. Somehow, Lando had pulled off track without getting hit again.

The red flag was thrown. Race temporarily suspended.

Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and pressed her forehead against the wall. Cold metal, cold air, cold panic.

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder — once, solid and grounding. Probably an engineer who hadn’t been briefed, but they were lucky, their touch felt good, and didn’t make her want to tear off her skin. 

She nodded, to herself, to anyone watching her, making sure she was good. 

Didn't trust herself to speak yet.

— 

Lando was out.

Too much damage. Retired on lap two.

Max was luckier. He kept going, dragging a half-broken chassis to the finish line, scraping whatever points he could.

Esteban won. His first victory.

Amelia watched from the back of Lando’s garage as the Frenchman stepped onto the top step of the podium, soaking in the moment.

Lando’s arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close.

She didn’t need him to say anything — she could feel it. The bitter edge of jealousy under his skin, the tight set of his jaw.

“It’ll come,” she muttered, more promise than reassurance, her mind flicking to her sketchbook, to the concepts she hadn't shown anyone yet — the ones that could take him all the way. 

The chassis she’d created with two particular drivers in mind. 

Lando squeezed her tighter.

— 

Summer break came just when she needed it.

She and Lando flew back to Monaco with Max, crashing in his guest room while they started apartment hunting.

Well… Lando did most of the hard work. Talking to estate agents, putting out feelers.

Amelia kept herself busy playing with Jimmy and Sassy, who decided almost immediately that she was their new favorite human.

She didn't mind. The cats were easy company, curling up on her lap or following her around the flat as Lando scrolled through listings and Max grumbled about all the overpriced places in the area.

It felt good, normal, even, to slow down. To just exist for a little while, tucked away in the hazy warmth of a Monegasque summer, surrounded by people (and animals) who loved her.

— 

They fell in love with the first place they viewed.

If Amelia believed in fate, she might have called it that.

Lando stood back and watched as she wandered through the apartment; past the galley kitchen, onto the balcony, big enough for a table, a chair, maybe even a canopy swing if she wanted.

Two bedrooms, three bathrooms. A master suite and a double. A massive living room, an even bigger office.

She could already see it: herself at a big desk, sketching new concepts as sunlight poured through the wall of windows.

She found Lando in the kitchen, deep in conversation with the property agent.

When he glanced up, she was already beaming at him.

— 

They spent two weeks of summer break, the rare stretch when neither of them had to be working full-time, Lando free from training camps, Amelia unchained from the factory, tucked away in the South of France.

It felt like stepping into another life. Long mornings spent tangled up in crisp hotel sheets, slow breakfasts on sun-drenched balconies overlooking sleepy coastal towns. They rented a little convertible and drove with no real destination, winding through golden hills and lavender fields, the radio humming low between them.

Amelia wore tiny sundresses and braided her hair, and Lando kept finding excuses to kiss her bare shoulders. They swam in cold, clear water until their fingers wrinkled, then collapsed on the beach, salt still clinging to their skin. 

At night, they fell into bed full of good food and exhausted. 

It wasn’t some extravagant, carefully curated holiday. It was just… easy. 

And somewhere between the lazy afternoons and the late-night kisses, Amelia stared at him and thought, “I could spend the rest of my life with you.” 

— 

The evening was warm, a soft breeze rustling the leaves around them. Lando had set up a speaker on the patio, the faint sound of acoustic guitar playing in the background, but they weren’t paying much attention to the music. Amelia was sitting on the edge of a chair, arms loosely draped over her knees, looking out at the stars above. Lando was sitting on the stone steps, watching her.

“So, how was it?” He asked. 

Amelia smiled faintly, but her eyes were tired. “It was… fine,” she started, kicking the edge of the chair with her foot, watching the dust float up into the air. “A bit awkward, but that’s probably normal. Online therapy, you know?” She rolled her eyes, but there was a lightness to her tone, as if she was still trying to find the right words. “It felt like… trying to untangle a knot in my brain, but someone else was holding the other end.”

Lando nodded thoughtfully, shifting on the stairs so he was facing her more. “I get that. Did she—” He paused, checking her expression, making sure she was okay. “Did she help at all?”

Amelia shrugged, a soft exhale escaping her. “Not yet. I mean, we talked about a lot of stuff. Things I didn’t realise were connected, you know? I think it’ll take a few sessions for it to click. It’s hard to explain. But I felt… heard, I guess. Which is something.”

Lando nodded again, his gaze softening. “Proud of you, baby.” He looked over at the empty space beside him. “Come here.”

She raised an eyebrow but stood up, moving to join him. As she sat beside him on the steps, she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re really good at this whole comfort thing.”

Lando chuckled, sliding an arm around her waist. “I try my best.” After a beat, he stood up, holding out a hand to her. “Wanna dance?”

Amelia looked at him, surprised, but the quiet night seemed to make everything feel a little more possible. She took his hand with a grin. “We’re really doing this?”

Lando smiled, tugging her to her feet. “Why not? It’s a slow song.”

The music played on, soft and gentle, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Just moved together, swaying under the dim glow of the patio lights, with the sound of the wind and distant waves in the background. Amelia closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the moment settle into her chest, her heart still thudding, but in a different way now.

“You know, you’ve been pretty great,” she murmured after a while, her hand resting against his chest. “With everything.”

Lando’s smile was barely visible in the dark, but she felt it in the way he pulled her just a little closer. “Always.”

She closed her eyes.

Always sounded pretty good.

NEXT CHAPTER

[moonstruckme]

hii! im not sure if you're taking requests, but i love your work! this might sound weird, but as a muscular girl who works out a lot, i get insecure sometimes about looking "too masculine." i was wondering if you could do something like poly!marauders reassuring the reader that it's actually really hot or something? im sorry if this comes off as weird!! i just don’t see too many fics with a muscular fem reader and finally decided to bite the bullet and request something for the first time! thank youuu ❤️

Thanks for requesting angel <3

cw: reader is insecure about her shoulders, reflects on narrow ideas of femininity

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 869 words

“You’re such a pleb,” Sirius teases Remus, taking his tie from him. 

“I am a pleb,” Remus grumbles. “I wasn’t meant to wear things like this.” 

“No, only sweaters and scowls for you, is that right?” 

Remus’ cheeks color. Sirius grins, pecking them both. 

You think Remus was made to wear things like this. He and Sirius both look very dashing, though different shades of it. Remus’ tie is a muted gray while Sirius wears a suit all of the darkest blue to set off his eyes. Sirius gives Remus’ tie a flirtatious tug, and Remus cracks, smiling as Sirius kisses him once more. 

“Angel, will you help me with mine?” James asks, coming in from the bathroom with wet curls already trying to spring up above his head. 

You turn away from where you’d been tugging at your dress in the mirror. Sirius scoffs, finishing with Remus’ tie. 

“You know how to tie a tie, James, I’ve seen you.” 

“I didn’t say I don’t know how,” says James. “I just want her to do it.” 

“Such a man-baby.” 

“Me? You’re one to talk.” 

“Now what could you mean by that?” 

“You look really beautiful, dove,” Remus says quietly, coming up behind you to twine his arms around your waist. You leave your boyfriends to their bantery foreplay. 

Your face warms at his notice. “Thank you. So do you.” 

Sometimes Remus seems to have an easier time taking compliments from you. Maybe it’s that you don’t make as big a production of them as either James or Sirius, but rather than flushing and deflecting Remus only presses a thankful kiss to your cheek. 

You look at the two of you in the mirror. You do look rather nice together, though a worm of insecurity eats at your middle. Remus doesn’t dwarf you. You don’t mind how you look, most of the time. You like that you’re strong, that your body shows the work you’ve put into it, that you look capable. And yet. Sometimes, times like now, you just wish you were…daintier. Not dainty as in feeble, but slight. Sylphlike. Feminine in the way you were taught what feminine is. 

“I think I’m going to change,” you confess. 

Remus frowns. It appears you’ve caught Sirius’ notice, too, who turns from where he’s picking out shoes near the closet. “What? What’s wrong with this dress?” 

“It’s…” You straighten your posture a little bit, and the effect makes you grimace. You try to quell it when you catch Remus watching your face. “I just don’t like it very much.” 

“I think it’s lovely,” says Remus, in his mild way. 

Sirius nods, assessing. “Yeah, babe, that’s your color.”

“Thanks.” You try to smile at him. “It’s not really the color, it’s just how it makes me look.” 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow. His arms cross, defensive. “And how is that?” 

You shrink, feeling chastised already. “I don’t love how my shoulders look in it, that’s all.” 

Sirius’ eyes narrow like he wants to fight with you. Remus murmurs his name warningly. 

“Your shoulders?” James seems surprised. “They look killer in that, lovely.” 

“I don’t really want them to look killer,” you admit. 

“What’s your issue with them?” asks Sirius. 

“Sirius,” Remus groans.

“What?” 

“A bit of tact, please.” 

“It’s fine.” You roll your eyes, trying not to squirm under all the attention. “I just feel like they look pretty broad with the neckline like this.” 

Remus meets your eyes in the mirror, a perplexed notch between his brows. “And you’d rather they didn’t?” 

“Ideally, yeah.” 

“Angel,” says James, “do you have any idea how ridiculously fit your shoulders look like that?” 

This stumps you. Realistically, the answer is no?

James goes on as though he’s heard it telepathically. “You look like you could lift me. Me. That’s, like, a fantasy.” 

“You fantasize about me lifting you?” you ask skeptically. 

All three of your boyfriends nod, Remus somewhat sheepishly. 

“Why would you want them to look smaller?” James seems genuinely bewildered. “You worked for those, lovely.” 

“And they look good,” Sirius chimes in. 

You look at yourself in the mirror again, shifting in your dress uncomfortably. “You don’t think…when they look wide like this, it makes me feel a bit mannish.” 

“Mannish,” Sirius deadpans. “Really.” 

“Sweetheart,” Remus tries in a gentler tone, “you should wear what makes you feel good, but do you really think that you look like any of us?” 

In the mirror, Sirius raises an eyebrow at you in challenge. 

“My shoulders are about the same size as yours,” you confess in a small voice. 

“And do you think that makes Remus look womanly?” James asks. 

“No,” you reply quickly, hastening to clarify that that is not what you’re saying. 

Sirius hums, smug. “Can’t have it both ways, gorgeous.” 

“You look beautiful,” Remus says again, cupping his hands over your shoulders. He lets them coast down your arms, admiring. 

Your voice softens. “Thank you.” 

“And if I have to look plebeian and absurd in a suit,” he goes on at a murmur, “you can show off how fit you look in that dress.” 

Your eyes roll, though you know your boyfriends all see the smile you’re trying to suppress. “Fair enough.”  

[blueberrykefir]

No Permission Needed

Joel Miller x f!reader x Daryl Dixon 18+

Summary: You hit the road, running from home. Hitchhiking, only to be picked up by your daddy's two best friends. Sat between Joel Miller and Daryl Dixon, boundaries blur along the Texas highway. It's a forbidden attraction with two older men that push your limits.

Warnings: Smut! MDI! age gap, dads best friends, praise, teasing, dirty talk, use of nicknames, threesome, vaginal fingering, oral (m receiving), penetrative sex (p in v) rough/manhandling.

Word Count: 10k lol

—

You stuck your thumb out before you could second-guess yourself.

The sun beat down like it had a vendetta, the heat making the asphalt shimmer, like a mirage. You were hot, you were pissed, and for once, you were doing something your way. No asking permission, no clearing it with your daddy first. No curfew ticking in your head like a time bomb.

You were grown up, dammit. Even if your daddy refused to see it.

So you didn’t care where that truck, slowing down for you, was headed, so long as it was away.

The engine rumbled closer, an old, familiar growl that should've made your heart settle. Instead, it damn near dropped straight into your boots.

The truck coasted to a slow stop beside you, sun-bleached and rusting at the corners. 

The window was already cranked down, glass halfway dusted with sun and road grit. You blinked up at the window and froze. 

Joel and Daryl. Your daddy’s best friends.

Oh, shit.

You’d seen them around for years, Joel and Daryl, your daddy’s longtime buddies who showed up for the occasional football game, or during Fourth of July barbecues, beers in hand and sun glinting off sun-kissed forearms. 

They were older than you, sure, but they made your stomach flip. They were weathered, rugged, comfortable in their own skin the way boys your age couldn’t fake if they tried.

Joel had this slow, gravel deep drawl that always made you glance down at your boots to hide your blush. And Daryl had those sharp eyes that said he noticed more than he let on. Back then you were too young. Off-limits. But now? Now you filled out your denim skirt and knew how to swing your hips just enough to get attention, even if you pretend not to notice when either of them looked a little too long.

They sat side by side on that wide bench seat, like the devil sent them personally to scoop you up. Their eyes drank you in. Bare legs, scuffed cowgirl boots, the tank top you wore to fight off the heat and to show a little more skin than your daddy would’ve liked.

Joel’s brows lifted a notch, “You runnin’ away, Sweetheart?”

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, heart drumming in your throat. Then you nodded. “Yes.”

Daryl didn’t even try to hide the smile pulling at his lips. “Your daddy know where you’re at?”

You swallowed, “No.” 

You were ready for them to scold you. To tell you to turn back around and be a good girl. Or for them to haul you into that truck and deliver you straight back to your daddy’s front porch. 

Instead, they looked at each other. Just one second passed between them. Then Joel nodded, subtle and sure, like this had already been decided.

“Hop in.”

A wave of relief washed over you and you smiled, gratefully. 

You grabbed the handle and climbed in, the door creaking like it hadn’t been oiled since before you were born. Daryl didn’t move. Didn’t scoot. Just nodded to the space between him and Joel like it was obvious.

Your skirt barely brushed his knees as you passed over him, settling into the seat between them.

The seat was hot and worn smooth. The old vinyl stuck just a little to the back of your thighs as you squeezed in. The truck was older, so it had a stick shift rising straight up from the floor. You had to throw one leg on either side of it, skirt pulling tight across your thighs.

Joel’s thigh brushed yours on one side, hard muscle under faded jeans, warm and solid. Daryl’s was the same on the other, just close enough that the rough scrape of his denim kissed the soft of her bare thigh.

Your legs looked out of place there. Smooth and soft as a peach next to all that rugged masculinity. Neither of them adjusted for you. Neither of them looked surprised. The engine rumbled to life, low and steady. The rough of Joel’s forearm brushed over your thigh as he shifted into gear. The vibration of the truck thrummed right between your knees… between your thighs. 

Joel kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh, just inches from you, prepared to switch gears as they drove out of town. The subtle proximity made the air feel charged. 

Daryl leaned on his elbow on the open window, his other lazily draped over the back of the seat behind you. His touch never quite reached you, but the space between you was electric, like he was seeing how close he could get without crossing the line.

“You runnin’ off somewhere, darlin’?” Daryl asked eyes on the road ahead, but his voice dipped low and slow, like he already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear you say it.

“Maybe.”

The wind whipped through the open windows, warm and wild. Dust kicked up behind you, and you didn’t look back.

Joel shot you a look from under his lashes, “So. You wanna tell us what you’re doin’ out here, stickin’ your thumb out for strangers.”

You shrugged, fingers fiddling with the frayed hem of your skirt. “Got into it with my daddy.”

Daryl glanced over, his knuckles resting lazy on the open window frame. “He put his hands on you?”

“No–no, not like that.” You hesitated, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, “Guess I got tired of being treated like a little girl.”

Daryl chuckled low in his throat, “That right?”

