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phyrestartr · 7 months ago

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If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished.

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were.

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.”

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.”

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.”

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.”

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it.

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?”

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.”

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him.

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.”

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it?

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts.

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them.

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed.

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.”

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.”

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes.

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late.

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree.

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them.

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them.

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.”

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words.

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own.

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side.

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses.

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too.

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose.

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching.

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.”

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered.

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly.

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they?

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased.

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?”

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?”

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development.

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?”

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before.

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage.

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them.

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all.

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope.

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors.

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna.

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?”

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.”

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.”

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.”

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?”

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.”

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost.

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.”

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #cw: abuse

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lessbienlesbian · 1 year ago

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mizu x fem!reader nsfw a-z relationship headcanons

i’m sorry this took so long for me to write, but i hope y’all enjoy!

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

after both you and mizu have reached your peak, she is honestly quite clingy, although she would never admit this to anyone else. she would hold you protectively and press gentle kisses to your forehead and hairline, all while whispering about how well you did and asking if she can get you anything.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

mizu loves her hands. she loves what they look like, how they feel, and most importantly what she can do with them. she is proud of the calluses that cover them and she is proud of the skill and nimbleness with which she can use her sword and make you come undone. her favorite part of your body is your eyes, more specifically the fact that she can look into them and see so clearly that your intentions and love for her are genuine.

c = cum (anything to do with cum)

mizu loves to eat you out. she genuinely thinks that you taste so good, and will bury her face in your pussy until your juices are dripping down her chin as she looks up at you with that stupid adorable cocky smirk. sometimes she will even hold a glistening finger up to the light for you to see.

“look at this baby, is this all for me?”

“god, you smell so good. stay still sweetheart, let me taste you.”

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory)

honestly, mizu’s dirty secret is just how horny and absolutely whipped she is for you. she’s got it so bad and she would do absolutely anything for you. i know that’s not really dirty per say, but she’s pretty open about most other things.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

mizu is not very experienced at all. her only partner before you was mikio, and the sex she had with him was pleasing to her but not particularly outstanding. it also didn’t involve much action or movement on her part, so she would have a lot to learn when first being intimate with you. however, mizu is a very quick and eager learner. it is almost frustrating how naturally good she is at knowing how to touch you in just the right way.

f = favorite position

mizu is a fan of any position where she gets to be as close to you as possible. she really values the closeness and physical intimacy that goes along with having sex. bonus points if she can easily hide her face because she gets hella shy.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

mizu can actually be pretty lighthearted in the moment. i wouldn’t go as far as calling her humorous, but the playful and teasing side to her personality is definitely present. she also enjoys a playful “fight” for dominance at times, she just can’t help it with her competitive nature.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

mizu has very dark brown pubic hair that matches the hair on her head. she has a full bush and doesn’t do anything along the lines of hair removal.

i = intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment)

oh dear god mizu is so romantic. she’ll hold your hand while you fuck her, make eye contact for as long as she can, and whisper sweet nothings and intimate confessions into your ear. like by day mizu is slicing people up on the hunt to kill her potential father, and by night she’s blushing and trying to hide her face while you gently kiss her cute little pink nose. like damn, get you a girl that can do both.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

it is my personal opinion that mizu does not masturbate outside of a brief period of self discovery as an adolescent and then maybe after getting together with you if the two of you are separated for a lengthy period for whatever reason.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

i am a firm believer that mizu is very into praise, both when it comes to you and her. she LOVES to be told that she’s doing a good job and that she’s pretty because let’s face it, this girl does not hear that kinda shit very often (or at all). god she’s just so cute, shyly hiding her face in your shoulder so you can’t see how much she is blushing, biting her lip to silence the small whimpers she’s letting out, tentatively reaching over to interlace her fingers with yours. and those shy little “shut ups” mumbled in your ear are just the icing on the cake.

l = location (favorite places to do the deed)

mizu doesn’t really have a preferred location. as long as the two of you are safe and not in the view of other people, she’s good to go.

m = motivation (what turns them on)

she gets very turned on when/if the two of you spar together. the combination of competition, physical closeness, and playfulness just does it for her.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i’ll just list some off. blood, bondage (her receiving), intense degradation, exhibitionism, cnc, threesomes, intense humiliation, and breeding kink (i’ll explain this one at the end of this section). basically, she is pretty opposed to anything that makes her feel unsafe or like she doesn’t have control over what’s happening to her. that is not to say that she would be unwilling to submit if she really trusted you, she just greatly fears being taken advantage of. okay now to explain the breeding kink. i know this may be an unpopular opinion and while i do think our girl has MAD strap game, i do not think she would be into the idea of breeding. at her core, mizu feels resentment towards those who conceived her because of her hatred for and the stigma towards being mixed race. it is because of this that i believe that anything suggesting the idea of creating more people like her (even if it couldn’t actually happen) would be a major mood killer.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

mizu can be a bit sloppy when she eats you out, but she definitely prefers to give. her lack of experience combined with her tendency to just get fully pussy drunk leads to her eagerly lapping up your cum for as long as you’ll let her.

“mizu please” you groan with your hands tangled in her hair. “my clit, i need you on my clit”

p = pace

the pace at which you have sex with mizu really depends on how much time you have on your hands. she prefers to take her time with you, spending as long as possible worshipping every inch of your body. if mizu is feeling frustrated or stressed, her pace becomes more frantic and desperate as she seeks her and your release.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

if necessary, mizu will have a quickie with you, but she much prefers proper sex. realistically though, quickies are often all that there is time/proper security for, so she makes the best of the circumstances.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

honestly, after everything that she has been through, mizu is not a risk taker when it comes to her sex life. she would be pretty vanilla when it comes to physical safety.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?)

when mizu is on top she can go for a very long time. she takes pride in how good she can make you feel; teasing you, edging you, and making you cum over and over until you’re a quivering mess beneath her. however, she is a different story entirely. despite her incredible physical strength and stamina, mizu is so incredibly sensitive and it does not take very much stimulation or very long for her to cum.

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

mizu does not own any toys when you first meet her, as pleasure was not necessarily a priority. however, if you suggest it to her, she would DEFINITELY be open to using a harigata (dildo/strap on) and maybe even a tagaigata (double sided dildo). wearing a strap would boost her confidence an insane amount, and she’d take great pride in how well she can fuck you.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

mizu loves to tease you but is not a fan of being teased. she relishes in the way that you squirm beneath her and beg for more as that cocky little grin spreads over her smug face. but when it comes to her pleasure, as much as she is embarrassed to admit it, mizu is quite desperate and impatient.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

as evidenced by that one scene with mikio, mizu is actually pretty loud. her voice is high, feminine, and desperate. when she is trying her best to be quiet, she will express her pleasure through whimpers, gasps, and soft whispers. when volume is not a concern, the room will be flooded with loud moans and cries.

w = wild card (a random headcanon)

i think that mizu has incredibly sensitive nipples and if she let you touch them for long enough, she could cum from nipple stimulation alone. the first time this happens she is absolutely mortified, but you reassure her that it is perfectly alright.

“w-wait, y/n!” mizu whimpers, her back arching in desperation. her slender body writhes under your unrelenting touch, small gasps leaving her lips as you tug on her aching nipples.

x = x-ray

mizu is slender, toned, and lean. she is incredibly muscular and slim because of the intensity with which she trains and she is about 5’6 or 5’7. she has firm a-cup breasts with average sized pink nipples, but they are typically hidden under the fabric she uses to bind her chest. her pussy is an innie, and unless her legs are fully spread, you can only see her outer lips. when she opens herself up to you, her small clit is hidden beneath its dusky pink hood. her glistening hole is tight and small, and much to her chagrin, clenches and flutters desperately at even the slightest bit of stimulation. the poor girl is just so sensitive and needy.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

as much as she hates to admit it, mizu has a very high sex drive. she gets turned on super easily, especially when it comes to anything involving you. you could literally brush your fingertips against her hip and she would become a flustered mess.

z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

mizu can fall asleep pretty quickly, but she prefers to stay awake until you are asleep. if you catch onto this habit and decide to question her about it, she will deny it. watching over you to make sure that your sleep is restful and you are under her protection for as long as possible doesn’t exactly fit her image in the beginning. then, by the time you’ve gotten to see her softer side, she will deny it more for your sake. she doesn’t want you to know how much she worries about you for fear of teasing, being a smothering presence, and being admonished for sacrificing her own basic needs to make sure that yours are met. as much as mizu fronts as a combative, snarky, and abrasive person, she is also deathly afraid of conflict and abandonment with/from those she truly loves and cares about. that is to say, she wouldn’t want to get into an argument with you about how she needs to take care of herself better. she prefers to close her eyes and just listen to your breathing as it slowly evens out, leaving you unaware of her ploy. unbeknownst to her, you are aware of this “secret” scheme, and you let her get away with it. after all, it’s just another way that she tells you that she loves you, without expecting anything in return.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu #mizu x you #bes mizu x reader #mizu x fem!reader #mizu smut #mizu x y/n

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sgiandubh · 24 days ago

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Critics' Choice Awards, 2025. Let's go!

She wears Prada tonight, which is interesting and also looks like a huge relief recently hit her:

First red carpet shots:

Where is that damned ring, anyways?

That long gone light seems to be back on her face. I wonder what might have happened, in the meanwhile:

Gareth Bromell, always serviceable:

I downloaded the reel and slowed it down, at a 0.25 speed ratio. Here is what I saw, in what clearly was a rented sort of space/serviced flat, while preparing for the event.

A third person is in that room. Nope, that is clearly a blonde young woman and her sleek, black handbag:

Clearer, my God, to Thee:

Handbag and silver glasses case (?):

This is how C, a very touchy-feely person, playfully thanks/encourages her queer hairdresser. I can honestly assure you this is nowhere near what I saw at that Taylor Swift concert, with S:

The black overcoat/whatever on the far right (blue arrow) belongs, I believe, to the Blonde Young Woman, who is wearing matching pants:

Now, for the million dollar question: who is that Blonde Mystery Woman?

It's not Karla Welch, her stylist tagged by Gareth. This is Karla Welch:

We know Karla Welch was there today, working. But not on that reel, nope:

Is it Mary Wiles, her MUA?

This is Mary Wiles...

... who was also skin prepping her for the event, in that room. But not on that reel:

Is it the third person tagged by Bromell, Grace Wrightsell, stylist and self-awoved 'lover of tchotchkes'?

Clearer:

I think so, or at least, I am reasonably leaning towards it. The nose, forehead, smile and hairstyle are a very good match with Mystery Blonde Woman:

I mean, it's hard to tell, with that appalling light and no makeup, as compared to this pic of Mrs. Wrightsell in full battledress (delicious East Coast style, by the way):

She was there, too. Tagged Bromell and two other stylist friends, Caroline Ninger and Maya Heslow. None of which look like Blonde Mystery Woman (you can go check, I am done with following dead tracks, tonight):

Five stylists to prep C. Important moment, apparently and one in which *** would definitely like to be directly involved (relevant in a very short while, below).

Residual theory: could it be The Nanny and not at all the above glamorous apparition? I mean, why not, after all, but there is way too little evidence to circumstantiate that. Could it be a minder/PA? Yes, but in fact, no. Minders/PAs don't play along all the prepping process and they tend to keep to their job description (remember McGill sultrily dragging that accoutrement bag on a wet sidewalk, with no C in sight, some years ago?).

And *** was prominently there, of course:

Mrs. Allison Hoffman, President, Domestic Networks for ***. Nope, not The Mystery Blonde Woman, either. Took me a while, as both look fairly generic Anglo-Saxon.

And then, we have this weird interview, just in on YouTube:

youtube

Just two things, as I take them verbatim for our Spanish girls:

Access Hollywood Journo (AHJ)- 00:45: 'You and S have such great chemistry, talk to me about your bond off-camera, cause I know you guys really support each other...'

C: 'Yeah, I mean, look, we've been such good mates and we've sort of... we've varied (?), we've made a very conscious decision back in Season 1, like a million years ago, that we have to have each other's backs and we've kinda stuck to that, and I was texting with him yesterday, and he's great, you know, he's living his best life at the moment, so...'

AHJ: 'He kinda... I remember him (scrambled..) he's like a big outdoorsman, like he's very into the ..'

C:'Yeah, he got the whole keep fit bug, I did not. Sooo... anyway...'

Wait a minute, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and yet you ran a marathon (ah, those romantic pics with McGill... 😅😅😅😅) and allegedly prepare to run another half-marathon in Paris, shortly? Wow. I am shocked.

Also, Mrs. B, you don't have 'the keep fit bug' and you keep literature like this on your bookshelves? Blimey. I should consider buying an orthodontics treatise, then.

[ Remember how I landed here, ROFLMAO? https://sgiandubh.tumblr.com/post/720483288334090240/it-all-starts-with-a-smoke-alarm]

But sure, go ahead, treat your Stans and the Casuals with formulaic, semi-annoyed BS like this. Especially when Mrs. Hoffman is around, mind you. That contract ain't over, yet.

To save the best for last, let's draw The Husband card from that tarot deck. Always, always a success with The Masses:

AHJ: '(...) who is your biggest fan?'

C:' Who's my biggest fan? Oh... whoa...I hope my husband' [contrived laughter].

'I hope.' What?! "I HOPE'? Hello?

Just two quick notes. If her face could speak by itself, while her brain was scrambling to quickly answer something to that question, we'd probably hear Bridget Jones' most famous line ever:

Also, her Irish brogue was back at full speed. Something we know she always does when she is really, really pissed.

But wouldn't you like to know who was C's +1 at that event, after all?

Come on, I know you do. All of you, ladies. Even the people in the back who snoop in here without logging in, from a different browser and then send Anons across the street with The Scoop (ROFLMAO).

Here is who I think was C's +1 tonight:

Karolina Wydra, her best friend ever. And yes, the picture was taken on behalf of the Critics' Choice Association, unlike many of the whole lot, which makes it almost official.

We were told so.

Something is definitely going on. Enough said, this post is horribly long, but I tried my very best.

Anyways Kathy Bates won. But that was really a no brainer.

#fandom #shitshow #Critics' Choice Award 2025 #Youtube

220 notes · View notes

myownwholewildworld · 3 months ago

Text

v. a Roman’s rotten heart - acta, non verba

chapter 4 | series masterlist | ao3 | chapter 6 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: temptation is sweeter than honey. a/n: well, well, well, what can i say other than this whole chapter had me howling? over half of it is smut, so if that's not your thing, i'm sorry? 🤓 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings: 18+, mdni. mentions of war, death, starvation, marital abuse, infidelity. some fluff because cormag is a grumpy sweetheart. marcus is the praise/consent king. very soft!marcus (yes, this is a warning). he talks you through it. a lot of fingering. nipple play. unprotected piv. reverse lap dance and reverse cowgirl positions. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. unbeta'd, very minimal editing (soz). w/c: ~8.8k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Come see me tonight,” Marcus almost begged you as you turned around in his embrace.

He had you pinned against the wall of the garderobe, the small room filled with the scent of wine and sex.

You chuckled, eyeing him through your lashes. It was a good sign that he was eager, but you wondered if he was just trying to bed you, fuck you and then be done with you. All men were the same, especially men like him — drunk with power, believing they were above everyone else, that they could get anyone to bend to their will.

And… was not that what you were trying to do anyway?

“I’ll see what I can do,” you conceded, leaving him hanging. “But won’t you have an early day tomorrow? I’m sure being the General of Rome have you waking up like an early bird.”

You were fishing for information, and hoped he would bite the bait.

Surprisingly, he did.

“Tomorrow we are going on a reconnaissance mission around the area, stalk out some points of interest where…” he trailed off, probably realising he had spoken too much. “But I don’t mind having a late night when I know it will be worth it.”

He surely knew how to make one feel fucking special. But what he said was like gold dust to you — it wasn’t much, but enough to get your plan working. You’d need to speak to some people, see what could be arranged, but if it worked out, perhaps your people could instil some fear in those rotten Roman hearts.

You wondered if Marcus’ was as rotten as his people’s. An idea of him had formed in your mind, and it contradicted what he had shown you so far. But only a man with a rotten heart could cause so much pain, so much grief.

You chewed your bottom lip, crouching for a second to collect the jug you had dropped before.

“If I finish early after cleaning up all the mess of your birthday’s celebration…” you teased.

“Right,” Marcus took a step back, liberating you from the warm prison of his body. “You go first, I’ll wait a couple of minutes then leave.”

“Such a gentleman, worried about my reputation,” you mocked him a bit, hand on the doorknob.

“I am,” Marcus replied, and you were not sure if he was joking back or being serious.

You didn’t stay to find out, scurrying away down the hallway straight to the kitchens. There were a lot of people in the small room, with Cormag at the forefront of it, barking commands and orders to everyone. The air was heavy, a cloud of smoke collecting close to the low ceiling.

The poor cook was profusely sweating near the hearth, his paw stirring a cauldron with a big wooden spoon.

“Ye deaf lad?! Bring that over right now!” the old git screamed at the top of his lungs, breaking into a coughing fit a second later.

Tomorrow you would make sure to put out the fire and clean that damn chimney, because one of these days Cormag was going to cough up a lung. You wouldn’t tell him though, otherwise he would try and talk you out of it, pointing out that it was no job for a lady. As if you cared.

Placing the empty jug down on one of counters, you saw Brighid and Isla tattling in a corner, giggling and blushing. You could only imagine what they were talking about. Had Brighid recognised you? It was dark inside the garderobe, and Marcus had tried to shield you from her, but the maid could be very perceptive.

Then Brighid swept the room and waved at you to come over, still snickering.

You steeled your back and sauntered towards them, not sure what to expect.

“Oh, mo bana-phrionnsa, you’re not going to believe what I just saw!” she squealed, almost too excitedly. “I just saw the Roman General fucking one of the harlots in the garderobe!”

Should you take offense in being mistaken for a prostitute? Perhaps you should but didn’t. It was actually a relief. Being caught red-handed sheathing Acacius’ cock in a crowded event like this would have been bad, really bad.

“Did you now?!” you faked the same level of excitement, sharing in the gossip.

The rest of the night was a haze, serving plates and taking empty ones away, cleaning up after the unwanted guests, replenishing wine and beer one pint after the next. Your feet hurt, although the dull, pleasant aching between your legs had nothing to do with standing up for hours. You had Marcus to thank for that.

Perhaps you were being paranoid, but you felt strangers’ eyes on you for the remainder of the night. You had avoided looking at the dais the whole evening, slightly worried that if your eyes lingered on him for too long, people would notice and add up your absence with his. That wasn’t the kind of attention you needed.

The last of the Romans had left now while you and the maids continued to clean after them. Marcus and Maximus were the last ones to exit the great hall, and you could sense the General’s brown eyes burning through your skin as he walked towards the double doors. You didn’t look his way, although the temptation was there. You knew if you did, you would not be able to stop yourself from following him to his room.

Two hours had gone by, and you were knackered. Rummaging through a basket, you found one of the plums that Cormag had gotten for you from Fachabair, jumped and sat on the clean counter. Your feet dangled in front of you, your mind stuck in that garderobe.

You were so distracted, your heart almost escaped your chest when someone spoke behind you.

“Meanbh-chuileag (Highland midge),” you almost fell from the counter when you turned around to look at the old cook.

“Cormag! I almost threw up my heart right now,” you accused him, his hearty laugh reverberating in the room.

“Didnae ye hear my ol’ knees clicking? Umnae (am not) that stealthy, fear beag (little one). What are you doing here? It’s so late, you should be in bed,” he questioned you, stopping in front of you with arms folded.

You rolled your eyes — Cormag was too close to a father figure to you, so you would sometimes give him the same attitude you did your dad.

“I was about to go, just wanted something sweet before I left.”