You didn’t answer, just looked out the window like the horizon might save you. The warm wind brushed your skin, lifting the edge of your skirt, like even the breeze was curious.

Joel shifted gears again, this time his hand grazed your thigh when he pulled back from the stick. His fingers skimmed just above the hemline. You swallowed hard.

Joel didn't look at you when he spoke again. Just kept his eyes on the road. 

“Funny,” Joel murmured, voice laced with sin. “You don’t look like no little girl to me.”

“Then maybe y’all oughta stop treatin’ me like one.”

That earned a quiet amused noise from Joel. His fingers tapping idly against the stick shift, like they missed the feel of your skin already.

Daryl leaned forward, his arm behind your shoulders, brushing against you as he adjusted the radio, letting a soft hum of old country fill the space. “Well now, darlin’, that kinda talk’s liable to get you in trouble.

You tilted your chin up, “Maybe I’m lookin’ for a little trouble.

Joel chuckled under his breath, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth. 

The low sound of his chuckle curled in your gut like smoke. You didn’t like it. Not because it wasn’t nice to hear. 

But because it was dismissive. 

Amused. 

Like he still saw the kid pouting over curfews and not the woman sitting between him and Daryl.

So you glanced over, chin tilted in challenge, “Somethin’ funny Joel?”

His eyes slid to your, then back to the road. He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted the gear again, knuckles brushing your thigh like the truck wanted to stir trouble.

With a slight curl to his lips he said, “No, no. Just tryin’ to remember when you learned how to bite.”

The low hum of his voice, slithered down your spine, but the words burned hotter. He still thought it was a game. Like you were just actin’ up for attention. 

At that, you felt a little frustrated he wasn't taking you seriously. You wanted to be seen as a woman. Treated like one. So you snapped. “You guys think I'm just playin’ dont you?”

Neither of them responded. Joel’s fingers twitched on the wheel and Daryl glanced your way, not smirking anymore. His brows tugged in a furrow, the look of a man questioning something he didn’t see coming. 

“I’m not playin’,” You went on, quieter. “I’m done waitin’ around, being treated like I'm ten. I got my own legs now, and I know how to use them.”

That earned a slow glance from both of them. Like finally, they weren’t just looking at you, but they were seeing you.

“Yeah,” Joel said finally. Rough, Barely there. “We’re startin’ to notice.”

You finally settled in, sinking into the old bench seat. The heat of Daryl’s arm pressed warm and heavy against your shoulders and your legs were snug against theirs, like you’d been made to fit there. 

“Good.” You finished. “‘Cause I really didn’t wanna have to hitch a new ride.”

The corner of Joel’s mouth curled, almost a smile, but darker. And when he shifted gears again, his hand grazed your bare thigh. But this time it lingered. He didn’t move away, fast like before. 

The truck suddenly felt too quiet. The old country song warbled low on the radio, a twangy ache that sounded just the way your stomach flipped.

“So.” You started. “Where y’all off to anyways?”

Daryl answered, “Checkin’ out a property over state lines.” 

“Lookin’ for trouble maybe,” Joel added, glancing at you sideways.

You smiled, lashes fluttering. “Lucky you picked me up then.” 

Joel looked back at the road. Daryl’s gaze caught the way your fingers messed with the hem of your skirt.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, “We’re beginnin’ to think so too.” 

The radio crackled with old country, as you guys drove down the old Texan highway. Fields of scrub, rusted fence posts, telephone wires strung lazily alongside the road. It was the most peace you felt in a while. 

You took it all in with anticipation of what's next. A wad of cash in your back pocket. Your past in the rearview. Your bare knees bumping against their thighs every time the truck hits a dip in the road.

Ten minutes passed like that.

Just open road, stolen glances, and accidental touches that lingered too long to be innocent.

Then Joel cleared his throat. “Gotta stop for gas soon.”

Daryl snorted from the passenger seat, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “Hell, this old thing runs like it’s draggin’ it’ last breath. We hardly even left town.”

“Hey.” You ran your fingers along the cracked leather of the seat like it was precious. “Ain’t nothing wrong with older.” 

That got their attention. Joel looked at you sideways, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Daryl raised a brow, amused.

“Yeah?” Joel asked, voice thick with heat. “What is it about ‘em you like so much?”

You shrugged, pretending like your pulse hadn’t just kicked up a notch.

“Older things last longer… if you know how to treat them.” You leaned your head back against the seat, letting the sun catch your cheekbones just so. “New stuff’s too easy. I like somethin’ that takes a little work.”

Daryl made a noise of amusement. “Talkin’ ‘bout trucks or men, darlin’?” 

You shrugged, “Ain’t much of a difference, far as I’m concerned.”

Your words landed like a shot of whiskey. Rough and warm.

You weren’t just playing with fire. You were the match, waiting for them to strike. You wanted their minds reeling. Wanted them to picture your lips wrapped around something other than words.

They tensed. They didn’t look at each other, but you could feel them thinking about it. About you.

“Well,” Joel cleared his throat, cutting through the tension. His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. “Hope you like gas stations too.” The corner of your mouth lifted, amused, “Love them.” 

—

The old truck rumbled to a halt in front of a sun-faded gas station that looked like it had been baked into the Texas dirt. A single rust pump stood half-leaning like it might give out if the wind blew wrong.

The sun poured down mean, sharp as glass. Your skin prickled under it the second Joel cut the engine and the breeze vanished.

“Thirsty?” Darly asked, already nudging open the truck door.

You nodded, legs unfold slowly, denim skirt riding up as you stepped down from the truck. Joel and Daryl’s eyes flicked over your legs and you felt the heat of it like a sunburn.

The soles of your boots crunched on sun-bleached gravel as you followed them towards the station.

Daryl beat Joel to the door, pulling it open with a cocky smile, “After you, darlin’.”

You gave him a mock curtsy and stepped inside, only for Joel to follow right behind, slipping in a little too close. His chest brushed your back as he grabbed the handle and swung the door shut in Daryl’s face, with a lazy flick of his wrist.

You hear the solid thunk of it closing, followed by: “What the hell, man?”

Your laugh bubbled up as Daryl shoved the door back open, giving Joel a shove on his way in.

“That’s what I get for bein’ nice,” Daryl muttered, shooting you a mock wounded look.

You grinned at him, “Didn’t ask you to be.” 

Something unreadable passed through Daryl’s eyes, and his jaw clenched like he was holding back words. Before turning and walking down an aisle.

The air inside the station was barely cooler, just stale and humming from a dusty box fan shoved in the corner. Old postcards curled on wire racks, a faded Coke machine in the corner, and the clerk reading a hardback. 

“Real fine establishment,” You smiled, fingers trailing along a row of melted candy bars as you trailed behind Joel and Daryl into the aisles. Daryl peeled off toward the back, muttering something about jerky. Joel veered toward the cooler.

He grabbed a water bottle, condensation slick on his fingers. He cracked the cap and took a slow swig, throat bobbing.

Then he held it out to you. 

You hesitated for half a beat before taking it. The rim was cold and wet where his mouth had just been. You brought it to your lips and tried not to think about it.

Joel watched you, one brow raised like he hadn’t meant to stare, but couldn’t help it. Your stomach flipped.

“Ain’t gotta get shy on me now,” Joel murmured, voice low and teasing.

You pulled the bottle back, licking a drop from your bottom lip, catching his gaze. “Not shy.” You said. “Just didn’t expect you to be the kinda guy to share.” 

He huffed a breath through his nose, “I’m not usually. But some things…” His eyes dragged over you, “...are worth makin’ an exception for.”

Something warm and thrilling raced down your spine. 

Daryl came round the corner, snacks in hand. He noted the look on your guys’ face. “What’d I miss?”

You turned toward him with a syrup-sweet smile, voice all innocence. “Joel was just tellin’ me he likes to share.”

Daryl raised a brow at Joel, slow and curious. Joel didn’t say anything. Just ran a hand over his jaw like he was tryin’ to keep it together. 

A smirk tugged at your lips. You turned toward the counter, hips swaying and you set the water down with a quiet clink. 

Neither of them moved, just fixated on you. “I’ll be waitin’ in the truck. Don’t take too long.” You drift towards the door and toss over your shoulder, “Reckon I’ll find a way to entertain myself.”

That was all it took. Daryl blinked once, then tossed the snacks down like they’d offended him. “Gas is on you this time, buddy,” he said, already making a beeline for the door. 

Joel didn’t move, just stared after him. “The hell–,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

Daryl's boots were stomping behind you, leaving Joel to deal with the clerk.

Outside, the air hit like a blow dryer set to hell. You reached for the truck’s door, but the metal burned your palm like it had soaked up every bit of the Texas sun. 

You pulled back with a small hiss.

“I got it.” Daryl stepped in, casual as anything and pulled the creaky door open. He didn’t even flinch. Of course he didn’t. 

“Thank you.” You said, slipping into the middle with a little sigh. The leather had already gone warm under the sun, leather sticking to the back of your thighs.

Daryl lingered outside the truck, arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing beneath the frayed edges of his sleeveless black vest. The angel wings stitched across the back was a cruel contrast to a man who looked more like fallen grace than divine mercy. 

The bell above the gas station door jingled, and Joel came out into the sun. He made it halfway to the truck before he tossed a brown paper bag into the cab with a little more force than necessary.

“Dickhead,” he muttered at Daryl, cuffing him on the shoulder, not too hard, but not playful either. Like it wasn’t about snacks or the gas anymore.

Then Joel grumbled something about “damn heat getting to me,” as he walked around to the pump. His eyes cut toward you through the dusty windshield. It was clear, It wasn’t the sun that was getting to him.

Daryl climbed in the passenger side door with a lazy grin, grabbed the brown bag and slid in with a creak of leather and old springs. His arm returned behind you on the seat, this time closer than before.

You gasped when something cold landed in your thigh. He dropped a glass bottle of Coke in your lap. He smirked at you, “Figured you’d want somethin’ sweet.” 

It was chilled, beads of condensation rolling over the red label, soaking into your thighs through the denim of your skirt. 

You took your time, twisting the metal cap on the Coke, letting the fizz whisper as it opened. You brought it to your mouth and took a slow sip from the rim. A soft sound came out, something between a sigh and a hum of satisfaction.

Daryl's gaze seared into you. Intent and sharp. You pulled the drink away from your lips, with a flutter of your lashes. “You want a taste too?”

Daryl’s tongue flicked across his lower lip. “Might be a little too sweet for me.” His voice was low and rough. 

“Huh.” You tilted your head, “I thought you might’ve liked things a little… Sweeter.”

The words floated in the air, charged and suggestive.

Before he could answer, the sound of the door opening sliced through the air. The truck rocked slightly as Joel climbed into the driver's seat. 

You smirked at Daryl, as if you’d just shared a secret, and brought the bottle to your lips, taking another sip. You savored the cold rush down your throat, keeping your eyes on him the whole time.

The truck’s engine roared to life and Joel turned to look at you, his eyes lingering on the way you held the Coke and the way Daryl still hovered too close to you.

There was something tense in the air now, and for once, it wasn’t just the Texas heat. 

—

As the truck pulled back onto the road, the horizon stretched out before you. An endless ribbon of highway shimmering in the scorching afternoon sun. 

The low hum of the tires and old static radio didn’t do much to ease the tension in the truck. It only seemed to thicken with each passing mile. 

Your nails traced lazy circles on your bare thigh, like you needed something to do with your hands. Or maybe you just liked driving them crazy.

The road ahead seemed to blur under the heat and the only thing keeping you tethered to reality was the weight of Daryl’s arm behind you, and the brush of Joel's hand shifting gears. 

Every now and then, you’d catch a fleeting glance from Joel in the rearview mirror, each look sending a thrill through you. His stare was dark, leaving a spark that lingered long after.

The heat from the sun made everything feel too close. Too tight. You tried to stretch out a bit, but you were trapped between their two muscular thighs. 

Joel’s hand rested on the gear shift, letting his forearm carefully hover over your thigh, the lightest brush of his presence. The small act of restraint made your heart skip a beat, a quiet challenge hanging in the air.

You took a slow sip from your Coke, the rim between your glossed lips, pretending you weren't aware of the way they glanced over to watch your mouth. 

“So what was the final straw?” Daryl asked, as though it had been chewing at him for miles.

You blinked, popping off the bottle, glancing over, “What?”

Daryl’s hand rested loosely on the open window. “What was the reason? That made you leave in such a damn hurry.”

Joel glanced at you in the rearview mirror but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t one for prying, and you both knew that. 

You rolled the Coke bottle between your palms. “I told you already.” There was an edge in your voice. “Just needed to get out.”

Daryl made a sound from beside you, like he didn’t quite believe that was the full story. Joel didn’t say anything. The muscles in his neck were tight, like he was fighting the urge to ask more.

You sighed, finally caving. “My daddy ain’t exactly the type to let his little girl grow up.” 

Their attention was fixed on you. They looked at you, quiet and waiting. “Couldn’t date. Couldn’t work. Couldn’t breathe without him granting me permission.” You took a sip of Coke, clearing your dry throat. “Saw what I was wearin’ this morning and told me I looked like a whore.”

Joel's brows twitched and daryl shifted in the seat.

“Well,” Daryl gave your outfit a slow, once-over, “You don’t look like a little girl anymore, I can tell you that.”

You grinned, teeth sharp behind the bottle. “That’s what I told him. Right before I slammed the door and left.”

Daryl let out a breath through his nose. “Daddies and their little girls.” He tsked. “Never good at lettin’ go once they realize they ain’t so little anymore.”

“You think he’ll come lookin’ around for you?” Joel asked.

You shook your head. “No. I’ll go back eventually. I just…” You hesitated. “I need to do things on my own for once. Y’know? Just for a little while.”

Daryl sucked in a deep breath, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Gonna be a hell of a reunion,” he said with a coy smile, “Showin’ up for the Fourth…”

Joel finished it, “...With his daughter sittin’ between two of his oldest friends.”

You scoffed, “He trusts you guys. Hell, he’d probably thank you for keepin’ me safe.” 

Daryl snickered like you said something funny. Joel ran a hand over his jaw, like he was covering a smirk.

“What?” You blinked, clearly missing the joke. 

Daryl leaned in closer, his arm brushing your thigh. “Ain’t no girl in her right mind, sittin’ between two men like us, unless she wants somethin’ real bad.”

You choked on your Coke, with a breathless laugh, “Jesus, y’all are gonna get me killed.”

“No, Sweetheart, you are gonna get us killed,” Daryl grinned sideways.

Joel just huffed, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, like he knew it was true.

You shrugged, playing it casual. “Y’know, my daddy always did say I was trouble.”

Daryl glanced at you, eyes skimming over your barelegs, “He might’ve been onto somethin’.”

“Funny,” You looked at them, voice all honeyed innocence, “Never stopped you two from lookin’.”

Joel’s jaw twitched. Like he’d been caught, for all those lingering glances over the years. “Ain’t exactly easy when you strut around like that.”

You scoff, lips curling, “Just like my daddy said… That I was askin’ for attention.”

“Well,” Daryl drawled, voice low, “You sure as hell got it.”

“Is that so bad? That I wanted it?” Your eyes darted between them, something reckless sparking under your skin. “For someone to notice me?”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you. Long. The kind of look that felt like a hand dragging down your spine. 

Your boot scuffed against the floorboard as you set the Coke in the cupholder, an innocent move, if it hadn’t hiked your skirt just enough to teeter forbidden skin. His gaze flicked down to your legs. You didn’t fix it.