“Is that why all the plums are disappearing so quickly?” his brows knitted together, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Coireach (guilty). They are just too sweet. Didnae you say you bought them for me exclusively?”

“Exclusively? Now I don’t recall saying that, ye wee liar,” Cormag joked, his expression softening. “Are you and your family having enough to eat?”

The old man had a nose for hunger. While you were not starving, you did save as much food as possible so your niece and nephew would not go to bed with an empty belly. Bonnie was trying her best to keep you all fed, but four more mouths to cater for in the household meant that resources were a tad scarce. Your sister’s children were used to Cormag’s cooking, not having known hunger for a single day of their lives. And you didn’t want that to change now.

“We are making ends meet,” you eluded, shrugging, while sinking your teeth in the plum.

Cormag tutted at you and with no other words, he veered around and shuffled around in the kitchen. You watched him with curiosity, not sure of what he was doing. Got off the counter to drop the stone in the bin.

“Here, you take all of this with you, and I won’t accept no for an answer,” Cormag placed down a basket full of food. “They are leftovers from tonight. Brighid, Isla and the lads have already had their share.”

You could smell the stew even with the tiny cauldron covered. Fresh vegetables, berries, bread, and, of course, quite a few plums along with other seasonal fruits. All that food would keep you all fed for a few days.

His generosity made the knot in your throat swell, your eyes lighting up with unspent tears. You had not expected to feel emotional, but the cook’s kindness reminded you too much of the family you had lost.

“Cormag,” you whispered, fearing your voice might crack, “mòran taing (thank you).”

He waved one of his paws, making light of the situation.

“Dinnae mention it. You still have a few inches to grow,” he jested, palming your shoulder.

His joke worked — it lightened your mood.

“I am six and twenty. I don’t think I’m growing any more than this,” you chortled, grabbing the basket to rest it on your hip. “Awright, I’m leaving before you diminish the castle’s reserves.”

“Off you go then,” his hands did a brushing motion, the man almost pushing you out of his kitchen.

If you had planned on visiting Marcus tonight, that had now changed — carrying all this food to Bonnie’s home was your main priority. You couldn’t wait to see the sparkle in your niece and nephew’s eyes when they woke up in the morning, plums and berries ready for them to break their fast.

Marcus knew that the rebels would be up in arms, but he did not expect them to be so bloodthirsty. The barbarians from the Highlands were not going to go down quietly, he had come to learn.

He had lost at least a dozen of men in the skirmish. They had been ambushed in their way to Cùil Lodair (Culloden), and none of his trackers had seen any indication of the small legion being followed. The moment they entered the woods and the path narrowed, arrows flew from tree to tree. Hell ensued, a dance of swords quickly singing its melody up to the treetops.

With his wounds still fresh and healing, Marcus had been able to knock down the first two men that approached him. Maximus and Cassius had come to his aid in time — the warmth soaking the tunic underneath his armour a good indication that he was bleeding again.

The General looked around him before jumping onto Faun’s back. Death followed him everywhere he went, like an old companion stalking his every step. He should be used to it by now—the reeking stench of humanity’s demise—but the truth was, Marcus never would. It never became easier, just manageable, but his duty to Rome had him drown the lingering doubts living quietly in the back of his mind.

After an unsuccessful mission—never made it past the woods—they returned to the castle, carrying their own dead and leaving behind a pile of bodies for their people to mourn and bury.

His muscles ached with exhaustion as he crossed the barbican. A dense fog had settled in the bailey, not a soul to be seen. As he trudged forward and the warm air of the keep hit his damp skin, his senses flared — alert, hoping to cross eyes with you.

Marcus had not seen you since his birthday. Despite asking you to join you that evening, you had not shown up at his door. He had waited up for a couple of hours and when reality dawned, he called it a night, somewhat resigned.

Perhaps it was for the best. He was a married man, after all. It was normal for men to take up a mistress or two, but Marcus was the kind to think that matrimony was holy — despite the hardships and the cheating, that was. At least, that was his mind up until he met you.

Should not be after a woman who was several years younger than himself either, he thought with a pout. But whatever spell you had him under, he could not break free from. You were like the opium poppy — your mere proximity could soothe pain, but also cause it.

“You need to get that stitched up again, Acacius,” Cassius pointed out, interrupting his line of thought.

Marcus’ palm was pressing on the wound on his hip — he had almost forgotten about the pain, the thought of you soothing.

“I’ll call for Atticus,” Maximus chipped in, and Marcus nodded.

“Shite!” you staggered backwards.

The hardened soot and coal you had been poking at with a broomstick to unblock the chimney’s breast dislodged from the inner walls. Snapping your head back, your face was saved by hair’s breadth, but the black ash had cascaded down your chest, staining the red linen dress you were fashioning today.

You clapped your hands together, a cloud of soot flying around you as you tried to shake off the rest of it off your clothes.

Huffing and puffing, you grabbed the damn broomstick and brush the mess off the floor. At least the chimney was unblocked now, so the air would not be loaded with smoke when the hearth was ignited again.

At least the kitchen was empty, so no one was witness to what has happened. Not that you were a refined lady worries about being seen like this, but you just knew that if Cormag was around, he would be giving you hell.

Once you were done, you left the kitchen and sauntered towards the doors to the bailey. You were in dire need of a dunking to clean yourself — you knew the perfect secluded spot on River Ness’ bank, one you had been going to since you were a child.

“Callie?”

The voice behind you made your heart skip a beat and your feet freeze. One you would now recognise anywhere.

“Dux Meus,” you murmured, turning around to face the fire of your desire.

Dux Meus. His lower tummy burnt at the words.

The last thing Marcus had hoped to see this fine morning was you standing in the hallway, a red dress hugging the hourglass figure he longed for. Your chest was covered in what seemed to be ash and soot, a deep black staining ruining the front of your pretty dress. It spread to your neck, your cheeks, the tip of your nose — and your green eyes so bright that they were pulling him in.

“What’s happened?”

“A minor inconvenience in the kitchens, Dominus. I was unblocking the chimney’s breast and, well…” you lifted your arms and pointed at yourself. “I guess my reflexes are not as sharp as I would have liked.”

Marcus grinned, the annoyance in your voice adding to the entertainment.

“I guess not,” he hummed, his fingertips burning to touch you. “I can help you,” the words escaped him before his brain was able to catch up with his own intentions.

I can help you clean yourself, he meant.

Your eyes locked for what felt like an eternity, the pupils in your orbs flickering, pondering.

One of your brows raised in your forehead and you took a step forward towards him.

“Only if it is not inconvenient for you, Dux Meus,” you cooed with a girlish smile.

“Of course not,” he quickly replied. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

“I believe your pretty dress is ruined,” Marcus husked, the damp rag brushing the exposed skin of your clavicle.

This was fucking torture. He was playing a game, and your patience was running thin. He had been paying immense attention to every inch of your skin, cleaning off all soot and ash. You knew he was debating, but he wouldn’t have taken you to his bedchambers—your room—if he hadn’t had something in mind.

The same thing you had in mind, to be completely honest.

“It appears so,” you said, sliding your hand to his.

To hell with subtleties — the tension was eating you up.

You guided his hand, the one holding the linen cloth, to the valley between the swell of your boobs. Slowly you pushed it down, one corner of the rag disappearing between your breasts.

Marcus didn’t say a word. And he didn’t need to, because the way he was looking at you—like a man who had not drunk water in days—was speaking for him.

You were not sure who had taken the initiative, but soon enough you were in his embrace, his mouth warming your lips as his hands rested gently on either side of your waist.

“I need you,” you mumbled, possibly being sincere for the first time.

You had not been able to stop thinking about what happened in the garderobe. Every time the memory came back, you would find yourself rubbing your knees together to quench the thirst between your thighs.

Marcus groaned in reply, his hands harsher now as they found the buttons on the back. With steady fingers, he undid every single one of them until your dress cascaded off your body and gathered at your feet. Soon your loincloth was also on the floor, leaving you completely naked.

The General took a step back to take in the sight of you — the intensity in his brown eyes making you blush as he studied every square inch of your body.

“You look beautiful,” he muttered, one hand reaching up to cup one of your breasts, his thumb skimming the nipple. You pursed your lips at the gentle touch. “You are beautiful, mel.”

Then he bowed down to kiss you again, and he took control of your hands to show you how to undress him. So you did under his delicate guidance, until you both were equally bare.

Marcus’ body was a woman’s dream — or, at least, yours. Toned but not too muscular, a hard chest, strong and defined arms, his lower tummy slightly softer with the passage of time, a pronounced V line, and then a happy, hairy trail that your eyes eagerly followed.

His cock had started to harden, the tip pearly with his excitement. The length was generous, but the girth was what caught your attention.

No wonder why he couldn’t fit it in the first time. Perhaps it hadn’t been your body’s rejection, but that Marcus’ dick was thick, very thick.

“It’s alright, honey, we’ll make it work,” he hummed, his thumb tilting your chin up to press a soft kiss on your mouth.

Then he walked to the bed—his ass, goddamn his ass—and sat on the feathery mattress.

You were standing there, completely naked and suddenly you felt shy — your arms wrapping around your body to try and cover yourself up. Your skin had bristled, not because of the room temperature, but because you felt completely exposed to him.

Being shy was not something you were used to, but everything you had endured with your late husband had taken a toll on you, one you had not expected at all. It pained you to acknowledge that Iain might have broken your spirit a tad more than what you would have liked to admit.

Marcus’ nudity should have calmed you, but instead it made your eyes widened and your heart pound harder.

He was big, really big ― to the point that you pondered if he would ever fit inside you. No wonder why he had only fucked you with the tip a couple of days ago. Taking more inches of his cock seemed like an unachievable task, at least for you. You were no stranger to sex, having been subdued to satisfy all of Iain’s vices, but this… this was too fucking different to what you had expected.

Doubt nagged at your mind, questioning yourself. Perhaps this was all a bad idea, wanting to seduce Marcus to get information off him. But you truly didn’t see any other way of obtaining what you needed ― leverage.

Marcus extended one of his hands towards you.

“It’s alright, melculum. Just want to make you feel good,” he husked, his palm an open invitation to join him, sat on the bed. Your bed.

You slipped your hand to his and he pulled you gently until you were sat on his bare lap. His hardening dick rested on the side of your left thigh, warm and heavy. His right hand traced mindless lines on your back, while his left caressed your belly, the pads of his fingers lightly stroking your mound.

With eyes shut, you sighed, relaxing at his touch. Marcus kissed your shoulder, then the curvature of your neck.

“That’s it, mel, relax. We are not doing anything you don’t want to,” he whispered.

And you believed him. Knew better than trusting your enemy, but his voice was so reassuring, there was no more room for your initial doubt.

His left hand surprised you travelling up instead of down, cupping your left breast while his thumb stroked your nipple. A shiver of need went down your spine, soothed by the gentle pet of his right hand on your back. His beard scratched your bristled skin as he crouched down a little to trap your taut nipple between his lips.

Inevitably, your head tilted back, mouth agape with short breaths. Marcus worked your nipple diligently, the warmth of his lips dripping onto the wrinkled nub. And even as you started trembling on his lap, he did not stop. If anything, your little gasps and quiet moans spurred him on, his tongue flicking your nipple.

The sensation was too much ― Marcus latched on your breast as a man starved, his broad hand cradling your breast with reverence. He was intent on making it good for you and not asking for anything in return. But your instinct wanted you to reciprocate, you needed to do something.

Your left hand found his stiffened cock, leaned against your thigh. Tentatively, your fingertips stroked the leaky mushroom head, which gifted you a deep groan coming from his chest. Hearing him moan around your nipple was a great incentive to explore him a bit more, so you swiped his glans with your thumb, collecting a pearl of precum and buttering it onto his tacky skin.

“You don’t have to,” he purred between licks.

“But I want to,” you cooed back, mind mushy with pleasure.

Marcus’ efforts on your nipple doubled, twirling the tight button between his teeth and pulling slightly before soothing the gesture with a wet kiss on your bud. You couldn’t help but whimper, dampness gathering between your thighs.

As if he knew how drenched you were getting, the hand that cupped your breast slowly trailed down until it found your mound again. His ring finger stroked the outline of your seam a few times, your knees pressed together so your juices wouldn’t leak out.

“Let me see how wet you are, please,” Marcus murmured in a moment of reprieve, his lips pecking your nipple with every word he spoke.

You couldn’t resist him, not anymore, so you parted your legs just enough to let his hand slip between your thighs. The moment his ring finger dunked in your warmth, you both moaned in unison. The pad of his finger slid across your velvety skin, from your clenching hole to your writhing clit, a few times, as if he wanted to get acquainted with the map of your pussy.

“You’re soaking,” he grunted. “So damn wet for me, melculum.”

His words in combination with his cheeky finger short-circuited your brain, that coiling sensation you had been craving these last two days starting to take form low in your belly. It was warm in here now, so much your cheeks flushed as if you had drunk a pint of uisge beatha.

With lazy strokes on your soggy slit, Marcus’ tongue kept on licking and flicking your nipple, now completely sodden with his spit. His digit worked you slowly too, moving up and down between your swollen pussy lips until it caught on your needy clit. You sobbed quietly at the touch, and sensing how much you enjoyed that, Marcus repeated it.

Soon enough you were mewling into the abyss as the General pressed languid circles on your bundle of nerves at the same time he was lapping at the tip of your boob. And the moment he sunk the first phalange of his ring finger in your leaking hole, your wails just grew louder.

With an unhurried pace, he pumped the tip of his digit in and out of you, feeling your inner walls relaxing around him. A couple of minutes later, your walls had adjusted to the intrusion, his finger now completely buried in your seeping hole down to the knuckle.

You heaved, pursing your lips in a vain attempt to control your moaning, but the pleasure building up inside you was too great to bear. Too intense to ignore. You bit down your bottom lip until you almost drew blood, your hips bucking up with a mind of their own.

“That’s it, sweetheart, you feel that?” Marcus’ devilish mouth abandoned your nipple, lips pressed against your ear. “Come for me, please. Melt for me.”

You resisted, wanting to prolong this moment. It felt too good to let it go just yet, albeit your whole body was commending you to. Your insides tightened around Marcus’ lone finger as you tried to hold on to the feeling a little longer.

You were so lost to the new sensations, you hadn’t realised your own fingers were wrapping snugly around Marcus’ throbbing erection. Hoping he would falter, you began to pump him slowly, his hot glans leaking onto the skin of your thigh.

“Don’t be a tease, mel, don’t want to come yet,” he groaned in your ear. His finger suddenly left your insides to slap your hand away from his shaft.

You sobbed at the emptiness, the coiling feeling starting to diminish. The idea of not finding relief haunted you, so you obeyed his command.

Your fingers found his wrist, gripping it tight and guiding him back to your beating cunt. You coaxed your pussy lips apart with his fingers and silently begged him to resume where he had left off.

“Are you going to be good for me and come?” he asked, kissing your shoulder. “Do you promise?”

You nodded with vehemency.

“Good girl.”

With more urgency now, Marcus worked you back to the edge of the pleasure cliff, forcing you to climb up to the top with a relentless pace. Every time his ring finger bottomed out inside you, his thumb would flick your burning clit. The repeated tease of his hand was your undoing.

Teary eyes and parted lips, you moaned as an enormous wave washed over you, the coil inside finally snapping with a force unknown to mankind. Or, at least, unknown to you. Marcus kept on fingering you throughout, pulling the last bit of pleasure out of you until you were spent.

You hadn’t realised how much you had leaked until you felt his wet thigh underneath, sticky and warm with your release.

“I’m sorry, I’ll clean―” you tried to move off his lap, but Marcus’ strong arm wrapped around your waist, grounding you on his lap.

“Don’t apologise, it’s normal. It means you’re enjoying it,” he reassured you, then lifted his gaze to yours, a lingering question dancing in his dilated pupils. “I thought you were a widow?”

He was not wrong. But not all men spent the time he was taking to make it pleasurable for women.

“I am. But my late husband only cared about himself,” you told the truth, a crack of sincerity in your carefully built façade. “Never took the time to… make it good for me.”

Marcus frowned with incomprehension at your revelation, his mouth falling into a flat line. Was that a ray of anger? If it was, it quickly disappeared from his brown eyes.

Judging by what had just happened, you knew he was the complete opposite to Iain in that respect.

“Two days ago, in the garderobe. Was that your first time orgasming?”

You pouted, feeling like the conversation was taking a very personal turn. But you didn’t want to lie to him, there was enough deceit between you two. So you nodded, eyes withdrawn with a tinge of embarrassment.

Marcus cursed himself, annoyed with something although you didn’t know what. Annoyed with you, perhaps?

His thumb stroked your bottom lip, soothing the grimace showing on your face.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have taken you like that. This should have been the first time you climaxed, melculum. I am sorry,” he apologised, and your heart jolted.

He was angry with himself. But the whole thing had been so good, you wouldn’t have done anything different. The memory of Marcus’ tip fucking the first two inches of your pussy had kept you warm at night.

“What? Nay, don’t. It was good, really good. I wouldn’t change a thing about what happened,” you quickly replied.

And what was worst, you actually meant it.

For a minute, Marcus didn’t speak a word, studying your face expression until he reached the conclusion that you were not lying.

“Stand up for me,” he said out of nowhere.

You obliged, the tremor of your knees almost gone. standing in front of him, he leaned forward, hands on either side of your waist, to kiss your mound. The intimacy of such gesture caught you off guard. Then he leaned back and dragged his body on the bed until he was sat in the middle of it, back resting against the headboard, knees bent with his soles resting flat on the silky bedsheets.

He palmed his thigh, his cock so erect it twitched with every heartbeat against his happy trail.

“Come here,” he mumbled with need.

You might not know what you had to do, but your body definitely knew what it needed to do to chase that high again. So you crawled on the bed until you were straddling him, the tip of his throbbing cock kissing your hooded clit.

Marcus’ hand cupped your ass, and then tutted.

“Not yet, mel, I need to make sure you are completely ready,” he husked.

It was your time to frown.

“I am ready,” you assured him.

“It was only one finger, sweetheart―”

“One thick finger,” you remarked, snappy.

Marcus chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yes, but I need you to take all of this,” he whispered, his hand gripping the base of his cock to direct your attention there.

He was girthy. Probably too girthy. One of his fingers was nothing in comparison.

You swallowed, your gaze looking for his.

“Yeah, I know, dove. We’ll take it slow,” he leaned forward a bit to kiss your right nipple. “Turn around, I want you to sit on my lap with your back resting on my chest.”

The promise of another climax numbed your mind, so you did exactly as he had asked. Sat on his lap, you leaned back until your bare back met his hard torso. His knees were still bent, and he slipped his forearms under your thighs to lift them up over his own thighs. The back of your thighs were now resting on top of his, and when Marcus pulled his knees apart, your legs followed the motion, leaving you completely open and exposed.

When your eyes drifted down your own body, you saw Marcus’ erection poking in between your thighs, gently lodged between your pussy lips. His hips moved slightly under you, his length skidding along your drenched fold, the head disappearing from sight as it dragged backwards across your seam. It hitched in your entrance, just briefly ― then Marcus tugged his hips upwards and his glans reappeared again, protruding where your slit began.

Marcus repeated the whole process a few times, his name dripping from your mouth in choked moans. He buried his crooked nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You feel like heaven right now,” he mumbled, kissing the nape of your neck. “Play with your boobs for me, mel, my hands are about to be very busy, sadly can’t be everywhere.”

His request had your cunt gushing some more, if that was even possible. You felt so wet down there, you even wondered if there was something wrong with you. Couldn’t be that out of all men on this world, the one who killed your family was who had you melting under his touch.

Feeling a bubble of slick leaking from your hole on his thudding shaft, you leaned your head back on his shoulder and moved your hair out of the way, some ginger curls cascading down your front, covering your breasts. Cupped your underboob and pushed them up, creating a deep valley between your tits.

“That’s it, stroke them for me, melculum,” he mused as both of his hands rode up your inner thigs until your pussy was framed between them. “Brush both of your nipples with your thumbs, just lightly. Don’t be too harsh with them, they are sensitive.”

Marcus talked you through playing with your buds, petting them gently as he was telling you. While doing so, his left hand grabbed at his cock and began to pump himself, while his right started working your clit again. Looking down, you just caught a glimpse, which sent you trembling on his lap like a newborn foal.

He cupped your mound, the pads of all his fingers rubbing your clit leisurely, as if you had all time in the world. The fire burning between your legs hiked up your spine the moment Marcus let go of his cock and it sat snug against your pussy again, his fingers stopping for a second.

You whimpered in protest, your nipples hardening under the touch of your thumbs.

“Shh, it’s okay, Callie,” he heartened you, only to resume the petting of your slick nub. You let go a sigh of relief. “There you go.”

His free hand went down your thigh to find your drooling entrance, testing it out with one finger. Your pussy sheathed it with ease and Marcus hummed behind you.

“You’re much more relaxed now,” he praised. “Pinch those nipples for me, twist them gently between your thumb and index.” You did as you were told, another wail tearing your throat apart. “Yes, just like that, you’re doing so well, mel.” He gave you a moment to acclimatise to the feeling of having hands everywhere ― your nipples, your clit, your hole. It was almost too much. “Now, suck on your thumbs so they are wet and go back to rub those beautiful buds for me. Imagine they are my fingers. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, desperate. Doing exactly as you were told, the sudden cold of your spit on your nipples made the sensitive skin under your thumbs wrinkle. The brief pain transformed into something else, hellfire running through your veins.

So focused on your breasts, you had almost forgotten about Marcus fingering your pussy and smothering your clit at the same time. Your toes curled, hips bucking up, so close to that cliff again, one you would throw yourself off gladly.

“You’re doing very well―so, so well,” Marcus’ praise was like music to your ears, all your nerve endings firing with delight. “You think you can take another finger?”

You sobbed, shaking your head.

“Yes, please,” you begged.

As promised, Marcus introduced his middle finger, the pads of both dragging along your anterior wall to find that sweet, soft spot. Your hips jerked up and then back down on him, grinding a circular motion on his lower tummy.

“Well done, mel. I am sure we can get your sweet tight pussy to make room for me.”

His cock twitched between your thighs, leaking, and you knew he was as desperate as you. So, while one hand skimmed your nipple, the other drifted down to caress his glans with your thumb. Marcus rumbled underneath, his breath hitching with a quiet moan ― you did it again.

His fingers sunk inside of you effortlessly now, pumping in and out and all you could hear were the squelching noises coming from your swollen lips. It should have felt embarrassing, but it had the opposite effect on you ― if anything, they made you gush even more.

“If you can take three fingers… shit…” Marcus almost lost his composure there, “if you can, then you’ll be ready, sweetheart. Shall we try?”

You gripped his beating erection harder in response, mewling audibly now with every stroke on your clit, every thrust of his fingers, the caress of your own thumb on your nipple… Then the third finger went in smoothly and you saw stars behind your closed eyes.

It just was too much. Your knees quivered and so did your cunt, clutching on his fingers. You felt your inner walls contracting, but this time it was different ― it wasn’t to get the fingers out, but to push them as far in as you could. And Marcus obliged, bottoming out, then slipping them out and back in. The coil inside you twisted feverishly and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

You started wailing, grinding your ass against his tummy, in an attempt to increase the friction in your drenched opening, in your clit, everywhere.

“You’re close, mel, you’re so close,” Marcus huffed. “I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

You were barely able to nod at his words ― right now, you would do anything he asked for.

His fingers left your hole with a pop, and the second hand stopped petting your clit right when you were so close to fall off the cliff of your pleasure.

You panicked, tears brimming now as a sense of anxiety peaked inside you.

“M-Ma-Marcus,” you complained in a stutter, your whole body shaking.

You didn’t have much time to finish your protest, because he grabbed your hand off his cock and pushed your fingers against your clit. He showed you how to move them in circles, coaching you for a minute, teaching you how to pleasure yourself.

“Keep touching your sweet little clit for me, deliciae (darling),” Marcus groaned, his voice raspy and deep. “I’m going in. I want you to come while you sheathe me.”

And with no further ado, he slipped his forearms under your thighs, lifted you off his lap to align the tip of his veiny dick with your entrance. Slowly he dropped you, his length furrowing its way up your cavity with no difficulty.

The moment his glans was sat and more inches intruded, you finally came. The strength of your release had your whole being shaken up, your climax so intense you couldn’t see anything even through half-lidded eyes. Feral moans escaped your lips, every inch of Marcus’ cock intensifying the climax that had you on its tight grip.

Your inner walls hugged his cock, choked it actually. Your heart was racing so fast, you could feel the heartbeat in your quivering cunt, a sensation so overwhelming it almost sent you over the edge again.

You hadn’t realised, but Marcus was completely seated inside you, buried down to the hilt, his balls intimately kissing your puffy lips. Fullness tugged at your walls, stretching them, still adapting around his girth. He was everywhere ― filling every crevice, every nook and cranny. You felt his presence so intensely, it was staggering.

“Oh Gods…” Marcus sounded like he was within an inch of his life. “You feel so good, melculum. So warm, so wet, s-so… uhm… so tight. Heaven on Earth,” he prayed in a hush, his tone almost breaking. “How… are you feeling?”

“Blissed out,” you hummed. “Full, in the best way possible.”

Those were all the words Marcus needed to hear from you. He had been to hell and back, and even though his cock had been barely stimulated, he was throbbing for you. Marcus couldn’t remember the last time he felt this… needy.

And now he was in heaven, his shaft sweetly embraced by your wet warmth. A gift you were, sent by Gods themselves ― there was no other explanation.

Marcus’ forearms were still resting on the back of your thighs, then he hoisted you up ever so slightly, moving you up his length so you would free a few inches of his cock. The cold air of the room clung onto his damp shaft, a shiver running down his spine, then placed you back down on his lap.

Every time he pushed you up and down on his lap, you would moan like a woman possessed. Your little sobs and whimpers were the best melody he had ever listened to ― so quiet, yet so wanton. They filled your mouth and spilt over your lips like honey. He would drink them right now if he could.

His dick pulsated hard when your pussy fluttered around him, then your walls tensed around him and Marcus snapped his head back against the headboard, a feral groan ringing in his eardrums.

“Do that again, please,” he requested, all his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs.

“W-what?”

“Squeeze your walls for me, sweetheart. Hug me tight,” Marcus mumbled, struggling towards the end the moment you did exactly as he asked. “For everything that is holy―”

And you did it again, his words dying out as you clamped down on him with a strength that had him delirious. His mind spiralled down and just in the last second, Marcus stopped himself from coming.

“Such a mischievous nymph you are,” it wasn’t an accusation but a compliment. “Let me see if you’re still playing with that taut pearl in your pussy the way I’ve shown you.”

When he looked over your shoulder, you coaxed your sodden flaps apart for him, showing him how your fingertips worked your clit. Marcus’ hips jerked up at the irresistible sight, burying himself further down in you. His waist waved underneath you, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“You’re doing great, mel. Such a good girl,” he moaned in your ear, nipping your lobe. “Do you like that, hm? Rubbing your tight little button?”

Your reply was a trembling whimper, your pursed bottom lip quivering with your eyes shut. Your brows were knitting together, bunny lines hugging your upturned nose. Marcus could feel your need, your palpitations. Your desperation.

“Is it too much, melculum?” You nodded, almost crying now. “I know, sweetheart, but we can remedy that. Do you want to come so you feel better?” Another nod of your head. “Alright, do you think you can ride me?”

“Aye, I want to ride you, Marcus,” you sobbed his name, his balls tensing up into his lower tummy.

Marcus let go of your thighs and helped you accommodate your knees to either side of him, so you were straddling him backwards. His hands caressed your round ass cheeks, eyes locked on where your bodies connected.

“Do whatever feels right, honey.”

Overtaken by instinct, you leaned forward and placed your hands between his calves, fisting the bedsheets as you started bouncing your hips up and down on his lap. Marcus let you find your rhythm, standing still underneath, letting you use him as needed.

The sweet choke of your pussy was too much ― too tight, too wet, too warm. This was the best he had felt in fucking decades, all thanks to you. Slowly, he matched your thrusts with his own, fucking up into you, meeting you halfway while his hands on your hips kept you grounded.

The slapping of his testicles on your swollen fold went on for a few minutes, a lewd cacophony echoing between the walls of his bedchamber. And soon enough he found himself grasping for control, his cock pulsating uncontrollably inside you.

You might have felt his pulse, because you spoke between choked wails.

“You can come inside, I can take―”

“What? No,” his response was instinctual, cutting you off before you finished. “You don’t need to take anything.”

Because the mere idea of you drinking some sort of potion so his seed wouldn’t take made him sick. Was that what your late husband had taught you? Was that how you were treated in bed, like a simple plaything to be used to satiate a man’s lust?

Those thoughts were deserted the moment your entrance squeezed hard around him, your moans mixing with the clapping sound of skin on skin. You pushed down your hips onto his lap, your sweet ass flush with his lower tummy. He felt another orgasm hit you and Marcus fucked you through it, steadily rutting up into you.

His own climax was near, all his muscles tensing with anticipation, his hips stuttering. With the last drop of his sanity, he lifted your butt up, his erection becoming free and resting between the swells of your ass cheeks. A second later, white ropes painted the small of your back while Marcus let go of a guttural groan.

With a fucked-out expression and a sweet grin, you looked over your shoulder and down at his spent sliding down your back. Marcus reached for the bedsheet and cleaned his cum off your skin delicately, his brown eyes fixed on your emerald ones.

“You’ve done extremely well for me, melculum. Exquisitely well,” he remarked, his hands smoothing over your thighs. “Come here.”

You turned around and laid down besides him, the upper half of your body resting on top of his torso. Your cheek rested on his sternum while his fingers traced invisible lanes on your arm, just above your elbow.

A moment of quietness lingered as your rapid breaths calmed down, your hearts settling back into a normal pace at the same time.

“I thought it was bad for you,” you muttered, the palm of your hand splaying right underneath his belly button.

“What was?” Marcus asked, confused.

“Uhmm…” you paused for a second, dubious, but then decided to trust him with your questions. “Coming outside. I was told it was extremely painful for the man to come if you are not buried… deep inside of a pussy.”

Your words awakened something with him, something dark and primal ― protective. For a moment, Marcus wished your husband was alive, so he could teach him how to be a real man. He had started to create a picture of what your sex life had been so far, and it wasn’t a pretty one.

In retrospect, he regretted having taken you so hastily in the garderobe. Barely took the time to work you to a climax. Marcus had paid worshipping attention to your breasts, but when it came to your clit, he had not been as attentive. Marcus should have shown you how good that could feel, should have taken his sweet time like he had done today, but he had been too anxious to fuck you.

Marcus looked for the best way to tell you without making you feel naïve. He didn’t want you thinking something like that, that he would force his seed on you for his own pleasure.

“That’s not how it is, mel. I’m sorry you’ve been told that,” his lips brushed your red crown, then pressed a kiss on your forehead. Could you hear how hard his heart was pounding with rage? One he was trying to quiet down. “I can come outside just fine, that’s not an issue. I prefer that a thousand times over you having to drink some nasty potion that will end up hurting you.”

His care for you was genuine, and Marcus was shocked at the truth that thought held. He barely knew you, but what he had seen of you so far had him reeled in like a fish attached to a rusty hook.

You were so direct, snappy even, with a sarcastic retort always at the ready. Your strong personality was refreshing, especially to someone like Marcus, used to be surrounded by women who would bow their head down at the sight of him. But knowing this side of you now―a tad insecure and inexperienced, rediscovering what sex was really like―, he wondered how much of your façade was just that, a carefully built stonewall to keep people at bay.

“Oh, I see,” you muttered, the skin between your brows pinching.

Marcus tilted your chin up with his thumb. His gaze roved over your face, studying it and finding that you seemed to be upset, possibly with yourself. He didn’t like that.

His thumb stroked your bottom lip to relax your pouting expression.

“If you were told such a thing, it’s normal that you believed it. I just don’t want to lie to you, don’t want to take advantage of you, melculum. I want you to enjoy yourself, to discover what you like and don’t like in bed.” The hand that was caressing your arm travelled down your back, went over the swell of your round globes until he found the slick of your arousal clinging onto your pussy lips. He stroked them carefully, buttering your sticky cunt with your own juices. “This is how I want you, sweetheart. Creamy and satisfied. That’s all I care about.”

You hummed at his words, eyes shut and mouth agape. His fingers pried your pussy open, the cold air on your wet, sensitive skin made you shiver on his chest.

Acacius knew too damn well what he was doing, taunting you again like this. You didn’t think you had it in yourself to come again, but the General seemed to think otherwise.

His index found your clit and stroked it maddingly slow. Seemed like he was right.

You gasped, chewing your bottom lip, your mind drifting away at his intimate touch.

“I think you can come for me again, don’t you?”

You whimpered in response, lifting your bent left leg until it rested on of his lap, so he could reach your swollen, reddened pussy better. You humped the side of his thigh, grinding on his hairy skin to get you off.

“You’re drenched,” he purred with satisfaction, kissing your forehead as your seeping hole sucked in his finger eagerly. You moaned. “Seems like you need me to take care of you again, mel.”

His fingering had you drooling onto his chest until you came again, sobbing like a babe gasping for their first breath. Your limbs felt numb as your pussy pulsed a few more times, releasing the last of your arousal onto Marcus’ palm. He rubbed your seam, cupping your whole pussy, until you were completely done.

Then tapped your cunt softly, gently. “Feeling calmer now?”

You nodded, blissed out and speechless.

You remained on top of his chest while coming down from your latest high. You had lost count of how many times Marcus had made you come now, but keeping count had not been on your foremind. What you had realised though was that this―whatever this was―was dangerous.

You had expected Marcus to behave exactly like Iain ― to take you how he wanted and discard you when he was done with you. Yet here he was, making sure you had no more orgasm to give him tonight. This was not your plan at all ― you banked on him being a complete monster who would ravish you given the chance.

This could complicate everything, and you even wondered if you should stop this madness before shit got too real.

A man with a rotten heart would not have you question your decisions. Perhaps it wasn’t rotten, only spoilt.

It’s just sex, a means to an end. Doesn’t matter how good, how fucking delicious he makes it to be. Fuck him, enjoy it, get what you need from him, then destroy him. Easy, you reminded yourself, albeit with less determination than before.

“I should be going,” you mumbled, unwilling to leave this bed despite the inner talk you just gave yourself ― your bed that now was his.

“So soon?” he whispered, his lips twitching in a pout.

Damn him for making it difficult to leave.

“My aunt will be wondering where I’ve gone. Can’t risk her coming here looking for me, can we?” you tried to make light of the situation with a white lie.

“I guess not,” he finally agreed after a brief silence, then kissed your forehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Patience is a virtue, Marcus,” you mocked him a bit, sitting up on the bed. “And mine has run out, I’m afraid. Aye, I’ll come tomorrow.”

Marcus sat up on bed too, hugging your waist, his mouth dangerously close to yours.

“I will make sure that you come tomorrow, mel,” the double meaning was not lost on you, even less on your gushing pussy.

You swallowed a whimper, kissing his lips briefly to then jump out of bed and grab your clothes off the floor. You put them on as fast as you could.

“You better,” you threatened him, softening the gesture with a wink, before you disappeared through the door.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

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schlattslonghairytoes · 4 months ago

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pictures and pizza📸 🌃 🌹

personal assistant reader x boss schlatt

schlatt forgets something important. again. how will he make it up to you?

working for schlatt was easy

getting every thing done meant you guys could kinda just hang out

you two were getting along great, you were basically friends, except you cooked for him, cleaned, and kept his schedule moving

and you were beginning to love it

but not everything can be perfect

there was one thing about schlatt that was very hard to deal with

schlatt is really fucking stubborn and no diss, a bit lazy

like omfg it was getting old

if he didnt want to do something, or better yet, didnt want to get out of bed!

there was no use, you had no chance of convincing him

but that is your job, and you were damn good at it

it was 10am, as that was the set time you and schlatt decided work began. he had gifted you a key to his apartment after one morning, where you had to call his little sister to let you in, you thought schlatt was dead.

he just fell asleep with headphones on.

anywho, you let yourself in and tidyed up the living room, because the night before schlatt promised you he would be up and ready at 10, he had an extremely important meeting at 11 that was kinda far.

like he could not miss this.

so you trusted him, you also hated barging into his room, it felt like a total invasion of privacy to you, schlatt didnt care when you did it, but to you it was the end of the world

so you waited.

and waited

until you knew he would not make it on time if he wasnt up.

so you mustered up all your courage and knocked on his door.

... silence

by then you gave up and opened the door, and oh lord if you werent mad at him it wouldve been the cutest thing youve ever seen

he was spread across his bed, limbs and blankets everywhere, and jambo and garlic bread (i am not writing REACTED every time.) were cuddled up on top of him. jambo curled up in his left arm, and garlic bread sprawled across his right leg

for a moment you forgot you were mad at him, he looked so handsome, yet so adorable, his mouth was open, and he was snoring softly, and honestly drooling a bit

you pulled out your phone and took a picture, wanting to make it your lockscreen but too scared he would see it. you hearted the picture in your camera roll before opening youtube

you connected your phone to his speaker in the room, and searched "morning bugle call" and hit play on full volume

jambo and garlic bread went flying off of schlatt as he sat up and slapped his hands over his ears "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT" you were wheezing on the floor at that point

when you finally stopped laughing you locked in and turned of the sound, then frowned slightly at him "up and at it, we were supposed to leave 30 minutes ago, you have 5 minutes to get ready. your outfit is picked and hung in the closet, lets go." and you shut his door and sat waiting on the couch

he was out in 4 minutes and 26 seconds. you handed him the breakfast you got him and made your way out the door silently.

"toots, im so sorry, i know i said i would wake up, i swear i set an alarm, c'mon dont be mad at me doll. i promise it wont happen again." he followed hot on your tail, almost chasing you.

like if someone saw they might be worried your about to be abducted.

you sighed and got in the drivers seat of your car, you wanted him to eat so you decided he could be the passenger princess for once

"schlatt this is the third time this week, im not mad, like this is literally my job, but it throws the whole day off, its whatever, eat your breakfast so you dont pass out at the meeting." the meeting was in new jersey and you didnt want to hear schlatts bitching the whole way

you turned up the music and hoped he would be quiet

schlatt on the other hand was rethinking his entire being

how could he let you down again, all he wants is for you to love and want your job, and hes already jepordizing that. for the span of the 30 minute car ride he hatched a plan.

after his four hour meeting he was drained, he waited to see your car pull up and get him, but you were taking an abnormally long time, he was getting worried

but those fears subsided quickly when he recived a text from you

"im gonna kms johnny. why the fuck did you have to have a meeting in new fucking jersey. traffic is insane, be there in 30 minutes pls dont die to a homeless man."

that certainly made him feel better, he searched for a near by store or cafe, but when he found a flower shop he knew that it was redemption time

you on the other hand wanted to throw yourself off of a freeway.

the traffic leaving the city to new jersey was insane, why on a thursday at 430 was traffic slower than joe biden falling off a bike? dont have the answer to that one

but this drive gave you time to think, it wasnt schlatts fault he had trouble waking up, and when traffic got so bad you could literally park, you went on amazon and bought him an alarm clock

one that will for sure wake him up, problem solved. now you could relax. night changes played on aux (rip liam 🥲) and you could think about the man you were ten minutes away from picking up

you opened your phone to see the picture from this morning, you decided so what if he sees, this picture ment the world to you, even though schlatt had been in your life for nearing a month, you knew he'd somehow be apart of it forever

schlatt stood outside of a coffee shop you told him to wait at, holding stuff that could possibly help fix his mistake.

when your car pulled up he started to get nervous, what if he got the wrong flowers, or they didnt make your coffee right, but those doubts melted away when your car came to a hault

you watched him open his door and hand you a large bouquet of flowers and a cold brew. overwhelmed at first you didnt realise what you were holding. you placed the cup into your cup holder and looked at the flowers infront of you

it was made up of roses, lilys, sweetpeas, carnations, alstroemerias, daphnes at the bottom you think?, ruscus, dusty millers, and eucalyptus.

you didnt even know this many pretty flowers existed, after placing the boquet on your lap, you reached over and threw your arms around schlatt

"johnny what is this!" you exclaim, voice muffled my his neck, suprised he wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close

"thought you deserved a gift after i fucked up this morning" he sighs, whichmakes you pull away, but you place a hand on his cheek, slightly scratching his beard with your nails

"oh jay, i wasnt even really mad, this is the nicest thing anyones every done for me" you look at him in awe as he leans into your touch.