“I'm noticing, Darlin’.” He looked at your lips. “And if I don’t stop, I'm gonna forget you’re daddy’s little girl.

You leaned in like you were confessing a sin. “I don’t want to be daddy’s little girl anymore.”

The words hung in the air. Tense. Final. 

To prove that you meant it, that you weren’t some girl playing grown, you leaned closer. Close enough to breathe in the heady scent of leather and heat rolling off of Daryl in waves.

He didn’t pull away. But he didn’t move toward you either. Like he needed you to be the one to cross the line.

So you did.

You closed the distance, crashing your lips onto his. Hot and messy. Like you’d finally run out of patience for all those years. 

Daryl tasted like smoke and gasoline. Trouble. The kind of man your daddy warned you about. You loved it.

Daryl’s hand caught your knee, like he was holding himself back. But when your tongue slipped into his mouth, warm and waiting, he made a low, desperate sound in his throat. Like a man letting go.

His palm slid up your thigh, rough fingertips dragging over skin made hot by the sun. He stopped just shy of your denim skirt, like he was giving you the chance to tell him no.

Your legs shifted open instinctively, brushing against Joel’s thigh. Solid and warm. And very aware of everything going on besides him.

The truck shifted with a slight change of gear, the sound of the engine growling beneath you as it sped up. Joel’s jaw clenches as he tightened his grip on the wheel, his fingers flexing. His eyes darted between the road and the rearview mirror, watching you two. But he didn’t say a word.

You pulled away from Daryl, tugging his lower lip, before letting go. 

But you weren’t done.

You turned and leaned across the seat, toward Joel, slow and sinful. His jaw was locked, that muscle ticking as he stared ahead, like he’d just lost a fight he didn’t know he was in.

Then your mouth grazed the shell of his ear, your voice was velvet, “Still think i’m just daddy’s little girl?”

You nipped, playful and bold on his ear. He tried to balance watching the road and you. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel’s voice was low, thick with warning, but not the kind meant to stop you. More like the kind that said keep going.

But you were already kissing him. Soft and teasing, at first. Just the curve of his cheek, where the scruff scratched your lips. Then the corner of his mouth. 

He turned his head, chasing it, like he needed it to breathe. Trying to meet you halfway and trying to drive and sin at the same time.

But he failed.

The truck veered ever so slightly, tired humming against the edge of the road. He muttered something low under his breath, but you just laughed a soft, wicked giggle that made his jaw tighten. 

Your lips trailed down to his neck, mouthing over stubble and sun-warned skin, feeling his Adam’s apple jump beneath your lips. Joel breathed in deep through his nose, fighting for composure, but it was slipping. Fast.

Behind you, Daryl chuckled low, wicked and amused. “Mmm, look at you.” he drawled, “Just can’t decide who you want first huh?”

You pulled back from Joel's neck, slow and smug, lips tingling from the trail you left on his skin. You looked at Joel first, sweet and daring, then turned to Darly, flashing a grin full of trouble. A challenge.

With a slow smile, you answered Daryl, “Why choose?” You let the words drip off your like honey. Sweet, but sticky enough to trap them both.

The seat creaks with the weight of it… of all the years they looked at you like they shouldn’t. And now you're sitting pretty between them, all willing in your cutoffs and cherry lips.

“Always wondered what it’d feel like… gettin’ touched' by both of you.” You continued.

Daryl leaned in close, breathed hot against your ear, “How long you been thinkin’ ‘bout this, huh?”

You exhaled your truth like a prayer. “Years.”

Then Joel’s hand found your chin, turning you to face him. To face the truth. 

“Dirty girl. Walkin’ around all summer, fantazing about gettin’ fucked by your daddy’s friends.” Joel’s eyes were dark and ravenous.

“Been beggin’ for this without sayin’ a damn word.” Daryl added.

But you weren’t the only one.

As if you hadn’t noticed the way their eyes would linger too long when they thought you weren’t paying attention. They wanted this just as bad…Maybe worse.

“And you boys never looked at me like you were saints either.” You blinked up at them, lips parted. “You were just waitin’ for me to grow up.”

Joel’s jaw ticked, “We never claimed to be saints.”

Joel and Daryls hand slid up in unison, breaching the edge of your skirt, pausing letting you stop them. But you didn’t.

“Maybe it's time we stop pretending,” Daryl said, voice rough and hungry. “And finally take what we want.”

Joel’s free hand shifted the gear in fifth, then landed on your thigh, warm and heavy. Like a claim.

Then Daryl’s hand found your other thigh with rougher, calloused fingers. Like a dare. 

Their hands couldn’t have felt more different. One firm and steady, the other lazy and hot. But both felt possessive. A silent agreement of their shared sin.

You could feel it. All that tension burning low and deep in your belly. The kind that made your pulse drum in your ears and your breath come light. 

“You think you can handle the both of us?” Daryl asked, grip on your thigh tightening.

“Or are you just playin’ pretend.” Joel’s eyes found yours in the rearview, dark and unreadable.

“Ain’t nothin’ pretend…” You purred, slowly, “... about how wet I am right now.” 

“Fucksake,” Daryl muttered, at the same time Joel cleared his throat. 

The temperature in the truck rose significantly. The old vinyl seat stuck to the back of your thighs, and sunlight cut through the dusty windows like a blade, striping Joel’s forearm in gold as it gripped your thigh. His fingers just a little tighter now.

Outside, the road blurred in the heat shimmer. But inside… inside was hotter.

Need throbbed inside you, sharp and sweet. It was too much. Your thighs tried to press together for friction, but the gear shift mocked you, right in the way. The truck bounced again, hitting a loose patch of dirt. The movement sent a shiver rippling through you. Every nerve ending felt like it was one fire.

Daryl noticed and whistled low, eyes dark. “Look at her, Joel,” his hand slid down your thigh with the slow patience of a man savoring a favorite song. “Poor thing’s shakin’. Needs it so bad, she's tremblin’.”

There was no hiding it now. Your body had given you away.

“Reckon we oughta be gentlemen and help her out,” Daryl said, voice dripping with mock sweetness, “Don’t you think so, Joel?”

Joel’s voice became dark like a warning. “Ain’t nothing gentlemanly about what I wanna do.”

Those words punched air from your lungs. Your stomach twisted in on itself, heat spreading through your core like fire catching dry grass.

“Then stop pretending otherwise,” the words exploded out of you. “And fuckin’ do it.”

Joel's hand caught your jaw, firm and warning. The grip made your heart skip. Half fear and half delicious thrill. 

“You better watch how you talk to us,” Joel's low and commanding voice had your thighs twitching against their hold. 

Daryl’s voice was laced with promise. “Gonna have to teach you manners.”

“We're gonna ruin you, sweetheart,” Joel growled, “and when we’re done, you're gonna say thank you.”

You eagerly nodded your head, unable to suppress the anticipation flooding your body.

“You got that? Use your words.” Joel’s voice was unwavering.

“Yes. Please.” The words tumbled out without hesitation.

As if your words were a surrender, Daryl grabbed your jaw, turning you toward him. “She’s a fast learner.” You barely gasped before his mouth swallowed it. The kiss was messy and unhurried. All heat and carelessness.

A moan spilled from you as your tongues tangled, lazy and deep, like neither of you had anywhere to be, but right here, in the middle of the wide-open nowhere. 

Despite your tank top clinging to your skin, damp with head and need, a shiver ran down your spine, sharp as lighting. Your nipples pebbled beneath the thin cotton, aching for more.

But even as your lips moved with Daryl’s, you still felt Joel. The steady, unmoving grip on your thigh, that made your breath catch. His hand wasn’t roaming the way Daryl’s was. Joel’s was anchored. 

Daryl pulled back, chest rising fast. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, swollen and kiss-bitten. 

“Go on,” he rasped, “Give Joel a turn, baby.”

You smiled, sugar sweet and slick with mischief. Then you turned in the seat, the curve of your rear brushing against Daryl’s solid denim, teasing a groan from deep in his chest.

The warm breeze slipped in through the open window. It caressed your skin, like even the wind couldn’t help itself in wanting to touch you.

God, the sight of Joel. The white knuckled grip on the wheel. The tick in his jaw. His eyes like thunderclouds, barely holding back a storm. And below the belt… There was no mistaking the way his jeans strained against the denim.

He liked it. Watching.

And that realization made your whole body sing with delight. 

You leaned forward again, pulse pounding softly in your ears. Daryl’s taste still lingered on your tongue, but now your eyes were on Joel.

Every vein in Joel’s forearms stood out like he was barely holding it together.

“Joel,” You purred, dragging his name slowly over your lips. You shifted closer, your thigh brushing his. His jaw clenched, hard enough to crack. “Did you like watching me kiss Daryl?”

“Didn’t need to rush. I knew you’d come around.” He said smugly. 

That made you smile.

You giggled teasing and breathless. You leaned in, wanting to share your attention with Joel now.

Your breath skimmed the side of Joel’s face as you brushed your lips against his stubbled jaw. He didn’t look at you, not yet. His eyes were locked on the road ahead. But you felt his restraint thrumming beneath the surface.

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, feather light. Then another closer to his mouth. He turned his head just enough to offer a half-hearted kiss back. His focus stubbornly locked on the road ahead. Responsible and resisting. But you weren’t in the mood for restraint anymore.

So you brought your mouth to his ear, licking and nipping the skin that had seen too many summers, “Come on, old man,” You whispered, “Don’t you wanna know how I taste?”

Joel’s whole body tensed, like he was one breath away from pulling over and wrecking all three of you right then and there. The grip on your thigh was steel now.

So you kissed him again. Below his ear. Along the lines of his jaw. Corner of his mouth. Teasing, tempting, and absolutely relentless.

And when he finally snapped, it wasn’t with words.

It was with a sound, so low and deep in his chest. In one sharp turn of his head, his mouth was on yours, delivering a punishing kiss to your welcoming lips.

You moaned in relief, like you’d been waiting hours for that kiss. His lips were soft, but the way he used them wasn’t. It was desperate, and aggressive.

He wants this. He wants you.

And you kissed him back like you meant it. Because you did. For years you wanted this. Wanted him.

The stubble on his jaw was rough against your hands, and your chest ignited with excitement as his tongue swept into your mouth. He possessed your mouth like it was his.

This kiss was different. Not better, just different. Joel was all hard lines and rough hands. But Daryl was slow and hot. 

Heat was radiating off Daryl from behind you, like a second sun. He watched and waited, full of desire.

You wanted more. 

From both.

Suddenly, the truck lurched and Joel ripped his mouth from yours with a curse. All three of you jerked upright. Dust kicked up behind the wheels, blurring the endless stretch of sun-bleached Texas highway in the rearview.

The sudden lurch of the truck had adrenaline pulse through you like a living and breathing thing. 

You giggled, breathless, a little too delighted by how close you were to getting the three of you killed. 

It was if fate was trying to issue a final warning, one you were too far gone to heed. 

Then Daryl joined in, letting out a deep huff, dragging his hands through his hair. “Fuck, darlin’.” he rasped. “You’re gonna get us wrecked, actin’ like that. Gonna have this old man forgettin’ how to drive.”

You tilted your head, biting back a smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“If that’s all it takes, Joel,” You teased, “I’m just getting started.” 

Daryl barked a short, stunned laugh, and shook his head, “Jesus, she’s tryin’ to kill us.” 

“Huh,” You hummed, “Thought you boys could keep up.” 

You settled into your seat, dragging your nails lightly down your bare thigh, just to watch their eyes follow, “Must be the age.”

Daryl’s hand gripped your jaw, not gently. His fingers pressed into your cheeks as he leaned in close, voice thick with hunger. “That damn mouth.”

Then Darryl slammed his mouth onto yours. All heat and hunger. His tongue slipped past your lips like he owned the space. You sighed into his mouth, like you were finally getting what you wanted.

“Look at you,” Joel said, “putting that mouth to better use.” his hand slid up your thigh. Daryl's hand followed suit.

Both of their hands slowly slid beneath the hem of your skit, fingers greedy, knowing exactly what they were after. You shifted in your seat, legs falling open another inch. Barely a movement, but an invitation all the same.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, wild and waiting. Wondering which one would cross that line first.

They didn’t touch you. Not yet. Instead, they laughed. Low and amused, like your need was funny. Like your eagerness was cute. 

You flushed, cheeks burning as heat coiled through your stomach. “Don’t make me beg.” You were so wound up it hurt. “I’ve been good for too long.”

Daryl let out a low, taunting chuckle, “Hear that, Joel? She thinks she's been good.”

“Good?” Joel scoffed, eyes amused. “Good girls don’t end up in the middle of this truck.” 

“You want it that bad?” Daryl growled, eyes blazing. “Then show us.”

“Go on,” Joel encouraged. “Let's see how desperate you really are… for two old men.”

“Lift your skirt.”. Daryl’s gaze pinned you down, heavy and expectant. 

You hesitated, not from modesty, but from the way nerves and desire tangled like twin heartbeats. There was no going back after this. And you didn’t want to.

The pads of your fingers curled in the hem of your skirt. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled back the denim inch by inch, offering yourself like a secret you’d been dying to spill.

“Fuck,” Daryl hissed, eyes fixed between your thighs. “Underwear completely soaked.”

Your cheeks burned hot. The kind of humiliation that throbbed between your legs. You tried to close them, but their hands were already there, holding you open helplessly and displayed.

Joel’s voice came rough and tight, “You’re makin’ a mess of my truck, Sweetheart.”

You couldn’t meet their eyes. Could barely breathe through the ache swirling in your belly.

Joel's hand slid up your thigh, so slowly you trembled in anticipation. His fingers grazed the soaked cotton stretched tight between your legs. His thumb pressed down, rubbing the wet fabric right where you needed it. 

A breathless sound escaped your lips.

A heart beat later, Daryl's hands were on you too, sliding up your ribs and palming your breast though the thin tank top. His mouth found your neck, dragging wet hot kisses over your racing pulse. 

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Air exploded out of your lungs when Joel’s thumb found your clit through your soaked underwear at the exact moment Daryl’s rough fingers found your nipple through the cotton.

“Yes,” You whined. A cry of relief, of years of pent up desire, finally happening. 

Your head fell back against the seat and your eyes rolled back as twin waves of pleasure crashed over you, stealing thought and breath alike.

Daryl’s teeth scraped against your neck, “Such a fuckin’ tease,” he said against your fevered skin. His hand pinched your nipple hard, wrenching a gasp from your lips. “Until your falling apart for us.”

All you could do was whimper in response, legs twitching against their grip. 

Joel growled low in his throat, a raw primal sound and Daryl held your thigh wider as Joel hooked your underwear to the side.

Two fingers slid into you, deep and effortless. Filthy-slick from how wet you were. 

Your eyes squeezed shut from the sudden stretch, the fullness, and the sudden wave of white hot pleasure… It was overwhelming.

A needy cry tore free from your throat. You couldn't have swallowed it down if you tried. 

Joel’s fingers thrust with purpose, brushing that perfect secret spot inside of you as Daryl kissed all the way down your neck until he reached your nipple, straining against the fabric of your top.

Your skin buzzed, burning hotter than the Texas sun leaking in through the dusty windshield.

“Open your eyes.” Joel ordered, “Watch us ruin that little cunt of yours.”

You forced them open, dizzy from pleasure, just to see the sight you knew would haunt you forever. Rough, sunburned hands on your soft, yielding body. Their mouths, their teeth, their fingers, worshipping you like you were some spoiled offering they’d been starving for.

“Fuck,” you sobbed, watching helplessly as they devour you. You felt like you were on fire from the inside out. 

Your legs trembled violently. 

Ruled by lust, Daryl growled and pushed your tank top up and over your breasts, smirking at what he unveiled. Your nipples were aching and hard, despite the Texas heat. Without hesitation, he swiftly sucked on one nipple, rolling the other between calloused fingers.

You groaned, puffing your chest out further into his possession as a hot sensation rippled throughout your body.

“Fuck, look at you, giving it up so easily for us.” Daryl smirked against your skin.

“Knew you'd be perfect.” Joel said, curling his fingers deep inside you. 

You were completely open now, bared for them like a feast. And they were starving.

Joel’s fingers thrust in and out, steady and ruthless. His thumb circled your clit with cruel, precise strokes that made you buck helpless between them.

Your whole body jolted when Joel found that perfect spot again and Daryl’s teeth scraped your nippled. They did it again and again, like they knew how to pull you apart at the seams. 

“Oh my god,” you mouthed because you lost your breath. “Im gonna–”

Your hands scrambled for purchase, clutching at Joel’s forearm and at Daryl’s wild hair, desperate from something solid as your orgasm barreled down you, unstoppable.

“Doin’ so good for us.” Daryl growled under his breath, his cool breath against your wet skin. “Such a pretty girl.” 

You tried, god, you tried, to keep your eyes open to watch them, but when Daryl’s teeth nipped sharp on your skin and Joel’s fingers hit that devastating rhythm inside you… You shattered.

Pleasure ripped through you, hot and blinding. Your whole body shook, shuddering violently, in their hands as you came with a broken cry.

Your hands flew out, trying to find something to anchor you in place, for fear that you were leaving your body from pleasure.

“That’s it.” Joel coaxed, his voice warm and rough in your ear.

When you finally floated back down to earth, your left hand had carved crescent moons into Joel’s skin and your right hand fisted tight in Daryl’s thick hair. 

You were gasping, trembling, and utterly undone.

Joel removed his fingers and your body twitched with aftershocks. You whimpered at the emptiness, clenching still wanting more.

You blinked up at them in a daze. Joel’s fingers glistened with your orgasm in the golden light of sunset. 

Fingers dripping and shining. And then, Christ, then Joel brought those fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes half lidded, humming low in his throat.

“Just as sweet as I thought you’d be.” he turned to Daryl, smirking, “Go on, have a taste.”

Your hand shot out and gripped Joel's denim clad thigh when Daryl’s fingers slipped between your thighs. His fingers dipped inside your dripping entrance, then pressed hard on your throbbing clit on the way out, making you twitch and gasp.

Holding your gaze, Daryk smirked at you as he slowly slid his fingers into his mouth, sucking them like he was savoring honey. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, “Maybe you were right. I do like things a little sweeter.”

He repeated your earlier words and they settled low and deep in your belly. Despite your heaving chest, you were still so goddamn greedy for them.

You needed more.

You needed them inside of you. It felt as vital to your existence as oxygen.

So you did something wicked. Something you have been dying to do since you stepped foot in this rusted truck. 

You placed your soft palms against the coarse, sun-faded denim that covered their thighs. Your hands slid up and down, lazy and lingering. You felt their muscles twitch beneath your touch.

Joel exhaled through his nose, voice as rough as the road, “Goddamn, look at you teasin’ us like it's your job.”

You smiled, a picture of pure satisfaction. Sated, yet starving at the same time. You traced your way further up, reaching where aching hardness was trapped behind worn denim.

“What’re you doin’, pretty girl?” Daryl drawled, his eyes amused.

“That wasn’t enough for you?” Joel rasped.

You tugged your lip between your teeth and your palms pressed harder against the heat between their thighs.

“I'm thanking you.” You purred, lashes fluttering like a promise, “For ruining me.”

Both of their breaths hitched, a heavy twin sound that only fueled you. You kept your motions slow and measured, just enough to tease them. Enough to make them suffer the same desperate ache that rattled through your bones. 

“Fuck darlin’, driving me crazy.” Daryl hissed. 

“Just takin’ my time.” Your eyes sparkled with desire and mischief, “There’s enough of me to go around.”

You turned towards Daryl first, pressing a sweet, little kiss to his mouth. Soft and almost innocent, if not for the hint of your arousal on his lips. It was a tease of a kiss. Like saying goodbye. 

Because then you shifted towards Joel, kissing a trail up the thick column of his neck, tasting salt and sun. You grazed your teeth along his stubbled jaw until you reached the shell of his ear.

“Hi,” You whispered sweetly, before nipping once. He huffed a breath in response.

You shifted your hips towards Daryl, angled like a siren. Your hands stayed busy on Joel, palming him light and taunting over his jeans. Daryl’s hands, rough over soft skin, snuck around your waist grounding you while you misbehaved. 

Joel sucked in a sharp breath, hips shifting under your touch when you squeezed him harder through the denim.

“Relax, old man.” You teased with a sly smile.

“Keep doin’ that and I won't.” He warned, voice dark with desire.

Power thrummed through you, finally having some control of the situation. 

You reached down and popped open the button of Joel’s jeans, then eased the zipper down slow enough to be cruel.

The second you did, heat and hardness surged into your palm.

You licked your lips, drunk of the way he stared down at you. His gaze made you feel suddenly too hot. Sizzling with desire. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” Daryl rumbled from behind you, gripping your hip, “Least you can do is be sweet to the poor bastard… after makin’ such a mess all over his seat.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when I made it.” You said, pushing back against him.

Daryl's hands slid down your waist until he reached the end of your skirt. He breached the line of fabric until he was massaging your thighs all the way up to your ass. You pushed your hips further into his touch, hungry for more.

Joel’s hand found your face, cupping it gently, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Joel’s hand came to cup your cheek. His thumb tugged your lower lip down. “A little filth doesn’t bother me.”

A lewd smile tugged at your mouth. you hooked your fingers into his underwear, and pulled down, freeing him. “Let’s see if you still think that, when I'm done with you.”

Joel's cock made your eyes widen. He’s huge. Veined. And beautiful.

Teasing him was tortuous for Joel and you. Every second you played with his restraint only made the ache in your body grow stronger. You couldn’t help it. Your fingers moved on their own accord, wrapping around him in desperate need. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

You grip the base firmly, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm. You stroked once before, placing a teasing kiss to the tip, then another, letting salty pre-cum gloss over your lips.

You moan, a hot breath on Joel's cock when Daryl’s hand slips under your skirt, cupping between your legs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

“How much do you care for these?” Darly asked, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin with a sharp sting.

You turned over your shoulder to look at him. Your mind was hazy… Too aroused to think straight. “What?” 

“Guess I'll find out,” he muttered to himself.

In one swift motion, he tore the cotton right off. The sound of fabric ripping echoed through the truck. 

“Daryl–” The protest died on your lips when the sudden rush of air from the open window hit your exposed core, sending shivers through you.

Momentarily distracted by Daryl's hands roaming between your thighs, exploring and caressing every inch of you, you turned back to Joel.

He looked so hard it had to hurt. His length was straining against the air pointed straight at your waiting mouth. 

You gave him a slow, gentle squeeze, never breaking eye contact. “So pretty.” You said, lashes fluttering.

Wasting no time, you time you flicked your tongue around the swollen head of him. Slow, languid licks, then quick teasing licks. Joel’s hand found your hair, gripping it firmly, making you exhale a hot breath against his skin from the delicious pressure. 

“Sweetheart,” He warned with a serious glare.

You smiled against him, then, shocking him completely, you parted your lips and took him deep in your mouth. You licked and sucked along the length of him, hollowing your cheeks, swallowing him down.

“Shit,” Joel groaned, tightening his grip in your hair.

Tears formed in your eyes when he hit the back of your throat, and still, you kept going, greedy for every inch of him.

You moaned around Joel, the sound vibrating along his length, when suddenly, Daryl’s fingers found your swollen bundle of nerves. He rubbed a slow lazy circle that made your hips buck into his hand and your mouth sink deeper onto joel.

Daryl shifted closer, his rough hands greedy as he lifted your hips, settling you on top of him.The coarse scrape of his denim met your tender skin and you whimpered grinding down against him, aching for more.

You pushed back into Daryl, wanting to feel all of him. 

You popped off Joel with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his aching cock. Over your shoulder, you cried out, “Daryl, please.”

“How’m I supposed to say no when you finally used your manners?” Daryl said voice thick with lust.

You heard the rustle of his zipper. You replaced your mouth on Joel’s cock with your hands, so you could watch Daryl unsheath himself. 

Your stomach twisted with want at the sight of him, thick and flushed. You clenched around nothing, already aching to be filled. 

Daryl lined himself up behind you, the swollen tip teasing your dripping entrance. You were so slick, he could have slid in with one hard thrust, but he didn’t. Instead he relished the way your wetness coated him, dragging his cock slowly through your folds, soaking himself in your need.

“Guess you ain’t as tough as you act, huh?” you teased, trying to push him over that edge, daring him to stop holding back and take what he wants.

A cruel smile tugged at his lips.“You’re gonna be cryin’ for it when I’m done with you.”

Then he pushed forward, until he reached the end of you, stealing your breath. You fisted the denim of Joel’s jeans so hard your knuckles grew numb.

“Taking him so well, Sweetheart.” Joel praised, voice thick with sin, “Should see how pretty you look sittin’ on his cock.”

You moaned, helpless, the sound tumbling out of you in a string of broken cries. Words abandoned you. You were nothing but pure pleasure. Raw and reckless. 

As Daryl settled inside of you, you turned your attention back to Joel. You wrapped your lips back around him, bobbing your head in time with the slow, punishing roll of Daryl’s hips. The three of you moved together in a filthy symphony, all rhythm and ruin. 

Joel’s free hand fisted your hair so hard it stung, like maybe if he held on tight enough, he won't go to hell for this. 

Daryl’s fingers bruised into your hips, dragging you back onto him with every thrust, like he was trying to brand you from the inside out. “So fuckin’ greedy for it.” 

Your jaw ached but you had no sympathy for it. You only cared about sending Joel over the edge with your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his head and you hummed around him when Daryl’s pace turned ravenous. 

Joel grunted, low and viscous, “Don’t stop sweetheart, fuck, that it.”

Their words spurred you on, pushing you to move faster and harder. 

The cab of the truck was filled with slick, obscene sounds of sin. The wet slap of Daryl’s hips against you, the hollow, desperate gag of your mouth on Joel. The sound of all three of you coming apart at the seams. 

Daryl struck that sweet, hidden place inside you, sharp enough to make your body jolt forward, driving Joel deeper down your throat. You gagged, choked, and Joel groaned low and wrecked, his hips twitching up into your mouth. 

You clenched around Daryl from Joel’s dirty sounds. Your orgasm was clawing its way up your throat, wild and inevitable.

Both men growled, a ragged harmony of pleasure, when your body squeezed tight and desperate between them.

“Gonna come?” Daryl asked, “Can feel you’ squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Completely overwhelmed from sensation, you just whimpered around Joel’s throbbing length. You couldn’t respond–nor think. Instead you sucked harder, tears sliding down your flushed cheeks.

Joel huffed a breath through his nose, chest expanding. “Poor thing can’t even think straight, too full of cock.”

Daryl chuckled darkly then lifted your hips up and slammed you back down on his cock Simultaneously, Joel pushed your head down grunting at the pleasure you provided. You could do nothing other than just take it.

You’re pretty sure this counted as a one way ticket to hell… pretty sure you didn’t care.

It shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was, how easily they manhandled you, used you for their pleasure and yours alike.

Every thrust, every groan of pleasure, brought you closer and closer to bliss, Your body trembled violently with a second approaching orgasm.

Noticing the way your body responded, Daryl went faster, thrusts becoming sloppier as his orgasm followed close behind your own.

Joel's chest heaved erratically, and you could feel him twitch in your mouth. He was almost there too. 

Then, Daryl’s hand went around rubbing your clit, sending sparks of pleasure so intense you felt it start in your toes and shoot all the way up your spine. You vibrated against Joel, making lewd, choking sounds.

“She love’s it.” Daryl praised, rough and warm. “Made to be fucked by men like us. 

“That right, Sweetheart?” Joel cooed with mock sweetness.

Their words send you to oblivion. You hummed around him, being caught by surprise as pleasure crashed over you, like a tsunami.

“Fuck, she’s coming.” Daryl said through clenched teeth.

You popped off Joel's cock as your muscles spasmed, clenching tightly around Daryl. Your orgasm took your breath away and your eyes squeezed close.

“That’s it.” Daryl said as you fisted Joel's shirt in one hand anchoring you while you jerked him up and down with the other.

“Sweetheart, fuck–keep going.” Joel praised.

You were desperate for it. Wanting both of them to experience the same pleasure you did. 

Even in the haze of your post bliss, you wrapped your mouth around Joel, and moved your hips up and down, slipping effortlessly onto Daryl’s cock from your spent desire.

“Faster.” One of them said, but you were too gone to know who. Regardless you bobbed your head fast and lifted your hips faster, chasing both of their orgasms now.

“Fuck–” Joel breathed out, as his cock twitched in warm, hot spurts of his release hit your tongue. You swallowed, gagging around him. Daryl spilled inside of you with a groan. You felt warmth rush down your thighs.

You were completely full from both ends, and you’ve never felt more satisfied.

Sated, spent, and dazed, Joel gently helped you sit upright. Daryl adjusted your hips with a careful, reverent touch, pulling you off him slowly. They sat you back down in the seat, each of them guiding you with quiet intent. 

Daryl smoothed the fabric of your skirt over your thighs, while Joel wipes away the tears streaking your flushed cheeks.

There was no need for words, just the flow of their hands and the deep silence between you, thick with the aftermath of what just transpired. You felt dizzy, floating in the aftermath, but in the best way. Like you were safe, even if it was just for the moment.

“Pretty girl,” Joel murmured, brushing your tears from your skin, “Did so good for us.”

You exhaled shakily, still coming down from the high of it all. Daryl’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down your thigh, grounding you, bringing you back to earth. “You’re alright, honey,” he whispered, his voice low and comforting.

They fixed themselves with a quiet kind of ease, zipping their pants back up. But your lip curled in a small pout, something soft and needy stirring inside you when they turned their attention elsewhere. 

It wasn’t until you looked out that window that you realized how late it was. How the sun hung low in the sky, bleeding orange and pink across the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the time or the world outside the cab of this truck. 

A dazed laugh bubbled from your chest, escaping your lips before you could hold it back. You couldn’t find the words to speak. Your breath still caught in your throat, tangled in their hands.

Joel joined, also chuckling softly at the absurdity of the situation. “It’s getting late. We better stop for the night. Get somethin’ to feed the poor girl.”

Your stomach rumbled, a soft reminder that your body was only just starting to remember its other needs, other than them. Now in the aftermath, your body finally felt the quiet pull of hunger.

Joel pulled the truck into the lot of a quiet motel and diner, the neon sign flickering lazily in the light of dusk.

Joel and Daryl shared a look when the engine stalled in the parking lot. Then they looked at you. 

A secret they’d keep between them.. And between your thighs.

[softsunnyy]

Quinn Hughes would be the happiest man alive if he could stay with his face buried in your pussy and this is a hill I will die on

-🐥

so… i did something 👉🏻👈🏻

this is also @ruinix fault !!

🚨 oral sex... and kinda a drugged subby Quinn, oops 🚨

poorly written, i literally finished this right before going to sleep, so i'll just post it and check in the morning. DON'T KILL ME.