"yeah but i feel bad, m' gonna make it up to you, tonight your comin' over, were gonna watch 10 things i hate about you, play mario kart, and order pizza, dont ever let me break your trust again, sound good toots?" his smirk cut right through your heart

oh he looked so kissable right now

that night was spent cuddled up on his couch, playing wii games, forcing schlatt to watch rom coms, and stuffing your faces with pizza

he made you feel like you were in a rom com

that was only just beginning

#jschlatt #schlatt #john #youtube #jschlatt x reader #jschaltt #jschatt #jschlatt imagine #schlatty #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #pizza #newyork #chuckle sandwich #assistantxboss #schlattslonghairytoes #god i need him so bad #romcom #flowers

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deantfwinchester · 3 months ago

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Love Me Right

Part 1: Henrietta’s

Pairing: ConstructionCEO!Joel x Waitress!Reader

She's eventually gonna be a teacher again bc let's be real, i'm a one-trick pony.

This is a Millionaire Joel AU x Most Eligible Bachelor Trope

Summary: Joel Miller, CEO and Co-Founder of Miller Construction, hasn't been dealing with an Empty Nest very well. His family and friends have tried their best to cheer him up since Sarah left for college in the fall, but the storm cloud above his head remains. On top of that (or perhaps because of it), he has just been named one of Austin's Most Eligible Bachelors.

What will that mean for the new-in-town waitress he meets in his favorite diner? As far as she knows, he's just an average contractor.

Warnings: age gap (reader late 20s, Joel late 40s); family-centered trauma and conflict; lethal levels of fluff otw

A/N: Bear with me for this one y'all. My imagination is ambitious and my brain is obstinate. Title inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s Short ‘n Sweet - bc i can’t stop fckn listening to Juno 🫣

Word Count: 4.6k

_______________________________________________

“Tommy, there ain’t a chance in hell that’s gonna happen. Why on earth did you bring this to me?”

“Well they talked to Joanna at the front desk first. She said wasn’t going to bring it up to you, but I couldn’t just let it slide,” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Joel, shooting him a mischievous look. “Because one - I wasn’t gonna pass up the chance to see this look on your face, and two - would a little publicity be so bad?”

“Who in their right mind is gonna choose a fuckin contractor from the goddamn ‘society pages’?” Joel bristles at his brother’s amusement with an unwavering scowl.

Tommy stares right back, but the playful nature of his expression is unmarred. “Most men won’t Joel - but their wives will.” Tommy’s salacious grin is damn near wider than Joel’s ever seen. Christ, he’s loving this.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Joel says plainly, rolling his eyes.

“Come on brother, think about it - plenty of busy men in this city with bored housewives in need of a project. He tosses her a few thousand to redo the dining room - well who’s gonna do the job? She hasn’t got a clue where to begin and then BOOM! She sees the list of Austin’s Most Eligible Bachelors in the paper - where she finds a photo of the distinguished CEO and senior founder of Miller Construction—”

“Senior, seriously?,” Joel deadpans at him. Tommy ignores him, continuing to wax poetic.

“And can’t help but wonder if the rest of his staff is as dashing as he appears to be,”

“Flattery’s cheap Tommy.”

“Of course then she meets with me and the deal is sealed.” Tommy smiles smugly now that his story is complete.

“Boy can you paint a picture,” responds Joel, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics. “So you wanna parade me around like a two-bit hooker, huh?

“Whaddya say — can I give ‘em a call?”

“If you’re so hell-bent on ‘marketing’ why don’t you do it?” Joel says flippantly.

“Well I’m not a bachelor anymore, am I?,” he grins brightly at him. This time, it’s sincere.

“Don’t break your arm pattin' yourself on the back, Tommy. Maria mighta said yes, but there ain’t a ring on your finger yet. She’s still got a few months to wise up,” Joel challenges, his tone playful.

Tommy glares at him, but then gives a sobered nod. “You’re right about that. I know I’m a lucky fucker, and I’m not interested in testing that luck - even for a charity auction. Sorry to the dogs, or the food bank or — is it old people?”

“Hell bent on it, and don’t even know what it’s for? Christ - it’s a Make-A-Wish thing Tommy, damn,” Joel replies, looking bewildered at his brother’s callous and cavalier response.

“And isn’t your attention and concern for the bigger picture just what they need in volunteers?” Tommy retorts, expression still smug but eyes hopeful. “What, ‘s it gonna kill you to go out for once? It’ll be a formality at worst and maybe even a good time if you loosen up a bit.”

“I can think of a number of other ‘worsts’ than a formality,” Joel muses

“You’re gentleman enough to handle it just fine,” Tommy continues.

It has been quite a while since Joel’s been out of his house for much other than work or routine, and even longer since he’s been out with anyone other than Tommy, Maria, and the guys from work here and there. He’ll admit, he hasn’t been dealing with an empty nest very well. He’s done a pretty terrible job of keeping busy since he dropped Sarah off at school back in the fall. She’d gotten in exactly where she’d hoped, and made friends fast - for this he was over the moon - but he misses her like crazy. He’s been swimming back and forth in swelling pride and stabbing grief since September, ecstatic and aching all at once. He knew Tommy’s intentions were relatively pure, business interest aside. He knows they’ve been worried about him for a couple of months now - they haven’t exactly been subtle — they’d started having him over for dinner damn near once a week.

This newfound hobby of Tommy’s, cooking like a grown-up, had become the ruse en vogue for getting Joel out of his house. As Maria’s caseload grew at the law firm, Tommy wanted to make sure she had a real meal to eat when she finally got home — so he started cooking. Joel had to admit it was real sweet, watching his brother dive headfirst into learning a new skill just to take care of his bride-to-be. He claimed it only made sense with his far more flexible schedule, but Joel knew it made Tommy proud to be able to do this for her, and the very fact he wanted to made Joel proud as well.

Once Sarah left for school, however, Tommy quickly discovered his brother’s less-than-satisfactory habits of microwave dinners or forgetting to eat in general. He was a fair chef in his own right once upon a time, but without his little girl there to feed, bothering to make a balanced meal fell by the wayside. Joanna, a kindly woman in her seventies, had been one of the first to notice the change in Joel’s demeanor and the drawn nature of his features. Not much younger than the boys’ mother would be today, Joanna worked at the front desk of Miller Construction, greeting clients with a maternal warmth that, Tommy had to admit, was in part strategic. Disarm a client while they wait with a smile and you’d be able to pry open their hearts and their pockets.

Joanna was not unaware of the role she played in this game, though she did not approve. She’d informed Tommy of her concern for Joel, and the regular dinner invitations followed suit. This, accompanied with Joanna’s tugging Joel along to a nearby diner for lunch a couple of times a week in November had practically pulled Joel through the fall slump and into the new year. The holiday visits home from Sarah had helped a great deal, as well.

Joel wasn’t blind to his friends and family’s kahoots to help him through this patch. Though he sometimes grudgingly obliged to Joanna’s pestering him out the door because she hadn’t “seen you eat a bite all day. Four cups of black coffee don’t count, and you know it. Up!,” or Tommy’s employing Maria to send a text herself inviting him to dinner after he’d tried and simply received the finger, he was grateful for their efforts and care. Sarah was too, but he didn’t need to know that. Those lunchtime diner visits soon turned into breakfasts — a preemptive measure on Joanna’s part to add some time out in public to Joel’s routine of home — office — work site — home. Eventually she’d pavolv-ed him into it, and Joel was at the diner for coffee, breakfast, and one of the only physical newspapers left in existence every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at first following behind Joanna and eventually on his own.

Joanna had been with the Miller brothers since the business was far smaller, just a few years after its inception, when they started needing a receptionist/secretary/assistant, just someone who knew how to manage their slowly growing demand. She’d been a friend of their mother’s and had taken up some of the slack when she’d passed, grieving alongside her friend’s sons and looking after them in her wake. She’d been one of the only reasons Joel and Tommy had been able to build the tiny Miller Bros. into its current position as Miller Construction, multi-million-dollar contracting firm, and the largest in the Austin Metro area. Joel’s practical thinking and creativity combined with Tommy’s ambition and idealistic hopes of grandeur got them into successful meetings with investors that Joanna quietly set up via her husband’s business contacts. Their vision reminded her so much of their mother’s optimism she couldn’t help herself. She’d keep an eye on Sarah when Joel needed and ensured they were taken care of in the moments they would have needed their mother around.

As the boys’ surrogate mother figure and Sarah’s Aunt Jo, it came as no surprise that amid Joel’s season of empty-nested loneliness Joanna had begun encouraging him to “get back out there” and claimed that she “won’t be around forever” and “would like to see him settled before I go.” Classic maternal guilt-tripping, and Joel told her each time that he hears 70 is the new 50. She told him to try that again in a few years when he hits the real 50.

Truth of the matter was, Joel had been alone for a long time. He’d seen people on and off while Sarah was growing up, but it was a rare occasion, and no fling had ever lasted more than a couple of months. With Sarah at home, it never mattered much to Joel — he had someone to care for who was the best company he’d ever had right in front of him. She’d needed him a little less as she’d grown up, but he always had a purpose.

Joel was a natural-born caretaker — between brotherhood and fatherhood, he took to it like a tadpole to water. With Sarah away at school and his little brother engaged, however, he couldn’t figure out where to put all that love, and so it crackled into grief like a blackening candle wick, blooming into a flower of ash that nestled in his chest. The cloud of soot hovered around him for a while as he went through the motions of his everyday. Tommy, Maria, and Joanna all wanted to see him find his way again, as did Sarah when she received honest reports from her family members after some prodding. He always put on his biggest smile for her, never wanting her to worry, but she could see something hurting in his eyes, just below the surface.

While it may have been blatantly out of his comfort zone, Tommy and Joanna jumped at the opportunity to convince Joel when the Most Eligible Bachelors’ Auction came knocking. He needed something to disrupt his routine, with the added bonus of his coming out into the social scene like a plaid-clad debutante with a few extra crow’s feet.

After rolling the last few months’ events around in his mind for a couple of minutes while Tommy answers a phone call, Joel is broken from his reverie. Tommy’s standing in front of him again, waving a hand back and forth.

“Hey ground control - you with me?,” he asks before Joel’s eyes focus on him once again. “Can I give em a call?,” and this time Joel notices the concern in Tommy’s eyes as his joking facade flickers with hope. It’s more than just publicity, and he owes it to them to give it a shot.

Joel releases a measured sigh, relenting. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but sure, fuck it. Call ‘em back,” he says rolling his eyes, resigning himself to whatever nonsense his participation will entail. He reminds himself it’s for charity, and returns to his computer, refocusing on his work as Tommy darts out of his office to return to his own, reporting his success to Joanna along the way.

_______________________________________________

You got lucky with this job at Henrietta’s, with its flexible hours and fairly livable wage, you had time to settle into your new place and get to know the city. You spend your off days wandering around, doing research on local schools and prepping your applications for summer school and the new year.

Never had you pictured yourself leaving students mid-year, and having to do it hurt like hell. You missed the kids you left behind every day, but when a friend caught wind of an acquaintance needing a subletter for a little studio within your price range, you didn’t have much of a choice. You needed to take up the lease starting in January, or you’d be starting over at square one. It had been a long time coming, this encroaching need to run and start over somewhere new. Staying in your hometown was no longer an option — work may have been a saving grace, but the other areas of your life were suffering. You knew healing couldn’t begin without separation. You needed to be far away from everything — it was the only way you could picture trying to feel whole again. Grad school had ended the previous year, so you fled.

With each mile you put between you and your family, you started to feel like your lungs could fully inflate once again. The oppressive air of scrutiny and memory that swam around you at home dropped off piece by piece with each passing mile marker. You’d put a few states between yourself and your parents once it was all said and done, and while it was scary, starting from scratch all over again, it was invigorating. You’d done it at eighteen when you left for college, you could damn well do it again with eight years’ more life experience under your belt.

You’d walked into the diner on your second day in the city. You had some money saved up from time living at home, but knew it would dwindle quickly with rent to pay and no salary coming in on the regular. You would need something to keep busy and pay for necessities until the end of the spring semester. When Diane, the manager caught sight of you, bright-eyed and looking like a deer in headlights, she welcomed you with a warmth you’d only read about in books. She interviewed you then and there and offered you a job on the spot, waiting tables on the breakfast and lunch shifts at least four days a week. She told you your “sweet smile and wide-eyed look will do wonders for you in tips, precious!” You think it’s probably just teacher face you can’t shake, and hope she’s right — maybe it could do you some favors until you get back in the classroom where you belong.

Diane’s rounded face was accentuated with wonderfully deep crow’s feet and smile lines that suggested a lifetime of sharing this warmth, and her dark hair streaked with gray around her hairline and temples rested atop her head in a frazzled bun. She made you comfortable out the gate, and had set you up with a uniform immediately. More aptly, she handed you a t-shirt and an apron to go over your leggings. You were thankful for the relaxed dress code, knowing plenty of other establishments required a much more specific ensemble. Once you’d changed she introduced you to your shift lead, Reggie, and the line-cook-on-duty, Tony, patting you comfortingly on the shoulder and insisting they welcome you, hoping to keep you around to solve their persistent staffing issue.

While Diane was quite a bit older than you, somewhere in her mid-fifties, Reggie and Tony were younger, floating between mid-thirties and early forties, if you had to guess. Reggie was a slim black man you’d put in his thirties, and he greeted you with a smile and an exclamation that he was more than ready to gossip ad nauseum with someone so much closer to his age. He’d been the one to fill you in on Diane’s immediate taking to you, letting you know with little ambiguity that you were just a few years younger than Diane’s daughter, who had moved out of the city about a year ago, and that you favored her to boot. Reggie had called this particular gossip session your orientation.

“Don’t get me wrong honey, Diane’s a sweetheart. But never have I seen her offer a position on the spot. I think having you here may do her some good,” he’d said, before turning to fill you in on Tony the line cook. “Yeah Tony’s hot, but he chain smokes like a chimney and doesn’t care at all when I ask him to keep his second hand smoke to himself on the days I have a performance!,” he shouted pointedly at Tony, who only looked up long enough to give Reggie the finger and wink at you. Tony was a muscular Italian guy in his forties with tattoos of a sort that didn’t quite match up with the gold chain and cross pendant hanging around his neck. When your eyes went wide at the wink, Reggie giggled a bit and leaned toward you. “Don’t worry, Tony’s a little sleazy but harmless. He’ll hit on anything in a skirt, but as soon as you tell him you aren’t interested he’ll back off and won’t bring it up again. He’s a good guy, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Over the course of your shift you discovered that Diane’s been at Henrietta’s for fifteen years, Reggie is a drag queen and lounge singer by the name of Wizz Tiria at a few different clubs around town, and Tony has a few other business ventures he mentions on and off (the details of which he keeps to himself), but never misses taking his Mom to church on Sundays. You share a good bit about yourself as well in exchange — what brought you to Austin, why now, and where you may go from here. It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself at home among this eclectic little bunch, and for the first time in a really, really long time, you’re content with the peaceful monotony of these early winter days.

_______________________________________________

It’s a brisk February morning when you walk into the diner for your shift. You’ve spent the last month working in the cozy little greasy spoon, so you’re still getting to know the regulars, but you’ve caught on pretty quick. You’ve been working the Tuesday, Thursday, and weekend shifts, but when Diane loses another server, you’re eager to pick up the slack — extra pocket change and keep your mind busy. The company’s pretty good too. Thus, you find yourself walking into the diner at 7 AM on a Wednesday morning with a hoodie over your t-shirt and a scarf to ward off more of the wind cutting into your cheeks. You head to the staff room to remove your hoodie and don your apron and emerge, finding the diner a bit colder than it had been up to this point. You’d kept a light jacket or a cardigan on you previously, but today’s need for something heavier led you to selecting a favorite hoodie to throw over your work t-shirt — which you didn’t quite think through until you came into the dining room and felt a chil run up your spine. Diane catches sight of you before you can still yourself.

“Sweetie, what on earth fo you think you’re doing?,” she asks like you’ve done something obviously egregious.

“Huh? What is it?,” you ask innocently, but you know the answer. She can probably see the goosebumps you feel rising on your arms.

“You need somethin’ on under that, you’re gonna freeze in here today!,” she chastises.

“Yeah, I brought my hoodie, but forgot I’d be taking it off. It’s not so bad in here, I’ll be alright,’ you tell her reassuringly.

“Absolutely not. Wait, hold on a second - REGGIE! We got any more o’ those long sleeve souvenir shirts in the case?!” she hollers after him.

“Hold awn!,” he hollers back, Southern twang taking center stage when he yells, just like the rest of them. After a few seconds he emerges with a few in hand. “Got a few left. Ugly as hell, probably why they’re still here. Watcha need ‘em for?”

“Sweetie, go on and change into that before the rush starts. Not the staff shirt, but the branding’ll be fine in case Jason drops by,” she says, rolling her eyes. She pats you on the shoulder, nudging you toward Reggie to take one of the shirts. They’re bright green with a gaudy design on them that makes you laugh when he hands it to you. Jason’s the owner of Henrietta’s, and so you’ve heard, the bane of Diane’s existence. You’ve only heard tale of this rotten Jason thus far, never quite laying eyes on the mythical beast. You really hope today in this goofy shirt isn’t the day you do.

You return to the dining room a few minutes later clad in the neon green monstrosity, tugging at it in a futile effort to make it look better. “Happy now, Diane?!,” you holler as you enter, only to find her standing directly in front of you at the hostess stand, face to face with a man you’d never seen in here before — who you almost run right into, not looking where you’re going. He’s tall and broad with dark brown curls laced with grey streaks, and gray patches in the short beard that frames his jaw. He catches you when you nearly bump right into him, and you look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever encountered. Your cheeks go red when you realize what you’ve done.

“Whoa there,” he says, smiling down at you as you stutter out an apology. “It’s alright, no harm done,” he responds, voice gentle but deep. It’s true, he didn’t even budge when he caught you, and you’re fairly certain if you’d fallen, the outcome would’ve been the same.

“Sorry about that Joel. C’mon, your table’s ready,” she says, patting Joel’s arm and leading him forward, not before turning back to you and saying, “Certainly am. Now go grab some coffee for Table 7 for me, will ya sweetie?” with a smile. You’d just run almost smack into a customer, and she wasn’t upset with you or anything. You shouldn’t be surprised, that’s just Diane, but you’re used to much larger reactions to small mistakes. You just nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, but your eyes are drawn once again to the man she’s leading away. He’s looking back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine, one you’re certain has nothing to do with the chill in the air this time. He’s wearing a plaid button-down and a utility jacket, with cheeks and a nose tinged pink from the cold. You tear your eyes away anxiously and head for the coffee pot.