Quinn is watching, trying to contain himself. He plays with his hands nervously, trying to hide the effect you have on him, but it gets harder and harder every second.

he´s sure it all started that morning, when you put on that perfume. The same one he smells on your neck every time you two fuck. Every time he's buried in your pussy and trying to hide his face, biting your skin, growling, even whimpering. It's an addictive scent, it drives him crazy, but today he particularly feels it more than ever. He's smelled it before you appear in every room.

his senses are more alert, his eyes glassy, his bulge aches, and he starts to sweat coldly. It's like you do it on purpose. As if you know the effect it has on him and decide to use it against him today, when all his friends and teammates are invited to the house. When he can't do anything about it, because all eyes and attention will be on him, so he can't take you to the bathroom and make you his.

it's stressful, and he's getting grumpier and grumpier. His eyes travel over your body, and he´s getting distracted in the middle of conversations now.

he sees how your clothes hug your figure. You look beautiful, as always, but this time his feelings are more intense. And his eyes travel to your legs, seeing how you squeeze them, how they move when you walk, how they expand when you sit. He sees how you move your head when you talk, and how your hands try to match the passion with which you converse.

he tries to see your chest, your ass, and feels like a pervert, but he can't help it, and some of his teammates have started to notice, teasing him, with huge smiles on their faces, not understanding the torture this is for him.

his cock aches, and he tries to hide it, to fix his pants, to adjust his posture, but nothing works, and he shifts uncomfortably, trying to ignore your existence, but failing. And he feels like he might cry and come when you approach his side, hugging his arm, resting your head on his shoulder, and waving at one of the boys. He smells you, he can't help it, and then he loses himself even more.

memories, images, his head filled with all the things he'd love to do to you, and you can feel his body almost shaking from how tense he is, causing you to smile. You know what you're doing, you know what you're causing, and you're completely entertained watching your boyfriend, normally so dominant with you, turn into a ball of arousal, a bundle of nerves who will do whatever you ask. And he doesn't even know the real reason behind it. He doesn't know what you did.

and when the meeting drags on a bit, he feels like he might start begging. He's capable of kneeling, screaming for you to please help him, to touch his cock, to even give him a kiss, because he knows that's all it takes for him to cum and stain his pants.

it's pathetic.

his cheeks are red, and he constantly runs his tongue over his lips, feeling his dry throat. He looks everywhere, lost, and tries to find you once more, because you've left him, and he feels like he can't stand it. You can't leave him, not even for a second. And when his eyes find you, he sighs in relief, feeling his underwear slightly wet, sticky. He knows he's on the edge, and he can't understand what's happening.

he tries to remember, to understand when it all started. When he woke up, he felt attracted to you, of course he did, but everything got even worse when this started, when his friends arrived and he tried to have a drink with them. You had handed him a glass of something; and that's all. From that moment on, he began to feel strange, heated, increasingly confused. And he tries to put the pieces together, to understand what you did to him, and normally that would have led to you being brutally punished, but now he feels helpless. He feels like he can't control you.

he can only beg.

and when his friends finally leave, there's silence, tense and charged. You turn your back on him, waiting for him to speak, to come closer, to whimper or cry. But you don't hear anything, and you're alarmed, so you're about to turn to face him. At that moment, Quinn takes your hand, hurriedly, without care, and leads you to the bedroom, trying not to stumble.

then, when you enter the room, he turns to look at you, cupping your face in both hands, pulling you close, kissing you.

and it's desperate, you feel it. It steals your breath and you try to put your hands on his arms, searching for support because your legs want to give up, like every time you feel his lips. He leaves a kiss, and another, and another. And you can hear him whimper, how he moans in pain for his cock, and how his body grows weaker and weaker, until he finally falls to his knees in front of you.

you have him.

and you look down on him, making him feel small, consumed, at your mercy for the first time. He stares at you with his bright, glassy eyes, completely attentive. He's stunned, and you can see the dark patch on his pants. You can literally do whatever you want. So you decide to give him a show.

he doesn't touch you, he doesn't dare, but he feels like he's going to come when you start to take off your shirt, followed by your bra. You let him see your tits, and for a moment he's about to drool, watching them bounce, how the air makes your nipples harden rapidly. He wants to kiss, suck. He wants to put his face on your chest and leave the marks of his fingers, his teeth. Anything.

he wants to come on your skin, watch his cum run thickly between your tits. Or over your nipples. And every thought makes him want to move, but something stops him. Your gaze.

your eyes are intimidating, full of leadership, of power, and he won't do anything unless you ask him to, even though he feels like he's about to die from not being able to touch you.

"what do you wanna do, Quinn?" you ask him, and he wants to whine when he hears his name. “I need you to tell me what you want.”

he swallows, trying not to look at your tits so he can look at your face. He tries to formulate words, to say something coherent, but it takes him a couple of seconds to think of anything.

“please…” he mumbles.

“what?” you ask, leaning in slightly, your tits closer to him.

“please, just let me touch you... please.” you can see he’s desperate, his cheeks flushed, and then you nod.

“fine,” you said, and before his eyes, you took off your pants, slowly, missing the way his eyes wandered to your legs, to the bite marks adorning your thighs, or to the bruises on your knees from every time you’d been in his position. Then you took off your panties, and he could see the dark stain of your arousal, letting him know he wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

then you moved to the bed, sitting on the edge, watching as he moved closer, quickly, scraping his skin, making his knees turn red. When he was in front of you, you opened your legs, showing him your glistening, wet, hot pussy. He can smell your arousal and you nod, giving him the green light.

Quinn doesn't hesitate. His hands spread your legs even wider, and his face buries in your pussy, devouring you. His tongue runs between your folds, and you can hear him swallowing your juices, instantly becoming drunk on your fluids.

he's always loved eating you out, but now? now he feels like he's on another level. In heaven.

he plays with your clit, sucking, licking, listening to you whimper as one of your hands tangles in his hair, trying to pull him even closer. And he complies, taking over your pussy, which welcomes him, dripping wet.

your hole throbs, your clit swells, and he doesn't stop moving, making out with your lips, making sure your moans are loud and clear. Unconsciously, he moves his pelvis and rubs himself against the floor and the edge of the bed, stimulating his cock, sending shocks of pleasure through him that make him moan, grunt, and become even wilder and more primal. He wants to cum, he wants to make you cum.

he doesn't even need to get inside of you; he just wants to eat you out, even if his tongue goes numb, his jaw cramps, and his knees break. Nothing matters to him, just you and your sweet, addictive pussy, which has him in the clouds.

and you try to go along with the plan, conscious, but it's so hard, and all you can do is throw your head back, moaning his name like a broken record, feeling his tongue everywhere, doing what he knows you like.

even though the idea was to torture him, you can't deny how much it turned you on to see him so desperate, and for hours, you waited for this moment, making your pussy more than ready for him, for anything.

Quinn is good at what he does, he knows it, and he knows he doesn't even need to use his fingers, thrusting his tongue into your hole, being welcomed by your tight walls, which throbbed around him, acknowledging him, welcoming him home. And he lingered, drugged by the sensations, his mind completely clouded.

all he can think about is devouring you, making you cum again and again so he can keep feeling your taste, your juices. And you know it, you know he can go on for hours, and the thought alone excites you.

soon, a knot begins to form in your belly, and you know what's coming, but you don't warn him, because you know he knows. And when he notices, he begins to rub himself harder, widening the stain on his pants, feeling his cock throb, furious, red, marked by his veins and with his swollen tip, his balls eager to release his cum.

it's when he feels you cumming that he allows himself to do it. But he doesn't let you rest; he keeps moving, keeps swallowing, feeling drop after drop of your cum run down his chin, wetting his neck and soon his chest. His pants are soaked, completely sticky, with thick white strips wasted, but his cock is just as hard as it was at the beginning.

and you moan, trying to beg him to slow down, to give you a few seconds, but he's physically incapable of doing that. He feels drunk, he needs to keep drinking from you, and nothing's going to get him out of your pussy, not when he's stronger and desperate.

you gave him access to the only thing he needs, and he doesn't even care if he has to ruin his pants now just to stay there. He's willing to do whatever it takes.

he loves your pussy.

so, for now, get ready; he won't stop until he's gotten a good number of orgasms out of you.

whatever you gave him, it worked.

[pjmxtra]

Can you write something with riki with a reader with daddy issues ?? smut or fluff or both u choose i love your fics sm 😭😭

i’m not him ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

paring: 니키 x gnr

warning: angst to fluff, daddy issues, mentions of yelling, not being good enough, reader is smaller than riki

an: thank you sm for the request! i decided to do fluff for this once since it hit so close to home and i can’t bear writing it rn. hope it was up to your expectations and thank you again for the compliment on my writing!

The fights were inevitable.

Your father would come home exhausted, head pounding, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. You always knew the signs — the way his keys clattered sharper than necessary onto the counter, the slump of his body as he threw himself onto the couch, the way his eyes glazed past you like you weren’t even there.

But you were young — too young to understand how someone could be present and so absent all at once. So, you did what any little girl would do: you tried. You tried to fill the heavy silence with bright smiles and endless chatter, desperate to pull him back, to make him see you. You spoke about everything and nothing, heart wide open, hoping he’d listen. Hoping he’d love you loud in return.

Instead, he’d snap.

Sharp words. Cold eyes. A harsh tone that made your chest cave in.

“Just shut up already,” he’d bark, and you would crumble, every time — running to your room, stifling your sobs into the pillow. You learned young that your voice could be a weapon against yourself. That love could be conditional. That your presence could be too much.

And so you grew quieter. More careful. You weighed your words before you spoke them. Measured your laughter. Softened your footsteps. You became an expert at shrinking yourself until you were almost invisible — anything to avoid the shame of being too much, too loud, too you.

When you started dating Riki, you made it your silent mission: Don’t be annoying. Don’t be too much. Stay small. Stay safe.

Maybe then he wouldn’t leave.

Maybe then you’d be enough.

The clock struck twelve when you heard the door creak open, the soft shuffle of tired footsteps echoing through the cold, dim apartment. You sat curled on the couch, a half-watched show playing to an empty room. The second Riki stepped inside, you shot up, forcing a bright smile onto your face.

“Hi, Ki!” you chirped, voice higher than you intended.

Riki’s face, pale and drawn with exhaustion, barely lifted to meet your eyes. His duffel bag slipped from his shoulder with a heavy thud, and he dragged himself over, dropping onto the couch beside you. His body sprawled out, limbs heavy, every move soaked in fatigue.

Still, you tried. “How was practice, Ki?” you asked, carefully, sweetly, trying to wedge yourself into the growing space between you.

“Fine,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

You kept talking, desperate to fill the emptiness. “Mine was good too! Kinda boring without you though. I did catch up on that new show we started — the one you said looked cool? I think you’d really like it, it’s got—”

He let out a heavy sigh, cutting through your words like a blade.

“Look, I’m tired, okay?” he muttered, sitting up with effort. “Let’s talk about this later. I’m gonna go shower.”

He left without a second glance.

The silence he left behind was louder than any scream.

You sat frozen for a moment, the weight of your own words crashing down around you. The smile you had so carefully stitched across your face fell apart at the seams. Your throat tightened, a lump swelling that you couldn’t swallow down.

You annoyed him. You made him leave.

The sound of the shower running in the distance only sharpened the ache inside you, anchoring you to the reality you didn’t want to face. You curled tighter into yourself on the couch, arms wrapped around your middle as if you could hold yourself together.

You didn’t realize when you started crying — it came slow at first, a sting behind your eyes, a soft hitch in your breath. Then harder, faster, until you were gasping, your chest heaving under the pressure.

You crawled into bed alone, pulling the blanket up to your chin, curling into the smallest shape you could manage. Maybe if you were small enough, quiet enough, you wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t be too much.

When Riki joined you later, the mattress dipped under his weight, his body sinking in beside you. His warmth should’ve been a comfort — but the gap between you felt like a canyon. His arm slung over your waist, but it was loose, half-hearted, almost mechanical. You could feel how far away he was.

And still, the noise in your head wouldn’t stop.

You pushed him away. You made him tired of you. You’re too much.

A soft, broken sniffle escaped you before you could bite it down. Immediately, Riki stirred.

“Baby?” His voice was thick with sleep, but sharpened instantly with concern. He propped himself up on one elbow, peering down at you through the dark.

“Why you crying?” he asked, voice rough and bewildered.

You shook your head desperately, trying to hide your face from him. But Riki was relentless when it came to you — he pulled gently at your shoulder until you were facing him, your tear-streaked face bathed in the faint moonlight.

His heart twisted painfully at the sight.

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, sliding closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you firmly into his chest. He held you like you might break — no, like you already were, and he was trying to piece you back together.

You buried your face in his hoodie, clutching the fabric like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out against him. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“Mad?” Riki repeated, stunned. His hands stilled on your back. “Baby, no. No. I’m not mad.”

But you couldn’t stop — the words spilled out, messy and gasping, the dam finally breaking.

“It’s just—” you sobbed, voice trembling, “When you’re quiet like that… when you don’t want to talk to me… it feels like I’m bothering you. Like you don’t want me around. And it’s stupid but—” you squeezed your eyes shut, the memory sharp and painful, “it reminds me of my dad.”

Riki froze, heart hammering in his chest. You pressed your forehead against him, words tumbling out raw and broken.

“He’d come home tired and mad. Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t listen. I’d try so hard to make him see me — but I was always just… noise. Annoying. Something to shut up and push away.” You trembled in his arms. “I learned to stay small so they wouldn’t leave. So I wouldn’t ruin everything.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Crushing.

You could hear Riki’s heartbeat, fast and frantic under your ear, as he held you tighter. His big hands cradled your head, wrapped around your back, cocooning you in warmth and desperation.

He kissed the top of your head, lips trembling against your hair.

“I’m not him,” he whispered fiercely, voice cracking. “God angel- i’m not him”

You sobbed harder at his words, the relief and fear and love crashing together inside you.

“I’m not ever going to make you feel like you have to shrink yourself for me,” he said, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up. His thumb wiped away the tears streaking down your face. His eyes — dark, earnest, burning with something raw and unshakable — locked onto yours.

“I want your voice,” he said, fierce and aching. “I want every piece of you — loud, soft, messy, wild. You’ll never be too much for me, baby. Never.”

You shuddered, breaking apart in his arms as his words wrapped around you like a balm.

“I love you,” he said again, sure and solid. “All of you.”

He kissed you then — your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your mouth — each kiss a vow, a tether pulling you back to him. Slow and tender, steady and real.

His kiss tasted like home. Like a promise you could believe in.

You melted into him, clinging to his warmth, his steady heartbeat, the way he whispered against your skin that he wasn’t leaving — not now, not ever.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you let yourself believe it.

You were safe here.

Safe in his arms. Safe to be loud. Safe to be loved. Safe to be you.

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS WITH A CRUUUUUSH OOOOOHHHHH

scout: dedicated like a dog. horridly awkward, no charisma. he talks about you to everyone, to the point where the team is begging him to either pursue you or drop the puppy love. he’s your number one fan, your best bud, and your bodyguard and he will only tell you he’s these things for you if you ask. he loves hanging around you, and talking to you, and hearing you talk, and you become the voice in his head. steer him right, he’s a good kid and he just wants you to be happy. everything he does and says, consciously and subconsciously, is steered and targeted towards you. but he just gets so flustered that it’s almost hard for him to tell you straight up that he likes you. takes a lot of him gathering his balls to do it.

soldier: almost stereotypically shy. he watches from a distance, he smiles when you talk to him, he laughs way too loud at your bad jokes, and then when you walk away he mentally eviscerates himself for fucking up a social situation he desperately wants to go right. if soldier thinks he likes you, or is infatuated with you, he will make a genuine attempt to reach whatever standards you put in front of him. you get one chance at this. whatever standard you set is what he will do for you forever unless something drastically changes for the worst in your relationship. and he almost always wants to be included. this is prime time for him to test your boundaries, and test how you holds them up under pressure. he’s not doing this on purpose, it is an collateral piece of information he gleans from being a steamroller.

pyro: arguably the merc that changes the least drastically. pyro is pyro. pyro has always (used very loosely here) been known as a somewhat unserious and pathologically passionate person, if somewhat reserved. pyro doesn’t know how to be anyone else! and pyro likes themselves. so all pyro can really do, at that point, is continue to be themselves and hope that people they like also like them back. but they don’t really… change if they like you. you just shoot up in the list of pyro’s time priorities. you get all the time you want with them. they will never deny you a single thing you may ever want. and they’re happy to do anything you may want or need them to do. anything.

demo: demo goes into full court mode when he’s got a crush. you’re getting flowers weekly. dates every other week, though they may not be very long dates. demo is a man who gets straight to the point. if he thinks he likes you, he takes about two days to decide and confirm that he likes you. and when he decides he likes you, he’s breezing past the urge to play the romantic mind games. he likes you. and he wants you. now get dressed, you have a reservation at 8PM at the jazz club. he just adores you. and he’ll tell you that! the same way he can be a man and admit if his once-romantic feelings morph into something else. but even if his crush fades, you will forever have a friend in demoman, our belemoman.

heavy: semi-normal, if only very reserved. he normally will not pursue what he considers a crush. but he’ll go out of his way to check on you, and include you in his day. see if you make it better, or if he’s just getting desperate for attention outside of the team. the more time you spend alone with him, the more he considers them dates, and then he gets embarrassed. he’s trying to figure out if he likes spending time with you, so he’s spending a lot of time with you. he really won’t know until the first argument between you two. but he has normally talked himself out of a crush before it even gets this far. because if he hasn’t abandoned it, then the answer is pretty clear. you’re worth sticking around.

engineer: his brain almost shuts down. engineer will both vehemently deny he even likes you while also aggressively urging you to get closer. he just wants you as close as you can stand to be around him. and he’s always wanting to do things. do things with you, do things for you, do things around you, he’s annoying with it. he’s always wondering what your plans are for the day, or if you need company or aid to get it done. poor man with a desperate need for acts of service. he is another dog looking for an owner. he’s just got a little more tact than scout. he’s a little better trained. but he can change that if you want something different.

medic: he’s staring, and it’s disconcerting but for a different reason. it is difficult to tell what the doctor’s thinking unless you’re watching him closely. he is not a very subtle man, when it comes to his face, he’s just very quick to correct it to neutrality, whatever that may look like for him that day. but when he stares at you, there is nothing behind his eyes truly telling of what’s going on in his mind. and he just stares at you. you would assume he doesn’t like you. and it doesn’t help that he scoffs when you speak. but when he looks away… a wide, simply placed smile spreads across his face as he gets lost in his mind, letting out a dreamy sigh. he’s thinking. considering. and fantasizing. very lost in space, and actively taking more passive roles on the field to dedicate all his time to thinking. and pondering. and musing. he’s losing his gourd, actually. you’re so annoying to him. like a gnat. or some other irritant. he could eat you whole. he loves it. keep bothering him. you’re a fun little side project.

sniper: see, the problem with sniper is that he sees so much good in everyone he comes across that it is incredibly easy for him to not only get along with most everyone, but he is critically vulnerable to developing crushes on most everyone, too. it’s a vice more than it’s a gift, in his line of work. and it’s a big reason he is so introverted. he doesn’t want to like everyone he comes across, he is just terminally affable. and he doesn’t want to be hardened any more than he already is. he would like to maintain some sense of humanity, because his job is just that— a job. he doesn’t really change much, when struck with the crush. he just… enjoys you more. enjoys life more. remembers that there’s good in everyone. in everything. and that he just has to go out there and get it. you’re more of a philosophical muse than you are a crush. he takes his time more often doing things. enjoys the breeze in his nest more often. he calls his parents more. or he desperately wants to. whichever fits your version of canon better.

spy: no real change except his face doesn’t fall into a look of annoyance when you fix your lips to speak. he might actually even listen to what you have to say, chin resting on his hand as you blabber on to him. eyebrows normally quirked to show interest and give visual cues that you have his attention and your presence is welcome. if he’s feeling really nice toward you, he’ll even respond to your conversation starters, and try to keep engaged as much as he’ll try to keep you engaged. he’s a lot more willing to do things for you. that doesn’t mean he’ll do everything you ask, he’s gotta tell you no sometimes to keep up appearances. but he’s still gonna do it. you’ll notice that things are getting done, even if you aren’t asking for help. and you probably won’t know it’s him, or he’ll push off the “blame” to someone else. half the team will take random and undeserved praise. the rest will tell you he did it. it genuinely pisses him off, and if you gloat he is immediately turned off from you. he doesn’t like you enough for you to laugh at him.

[cherryblossms]

it was so damn hard for garam to control himself; the way his cheeks and his ears glowed bright red, the smile that just wouldn't stop growing, even the straggling tear or two rolling from his eyes as he blinked. angel was such a good person, so warm and comforting. someone garam still didn't believe he was worthy or deserving of. he didn't even see himself as a bad person, really. he made bad choices, he was selfish and willingly ignorant when it came to other people, their wants and desires. axel was more along the lines of someone whom garam felt fit him better, he was just as selfish and ignorant, and made bad choices. he hurt willingly hurt people he claimed to love. it almost made him feel guilty, giving his heart to angel when he wasn't entirely sure he could handle angel's with just as much care. at mention of the camera, all garam wanted to do was hide himself from angel but instead, he just nodded his head and pulled away as angel moved to unlock the door. that was something the two of them needed to talk about: his little side hustle. garam had no idea if angel knew about his onlyfans account, he wasn't extremely open about it on his social media but the links were posted so anybody could see he did, indeed, have an account and was relatively active on it. he also needed to maintain that activity regardless of where he was staying, it was a topic that needed to be discussed but garam knew he'd have to find the confidence to bring it up in the first place. garam was quick to put his button up shirt back on, though he only buttoned up the two in the middle of his shirt which left both his upper chest and a very small portion of his lower chest exposed with the right movement. he decided to forgo his sweater, deciding he was warm enough as it was and the added material would only cause him discomfort. then he grabbed the clothes they brought in, holding them in a sort of jumbled up mess in both arms as he exited the dressing room and started walking back through the store. he lead them to the registers, grabbing a couple pairs of socks that surely wouldn't be warm enough for why he wanted new ones but they had cute characters on them and who was he to pass on cute characters, on the way. once they were there, he put all of the clothes they'd gathered — whether they tried them on or not didn't matter — on the desk to be rung up. he was quiet as they waited, not lifting his eyes away from the counter in fear that the person ringing their clothes up was making googly eyes at angel — garam didn't want his possessiveness or jealousy to show again. it wasn't until it came time to pay that garam looked up, a man who seemed to be around their age standing on the other side of the counter. garam smiled at him, friendly but empty, before thanking him and wishing the man a good day. axel's brother being presence was nearly forgotten, having slipped his mind after his little confession to angel. garam really didn't want to look around to see if the man was still lingering but he also didn't want to randomly run into him anywhere throughout the store. subtlety was his choice, grabbing the bags in one hand as he scanned what he could see of the store. "so," he drew the singular word out, almost in a sing-song tune, as he wrapped his free hand around angel's arm. "what do you and darius like to do when you're together? like outside of working hours, what do you two do for fun, to pass time?" garam wasn't trying to instigate anything, it was his attempt to get to know darius better through angel so he wouldn't have to find things out about the man from in person experience. if angel liked him, there had to be something good in him that garam hadn't had the opportunity to see just yet. "maybe sometime, we could have him come over to hang out. i was serious when i said i wanted to be friends with your friends."

Angel’s chest ached in a way he didn’t quite expect it to. Not from pain, not from anger—but from the raw, unfiltered vulnerability Garam had just handed him. There was no mask, no seduction, no performance. Just *him*. All of him—afraid, uncertain, clinging tightly to the idea that he could lose what they had just because someone else might try and take it. And Angel knew that fear. God, *he knew it*—how it lived under the skin like a second pulse, whispering that nothing good ever stays, that love was conditional, that one misstep and the people you care about would find better. He stayed quiet for a moment after Garam finished speaking, letting it all settle. Letting Garam *see* that he wasn’t running from those words, or pulling away from the messiness of it. No, he was still here and he wasn’t going anywhere. Then, Angel gently touched Garam’s face, thumbs brushing lightly against the flushed heat of his cheeks. His eyes flicked toward the tear he hadn’t missed, even if Garam had wiped it away quickly, as if ashamed to let it show. “You don’t have to apologize for being scared,” Angel said, low and steady. “That kind of honesty? That takes more strength than anything else. You’re not weak for feeling this way. And you’re not *too much*.” He leaned in and kissed Garam’s forehead, slow and deliberate, letting his lips linger there like he could press reassurance into his skin. He loved this side of Garam, taking accountability and being honest with him. This was all Angel ever wanted from any partner or whatever limbo they were in right now. “I hear you. About Darius. About all of it.” His voice remained soft, but there was a firm edge of conviction behind it now. “You’re not asking too much. I’ll talk to him. Set boundaries. If you’re uncomfortable with us being alone, then that’s something I respect.” He pulled back just enough to meet Garam’s gaze again, brushing a hand gently through his hair like it calmed *him* as much as it soothed Garam. “And no one,” Angel continued, voice tight with emotion, “*no one* gets to tell me you’re not good enough for me. Not Darius, not anyone. Because I know you. I know your heart. And yeah, you’ve got some fears—but so do I. And I *still choose you.*” His hand lowered to clasp Garam’s again, fingers curling around his with warm certainty. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s not changing because someone else wishes it could.” There was a pause—just long enough for the words to sink in—before Angel offered the smallest, most tender smile.“And when we do have our first time,” he added, lips curving with a hint of that usual charm, “it’s gonna be somewhere that *feels* like ours. Not rushed, not messy. Just us. All of us.”Then, a beat. The three-letter words hung on his tongue but he swallowed them away, not yet. Not like this. “Let’s quickly pick out some basics for you and buy that sweater. Then run over to grab the camera and go home. I’m going to cook us a great dinner and we can work together to get your room together. As much as I would love for you to stay in my room forever you will want space eventually” Angel grinned pecking the man’s cheek as he unlatched the dressing room door. As pent-up as he was Angel couldn’t wait to get home where he could poke at Garam a little to have a repeat of the morning. But for now they still had things to do.

[neiptune]

inescapable

cw: 1.2k wc, female reader, nothing explicit but implied friends with benefits agreement, pillow talk, reader is trying sooo very hard to be nonchalant

“Can you stay?”, Shoyo looks at you through long, fluttering lashes. He looks beautiful like this, propped on one elbow, the moonlight faintly illuminating his features.

“Why?”, you deadpan.

Because there’s no actual reason for you to go. Because it’s late and he doesn’t entirely trust whatever cab has to drive you to the other side of the city. Because he likes you so much it’s making him a little insane.

“Because I want you to”.

“What about what I want?”.

He hesitates for a brief moment.

“You want to leave?”.

You sigh quietly and avoid his gaze, filled with sincere concern, to focus on the ceiling instead.

It makes your chest ache, the way Shoyo is so effortlessly honest about how he feels, what he wants. It’s been like this since day one: he was the first to admit he wanted to take you out, the first to voice how badly he wanted to kiss you, take you home, keep you there.

He’s still the one taking all the risks and you hate yourself for it. Especially because of how easily you give in, end up in his bed way too often for someone who is supposedly meant to keep her distance. The promise you made yourself is dangerously close to crumbling like a house of cards who didn’t stand a chance in the first place. Not in the inescapable hurricane that is Shoyo Hinata.

“You’re thinking too much again”, one finger lightly traces the bridge of your nose, the touch effectively pulling you away from your thoughts, “do you want to go?”.

This time, you decide to give him what he wants. Which, unfortunately, also happens to be what you want.

“No”, you say. Shoyo’s hand gently cradles your jaw, guides you to look at him instead of his ceiling.

“Good. Come closer, then”, something flashes in his eyes but you still feel like you don’t know him well enough to grasp every facet of him. The thought somehow produces both comfort and dread.

With a sigh that makes Shoyo bite back a smile, you comply and scoot closer, until you’re back in your designated place: his arms. He solidly wraps them around your frame and you hide your face in his shoulder, nose pressed to his neck. You’re wearing one of his shirts but he’s still naked and the warmth of his chest creeps into the fabric to then ooze under your skin, into your bones, like honey.

“I wish I was like you”, it’s barely a whisper but you know he hears it loud and clear in the stillness of his bedroom, “never afraid of anything”.

He chuckles.

“Is that what you think? That’s not me”.

“You just… make everything look so easy. You’re brave”.

“That’s not what it is. I just take risks, always have. Doesn’t mean I’m not afraid”.

You scoff.

“Okay. Tell me one thing that frightens you, then”.

Shoyo hums, seemingly lost in thought. That’s one thing you know: he never actually has to think too long about what he wants to share. It just comes naturally. The one thing he takes time to evaluate is whether sharing what’s on his mind is worth it or not.

“I’m afraid of scaring you off”.

You sigh heavily and he chuckles again, content with the advantage he has in a game you were never meant to win.

“See? That’s what I mean. You can just say stuff like that”.

“You can too, it’s really not that scary”.

“It’s only not scary if you’re you”.

Shoyo smiles, you hear it in his voice when he speaks again.

“Say something that scares you. Do it now. I’ll cover my ears if you want”.

You huff out half a laugh and pull back slightly to look at him.

“Really?”.

“Sure. If you don’t want me to hear it, I won’t listen. But it’ll prove how easy it actually is”.

You jokingly narrow your gaze when he props himself on one elbow again and presses his palms over his ears. Shoyo just offers a grin.

Head now resting on his pillow, you take a deep breath.

“I like you so much. Enough to wish you belonged to me and not to Brazil. Enough to keep you here forever, if I could”.

He blinks slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly. Horrified, you grab his wrist to pull one of his hands down.

“You heard that!”.

“I absolutely didn’t-”

“Hinata!”.

“It’s not my fault the room is so quiet!”, he bursts into mirthful laughter when you groan into his pillow, mortified as you always get when the carefully crafted indifferent facade slips.

Shoyo doesn’t conceal the fondness in his gaze as he looks down at you, busy hiding your face in your hands.

“Can I say something too?”.

“No”.

“Not even if it’s scary and vulnerable and makes me a horrible person?”.

You peer up at him from in between your fingers.

“Fine. But it better make you absolutely execrable”.

A glimpse of his familiar smile is all you can catch before Shoyo wraps himself around you once more, only this time he’s resting his entire weight on you. You let out a playful oof as you hug him, a body that is all corded muscle, hard thighs and broad shoulders effectively sinking you further into the mattress. You can feel the swell of his biceps as he tightens his hold around your middle, soft wisps of unruly hair tickling your chin as Shoyo makes himself comfortable.

“I wish I could take you with me. I wish you belonged to me more than to your hometown, your job, your friends, maybe even your family. That’s how much I like you. That’s how much of a terrible person I am”.

A quiet laugh shakes you as one of your hands gently strokes his back.