You’ve got your hand around the decaf pot, pouring another cup for the regular at the bar counter, when your eyes find Table 7, your next destination. You see the man, Joel, Diane had called him, with his back to you, facing out the window, newspaper in hand. You steel yourself once again, switch coffee pots, and head for his table.

You approach from the side, hoping not to spook him as he’s engrossed in the paper he has in hand. Christ, when was the last time you saw a physical newspaper? It’s kinda cute, you think, seeing someone reading one on a cold morning with a cup of coffee. So picturesque. Especially someone as handsome as he is, and you find yourself staring at his broad shoulders and dark curls again before he looks up from his reading.

“Hey,” you start, a little shaky, “sorry again, about before. Don’t know what I was doing, not looking where I was going,” you smile a little, shaking your head at your mishap.

“Really, it’s fine. You seemed, uh, preoccupied,” he says, looking down at the offending design on the tshirt you’re wearing, before looking back up at you. “It’s certainly a change from the regular uniform, huh?” he says, smiling at you. The way his eyes crinkle as he does plants a warmth in your chest you aren’t expecting. It’s been so long since you felt it, it’s almost unfamiliar. Your cheeks warm as you smile back at him, hoping it comes off as embarrassment from your wardrobe rather than bashful attraction. You’re about to tell him it’s certainly not a permanent solution, when he speaks again. “So, Sweetie, huh? Haven’t seen you around before — that what they call you in here?” he questions, smirk playing at his lips.

You laugh in response and introduce yourself, and tell him this isn’t your normal shift, but you’ll probably be around for it moving forward. You take his breakfast order, and tell him you’ll let him get back to his paper.

You don’t converse much more when you bring Joel his breakfast, just quiet thanks when you refill his coffee cup. He looks so peaceful, you almost hate to interrupt each time. You ask Reggie about him when you both have a minute behind the counter.

“Yep, that’s Joel. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Started coming in a few months back with an older lady, then more regularly by himself. She’s with him once in a while, kinda seems like a mom vibe, but she doesn’t look like him. Anyway, I think he works construction or something, always coming in with those boots on looking like a lumberjack,” Reggie says flippantly. “Heard from the older lady one day when he was in the bathroom — his daughter went to college back in the fall, they’ve been trying to get him out ever since,” he said, looking sympathetic at the thought.

You feel your heart do a little squeeze at this newfound tidbit. A fresh empty nester. You know how hard it’s been for Diane, so much she’s taken to parenting the staff in her daughter’s stead. Staring at Joel’s back as his head is bowed reading the paper, you begin wondering more and more about him. His daughter’s probably around eighteen, so how old is he? You’d guess he isn’t married, and you didn’t see a ring. Who is he? Why does he come here to read his paper each day? And most importantly — how soon can you find out the answers to these questions? You don’t want to ambush him at all and scare him off, but you’re drawn to him, and so very curious.

Meanwhile, Joel is stealing glances at your reflection in the diner window in front of him, watching you laugh with Reggie and the customers at the bar, smiling sweetly when someone makes a request of you. He needs to get out of there before he starts feeling creepy, he thinks. He rises and walks to the counter to settle his bill with Reggie at the cash register, glancing at you when he does so, futilely trying to balance showing interest and being weird. He leaves a nice tip in the jar for all of you to share, but just before he turns to go, he looks back at you, locking eyes.

“Oh uh, Sweetie?,” he says, smirk on his face. He looks almost bashful when he speaks next, like he’s working up the courage. “Glad you’re picking up. Look forward to seein’ you again,” he smiles. The look on his face when he says it is so sincere, you could melt on the spot. He was nervous about his joke, you could tell, but recovered when you laughed in reply.

“Looking forward to it too, Joel. Enjoy your day,” you say, smiling wide in return. He gives a little wave to everyone before grinnig down at his shoes and walking out of the diner into the crisp February air. Your eyes follow him out to the pick-up he hops into, before looking back over to Reggie and Tony, staring at you devilishly.

“And I’m looking forward to seeing this story unravel,” says Reggie, looking over at Tony and grinning, like something juicy has just unfolded before their eyes. The two are laughing while you smile and wave them off, wiping down the counter. Diane emerges from the office at the sound of their hearty laughter, reading glasses slipping down her nose, notepad in hand, and stares back at the three of you.

“What’d I miss?!,” she asks. You’re smiling too much to respond with anything genuine, so you return to your wiping, and let Reggie take the lead.

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erinwantstowrite · 2 months ago

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what are your thoughts abot how Damian and Tim's relationship is portrayed in most fanfics?

personally, although I like the angst part of their relationship I wish there was more fanfics where they're closer and have real siblings dynamic (like u know they 'hate' eachother but they would destroy anyone who would want to hurt their brother)

oh, boy, do i have a lot to say about this one. buckle in, folks.

i feel like a lot of the time, if they're in a fic together and the fic author doesn't like one of them, the other is going to be mischaracterized to hell and back. sometimes... both are mischaracterized.

i'm all for a fanon interpretation of a character- obviously, because i have fanon interpretations in my fic too at least a wee bit- but sometimes it goes too far and it no longer feels like we're reading about the same character

let's talk about Tim.

Tim doesn't have a good view of himself or his standing in any emotional aspect. which is often misconstrued about him believing that he was Jason's replacement (neither he nor Bruce thought this, but it was Bruce's fear), or that his worth as Robin wasn't enough. that's not true at all. i'll say it again here: Jason didn't nearly kill Tim at Titan's Tower, nor did he go there to kill Tim. and Tim fought him back. he even told Jason to his face:

"you can't be that good" "I am."

he knows he's a damn good Robin! he trained with the best, he helps lead the YJ! he doesn't doubt that he was the best person for the job. but when it comes to the emotional aspect of Robin, i think this is where Tim stutters

this is because of how Tim's parents showed their affection.

i think canon neglects that aspect of his trauma, which is why so many people hang onto it. in the comics, Tim is shown to have a lot of friends both in and out of suit. he's abrasive and isn't afraid to ask the hard questions. but he is riddled with self worth issues. his parents were barely around him, they didn't know him well at all. and they loved him, but from a distance.

Tim now sees himself as someone that can receive love from a distance. he is incredibly self reliant, and has been from a young age. he sees all of his accomplishments as obligations. he does well at school because he had to. he takes care of himself because he had to. and in his mind, taking up Robin was partly another obligation. he does his job well because he has to, and he might doubt this sometimes like anyone else, but at the end of the day he is confident in his ability to get shit done.

now, the emotional part of Batman and Robin is where i believe i enjoy a fanon interpretation more. he actually does have a good relationship with Dick, but I'm not too sure about Bruce at this point. this topic is nuanced because Batman writers make him so diabolical at times to the point that i would consider it ooc. but other times they're very close and Bruce admits this. so i replace it in my head with a more stable and realistic version that i've seen written by fic authors very well.

Tim views himself as someone who is there for a job: help Batman. but there is a lot of wonder and awe there. his favorite Robin was Dick. (I'll say this again so everyone hears me: his favorite Robin was Dick. yes you are allowed to have nuance and put Jason in there as someone he looked up to as well, please do. but put some respect on Dick's name!) now that he's working with Dick Grayson, someone he admires so much, as well as getting the honor to wear the Robin suit, he feels more like himself than he has in years. he's good at this, and it's also fun. he meets so many people and he gets to make a difference in the world. yes, it's a job, but it's also very freeing

he never did this be Bruce's son, or to replace Jason. his relationship with Bruce started off extremely rocky, with Tim forcing himself into his life in some way because he believed that Batman was going to get himself killed or get someone else killed, or Batman would cross the line. and Gotham would lose the only person who had such unwavering optimism for them. he and Bruce come to an understanding of being partners but not father and son. Bruce doesn't want to open himself up to that hurt again. but we all know Bruce, and that's not what ended up happening. Bruce would never be the same person he was before, but he is not incapable of love.

Tim would not understand that change. I'd get more into this but i don't want this post too long and i wanna save it for when i'm not supposed to be sleeping and when i'm writing one of my Tim fics for once. all we really need to know is that Tim's emotional intelligence is dogshit, and him coming to see Bruce as a father, and Bruce seeing him as a son, would baffle him. because his parents love him... at a distance. and Bruce sees him every day. that's not how it's supposed to work, right?

so.

sometimes, Tim is treated like a porcelain doll who can do no wrong. many aspects of his canon has been altered by fanon to be "worse" than it is. his neglect by his parents did, indeed, happen, and it affects him deeply. but his parents weren't like. beating him, or leaving him without food or shelter or supervision. Tim was clever enough to get around that supervision all on his own. which is why they should have been there in the first place. (they should have been there regardless). and emotional neglect is still a very real issue??? no one has to make it "worse" by making the Drakes out to be monsters. i think Jack often emotionally manipulated Tim when he was around, and I don't know if Jack was even aware that he did so. (which is why i can see some people delving into that nonexistent relationship that DC gave us, and finally giving those implications more depth. there are a lot of good fics that go over this)

often it's hard to read a fic for Tim because they go too hard into making Tim an anxious shy ball of sunshine. Tim is weird, and he stalked the Bats, he stalked Nightwing, he broke into Titan's Tower before he even became Robin. he's a weirdo. he fits right in with the Bats for that reason. some people make him out to be the victim or some kind of damsel in distress, and sometimes we get to see a phenomena where other characters talk like a book about emotional intelligence that their therapist gave them. which is... fine, if you're just writing to write it, maybe helping yourself. but let's take a step back and see Tim is not like that. he is a very capable person, and his not some "uwu, woe is me, i'm so shitty at everything and if you even look at me wrong i'll cry." i honestly believe that Tim is the type of character to hate crying in front of someone and even if he was actively dying he'd be holding back those tears.

whereas Damian? gets the opposite treatment??

granted, i don't actually know too much about Damian, but i at least try to understand him and his background

he's the youngest of them, and i think many people forget that Damian isn't a reader of the comics like we are. he wasn't going into that family with the emotional connections to these characters and their backstories like we did. he was taught about these people, the idea of them. like how we could be taught in class about people from a long time ago. and i can ensure you that Damian was not taught proper emotional intelligence, nor would he have the best grasp of it himself when he was younger than 9 years old. imagine all of your teachers and also your mother told you about these people and their accomplishments, and then told you that the person all of them look up to is your father. the person that you want nothing more than to know, to see, because the people around you talk about him so highly. someone you haven't gotten to meet yet, because you aren't "worthy." can you imagine being told all your life that you are not worthy to see your father yet? and not knowing if he believes that too?

but one day, you are going to be by his side as his son. i don't want to get too into the culture of the Al Ghul family because i don't actually know that much (i'm sure someone would know more about this, feel free to add on if you want to), but this is important to Damian. it's important to his mom. it's important to his grandfather, the leader of an extensive organization that stretches hundreds of years.

then he gets dropped off in a different country, culture, language, and family and he finds that things are not as he had been told his entire life. his father has many flaws, they do not believe the same importance of a blood tie as his family back home does. they question his entire upbringing to his face many times, they question his mother who he loves deeply. he's nine years old. imagine yourself in that position. you don't know yet what role you're playing in an adult's life, but you want to. desperately. you want to know where you stand. you want a hug. not to mention that Damian actually is a very emotional kid. he was taught to shove that deep, deep down, and not let that out.

too many people write Damian as if he was a "feral" kid which is kind of not something to put on him? i don't like it both because he wasn't feral, he was an asshole. there's a difference. and because it feels like a microaggression?? at times?? because once again... the culture that he is from... is important.

they have been racially profiled for many many years... and yes, everything that you read is political whether you want it to be or not. the act of reading is political. you should definitely be aware of what a writer's goal is when they were giving something to you. you should be reading deeper. again, i'm not from his culture and i can't say if it is an insult/insensitive joke or not, nor am i saying everyone who's made the joke before is a bad person. i have made jokes about Tim being a feral kid before and whatnot. i'm saying that no matter who you are, it is your responsibility to think critically about your media and kindly about other people. it feels uncomfortable to me because i know how wrongly the Al Ghuls (specifically Talia) have been treated by writers in the past. and Damian is an extension of that bias. just look at how many times they try to push Ian Wayne on us. or how they'll pull back on Damian's character development when talking about the Al Ghul family.

this probably isn't my topic to write about, at least not before i learn more about it. but since i get a fair amount of viewership, maybe someone will listen to me that won't listen to someone of color that has already pointed this out many times. with the comics fandom, and Batman fandom specifically sometimes, people don't care to think further about why the characters of color are so often and conveniently left out or forced into an archetype. take that as you will

so! he has spent his entire life believing he had to live up to two great legacies, both of which are VERY different. the intricacies of the Al Ghul family are often boiled down to pure evil by both fanon and canon writers, which dulls Damian's resolve and reasoning for what he had done, or makes it hard to connect to him. he has since learned more about who he wants to be and has come to respect his family in many ways. excuse me if i'm wrong, but i think part of why Damian came so hard for Tim was because Tim had everything Damian wanted. he had a place by Batman's side as both his son and his partner, and was very well respected by Batman and Nightwing both. he's older, more mature, he has stature in both this society Damian now has to fit into and within the family dynamic. considering Damian grew up in an assassin cult that solved threats to their dynamics or positions in power by murder, it wasn't a far leap for a child from that environment to make. he was modelling what he had been taught his entire life.

think about the mistakes that you made as a kid. and i don't mean something silly or funny now, i'm talking something that makes you feel ashamed. embarrassed. hurt. something that perhaps now as an adult, you reflect on as being totally uncool. and i want you to think about if maybe your environment had a role to play in that. maybe you made an insensitive joke that your mom or dad would have found funny, and someone pointed it out and reasonably made you feel like a jerk. shit happens. but you hopefully grew from that.

now imagine that mistake was you hurting someone.

yes, he was annoying. he was bratty, at times. he could be a little calculating shit. he hurt people with both his words and his weapons. Tim obviously had many many many reasons to be upset about his treatment- but I fear that most of his anger ended up directed at the older people in their lives that were supposed to be the ones to do something about it!

and though i hate that Tim went back to being Robin (it feels redundant), i have seen panels that show that the two of them working side by side after Damian and Tim both went through some life and perspective altering events both together and alone, has made Tim see Damian as his little brother, and vice versa. Damian has grown so much and many people just... don't care. no matter their reasoning for hating Damian, it's unfair to not look further than those cutting words written decades ago, or to bring up his mistakes every time you want to be mad at him. and i think it does a disservice to Tim to make him a bleeding heart about this when he has clearly forgiven Damian and cares about him. he rags on Damian like any older brother would, and Damian makes remarks like a younger brother would. personally, i think the two of them are doing pretty good right now

the development of their characters is actually so interesting within the canon aspect, even if they can fumble the ball every now and then. and the mischaracterization takes away the value that their canon relationship has. i personally love reading fics that have Damian and Tim teaming up. in aus where one thing changes and Tim and Damian become brothers later, i think it's actually so silly and fun when Damian respects Tim or thinks he's cool. or even without the au aspect! just like, a fic where the two of them are working together and it's either silly or serious, Damian having a begrudging respect for Tim and Tim being protective over Damian, etc etc, is sooooo much fun

#this got so so so long #but i had a lot to say apparently #again take that one part with a grain of salt #i hope i did that topic some justice #if anyone wants to add on to that who knows more about it please feel free to do so #also also one fic that i think has a super fun tim and damian dynamic is Buzzard #i've recced it here before #i just love that fic #and uhhhh Red Raven i can't remember the author #tim drake #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne al ghul #robin damian #robin dc #tim drake robin #dc batman #batman comics #batman and robin #erin practically writing an essay again #i have a lot of feelings guys #i think even if you don't like a character you should be putting work in to understand them #and if you still don't like them then that's fine #but if you blatantly don't like them and don't bother to read up on them then you're a hater but in an annoying way #let me know if i forgot a tag im so tired rn

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redbullgirly · 1 year ago

Text

The Dancer [FA14 smau]

Fernando Alonoso x dancer!reader

Masterlist

Summary: Few months after, everybody laughs when they remember the rumors about Fernando Alonso and Taylor Swift dating. Would they laugh though if they new it maybe wasn't so far from truth as it may seem? Well, one thing's for sure - Y/N and Fernando will laugh very much while soft launching their relationship... and confusing everyone with swiftie content thanks to her job.

Warnings: Maybe wrong dates and timeline of The Eras Tour, but whatever XD.

messages between Y/N and Fernando

fernandoalo_oficial posted on instagram

liked by alex_albon, zhouguanyu24, pierregasly and 562,109 others

fernandoalo_oficial I was taken by the view like we were in Paris... romance is not dead.

view all 4001 comments

user1 i dont think my brain can comprehend so many things all at once😨

user2 right? I'M IN SHOCK

user3 fr fernando wants to give us a heart attack😭

lilymhe I see what you did here...

alex_albon I indeed see what he did here too...😏

user4 guys tell us what he did pls I'm begging youuuu

user5 Alonso soft launching was not on my 2024 bingo card

user6 him soft launching with TAYLOR SWIFT wasn't on MY bingo card 😭

user7 How he's suddenly so hot in the first pic? Like damn sir okay🫢

user8 girlfriend effect is real y'all

georgerussell63 Mate you can't do that to me, I just woke up 😧

user8 lmfao princess georgie is as confused as we are xd

fernandoalo_oficial sorry mate, don't get wrinkles🤞

gerogerussell63 What even is that choice of emoji?

fernandoalo_oficial well, someone is original with an emoji and someone is original with a pose... choice is yours 😃

georgerussell63 Stop it's been almost a year 😭

user9 not them bullying each other💀

user10 Yeah the duo we didn't know we needed

user11 I saw the first picture and almost spat out my drink in shock of such a hot photo of Nando. Then I swiped and literally choked on it because the last think I'd ever expect from his photo dump is a soft lunch of some baddie girl🫣

user12 I am delusional for thinking Taylonso could still have a chance, aren't I?

user13 well i mean you basically answered it yourself so... yeah XD

user14 OMG WHAAAAAAT😱

user15 oh no Fernando is not single anymore💔

user16 I think I accidentally teleported into some alternative universe... what is thiiiis?

user17 REAL

user18 fuck me this man seriously used lyrics from paris by ts💀

user19 Idk why but I kinda like this new side of Fernando😻

twitter

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by taylorswift, fernandoalo_oficial, carmenmmundt and 5,234 others

tagged: taylorswift and 9 others

yourusername crazy performance, even crazier night out and the most crazy training the day after... I call that the life of a dancer😻🎉 also my head and heart did go vroom vroom after the second pic

view all 218 comments

taylorswift I call that the eras tour life!💗

yourusername yes ma'am!

user1 damn she got our queen Taylor replying to her posts... how does it feel to live my dream?!😭

yourusername amazing! 🥰

user2 such a shame my mum didn't force me to try dancing when I was little... I could have been at podium next to Taylor Swift right now 😃

liked by the author

user3 You are such a good dancer, the shows wouldn't be the same without you Y/N!

yourusername omg thank u sm I really appreciate that!!🥹

user4 sooo... are we gonna just ignore Fernando in the likes or what???

user5 THAT'S WHAT I CAME HERE TO SAY

user6 fr I need some crazy detective from twitter to figure this out😫

carmenmmundt Hey, could you give me and lilymhe vip tickets...?

yourusername I mean... everything can be done 😏 I'll just need to ask mother Taylor bc I just used my plus one at the last concert🫡

lilymhe OH MY GOD WE LOVE YOU Y/N

yourusername I love you girls as well, we have to finally meet sometimes!!!