“You couldn’t be a terrible person if you tried”.

“I mean it”.

“Good thing I’m here to do the right thing, then”.

“What’s the right thing?”.

“Accepting how selfish I can be and still not acting on it. Thinking about what’s best for you”.

Shoyo hums.

“I can decide what’s best for me. You know, as an adult”.

“Sure. And I hope you’ll soon find it”.

He tilts his head up, enough to press his lips to your jaw.

“I can belong to you and my career. I wouldn’t just drop everything and give up on my dream because of you. You don’t make me wish I didn’t have to leave, you just make me wish you trusted me, this, enough to try. To wait for me when I get back and have me wait for you when you come to me”.

Truth is, he wants to belong to you far more than he wants you to belong to him. He wishes to know you want him just as much, that the mere thought of him being with other people eats away at your sanity each time your brain conjures it. 

You shut your eyes when you feel tears pricking at the back of them.

“Was saying all that scary?”, Shoyo hears the way your voice trembles and nuzzles further into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah”, he whispers.

“Couldn’t be scarier than admitting I’m falling in love with you”.

He stills, a marble statue pliant under your touch. And then, slowly, Shoyo lifts himself up enough to meet your gaze. There’s something so tender about the way he’s looking at you, it makes you feel far more vulnerable than the times when his eyes are filled with lust or passion. It feels different. It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been.

“See? You’re getting really good at this”, he murmurs. It eases the ice cold tension clutching your chest, makes you able to offer a smile.

“I still think this isn’t entirely wise”.

“That’s fine”, Shoyo intentionally brushes his nose against yours before leaning further down, “I’ve always been great at turning predictions around”.

[totalswag]

hiii i love your posts!! i was wondering if you could do reader x drew where reader has baby fever and wants a baby and drew finds her upset about it all so they talk and decide that the time is right and they are ready?? lots of fluff please!!

baby fever ⎯ DREW STARKEY!

authors note thank you for the request anon and that makes me smile. i love me some baby fever drew omg. feedback is always appreciated <3.

taglist ✎ ̼ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

masterlist

summary baby fever coming in hot at a family reunion after seeing drew with your nieces and nephews and you think of what he'd be like with your own children one day. drew finds you in your childhood home upset.

warning(s) baby fever, crying, kissing, mentions of having kids.

You were at a family reunion of yours in your hometown. The reunion was held your parents home⎯full of familiar laughter, little kids running around, and the smell of food being cooked. Everything felt right in this very moment.

Family reunions have been a tradition since you could remember. It allows family to get together once every year and spend time together. Plus, seeing family you haven't seen a long time feels great.

"Can you believe we were once their ages running around?" Your sister pointed out to the kids running around in the grass.

Memories flooded through your mind. The good old times when there were zero worries. Knowing your childhood home still belongs to your parents is such a monumental feeling.

"It's crazy even thinking about it" you respond with a light chuckle.

Your two month old nephew cradled in Drew's arms⎯his eyes scanning his surroundings. Your heart melted witnessing Drew interact with your nephews and nieces all day. It made you think of having a family of your own with him one day.

Drew and you have been married for almost a year. Having kids have been come in almost all your conversations at home. With his busy work schedule, you both agreed to wait a bit. You being the youngest out of your siblings, family is waiting for the announcement.

He’s a natural. You always thought he would be, but seeing it⎯the softness in his eyes, the way he supports your nephews fragile head without even thinking⎯sets something deep inside you alight.

You blink fast, trying to shake the sudden sting behind your eyes. You hadn't expected to feel this way. Not here, not now.

You have baby fever. Bad.

"I'll be right back" you tell Drew and your sister as you lift yourself up from the chair into the house to your childhood bedroom. The tears begin to form once you step up the stairs.

It’s silly, you tell yourself. There's no rush. You and Drew have always agreed you'd "know" when the time was right.

But watching him today, you realize⎯you know. You’re ready. You want it more than anything.

A soft knock is heard from the door. You fix yourself in the mirror before answering. "Who is it?" You make your voice sound normal but a hint of whimper falls through.

"It's me baby, can I come in?" Drew's soft voice says through the door. You reach for the door knob revealing Drew's worried look.

He know's somethings up. You feel it.

"Is everything okay?" Drew asks, "You look like you've been crying," as he slams the door behind him. His anxious countenance and body language tell it everything.

You sniffle, partly laughing and half sobbing. "Yeah, I just⎯" You shake your head, unable to find the right words. "You're... quite excellent with them, you know? "With kids." 

Drew moves closer, placing a soothing hand on your lower back. His palm is warm, drawing you close. Your body relaxes in response to his warm touch. 

"I love them," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They are your family. Of course, I do.

The room becomes quiet. 

Drew softly turns you to face him, brushing his thumb under your eye, where a tear has escaped. His expression is so open and full of love that it almost brings you to tears again. "I've been thinking the same."

Your heart stutters: "You have?" You ask with wide eyes.

Drew nods: "Yes, I have. Look at us now. We're married, have a lovely home, and have all we could possibly want in love..." He goes on, "There's an extra room waiting to be decorated."

"Here goes the tears again" you playfully joke pointing to them falling down your cheeks. Drew's thumb taps them away. "You look pretty when you cry" he says before pulling you in for a kiss.

You two have your moment together in silence. Knowing he feels the same way as you makes you feel better inside. It's been your forever dream to become a mom one day. You couldn't be more excited than to have kids with Drew.

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[paxaz535]

Just for Now

chapter 5

synopsis : when a group of students go on a school field trip are suddenly forced into a deadly real-life game of Mafia at a retreat center. They receive a message that tells them the game has started, and the only way of survival is by eliminating classmates and identifying the Mafias.

——

note : and if i say this is probably the best thing i’ve written so far.. ?

(shorter chapter ONLY because im trying to spread this series)

——

As the murmurs started up again and people began whispering in pairs, Paige stood up and walked over to you.

“Can we talk?” she asked, quiet enough that only you could hear.

You glanced around. No one was paying attention yet.

You nodded, following her down the hall, away from the group.

She stopped just outside one of the smaller side rooms and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The hallway was dim, quiet, like the game couldn’t reach you here.

“You really think it’s me?” she asked, no smile, no flirt, just straight honesty.

You met her eyes. “I don’t want to think it’s you.”

“Then don’t.”

“That’s not how this works, Paige.”

Her jaw tightened. “You know me. You’ve seen me. If I was playing dirty, you think you wouldn’t know by now?”

“That’s the problem,” you said, voice lower. “I don’t know. Not anymore.”

She stepped closer. “Then trust what you feel. Not what they’re trying to make you see.”

And just like that, she was gone—back down the hallway, swallowed by the buzz of the lobby again.

You stood there a second longer, heart in your throat.

Then came Marcus’s voice from inside: “Are we doing this, or what?”

You decided to check someone.

Not because you thought they were Mafia—more like the opposite. You needed to start crossing people off your list. Narrowing it down. Giving yourself room to breathe.

Still, something inside you whispered not to check those four.

Paige. Azzi. Nika. Aaliyah.

Why?

Why did part of you not want to know the truth?

Was it fear? Was it trust? Or was it something worse—something like hope?

You pushed the thought down and clicked on Kk’s name.

Kk’s occupation is: Citizen.

Cool.

Relief. Slight, but real.

You returned to the circle just in time to see everyone with their phones out, the voting options on each screen.

One by one, everyone started to vote.

You hesitated with yours.

Marcus? Sarah? One of the four? Nora?

You looked up, eyes catching Azzi’s for just a second.

She winked.

Your hand shook a little as you hovered over the screen.

Then, you pressed the name.

It was time.

The votes rolled in:

Stormi — Marcus

Paige — Marcus

Nora — Azzi

Jamie — Paige

Sarah — Marcus

Marcus — Sarah

Amari & Ines — Marcus

Allie & Morgan — Nora

Aubrey — Marcus

Aaliyah — Marcus

Nika — Marcus

Azzi — Marcus

Ayanna — Marcus

Ice — Marcus

Jana — Nora

Caroline — Nora

Ashlynn — Marcus

Kk — Marcus

And finally—

Rose — Nora.

Your name.

Your vote.

The final one.

As soon as it landed, Nora looked at you.

Her face—tight, confused, hurt.

Like you’d pulled the floor out from under her.

You couldn’t hold her gaze. Not for long.

Your stomach twisted. But you went with your gut. You had to. That’s what this role was. That’s what this game was.

Still, the guilt sat in your chest like a weight.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even sure if you’d made the right call.

Majority, Marcus.

The intercom crackled to life.

“With the most votes, Marcus will be executed.”

No one moved.

Marcus exhaled slowly. No argument. No begging. Just a deep, worn-out sigh as he stood up.

He didn’t look at anyone as he walked toward the hallway—just kept his head down, footsteps heavy.

Then, just as he disappeared behind the corner—

A scream.

Raw. Terrified. Real.

You flinched. A few people gasped. The room held its breath.

And then, the intercom spoke again:

“Marcus was… a citizen.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your stomach dropped.

Because now that you all know Marcus wasn’t Mafia…

Then the four specific ones who voted him out?

Might be the very people you’ve been trying not to suspect.

And worse?

You might’ve just helped them win.

-

“She needs to die,” Aaliyah said, her voice cold and certain. “And she needs to die tonight.”

The room fell quiet.

Azzi and Paige exchanged a glance, tension already thick. Nika leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unreadable.

“She’s getting too close,” Aaliyah continued. “If we don’t get rid of her now, she’s going to figure us out.”

“She already is,” Nika added. “She voted smart last round. She’s watching us.”

Azzi shifted. “We can’t do anything unless all four of us agree. You know the rule.”

Every Mafia vote had to be unanimous.

No vote, no kill.

“Then agree,” Aaliyah snapped, looking directly at Paige.

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t move.

“I’m not agreeing,” Azzi said, arms crossed. “Not tonight.”

Nika looked between them, fuming. “You’re letting your feelings get in the way.”

Paige turned sharply to Nika. “And you’re not?”

Nika raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“If it were Stormi’s name on the table, you’d be the first one saying no,” Paige said, her voice suddenly sharper, more raw than they were used to. “Don’t act like you’re above this just because it’s me and Azzi.”

Nika went quiet.

Azzi looked between them, unsettled.

Aaliyah shook her head in disbelief. “So that’s it? No vote tonight? We’re just gonna let her live?”

“No vote,” Paige said, looking down. “We’re going to let her live.”

The room stilled.

No one spoke. No one moved.

They all knew what that meant.

No kill.

“So then who?” Nika asked, her voice growing impatient.

“Nora’s also off the table,” Aaliyah replied, cutting through the tension. “If we kill her, then you might as well consider one of us dead.”

She was right. Nora had already gotten too close to the truth.

“Aaliyah’s right,” Paige said, voice quiet but firm. “Nora’s off the table. If we kill her now, it’ll confirm everything.”

Aaliyah nodded, her tone cold. “Exactly. We can’t risk it.”

There was a heavy silence. They all knew they needed to make a choice—someone had to be eliminated, but the wrong decision could expose them all.

Then Azzi spoke, her voice calm and steady.

“Jana.”

Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. Was she seriously suggesting someone?

“Why?” Nika asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Azzi leaned back slightly. “She’s been quiet. A lot of people been quiet, yeah, but she’s… different. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t stand out. She’s blending in too well. If she’s not Mafia, she could be a threat to us. People like her always make it to the end.”

Paige frowned, clearly not convinced. “She’s been too quiet, yeah. But why her? She hasn’t done anything to make her seem dangerous.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly why. No one’s looking at her, and that makes her the perfect choice.”

The others stayed silent for a beat, processing her words.

“I also noticed something about her,” Azzi continued, her tone growing more deliberate. “Remember when Aubrey got voted out and everyone went all haywire?”

The group nodded, recalling the chaos that had followed Aubrey’s elimination. The tension was thick in the air that night, accusations flying left and right.

“Jana didn’t react. Didn’t hear a peep. Literally, everyone else said something but her.” Azzi’s gaze shifted between them, a challenge in her eyes. “Is that not weird?”

The room fell into silence as everyone turned this over in their minds.

Paige frowned, her mind working through the memory. Aubrey and Jana had been close. For Jana to say nothing when Aubrey had been voted out? It was unusual. Too calm, too detached.

“I think Azzi’s onto something,” Paige murmured after a long pause. “Jana usually reacts to everything. She should’ve reacted to Aubrey, but she didn’t.”

Aaliyah, who had been quietly listening, finally nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange, sure. Could be nothing… or it could be something.”

Azzi wasn’t finished, though. “And let’s not forget, she’s always observing. Never makes waves. But she’s quietly watching. That kind of behavior doesn’t sit right.”

Nika leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms. “True. The quieter they are, the more dangerous they can be.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably as Azzi’s words hung in the air.

Paige’s gaze lingered on the others, her thoughts racing. They’d all agreed on the decision before, but now, something felt… heavier.

“Do we agree?” Aaliyah asked, breaking the silence. “Do we go for her?”

Paige looked at Azzi, then at the others. She nodded slowly. “I think we do.”

-

Another day, another person’s name to hear on the intercom.

“During the night, the mafia used their skill to execute Jana.”

Jana? That’s… weird.

You blinked, trying to process the news. It didn’t make sense. Jana had been… quiet. But why would the Mafia target her?

“Jana was the doctor.”

Oh. Oh.

Your stomach dropped as the full impact hit. Jana wasn’t just some quiet person in the background—she was the doctor. The very person who could’ve saved lives, who had been the key to keeping people alive. And now she was gone.

Holy shit.

You felt a mixture of confusion, shock, and a tinge of fear. The Mafia had killed the one person who could protect others. The game had just become a lot more dangerous.

You glanced around, watching the others’ reactions.

When the four—Paige, Azzi, Aaliyah, and Nika—heard that information, something shifted. A look of relief passed between them, barely noticeable but there. They’d been wanting to kill the doctor. Now that they had, it felt like a weight had been lifted, like they’d made a big move in the game.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You were still here. You were still a problem.

The Mafia might have killed the doctor, but they’d left the cop alive. The one person who could potentially stop them. You weren’t stupid. They knew you were a threat, and you knew they were gunning for you next.

But for now, you were still here.

And you weren’t going down without a fight.

-

“This just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You were sitting with Stormi, Kk, Ice, and Sarah in the lounge, away from everyone else. You knew they were all citizens, so you felt comfortable talking openly.

“Why would the mafia kill the doctor and not the cop?” Ice asked, frowning.

You glanced at her. “In a way, they didn’t know Jana was the doctor. They probably killed her because she was quiet,” you reasoned.

“Hell, I didn’t even know,” you admitted. “I hadn’t had a chance to check her occupation.”

Everyone fell silent, the weight of the situation settling heavily over the room.

The longer you sat there, the more the silence grew suffocating. You could see it in everyone’s faces — confusion, fear, the creeping realization that none of you were truly safe.

Stormi was the first to speak. “If they’re just picking people off for being quiet, we’re screwed. Half of us aren’t even talking that much anymore.”

“Exactly,” Sarah said, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s not about roles anymore. They’re guessing.”

“Which makes it even more dangerous,” Kk added, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means none of us can predict who’s next.”

You leaned back against the couch, trying to think. If the mafia was killing at random… how were you supposed to protect anyone? Your role gave you information, sure — but if you didn’t act fast enough, it wouldn’t matter.

“I’m not saying I am— ’cause I’m not — but if I were mafia, I would’ve killed you by now, Rose,” Ice said bluntly.