carmenmmundt Yeah, I think we'll have chance at the end of February at the latest😉

user7 WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE

user8 Omg are they hinting Y/N at the Bahrain GP?? F1 season starts at the end of February right?!

goergerussell63 Well hello there, nice to meet you Y/N... given the fact my dear girlfriend doesn't care about me, could you give me and alex_albon vip tickets as well?😊

alex_albon Yeah Y/N we are very big fans😊

yourusername everything for the guys that go vroom vroom🫡

alex_albon Like your heart

yourusername exactly!

user9 I AM FREAKING OUT

user9 MY BRAIN HURTS FROM HOW MUCH IS GOING ON

user9 WAIT FUCK I THINK I GOT IT

user9 AAAHHH I FEEL LIKE SHERLOCK MF HOLMES

twitter & messages between Y/N and Fernando

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by selenagomez, fernandoalo_oficial, francisca.cgomes, astonmartinf1 and 8,234 others

yourusername preparing for the next season🤞

view all 1,029 comments

user1 y/n is literally living my dream life rn

georgerussell63 Oh no... he infected you with that emoji, didn't he?

yourusername we'll never know... maybe I infected HIM with it

gourgerussell63 I think higher of you and your taste in emojis

yourusername aww thanks princess georgie how sweet🥰

georgerussell63 I take it back

user2 HELLO?! what is happening💀

dancer1 excuse me little miss y/n... is that a man i'm seeing?🤨

yourusername well... maybe

dancer2 Be fr she's trying to soft launch him for like a month now😭

dancer1 okay i'm calling you rn STAY WHERE YOU ARE

user3 Guys why's nobody talking about the paddock pass in the 5th picture!!!!

user4 omg that's a PADDOCK PASS?😱

user5 yeah it is I noticed it thanks to this comment

user6 Wait... does that mean her and Fernando have been together longer? Because she already went to a race before the winter break??

user5 idk girl we don't even know for sure she's really dating him😓

user6 idgaf about who's dating her bc even without bf y/n's sooo hot like damn... mommy🥵

user7 I'm so confused... is this Alonso's girl or not?

user8 trust me user7 - we'd all like to know that😭

user9 😍

yourusername and fernandoalo_oficial posted on instagram stories

yourusername story has been seen by taylorswift, lance_stroll and 13,634 others

fernandoalo_oficial story has been seen by charles_leclerc, astonmartinf1 and 308,003 others

user1 replied to yourusername story: is that an f1 driver there y/n

dancer1 replied to yourusername story: Hope he'll not disappoint me in person when you talked about him sm 😒

yourusername ohhh trust me you'll love him just as I do🥰

dancer1 omg bleeeeh I hope not 🫣

user2 replied to yourusername story: your friends are so pretty😩

taylorswift replied to yourusername story: When you'll take him to get my approval??

yourusername soon taylor, soon... I'm just afraid it'll break the internet lol

taylorswift I think we're used to that already with Travis at this point😂

yourusername true😭

fernandoalo_official replied to yourusername story: 🔥

yourusername it's going to be okay, they'll love you 🫶

fernandoalo_oficial how did you know I was nervous amor?

yourusername I saw you literally shaking when you left to the bathroom love...😹

yourusername oh they're back come quickly!!💞

fernandoalo_oficial onmw

user3 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: IS THIS THE CONFIRMATION WE NEEDED?!

user4 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: I see what you're doing here old man 👀

user5 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: soft launch slowly turning into a hard launch and I'm here for it!!!!

dancer1 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: I guess you aren't that bad in person...

fernandoalo_oficial 😁

user6 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: screaming crying throwing up

taylorswift replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: You better treat my best dancer right Alonso!🤍

fernandoalo_oficial of course ma'am! 🫡

user7 replied to fernandoalo_oficial story: So cute!!😍

messages between Y/N and Fernando

fernandoalo_oficial posted on instagram

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, f1, yourusername and 601,239 others

tagged: yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial All these people think love's for show but I would die for you in secret... #swiftie

view all 6,022 comments

yourusername I'd just like to make it clear to everybody that it's me who made him be swiftie... you're welcome💋

liked by the author

user1 OMG THE LYRICS FROM PEACE BY TAYLOR

carmenmmundt Y/N is so pretty!😍

yourusername ohh carmen ilysm you're even prettier🥹

user2 No way Fernando just really har launched his gf😭

f1 We smell a new wag!

user4 LOL you're kinda late for that admin xd

user5 Congrats and wish you well world champ!💪

user6 can we talk about how gorgeous she is???

lilymhe double date when honey?

yourusername anytime babeee!!!

fernandoalo_oficial why do I have a feeling me and alex_albon will be third-wheeling on you two?🤨

alex_albon you'll eventually get used to third-wheeling your own girlfriend and her friends, trust me fernando...🤠

user7 This girl is like a goddess, I can't even blame him ❤️🔥

user8 mommy & daddy

georgerussell63 Finally! Congratulation on the hard launch mate👍

fernandoalo_oficial and look who's original with emojis now...😂

user9 from now on this is my fav couple

user10 mine to

user11 SHUT UP THE DELULU GIRLIES ON TWITTER WERE RIGHT

lance_stroll 💚💚

user12 nah I don't know what he see in her🙄

user13 Go away we don't want the jealous haters here 🥱

kellypiquet Welcome to the F1 family yourusername!🤍

yourusername thx!💞

user14 i call this couple goals

user15 I'M SO READY FOR BOYFRIEND MATERIAL ALONSO

user16 I can already feel he'll be so hot in his new era 😩

user17 lmao nando in his swiftie and stlutty era as someone on twitter said😹

yourusername swiftie and slutty era? i like the sound of it😏

user16 not y/n reading all the comments sipping over her bf 💀

liked by yourusername

THE END

Author's Note: Hello everyone, hope you liked it! I'm not sure you should get used to me posting so often, but let's say that after Lance's social media au and the great feedback I had so much motivation... plus I'm sick, so I actually have the time to write and create XD. Anyway, I'll be glad for likes, comments, reblog and every other way of showing support! Have a great day and let me know how you liked Nando and swiftie dancer together!

541 notes · View notes

superhaught · 1 year ago

Text

To Be Another Notch in Your Bedpost

Pairing: Leighton Murray x Reader

Warnings: explicit smut! (18+ MDNI) implied sub/bratty Leighton, implied dom/brat tamer reader, one night stand

(This is my first ever published fic please be gentle! I want to start taking requests for anything Renee/Regina/Leighton so, ya know, tell me if ya like it and wanna see more writing from me)

Word Count: 2700, Part 1/?

Reader has a one night stand with the Leighton Murray.

Explicit Content Below

This party was everything you hated. Loud, unintelligible music. Drunken idiots everywhere. Sticky spills all over the floor and sweaty bodies brushing against you no matter how much you tried to stay out of the way.

You wouldn’t have even come out tonight if it wasn’t for the fact that your friend basically dragged you kicking and screaming out of your dorm and away from your comfortable Netflix binging. You remained steadfast, though. She could bring you to the party but she couldn’t make you enjoy it. While she danced in the middle of it all, you continued to nurse your one cup of punch against the wall, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of people watching.

It wasn’t that you thought you were better than your peers, you just couldn’t match their vibe. You couldn’t let go enough. You couldn’t become uninhibited. Your first year at Essex had been an overwhelming one. Making good friends had been hard. Staying on top of your classes even more so. And finding common ground with the legacy and/or wealthy students had been damn near impossible. Your student job in the library was draining, and your dating life had been nonexistent. This party felt like the absolute last thing you needed to decompress.

You were just about to throw in the towel and say goodbye to your friend when someone unexpected approached you.

“Hey wallflower,” she said, addressing you, “a few of the Theta guys are concerned that you’re bored or drugged. Either way, they want it to be resolved.”

The girl was Leighton Murray. A rising queen bee on campus. She was deeply connected to the school, extremely popular within multiple social groups on campus, and easily one of the most stunning women you have ever seen by far.

You chuckle awkwardly and smile at the blonde, “Ah. Well, I am sorry for disturbing the vibe of the party. I know that the frats work hard to make these go well. But truly, I’m neither bored nor drugged, just… not fitting in.”

Leighton raises an eyebrow at you, “I take it this isn’t your usual scene, then?”

“Not at all,” you admit. “I’m much more comfortable in quiet settings with fewer people to worry about.”

Leighton nods and takes a sip from her own drink, glancing over the crowd thoughtfully. She turns back to you, “What made you come, then?”

You shrug, “I was forced by my friend. Apparently my preferred Friday night of watching Queer Eye and baking brownies for myself in the dorm kitchens depresses her.”

Leighton laughs, “It’s not necessarily a bad thing but definitely not how you should be spending your Friday nights in college…” she looks you up and down for a moment, clearly checking you out, “are you… ya know?” She makes her wrist go limp in that recognizable signal and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What? Gay?” She looks a little embarrassed but you smile warmly and give her a reassuring nod, “Yes, I am. Very much so, don’t worry.”

She nods and takes another drink, and you mirror her. Word spreads quickly amongst the sapphic community at Essex and Leighton had been a big topic of conversation lately. The story was that she had recently come out and was making up for lost time. It wasn’t something that you judged her for, but now that she was here chatting you up, it did make you question the depth of her intentions.

You tilt your head questioningly at her and decide to be bold, “We haven’t connected yet, have we?”

Her cheeks flush and she hides her face with her cup again as she responds, “No… we have not…”

“So were you truly sent by the frat guys to come check on me or did you… maybe volunteer yourself for the task?”

She feigns offense at your question and then shrugs, “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

You flash her a knowing smirk and take another sip of your drink. You’re more than interested in her, but you’re also more than nervous. Casual hook-ups have never been your thing and Leighton was the type of woman that you’d want to spend more than just one exciting night with. But for all you knew, that’s not what she wanted right now.

“Well…” she begins quietly, “since you aren’t enjoying yourself here, would it be okay for me to take you somewhere else?”

You slowly nod your head and meet her eyes, “Can I ask you a question first, Leighton?”

She nods back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“What are you looking for, right now?”

She gives you a confused expression, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want one fun night and nothing more, or someone who might last longer than one fun night?”

She considers the question for a moment, “Is it important for you to know the answer to that before we go further?”

“It is,” you reply, “I just want to manage my expectations.”

She nods in understanding, “You’re the first person who’s actually asked that… honestly, I’m just looking to feel good. Lately, that has resulted in a string of fun nights… but I’m not opposed to having more than that, really.”

“So, you’re saying that if you hit it off with someone and they asked you out, you wouldn’t outright reject them?”

She nods, “Right. Does that… help you with your concerns?”

“Yeah, it does. Thank you.” You smile again and she smiles back, seemingly moved by your tender nature. You hold out your hand to her and finally introduce yourself and she echoes your name back to you as she happily shakes your hand.

“So… about my offer?”

You giggle and nod, “Get me out of here, Leighton.”

The girl grabs your hand and quickly leads you out of the frat party. You’re able to quickly shoot your friend an explanatory text so that she won’t worry about your whereabouts, and soon enough, you're trailing behind Leighton Murray as she takes you across campus back to her dorm.

You hold onto her hand the entire time. She swiftly unlocks the door to her suite, which is thankfully empty at the moment, and she pulls you straight into her room, shutting the door behind you.

You lock eyes and smile, a little nervously on both of your parts. It was comforting to you that there was some anxiety for her as well. But you’ve never been one to let that anxiousness prevent you from taking the lead. You bring your hands up to her cheeks and cradle her softly as you pull her in towards you and close the distance between your lips. Her eyes flutter shut and a small sigh escapes her as you kiss. The softness of her, the lipgloss she wears, the perfume on her neck… all of it completely tantalizes you and you suddenly have no trouble falling into her completely.

Her hands drift to the small of your back, then she squeezes your ass playfully and yanks you a little closer to her, which prompts you to gently push her backwards so that she’s against the door. Leighton gasps lightly and you smile in the kiss, knowing that your actions have pleased her. Your parted lips give her the opportunity to graze her tongue over your bottom lip and you eagerly accept it and meet her with yours, deepening the kiss.

You begin to trail your hands down her body, letting your fingertips brush skin where it’s exposed and fidgeting with the fabric of her dress as you go down to her hips and hold onto her firmly. Your touch sends a shiver up her spine and she moans. You pause the kiss for just a moment so that you can take a much needed deep breath, but you keep your nose and forehead pressed against her and meet her gorgeous blue eyes again for a second and you can’t help but be in awe, “fuck…” you breathe.

She nods eagerly and pulls you back in for more. You push her back against the door again, keeping her pinned in place as you gently shift her hair out of the way of her neck and you lean down to place kisses on her skin beneath her jawline and along her pulse point.

She sighs and melts, biting her lower lip and burying her fingers into the hair at the back of your neck to hold onto you. Your lips and tongue explore her soft, sensitive skin and you playfully nibble at her earlobe which makes her gasp before you return to her lips and continue making out with her.

You feel her start to rock her hips, trying to grind against you in search of friction where she needs it. You smile and tease her, slowing down your movements and taking your time to worship the other side of her neck and each collarbone.

She groans, “oh fuck… you… tease...”

You smirk and whisper into her ear, “Feeling needy, Leight? If you want something, you’d better ask for it.”

She whines and bites into her lower lip hard but then indignantly shakes her head, deciding to try to maintain a little bit of brattiness rather than just caving right away.

Your hands drop down to her thighs and start to toy with the bottom hem of her dress, inching the fabric upwards bit by bit and making her squirm while you kiss her collarbones and as much of her chest as is exposed by the low cut.

Your fingertips dance over her skin and give her goosebumps as you touch the backs of her thighs feather-light, keeping your pelvis just out of her reach so that when she rocks her hips, she doesn’t find anything to make contact with. You find a great deal of amusement in watching this powerful woman quickly crumble. She pulls your hair harder and gets even more vocal with her whines and groans, cursing in your ear and desperately seeking more deliberate touch from you.

You keep kissing her neck, touching your lips and tongue softly to her hairline and feeling her pounding heartbeat. You barely hear it, a faint whisper escapes her, “please…”

You raise an eyebrow and pull back to look at her face, “Hm? What was that?”

Leighton grumbles and whispers it again, “please… please.”

“Please, what?”

“Oh my god please fucking fuck me!” She finally blurts.

You smile, satisfied, and decide to oblige her instead of gloating any further. You kiss her lips once more before lowering yourself onto your knees between her legs, her mouth falls open and she stares down at you in awe.

You look up at her and maintain eye contact as you hike up the fabric of her dress even more, until it bunches around her hips and exposes her lace panties and an intoxicating inch of skin between her navel and the underwear. You reach your head up and press a soft, cruel kiss to her center over the fabric which makes her jut her hips and groan, falling back against the door a little bit. You can feel how hot and wet she already is and you try not to let that go to your head.

You slide your hands down the skin of her legs and follow your fingers with your lips, kissing her gently, until your hands reach her heels and you start to take them off of her one at a time while watching her face.

“You’re so gorgeous, Leighton.” You tell her.

She just flushes and nods, helping you by kicking her shoes off and out of the way. Your hands return to her thighs and then slowly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and you start to pull them down. She moans and you feel an overwhelming wave of heat race through your own body and settle between your legs. You watch her eyes as you pull the fabric down and she carefully steps out of it, then you take a moment to admire her like this and you feel like all of this must be a dream.

“Are you ready, Leighton?”

She nods emphatically, “God yes… please…”

You nod and help her drape one of her legs over our shoulder as you get yourself into a solid position and bring your face between her thighs.

She leans back, putting more of her weight against the door and with one more affirmative nod, you extend your tongue and drag it along her.

You hear her moan and can sense her letting her head fall back against the door as she winds her fingers into your hair and holds your head firmly in place so that you are less inclined to pull away.

Your senses are flooded by the taste and feel of her and your own eyes roll back before you shut them completely and draw your focus into pleasing this incredible woman. Your lips and tongue start to work on her slowly, you moan against her and she grinds against you and you can tell that she’s already anxious for release.

You drag your tongue languidly through her folds and pause to push it inside of her before returning to her clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of your tongue. You can easily tell what she likes and wants more of and it doesn’t take long at all to build her up to climax. Your lower face is already drenched in her but you stay in place and maintain the pace and motions that she’s responding to, feeling all of her muscles tense, her breathing quicken and her noises intensify. With just a few more movements of your tongue she finally releases with a long, drawn out moan and you start to slow your ministrations as she rides out her orgasm on your face. She beams widely and laughs joyously through the waves of ecstasy, breathing hard, chest heaving.

You do your best to clean her up and then you quickly stand and help support her as her legs weaken. With a simple lift, you bring her from the door to her bed and lie her down and she curls up with a big smile on her face and says, “holy shit…”

You laugh and crawl into the bed next to her and wrap your arms around her while she rests for a moment, catching her breath and regaining her bearings. You spend a few quiet minutes just spooning her and rubbing her back gently and she smiles and hums happily.

Eventually, she whispers, “You know, I’ve slept with a lot of people recently… but what you just did for me… doesn’t even compare. I feel like you’re on a whole different graph…”

You laugh, “What? That can’t be true.”

“No, I'm being one hundred percent serious. That was insane.”

You smile and get close to her ear and whisper to her, “It doesn’t have to be over…”

“Well right, I need to return the favor…” She starts to roll over toward you but you hold her in place and stop her, leaning over her shoulder and kissing her neck lightly, “sure, you could do that, but I’m talking about it not being over for you…” you whisper against her ear.

“Fuck…” she groans, “are you going for some kind of record?”

“I just want to make you feel good…”

“You’re unreal…”

You flash her a playful smirk and she gets up out of the bed and slips a sock over the door handle to her room, “Bela will understand.”

You both giggle and then she excitedly gets back into the bed with you, climbing onto your lap and immediately capturing your lips in more passionate kisses.

The night skips on, continuing to excite and pleasure you both, and you remind yourself no short of a hundred times to thank your friend for making you come to the party.

Next Chapter

#leighton murray #tslocg #sex lives of college girls #leighton murray fanfiction #leighton murray smut #smut with plot #renee rapp #renee rapp fanfiction #original writing

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ladykailitha · 3 months ago

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A Love For Christmas Part 1

Hello, it's December so that means Christmas!! For the next four weeks, I'm going to be posting two chapters a day until the Sunday before Christmas. And if it stays the eight chapters I'm planning it should be all out on time. (fingers crossed, it is going smoothly soo...)

Summary: Steve is a business man charged with planning his dad's company Christmas party. Christmas has never been a good day for him, so he's a bit of Scrooge as far as the holiday is concerned. So when he meets tree farmer Eddie Munson, the man decided to show Steve what Christmas means. And maybe with a little Christmas magic Steve will find more than just a love for the holiday, he'll find love for Christmas too.

On October 31st, I gathered my best elves and explained my problem.

Dear elves, it has come to my attention in the light of recent events Christmas cheer is down nearly a thousand percent. There aren’t that many of us, so Mrs. Claus and I have come to the conclusion that we should send out ambassadors to places that need it the most. You don’t have to turn the whole town, just one person. Because that one person will have a ripple effect that will spread to others.

These are the list of places we think you’ll do the most good:

I listed off all the towns and I turn to the last elf in the line.

“I have something special in mind for you.”

“Me?” the elf squeaked.

“Yes, I’m sending you to Hawkins, Indiana. I think you’ll do well there.”

“Am I being punished?”

I let out a jolly laugh.

“No little one, not everyone is fit for every job. This is to see what you can do and if this doesn’t work out. We’ll find something else.”

It wasn’t that Steve hated his job. No, of course not. He hated that his boss was his dad and everyone shunned him for it. Even though he had gone to school for it same as they had, but nope. Just because he was the boss’s son, it was nepotism. He hated the long hours. He hated the way they were only surface level do-gooders. Paying only lip service to causes like cancer research, the environment, and the queer community, all the while the bosses lined their pockets with bigger and bigger bonuses, while his coworkers and his, yes his, wages stagnated.