Her words hit harder than you expected. That question had been sitting heavy in your mind for a while now.

Why haven’t they taken you out?

It didn’t make sense. You agreed with Ice. If you were mafia, you would’ve taken out the police officer the second you found out. Everyone knew you were the Police — so why hadn’t they taken their chance?

“We’ll be right back,” Stormi said as she grabbed your arm and pulled you toward the corner of the lounge.

The others barely reacted, slipping into a nervous conversation among themselves. Everyone was still on edge.

You stumbled a little, confused. “What—?”

“I’m gonna need you to be completely honest with me,” Stormi said, her voice low and serious. She stared you down, her hand still gripping the front of your shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows but nodded slowly, glancing down at her tight grip before looking back up at her face.

“Have you checked Paige, Azzi, Nika, or Aaliyah?”

Your heart dropped.

Why so specific?

“No. I haven’t,” you said.

Stormi sighed.

“Any reason why you haven’t?”

You were silent.

Why hadn’t you checked?

Were you avoiding something?

“I—”

You cut yourself off.

“Wait, is this about—”

Stormi closed her eyes. She let go of your shirt, dropping her hands to her sides.

“Why haven’t you checked them, Rose?” she asked again.

You swallowed hard, feeling stuck.

Then finally, you said it:

“The same reason that if it were you, you wouldn’t check Nika.”

Stormi froze.

She knew you were right.

She knew you hadn’t checked Paige and Azzi because you didn’t want to find out something you couldn’t undo.

“I don’t wanna believe it,” you muttered.

“Then check Aaliyah,” Stormi said.

You looked at her, confused. “Stor—”

“You don’t want them to die, right?” she interrupted.

By them, she meant Paige and Azzi.

And she was right.

You didn’t want them to die — but deep down, you had a sinking feeling that hope wouldn’t last forever.

You nodded.

“And I… I don’t want Nika to go,” Stormi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was really starting to fall for her, and the thought that Nika might be Mafia was already tearing her apart.

“I liked Aaliyah. She was cool. But it’s time.”

You knew she was right.

So you did what you had to do.

You pulled out your phone and tapped Aaliyah’s name.

Aaliyah’s occupation: Mafia.

Fuck.

taglist: @iowahawkeyes22 @evry1luvzzae @kalan1z @evanpeterstoe

[concreteangel92]

Can I please, please request a one shot from your post below, I need it biblically😂

https://www.tumblr.com/concreteangel92/778950918927433728/this-is-mean-dom-im-sick-of-you-acting-up-noah

Thank you, you’re amazing! 💕

Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: mean dom!Noah, dom/sub relationship, degradation, PiV, recording someone during sex (consensual), brat taming, edging, spanking, slapping, slight spitting but not much

Thank you 🖤

This kind of request is always right up my street, mean dom Noah is my absolute favourite 🥵

Permanent Taglist: @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @bloody-spades @lacy1986 @fadingangelwisp @theanarchymuse95 @w0manof-flesh44 @dream-machine-love @thisbicc @amelia-acero @badomensls @fadingintothegrey @tosoundlessdarkistare @ichoosetenderomens @hurricanesfollowyou @concretejunglefm @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @xmads-omensx @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @lyschko666 @rumoured-whispers @renegadebirch @floodflameschosen @ami--gami

Let me know if you wish to be added!

Masterlist

You had been warned. More than once but you didn’t listen.

You’d gone to the studio to meet Noah as you were going out for lunch together.

But Noah being the perfectionist that he is, just had to get a few of the tweaks sorted on one of their recordings, he said it would be hour tops.

That had now turned into nearly 3 and you were annoyed and hungry.

As you were bored, you started to wind Noah up, it was small at first. Asking questions when he was trying to focus, pulling on the back of his hoodie playfully while he was talking to his friends, watching videos on your phone with the volume fairly high.

He warned you once with a low growl under his breath. “Enough”

And again with a sharp look over his shoulder, his own hands gripping onto his thighs in annoyance. You only smiled sweetly at him.

The rest of the band and crew appeared oblivious to what was brewing between you both, something you took full advantage of.

The final warning came after you sat on his lap to listen to the recording with him, grinding yourself subtly on his half hard erection in his joggers, you felt his hands digging almost painfully into your hips to halt your movements as he tried to hide a low groan that slipped from his throat causing Jolly to ask if he was ok.

That was it, you knew you’d gone too far.

Noah made a comment about being tired and that they should finally take a break.

Everyone cleared from the studio to go and grab some food apart from you, you went to walk out and you felt Noah’s hand gripping onto the back of your neck and bringing your body into his chest.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stood holding you in place and reached forward and locked the studio door. The silence was heavier than any yell.

You felt yourself being turned around to stare up at him, his gaze intense and fierce.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

“I…I thought we were going for lunch?”

Noah let out a small chuckle.

“Did you now? We would have been going for lunch but then, you decided you wanted to be a brat and act up in front of my friends. And what’s my number one rule baby?”

He was being so condescending, so arrogant.

“Don’t play up in front of them?”

He nodded. “That’s right. And what did you do?”

You shrugged casually, not being able to stop the bratty attitude.

“It wasn’t my fault that you didn’t keep to your word and kept me waiting like a dick”

*Smack*

Noah slapped you across your cheek, not enough to hurt but enough to put you back into submission as he threaded his fingers into your hair and pulled your head backwards so you stare up at his tall frame more.

“This attitude of yours is becoming very tiresome, seems I’m going to have to teach you a lesson in respect”

Noah turned you both around and pushed you face down into the mixing desk.

You gasped as your body hit the surface, the cool edge of the equipment digging into your skin. He kicked your legs apart with his foot, one hand holding you down by the back of your neck, the other sliding up under your top, nails scraping.

“Look at you,” he sneered. “Bent over like a fucking toy in my studio. That what you wanted? Attention like a needy little slut?”

He pressed his hips against you, just to feel you squirm. “You make one sound without permission and I’ll drag this out for hours.”

You bit back a moan as you felt him moving around slightly behind you.

He slid your leggings down slowly, deliberately, knuckles brushing your thighs like he had all the time in the world. But you knew better, he was playing with you. Cruel and calculated.

“No panties?” he murmured, amused. “Of course not. Couldn’t even behave for one fucking hour, why would I think that you could dress yourself properly?”

His fingers slipped between your legs, teasing, barely touching, never giving you enough. You whined, hips twitching, but his palm slammed down on your ass, sharp and unforgiving and no doubt leaving a red mark in its place.

“You don’t move unless I say. Now I’m going to record this little punishment my angel, is that ok with you?”

Your brows frowned. “Why?”

“You wanted to be such a disobedient brat and a distraction today that I figured you’d like to help me now, I want to record every sound you make so I can use it in the next recording”

You felt your core clench at the idea, Noah was no stranger to mixing random every day sounds into his music, but he’d never once asked you for this. The thought was intoxicating.

“Yes I’m ok with that Noah”

You felt his hand rub the skin on your hip lovingly, a far contrast to what was coming.

“Thank you baby, I knew you’d want to be a good girl and make it up to me”

You heard his phone being put down on the table not far from you and then heard him pushing his trousers down his legs.

His fingers came up once more to tease your folds as he leaned more over you.

“You’re already dripping for me” he whispered, dragging his tongue along the shell of your ear. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He shoved your face down against the cold metal, your cheek pressing into the control sliders, the edge of a knob digging into your skin but he didn’t care. Neither did you.

Noah pulled back and you heard and felt as he spat directly onto your core and used his fingers to rub it in, causing a moan to fall from your lips.

*smack*

The slap to your ass cheek burned beautifully.

“Did I say you could make any sound yet?”

You shook your head.

*smack*

You bit back another yelp as he spanked you again even harder.

“Where are your manners princess?”

“No sir”

“Much better”

Noah then slipped himself inside your warm walls with no warning, stretching you out sinfully as he groaned low.

“Fuck…you’re so wet, you really are my needy little slut aren’t you?”

You pushed your hips back slightly.

“Yes, all for you”

Noah kept one hand in your hair and the other on your hip as he started a fast and brutal pace, his hips smacking into yours with each thrust, causing the controls to dig into you more as you tried to hold back your moans.

“Let me hear you now baby, I want to hear every sound”

Noah’s movements were relentless, each thrust harder and faster than the last, his hands gripping your hips as if he were holding you in place just to break you further. The heat of him filling you, the way his body slapped against yours, was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body trembled, the pressure in your core building to an unbearable point and you couldn’t stop the noises you were making even if you tried.

“Please…” you gasped, hands desperately gripping the edge of the mixing desk as your body rocked against it. “Noah…fuck…I’m so close…I’m going to…”

Noah suddenly pulled out and pushed away from you leaving you feeling cold and empty.

A sharp cry of frustration left your lips, your body aching, aching for release. “No!” you whimpered, turning your head to look back at him, eyes wide with desperation.

He stood there, his chest heaving, watching you with a dark grin.

“You think you deserve to cum after everything you’ve done today?”

He was teasing you, enjoying the power he had over your body, savoring the frustration as he tucked himself away and made himself look presentable again.

You felt tears in your eyes with how frustrated you felt but you knew better than to push him further when he was in this mood so you nodded submissively to him.

Noah came over to you and leant down to give you a tender kiss and stroked your cheek.

“You know I hate being so mean to you angel, but you have to be taught don’t you?”

You nodded.

“That’s my good girl, if you behave for the rest of the afternoon then I promise I’ll reward you later”

You felt a smile tug on your lips at his words and you nodded again and pulled your leggings up and tried to straighten out your hair that was no doubt a tangled mess.

Noah picked up his phone and you suddenly heard your own cries echoing around the room, your cheeks flushed red.

“That’s my girl, so cock drunk for me always aren’t you baby? I can’t wait to use this for the next record”

[towasdandelion]

what if confession texts with the ghouls 👉👈👉👈 and how they/reader confessed ISJDJSKSJDJSJK and maybe with pookie wookie romeo BUT NO PRESSURE TAKE UR TIME /GEN SJDJSJKDJS TY IN ADVANCE I LOVE UR TEXT MSG POSTS SOSOSOSO MUCH 😭😭🩷🩷

I'm glad you like my posts (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I was planning to do something like that sooner or later hehe, for now let's go with the scenario where you're the one confessing! Hope you like it (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Sinostra and Vagastrom ghouls when you confess to them

Romeo? Well.. his pride says "I'm not surprised" but his heart and his head are a mess. He paces around the room. Will literally take him minutes to text back, typing then erasing every message, his finger always just hovering over the 'send' button. He feels kind of.. embarrassed. How dare you make him feel like some fool? And confessing to him instead of waiting for him to do so? The audacity!! Deep, deep down he's happy though. He's happy he didn't have to be the one to say those awkward words first. And honestly it's for the better because his confession would be probably a text saying "Don't you ever dare to die!" Or something like that..

Ritsu, our calm and collected gentleman! Or so it seems. To be honest he got exactly what you meant. But just in case he got the wrong idea he decides to play it safe. He feels incredibly relieved once it turns out you're in love with him too.. because being business partners just wasn't enough for him. Don't be fooled though. Behind that calm mask of his there is a blushy Ritsu who can barely keep a straight face while sitting in the library. Must. Upkeep. The reputation. He quickly gathers his things before leaving the building in a hurry to get some fresh air. He then sits down on the nearest bench, takes out his notebook and begins writing everything he wants to say once you two meet.

Taiga loves playing games. Any games. Well, he didn't exactly expect to fall for anyone but since it happened, he's just going to roll with it. Grins to himself when he reads your message. So you finally found the courage huh. How did he know you're in love with him? Don't ask me, it's Taiga. He feels a rush of excitement as the conversation goes on, already imagining the look on your face when he takes you in his arms first thing when you meet up. After the text exchange he won't be able to sleep anymore. He will lazily stroll around Sinostra with a grin on his face that scares pretty much everyone who sees him.

Leo. Things were going well. So well. You just confessed and the ball was now in his hands. And what does he do? Makes himself look pathetic. The texts were obviously meant for Sho. He immediately deletes them. But it's too late. He throws his phone on the bed before grabbing a pillow and letting out a dramatic scream. Will probably avoid you for like a week out of embarrassment. Try to make fun of him and he'll gaslight the shit out of you. What messages?? What are you talking about??? He's so desperate he will even try to twist the situation, laughing that you probably dream about it. At this point just grab his face and kiss him. Trust me, it will work like a charm.

Sho's eyes widen. What was meant as a joke, actually turned out to be true. You just confessed to him. He's stunned, but it only lasts a moment. This is the perfect opportunity to mess with you a little. Not to upset you, just to see if you know that he likes you too. You don't huh? Well that only gives him more of a reason to tease you. Will kind of panic after the exchange though.. hoping he didn't take it too far. Will patiently wait to see if you show up. If you do, you can count on a lot of teasing smiles and subtle touches before he actually says that he likes you too.

Alan doesn't want to believe his luck. You really like him. And not just that. You like him more than a friend. He sighs deeply, thinking what he should reply. He obviously doesn't want to reject you. But he thinks you really do deserve someone better than him. He feels bad about accepting your feelings, even after you reassure him. It might take him a while to process this. The actual conversation will happen after a week or so, with him asking if you're sure of this. Please do take your time to reassure him that he's the one for you.

[princessluna-writings]

Talking and cloud watching (Conquest + Grandparent!Reader)

You were watering your plants, making sure not to overwater them so the roots don’t rot, you put the now empty cup down on the windowsill and make your way outside to the backyard since that was where Conquest was. You open the door to your backyard and see Conquest staring up at the cloudy sky, most likely cloud watching since it’s a small hobby he picked up from you, you walk up to him and stop when you’re next to him, looking up at the sky as well. “cloud watching, Conquest?” You ask, your voice gentle and friendly, which Conquest liked about you.

Conquest loved and hated how you spoke gently to all, even to those who didn’t respect you, but he still couldn’t believe why you were so nice to him. “Mhm..” he hummed in response, still not letting his guard down around you due to being set on betraying you, “y’know, I’m glad a man as nice as you decided to stay with me, even if you don’t seem fully comfortable with me, I still feel as if I’m doing something good for the world” you smiled softly.

Conquest chuckled softly to himself, such a fool you were, thinking he was a mere man that wanted to be friends with you, hah! The thought you juts innocently thinking he was a friend of yours made him realize that it would be even easier to manipulate you-

“Makes me feel less lonely since my grandchildren don’t talk to me or visit me”

silence.

You can tell you at least got his attention when you can sense his eyes on him.

“I don’t remember the last time we’ve spoken or seen each other. Shoot, I don’t even remember what I did to make them not want to see me anymore.. maybe it’s because I was busy with work in the past but I was practically forced to work more because of my boss, or maybe I said something that stuck to them? I don’t know, it hurts me when I try to look back on memories and realize the most recent age I can remember them being is when they were in their late teens.. I miss them so much..”

You both sit in silence for a few moments before Conquest speaks up, “did you try to communicate with them?” He asks, to which you sigh in response “I’ve tried and yet nothing.. I don’t know if they have blocked me from their cell or are just ignoring me..” Conquest didn’t speak and only looked back up at the sky as he thought about what you told him, you’ve been left alone for years while your grandchildren are possibly somewhere far and aging while you slowly wilt away?

…

What’s this feeling in his chest..

His train of thought was cut off by you pat him on the bicep, “time to go inside, it’s about to rain” you started to walk away and walk back inside of your house as Conquest just stared at you before back at the sky and then back at you and he followed you inside.

‘One more week, I’ll stay for one more week and then destroy everything in sight.’