But most of all he hated the way the company did Christmas. All talk about food banks and giving to the poor, while throwing lavish parties and big giveaways to the employees.

So no, he didn’t hate his job. He just hated everything about it.

“Steven!” Mr. Harrington boomed, throwing open the door to his office. “I’m going to need you to throw the Christmas party this year. Dolores is out with COVID again and won’t be able to set everything up.”

Steve bit back a groan of annoyance. He sucked at planning.

But before he could launch a protest that sure she could do it from home or find someone else to do it, Mr. Harrington’s phone rang out loudly in the room.

Mr. Harrington held up a finger to shush him while he checked his message.

“Well, damn,” he grunted. “I’m going to have to find a new secratary. That was her husband. Her funeral is on Saturday at 10am. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He wandered off muttering to himself, wondering if he could get a hot blond this time and whether or Steve’s mother would even notice.

Steve buried his face in his hands and let out a muffled scream. He pinched himself and even picked up a paper to see if he could read it. But alas, he was not dreaming. This wasn’t a nightmare.

He was in actual fucking hell.

“Steven!” Mr. Harrington bellowed, storming into his apartment two days later. “One of the IT guys, Milton, Morris or something–”

“Mitch?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mr. Harrington snapped his fingers. “That’s the one! He managed to get into Delores’s computer and get a list of the vendors and things for the Christmas party. I had him email it to you.”

Steve wandered over to his phone and picked it up. Sure enough there was a very detailed list of everything from decorators and caterers, to budgets for each. It was very well organized.

“Yeah, everything looks good,” he murmured and set his phone back down. He pulled out a vest and suit coat and began putting them on.

“Just one small change,” Mr. Harrington said. “The board wants three of those ‘rent a tree’ deals instead of one big one.”

Steve frowned. “A what now?”

“It’s very eco-friendly,” Mr. Harrington said. “Basically you rent the tree and then give it back for them to be used again the next year, then after they reach a certain height the get planted in the forest.”

“Okay.” Steve wasn’t sure there was anything else he could say to that.

Mr. Harrington blinked at him. “Where are you going so dressed up on a Saturday? You got a meeting I didn’t see on your schedule?”

“I’m going to the funeral, Dad.”

“Whose funeral?” Mr. Harrington asked, his brow wrinkling in confusion, bordering on anger.

Steve paused in pursuit of his nicer dress shoes and turned to him slowly as if he was trying not spoke a predator into attacking.

“Dolores Gardener, your former secretary,” he said just as slow as he turned. Part of him wanted to hold his hands up in a show of submission, but he wasn’t sure how well he would react to that.

Then Mr. Harrington’s face cleared. “Oh, so you drew the short straw. You poor bastard. I already sent them flowers so don’t bother on that front. You mother is demanding your presence at dinner tomorrow. Seven o’clock, sharp. You know how she gets when you’re late.”

He left as loudly as he came, and Steve sat down hard on the bed. He buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a long winter.

Steve supposed that the best part about doing the Christmas party was that he was not only given a blank check for all this shit, but that he had been given the time off needed to get it all done.

He didn’t have to show up in the office for anything until the 24th, unless he needed a signature for anything.

He started his hunt for the trees first, mainly because the place the board wanted to use closed up two years ago and they had only picked the first name that came up on a Google search.

He found a rent-a-tree place in nearby Hawkins and decided to take a look.

Steve got into the back seat of his father’s company car and tapped on the roof, to let the drive know he was in and ready to go.

“This seems like quite a distance to get a Christmas tree,” Murray, the driver said, looking at Steve in the rear view mirror.

Steve let out a long sigh. “Yeah, but it’s what Dad wants...”

“And whatever Clint Harrington wants, he gets,” Murray agreed, resigned and pulled into traffic.

They passed in silence as Steve looked up Hawkins. He found out that the town were really big on Christmas each year. Complete with a Christmas village, Santa reigning supreme on a red velvet throne; an ice skating rink set up in the middle of town, though you could ice skate on either of the nearby lakes as well; ice sculpting contests; huge hills for sledding; sleigh rides. Like the whole town transformed into the North Pole from Nov. 1st to Dec. 31st. Two whole months of Christmas.

Steve thought that would have been his own personal hell.

He tossed his phone on the seat next to him and looked back up at Murray. “Oh, I meant to ask, did you get that dog you were looking at?”

Murray’s eyes lit up. “I did.” And began to tell Steve all about the mad cap adventures of Scamp, the corgi.

Finally they were pulling up to the tree farm. In bright festive letters were the words Munson’s Nursery and Tree Farm.

Steve stepped out of the car and looked around. There were so many trees of various types of fir and suddenly he was instantly overwhelmed. He started wandering around and soon he was lost. Not just his direction but what he was supposed to be looking for. He felt like Charles Brown. Like he was going to pick the wrong tree and Christmas was going to be ruin.

His eyes started welling up and he just wanted to go home. He turned around suddenly and bumped into someone who had been coming up behind him.

“Shit!” the man cried out as Steve yelled, “Sorry!”

Then the man’s arms came up to steady him. “Hey are you okay?”

“No,” Steve said with the shake of his head. “I’m supposed to get three trees for the company Christmas party and the person who usually does it, passed away recently and my dad picked me to her place but I’m so overwhelmed!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the man murmured, rubbing Steve’s arms slowly. “Take a deep breath there, sweetheart. You’re hyperventilating.”

Steve took a deep breath and then another until he could see straight. And in the light falling snow the man in front of him cast an ethereal figure. He had long dark curls and dimpled grin and the biggest brown eyes Steve had even seen.

“There you are,” the man said gently. “I’m Eddie. My uncle runs the nursery, so lets find him and we can talk about what you need and for how long, okay?”

Steve took another deep breath and nodded. “Thank you. I’m Steve.”

“Come follow me, Stevie,” Eddie said cheerfully.

He turned a corner and spotted a volunteer. “Hey, Robbie, did you see which direction Uncle Wayne went?”

She peered around the area and then pointed. “Last I saw him he was in the Douglas firs with Mrs. Click.”

Eddie grimaced. “I wonder if she’ll trying grade him for his ‘knowledge’ of trees.” He shook his head and bid Steve to follow him.

They turned a couple of corners and there was a nice older man with thinning hair and a soft smile talking with what Steve assumed was pickled lemon come to life. Everything about her was pinched and yellow. And angry.

Very, very angry.

“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie said cheerfully. “I have a doosey for ya. This gentleman needs three trees for his work. I’ll take over for you if you want to help him out?”

Wayne smiled that same crinkle-eyed, dimple smile his nephew had and turned to Steve. “First time buy a live tree?”

“First time buying any tree,” Steve admitted dryly. “Not much of a Christmas person really.”

Eddie whipped around. “How can you not love Christmas?” he said, scandalized, holding his heart in his hands. “It’s only the most magical day of the year!”

“Young man, are you going to help me or not?” Mrs. Click hissed. “I’m looking for a Douglas fir and these aren’t Douglas firs!”

Wayne led Steve away as Eddie looked around himself in confusion. “Ma’am, these are Douglas firs. Maybe describe what you’re looking for and we see if we have it...”

Steve turned to Wayne. “Is he going to be okay with her? She reminds me of my mom and not in a good way.”

Wayne threw his head back and laughed. “He’ll be fine. He’ll play dumb until either they figure out what she wants or she goes elsewhere. Happens every year.”

Steve looked behind him, worriedly, but followed Wayne to a nice little hut in the center of the maze of trees. Wayne unlocked the door and sat him down.

“All right,” Wayne said sliding over an info-graphic that had roughly a dozen or so different trees. “We don’t have every tree on that list, but if you like one of the ones that isn’t I can try to find you something close enough.”

Steve pulled the nicely drawn poster closer to him. “Wow, I didn’t realize that there was so many.”

“That’s fair,” Wayne grabbed the poster and slid it off to the side. “So lets narrow it down. What’s the tree going to be for? Inside or outside?”

“Inside,” Steve said quickly. “The ceilings are fifteen feet.”

Wayne nodded in approval. “That’s good that you know that. Most people don’t and try buying a fifteen footer when they only have ten foot ceilings. Is it going to be lit? Decorated?”

Steve nodded. Another answer he knew right away.

“Will there be presents under it?” Wayne asked warmly.

“No,” he said with a small, fragile smile. “It’s for an office.”

Wayne pulled out a piece of paper and started jotting down Steve’s answers. “Right, any other requirements?”

Steve chewed on the skin around his nails. “Do you have the rent-a-tree program? My fa–I mean my boss was hoping to go green this year.”

Wayne’s eyes narrowed at the slip up but said nothing. Instead he pulled out a list from the top drawer of the desk. “These are the trees that are available to be rented out. Most of them are Douglas firs, like the ones where you found me. Though we do have a lovely trio of Fraser firs that are about six feet tall.”

Steve pulled the poster over to him again and then nodded. “I’ll take all three.”

Wayne blinked at him for a moment. “This will be an office, I’m assuming. Do you have house keeping that can water the trees?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said. “We have other live plants year round and I have already cleared it with the head of housekeeping before coming here.”

Wayne nodded appreciatively. “Sounds like you’ve got everything figured out. Why were you so nervous before?”

Steve ducked his head and blushed. “It’s my first year doing it and I’m not really into the whole holiday. I was worried I’d get it wrong, especially since I really don’t care, but the people I’m buying for do.”

Wayne nodded again and started pulling up the paper work for the trees. “If you can write the name of the company, the address, and the date they need to be delivered by, I’ll ring you up a bill of sale.”

“Great.”

He started filling out the information and was almost done when Eddie walked back in with a wide grin and a check in hand.

“That saucy minx tried to get me to tie the tree to her car before she paid,” he said easily. “Can you believe it?”

Wayne chuckled. “Yes. Does it every year. Would you move our rentable Frasers, our friend here will be taking all three.”

Eddie’s eyebrows wagged. “Friend indeed! I’ll be right on it.” He got this grin on his face as Steve pulled out the checkbook from his briefcase. “You said you were planning your work Christmas do, right?”

Steve handed the check to Wayne who then gave him a receipt in return, then he turned to Eddie. “Well, sure. I’ve got to buy all the decorations and lights and all that jazz. Why do you ask?”

Eddie licked his lips slowly. “You see, I’ve got friends who might be able to help you out with some of that stuff.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “What do you get out of it?”

“Let me show you the fun side of Christmas,” Eddie said with an even bigger grin. “You get everything you need, my friends get your company’s business, it’s win/win/win for everyone. What do you say?”

Steve snapped his briefcase shut and stuck out his hand. “I think you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Eddie could barely contain his glee. “Just wait until I tell Robin, she thought for sure you’d say no!”

Steve threw his head back and laughed.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

The italics are Santa, if that's not quite clear.

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #christmas fic #businessman steve harrington #christmas tree farmer eddie munson #hallmark christmas AU

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theragethatisdesire · 1 year ago

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show off - eren jaeger x afab!reader x jean kirschstein, 18+!!

something wild and wicked came over me while considering the dynamics of the erejean threesome, and i realized we all deserve to see the incident that started it all. this is the official part 2/prequel to three's a... and it is very very fun and tasty. i feel like i haven't been posting as much, so i am super excited to get this up. i hope you guys enjoy as much as i did writing it :) it's also from eren's pov which you guys know i adore

pairing: jean kirschstein x reader, eren jaeger x reader, a lil bit of eren x jean tension but nothing physical

wc: 6.2k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: swearing, smut, threesome, implied internalized homophobia??? (literally just like, a pinch. eren has a "no homo" moment at the end lol), oral sex (male receiving), pet names (slut, brat, bitch, baby, princess), eren's a bit of a hard dom in this one, degradation, humiliation, penetrative vaginal sex, thick tension between eren and jean, eren's a menace

enjoy :)

Eren should be mad.

Eren should absolutely be mad, waking earlier than normal and padding into his kitchen, finding this scene waiting for him. You, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a stringy thong and leaning over the counter enough to make that fact exceedingly obvious, and Jean, his roommate and friend since high school, shirtless and smirking, flirting over coffee. When he announces his presence, the shame and surprise on both of your faces is evident enough to confirm his suspicions; there’s definitely something building between the two of you, and whether it be a harmless crush or more, it’s there. Eren should be mad.

He’s just…not.

Despite his constant struggles to bite back his temper, especially when it comes to you, Eren surprises himself by the pointed lack of red in his vision. The heat’s still there, though; something coils in his chest that reminds him of anger, has the same flavor and the same spark, but none of the pulsing rhythm is there. Only something slow and catching, simmering in the pit of his stomach.

You come over again that night, winding up snuggled into his bare chest and intensely concentrating on the newest episode of Game of Thrones that Eren’s been dying to watch, but can’t bring himself to pay attention to. The image of this morning, you and Jean leaning into each other and smiling conspiratorially over whatever conversation had been struck up, is burned into his brain. And he’s still not mad.

“Do you want to fuck Jean?” Eren doesn’t parse his words; he’s no good with them anyway, and he’s a straight-to-the-point person as it stands.

“What?” You shoot up off his chest, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed accusingly at him. “What gave you that idea?”

Eren’s not buying it, though; there’s a little flush rising to your cheeks, and it betrays you. Not only do you flirt with Jean when Eren’s not watching, but you do want to fuck him. And Eren’s just not mad.

“You two were flirting in the kitchen this morning– I saw you,” Eren snorts when you try to interrupt him in protest, “and it’s not like we both haven’t known about Jean’s little crush on you for the last couple months.”

“We’re friendly,” you shrug, looking down into your lap guiltily, “we’re trying to be friends.”

“Well you’re both doing a damn good job of it,” Eren rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry if I made you mad, I wasn’t trying to be flirty with him, I just–”

“Want to fuck him,” Eren finishes for you, carefully watching your reaction. You scowl at him, irritated, but your heart’s not in it, he can tell.

“Why are you so stuck on this idea of me wanting to sleep with Jean? I’m sorry if I went a little too far in the kitchen earlier, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

“You keep bringing up this threesome idea,” Eren strikes right where he knows your mind’s already headed, “is it because of Jean? Is he the guy you want us to fuck?”

“You said you’d never do that,” you bite into your lip, suddenly so embarrassed. Eren’s overcome with a sudden urge to comfort you, to smooth the crease between your eyebrows and tell you that it’s okay. It confuses him, and he knows he can’t do that without betraying whatever…odd feelings are brewing in his stomach at the idea of you and Jean together, of you Jean and Eren together.

“Is it Jean?”

“It’s not Jean,” you huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not–”

“I mean, if it was going to happen, I’d rather it be Jean than some fucking rando.”

Eren’s caught you off guard, and he can tell. Your mouth hangs open a little, trying to mouth the words that you want to say, but nothing comes out. The flush on your face grows deeper, and Eren wants to kiss you. He’s always loved this about you, that you’re so filthy deep down, but you get so shy about telling him what you really want.

“W-why is that?”

“At least he’s our friend,” Eren shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant despite the bulge that’s already starting to grow in his pants at the thought, “he wouldn’t cross any lines or pull out any crazy shit on us.”

“I guess so.” You’ve returned to fiddling with the hem of your shirt, avoiding his eyes. Eren reaches out, tilts your chin up to look at him.

“C’mon, be honest with me. Is it Jean?”

“Maybe a little.” Your words may be reluctant, but your eyes have taken on that glossy, distant look that Eren knows so well. It is Jean.

Eren pauses to wonder what you’ve fantasized about in the dark, what you’ve been holding back from him. Maybe one in your mouth, one thrusting into you from behind? Riding one and taking the other down your throat? The pictures that flash through his brain have a groan threatening to slip from his lips, the raw hotness of it cutting straight through the weirdness that he’s sitting here, staring at his girlfriend, and thinking about Jean with a tent in his boxers.

“Would you do it? If you were put in the right position?”

“I…yes. I would.” Your words come out in breathless gasps; oh, you have it bad, for both of them, Eren realizes. You catch yourself before he can drag you down too far though, reining yourself in with an airy chuckle. “But I doubt Jean would even go for it. He doesn’t seem all too freaky.”

“You never know,” Eren concedes, letting the matter lie for now and pulling you back into his chest, “but you would do it, right? If he was into it.”

“If you both were, then yeah, absolutely.” Eren can feel you subtly rubbing your thighs together, and he smirks above your head where you can’t see him.

“Maybe one day we can ask him.”

A lighthearted laugh shakes your frame. “Yeah, maybe one day.”

From then on out, Eren can’t escape the plaguing thoughts of you and Jean and himself, tangled up together in a mess of sweaty limbs. Images of you gagging on Jean while Eren has a hand on the back of your head, shoving you further along his length, keep him distracted while he’s at work. Making himself cum into his hand in the shower thinking of watching Jean, face between your legs and two knuckles deep in you, Eren telling him how to make you cum, how to make you scream.

It’s become a private obsession for him, one he can’t run away from. Eren has you over at the house every night nowadays, insisting he’s been going through a lot at work and he misses your company. You, being the sweet little thing that you are, have no idea that he’s watching, baiting Jean into coming clean.

Eren has happened to “lose” all of his sweatpants but one pair, forcing you to walk around their apartment in those short little sleep shorts you favor, or ideally, just your panties and a t-shirt. He observes Jean as you pitter patter around their kitchen, keeping track of just how many times Jean’s eyes flit to where the shirt rides up as you reach for something high in the cabinets. He’s not just watching Jean, he’s watching you too; the way your breath hitches in your throat when Jean slicks his hair back, when he stretches, arms over his head, and lets a little slip of skin show.

And when he can find the presence of mind to focus, late at night with your mouth on him or his face buried between your thighs, Eren listens closely, and he’s rewarded. There’s the telltale creak of feet on the carpet, of someone lurking just outside of Eren’s barely-cracked, “accidentally” left-open bedroom door. If he listens close enough, sometimes he swears he can hear little grunts and groans coming from across the hall.

You two want each other badly enough that it’s practically weighing the air down, and Eren’s not mad, he’s frustrated. You’re both so shy, so clearly uncomfortable with the attraction between each other, how is he ever going to manage to get you both to just say it?

It turns out that Eren’s not just an observant hothead, he’s a lucky observant hothead.

It’s been three weeks since you let Eren in on your little crush, three weeks of mind-numbing observation and little bits of bait thrown out, but neither you nor Jean have risen to any of it. It’s not until you’re finishing up dinner with Eren in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a tank top and the tiniest shorts he’s ever seen, that Jean comes home, sweaty and out-of-breath from the gym, and Eren sees his opportunity.

“Hey,” Jean breathes out in greeting, whipping his sticky shirt over his head and tossing it to the ground.

“Hi, Jean,” you smile amicably at him through the doorway. Eren watches as Jean’s expression lightens, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a wide smile.

“You save me something?”

“Always.” You shake a full Tupperware container at him meaningfully before sliding it into the fridge.

“You’re too good to me,” he whistles, hands running through his hair, “I’ll get to it after I shower.”

“How was the gym?” Eren makes his presence known, looking up from his phone where he’s seated at the dining table they’ve put just outside the kitchen. Jean meets Eren’s gaze with an all-too-obvious blush rising to his cheeks; Jean always gets that little embarrassed look when Eren catches him flirting with you.

“Fine,” Jean shrugs noncommittally.

“Any cute girls?” Eren asks, returning his gaze to his phone. He can viscerally feel the startled look you give him, the stuttering of Jean’s fluid movements next to you across the room, getting a cup from the cabinet.

“What?”

Eren lifts his gaze to find exactly what he expected: Jean, subconsciously having drawn just a little too close to you for comfort, glaring over at him; you, eyes wide and questioning, the slightest hint of a frown creasing your forehead. Eren lets an easy smile grace his mouth, shrugs.

“Were there any hot girls at the gym?”

“No,” Jean answers carefully, slowly pulling his arm down, cup in hand. Eren doesn’t miss the way the two of you glance at each other, the unsaid what the fuck? passing between you two in the air.

“I figured as much,” Eren shrugs again, scrolls on his phone, “not like you’d notice, considering how much drooling you do over my girlfriend.”

The words hit the floor like a shattering glass, spreading a heavy, thick silence over the room. Eren doesn’t dare look up from his screen, doesn’t want to disturb the aura of casual conversation that he’s worked to establish. He can’t jump in to reassure Jean that he doesn’t mind the other man’s flirtation and ogling glances, not too quickly. Eren has to spin this just right, back the both of you into the corner you so desperately want to be in.

“Eren,” you finally hiss, scowling at him. Eren knows you must be confused, but you’ll understand in a moment if he can play his cards right. “What the hell?”

Jean, for his part, is stock-still and bright red, looking between you and Eren like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Eren rolls his eyes and stands from the table, leans against it with his hands in his pockets, twitching with anticipation, “we’ve talked about his little crush on you.”

“I– I don’t,” Jean tries to stutter out a rebuttal, but Eren cuts his words short with a cool, calculated grin.

“Yeah, you do,” Eren saunters over to the kitchen to place firm hands on your shoulders, turning you to face Jean, “but if you haven’t noticed that she has a little crush on you too, then you’re blind.”

“Eren!” Eren can hear the panic in your voice, can feel your shoulders tense up with embarrassment, but he’s hardly paying attention. His eyes never leave Jean, watching as the muscles of his chest and shoulders flex with the tension humming through his body.

“What are you playing at, Jaeger?” Jean narrows his eyes, finally picking up on Eren’s little game. Eren bites back a grin; if only Jean understood what game they were actually playing here.

“Nothing,” Eren says innocently, knowing full-well that the dark glint in his eyes is telling a different story, “it’s not like I blame you, I mean, look at her.”

Eren rubs relaxing circles into the skin of your shoulders, urging you to loosen up under his touch. You’re still strung tight, practically vibrating with confusion and shame under him, but Eren can feel the way your skin’s starting to run hot. Most of that tautness in your muscles is nothing but pure, unadulterated want, Eren’s felt it enough times now to know the difference.

“Eren…” the pinch of anger has faded from your voice now, and Eren can hear the cautionary, are we doing this now? tone hiding behind the words. In response, Eren digs his thumb into a particularly tough spot between your shoulder and your neck, wrenches an unwilling gasp from you.

“She really likes you, Jean,” Eren’s leaning over your shoulder, ignoring your warning completely, practically nose-to-nose with Jean now, “wants to fuck you, wants us to fuck you.”

Jean’s face stutters while his mouth remains silent, but just before he hardens his mouth into a flat line, schools his face back into that perpetually suspicious scowl of his, Eren catches it. Jean’s trying to keep himself closed off, but Eren’s faster, and he can see the flicker of arousal that floats over Jean’s face.

“You’re fucking with me,” Jean counters, but there’s a questioning lilt to his words. Eren grins, shakes his head. Jean looks down at you, trembling and frozen in Eren’s grip. “He’s fucking with me, right?”

“Tell him,” Eren coos, leaning down to whisper hot against your ear the way he knows will get a fire started in your belly, “tell him the truth, it’s okay.”

“He’s not,” you choke out, strangled and nervous, “it’s…it’s not a game.”

Jean blinks once at you, twice at Eren. Eren grabs you by the chin, gently guides your mouth to his. All of his suspicions are confirmed when he kisses you; you open up for him a little too easily, let him suck your tongue into his mouth with no resistance at all. And when he releases you, looks back up at Jean with a question in his eyes only to find that Jean’s gaze has darkened, mouth just ever-so-slightly ajar, Eren smirks. He’s got both of you right where he wants you.

“What do you think, Kirschstein?” Eren brings his hands up to hold your breasts, twisting your nipples through the thin fabric of your tank top. “Isn’t she cute?”

“I, I mean–”

“She’s so pretty,” Eren nips at your ear, pulls a little whimper from you, but he sees how your eyes never leave Jean’s, “and she listens so well, such an obedient little thing.”

“Eren,” you pant, the last bits of your anxiety showing in the tremble of your voice. Eren shushes you disapprovingly, sneaks a hand down between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make your knees weak.

“Gets bratty when she’s nervous,” Eren explains, flitting his eyes up towards Jean, who looks like he hasn’t taken a breath in several minutes, “don’t you want to show Jean how good you can be, hm?”

“Mhm,” you hum. It’s quiet, but it makes Jean’s eyes widen, makes him suck in a sharp fuck between his teeth.

“Why don’t you kiss her, hm?” Eren shoves you into Jean’s arms, startling both of you.

“Jaeger, I don’t–”

“I’m serious,” Eren backs away a few feet to prove his point, smiling earnestly, “kiss her.”

Jean scowls, looks between you, Eren, back to you. Eren takes note of how Jean’s hands haven’t left their grip on your waist where he caught your stumble from Eren’s push, how your arms are tucked into Jean’s tacky, strong chest.

“Is he serious?” Jean murmurs down at you.

“Only if you want it.” Eren hates the self-conscious waver in your voice, wishes he could have told you everything he’s seen over the last few weeks, all the evidence he’s collected that yes, Jean very much does want it. But then again, if he had, he wouldn’t be treated with the sight before him now: you and Jean, nervous in each other’s arms, practically vibrating with the idea of exploring each other for the first time.

“I,” –Jean licks his lips– “I want it. Want you.”

“Me too,” your voice is hardly louder than a breath, Eren recognizes the sound in a heartbeat. You’re already strung out, fingernails digging ever-so-slightly into the skin of Jean’s chest.

“Can I?” Jean’s so sickeningly sweet with you, Eren almost wants to roll his eyes. He likes to be sweet with you sometimes, but if Jean only knew how much you could take, the dirty, mean things that you beg Eren for…it occurs to Eren that maybe he can show Jean sometime, and his boxers start to tent underneath his sweats.

“Yes,” you tilt your chin up to Jean pleadingly, and Jean’s resolve finally breaks.

Eren’s delighted to see that Jean’s chasteness doesn’t hold out long; after only a few minutes have passed, your hands are flying all over each other, breathless little moans passing between your mouths. Jean’s hand trails down to cup your ass, and Eren looks on intently as the flesh gives under Jean’s grip through hooded eyes. Eren’s hand has subconsciously traveled down to the front of his sweats, palming roughly at the erection that’s showing through the thick fabric.

Jean starts to wander away from your mouth, eyes shut as he peppers gentle kisses along your jawline, feather-light nips down your neck. As if he’d forgotten about your clothes, Jean’s eyes widen when he feels the strap of your tank top under his mouth, and his eyes flit to Eren in question. Eren nods at him, tries to offer an encouraging smile that comes off more like a wicked smirk.

Jean slowly– ever so slowly– slips the strap over your shoulder, kissing at the newly-bare skin. Eren already knows you’re sensitive there; Jean quickly learns from the quivering gasp that reaches his ears.

“Is this okay?” Jean mumbles against your skin; Eren has to choke down a gag at his sugary tone.

“Take it off,” Eren answers for you, cheeks burning at how coarse he already sounds, throat swollen and thick with arousal. Jean scowls at Eren over your shoulder, turns softer eyes back to you.

“Please,” you echo Eren’s sentiment, raising your arms to emphasize your answer. Eren doesn’t miss the slight shake of Jean’s fingers as he reaches for the hem of your tank top, rids you of it slowly. Once you’re bare, Jean’s eyes darken, almost glossing over.

“Fuck,” Jean breathes out, ghosting a thumb over one of your peaked nipples. Eren’s chest swells with pride at how completely wrecked you’ve gotten Jean already; he’s practically drooling down at your half-bare form.

“Told you she was pretty.” Eren grins, gripping his erection harder through his pants. You were right about this, you were so right. There’s not enough blood flow above Eren’s waistline for him to focus on how bizarre it is that he’s getting off to another man, his friend even, pawing at his girlfriend; all he can process is the tangible heat of the room, memorizing each little spot on your body Jean’s hands return to in admiration, learning which parts of you Jean likes and which actions of Jean’s make your knees shake.

You peek over your shoulder at Eren, as if you’ve just remembered he’s in the room, and his knees nearly give out. Your lips are swollen and wet from Jean’s slow, strong kisses, from pulling your lip between your teeth in shame, and your eyes are glistening with unshed tears of pure want. Eren’s never seen you so beautiful.

“Do you want to…” you trail off, offering Eren a beckoning hand, but he declines, grinning at you.

“Have your fun,” Eren says, words a sharp blade against Jean’s steadfast comfort, “you begged for it enough.”

Your mouth stutters open in embarrassment, a half-formed protest on your lips, but Jean’s deft fingers grab your chin, gently directing you back to him. He gives Eren a chastising frown, clear disapproval of Eren’s snark. Eren thinks that he likes the contrast they give you as a team; Eren the firm hand of discipline, and Jean the soothing balm to ease your cries.

“Is he telling the truth?” Jean questions you softly, free hand cupping your breast ever-so-tenderly. Eren watches your back arch, watches the way you lean desperately into Jean’s touch. “Did you beg for this?”

“Yes,” you say, voice breaking under the weight of your arousal.

“Okay,” Jean nods, as if he needs any more reassurance, Eren thinks with a roll of his eyes.

“Her mouth,” Eren calls out, unable to rein in the telltale rasp of desperation in his voice, “she’s good with her mouth.”

Jean’s eyebrows furrow in thought; Eren can see the choices flying across his face, to have you spread on the counter before him, feel the warmth of your walls around his fingers, or the soft give of your throat around his cock.

“I like doing that,” you whisper, so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you. Jean’s eyes shoot open in surprise, until a slow, understanding smile spreads over his face. Eren almost wheezes with relief.

“You like using your mouth?” Jean thumbs lovingly at your lip, smiles wider at your enthusiastic nod. Without being told (Eren decides to reward you later for being so good for your guest, showing off how well he’s trained you) you climb down onto your knees, sitting back and waiting patiently.

Jean looks back to Eren, the last thin string of hesitation taut between them and aching to be cut. Eren snaps it with an affirmative nod of his head, shoves his pants and boxers down to finally free his dick and bring it against the familiar skin of his palm.

Jean’s eyes flick to Eren’s length, pausing just a little too long. Eren doesn’t have the wherewithal to think too much into that now, only to appreciate the rush of heat it sends through his veins. In answer, Jean pushes his shorts down his legs, sending the compression boxers he’d worn for the gym sliding to the floor with them, cock bobbing free and dangling in front of your face.

“Pretty,” you murmur, wrapping your hand around the base and pressing a light kiss to the tip affectionately. Jean’s head falls back, and he groans; a throaty, appreciative sound.

Eren was growing frustrated initially with Jean’s softness towards you, but it hadn’t occurred to him that you might behave differently towards Jean than you do towards him. When you take Eren in your mouth, you’re all enthusiasm, dipping as far as you can go the moment he taps your tongue, retching on him, drool hanging in long strings from your tongue and wetting your chest.

With Jean, however, you place curious little kisses up the bottom of him, deliver kitten licks to the tip before swirling your tongue in long, slow circles around where he’s flushed and dripping for you. Jean swears repeatedly under his breath, brings a tentative hand to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair. Eren’s own hand slows where he’s jerking off, his gaze honing in to look on in wonder as a woman he thought he knew so well reveals a new side of herself to both of the men watching her.

“That’s– shit,” Jean groans, head lolling off his shoulders and eyebrows knitted in pleasure.

Eren feels a poignant rush of pride at watching Jean become unraveled from your mouth, watching how good you make him feel. It’s a relief for Eren as much as it is for Jean, he thinks, to watch some of that iron-clad composure drop, see the way Jean’s jaw drops slack, his shoulders slouch.

“She’s good, isn’t she?” Eren hardly recognizes his own voice, gravelly as he speaks into the sticky air. Jean meets Eren’s eyes, both of their gazes half-lidded and desperate.

“So good,” Jean answers, only breaking eye contact when a satisfied little hum rings out from you, sending vibrations ricocheting through Jean’s body and making him roll his head back again, a little moan echoing out into the room.

“Doing so good for him, baby,” Eren strides closer, bold and half-mad, wanting to see the way your cheeks hollow around Jean, the way that drool is starting to collect in a glossy sheen on your chin. “You like it? Like having him down your throat?”

You nod, mouth still full and eyes shining up at them, glazed over and content. Eren softly cups the back of your head for a whisper of a moment, loving that he has this relationship with you, loving that he can watch such a sacred sight and know that you love him all the same, loving what a filthy little thing he’s turned you into.

“Fuck,” Jean exhales, eyes widening as Eren’s tenderness morphs into something urgent, shoving you further along Jean’s length, “don’t– don’t choke her–”

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it?” Eren’s affectionate gaze turns hard and expectant, hand forcing your head to move faster, harder, further. “You love having your mouth full, don’t you? Nasty little slut.”

“Mhm,” you whine around Jean’s cock, pulling a throaty groan out from him.

“You’re being– shit, too rough with her,” Jean tries and fails to shoot Eren a glare, eyes flitting back down to you when your throat constricts around him with a gag.

“She loves it,” Eren corrects him coolly, mouth quirking up at the corner when you retch, “loves being whored out. You want his cum down your throat? Show him how bad you want it.”

You slip your tongue out, letting it rub down the thick vein on the underside of Jean’s cock, opening your throat that much more for him. Jean nearly whimpers, bringing his hand to the other side of your head, holding you softer, more gently than Eren, but clearly beginning to lose himself.

“So good for me, princess,” Jean murmurs down at you, chest beginning to heave with the growing intensity of your movements. You blink up, hearts in your hooded eyes, humming around Jean affectionately. Eren chuckles darkly.

“Is that what you are? Jean’s little princess?” Eren shoves you down particularly hard, grinning cruelly as your body constricts with a vicious gag, Jean groaning loudly next to him.

“F-fuck, I’m–”

“Getting close?” Eren murmurs in Jean’s direction, never taking his eyes off of where you’re on your knees, crying and gagging and working so hard for Jean’s cum, “I bet. She’s fucking good.”

Your eyes flick between the two men towering over you, trying desperately to keep your throat open to receive the little thrusts of Jean’s hips, hands folded in your lap obediently as you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in a fruitless attempt to gain some much-needed friction. Eren notices the steady, needy rocking of your hips, smirks triumphantly.

“Look at her, like a bitch in heat,” Eren sneers, “squirming and shit, trying to get herself off with your cock down her throat. Give her what she wants, Kirschstein, come on.”

Your gaze lands on Jean, watery eyes blinking pleadingly. Eren can hear the little hitches in Jean’s breath growing more frequent, more urgent, and he isn’t sure where he wants to look more: down at you, so needy and pleading on the floor, throat stuffed and wet between the legs, or Jean, strung out and panting down at you, hips canting into your mouth harshly.

And then Jean’s cumming, and Eren realizes where he wants to look, has to squeeze the base of his cock hard. Jean throws his head back, eyes screwed shut, hand fisting into your hair and fingertips rubbing against the back of Eren’s hand, a deep, raspy groan clawing its way out of his chest. His hips push forward of their own accord; Eren can hear you coughing as Jean cums down your throat, a lot by the sound of it, but Eren can’t be bothered to look away from the other man, fucked out and untethered all from your mouth. Eren’s damn close to busting from just watching Jean cum, knowing the feeling all too well and never having anticipated how erotic it would be to watch another man be brought to his knees by you on yours.

“Holy shit,” Jean breathes, barely a whisper of a statement, chuckling airily down at you when you release him with a little pop.

“Was that…good?” You venture, smiling shyly. Eren nearly scoffs; you’re so good at playing the part of the innocent little thing, when he knows better. You’re a menace, a vixen.

“That was incredible,” Jean says, and Eren can hear the bare honesty in his statement.

“Up.” Eren interrupts your little moment with Jean to tug you to your feet. It prompts an expression of bewilderment to appear on your face, as if you’d forgotten that he needs to get off too, and so do you. Eren turns to Jean, appraises him. “I’m going to fuck her, you’re more than welcome to stay.”

“Wait, Eren–”

“Wait?” Eren chides, ripping those tiny shorts from your body like the inconvenience they are, leaving you bare and wanting. “Don’t you want to get fucked? I mean, look at you. You’re soaked.”

There’s a little glisten at the apex of your thighs, the evidence of you rubbing your legs together in a desperate attempt for stimulation shining in the low lights of the kitchen. Eren pulls you over to the chair that had started it all, where he’d been sitting when this beautiful opportunity had stumbled across him. He sits, tugging you into his lap with a smack to your ass, settling you over his cock and letting you grind yourself against it, slick him up.

“Tell me,” Eren pinches your chin, forces your eyes to his, “don’t you want me to fuck you?”

“Please, please,” you gasp, working your hips over him like a woman starved, like your last chance at salvation is getting Eren as deep inside of you as he’ll go. Eren smiles, pleased with your answer, and lifts your hips, letting you sink down on him with an endless, pitchy moan. He glances over your shoulder to see Jean, sitting across the table from you both, tugging absentmindedly on his half-hard cock and watching intently. The sight of it fuels the fire in Eren’s veins, convinces him to convince you to keep showing off, show Jean how hot you two can be when you get into it.

“Give it to me then,” Eren slaps your ass again, nips at your jaw, “show me how bad you need to be fucked, baby.”

“E-Eren,” you whine, rolling your hips down on him the way he knows you love, the way that makes a little bulge appear right at the base of your tummy, the evidence of just how deep he is.

“There you go,” he coos, grabbing your hips and working you faster, forcing you towards your orgasm as fast as he can because he knows good and well he’s not going to last, “all better, yeah? Little slut likes having her cunt stuffed full?”

“Yeah I do,” you say dreamily, eyes rolling back as Eren starts to thrust up into you in tune with the canting of your hips. He can see Jean over your shoulder, fully hard again and pulling at his cock, looking mesmerized. Eren catches Jean’s eye, smirks like a cat that’s got the cream.

“He’s watching you,” Eren murmurs to you, purposefully loud enough for Jean to hear, “watching you get fucked dumb. Gonna show Jean how pretty you are when you cum?”

“I-I–” A well-placed thrust from Eren makes you cut yourself off with a sob, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Erin grins, something feral and predatory, snapping his hips up into you harder.

“Gonna cum so fast I bet,” Eren grunts, “so needy for it, my spoiled fuckin' brat. Can’t ever be satisfied, can you?”

“Uh-uh,” you whimper, thighs already beginning to shake around his hips. Eren’s eyes are glued behind you, on Jean’s strung-out gaze, on the desperate motion of his hand around his cock. Eren wonders if just the sight of you fucking him is enough to make Jean cum again; the thought spurs him on, has him jackhammering up into you like his life depends on it.

“Quit holding out on me, then,” Eren growls, “can feel you clenching down on me, know you want to.”

“I w-want to.” A fresh wave of tears has escaped your mindless eyes, dripping down the side of your face, off your jaw, onto your chest.

“Fucking do it then,” Eren snaps, growing closer to the end of his line with every punch of his hips up into you, “show Jean what a little slut you are, how hard you cum for me. Go on, show him.”

“E-Eren, I– oh, oh fuck, I’m gonna–”

“There you go,” Eren snarls like he’s tired of waiting on you, feeling your body break and bloom all at once in his hands, “there you go, good girl.”

Eren watches Jean look on as your body thrashes, rolls with the waves of your orgasm quaking through you, the way his jaw drops a little when you wail and leave dark half-moon indentations into Eren’s shoulders. Jean’s hand is moving impossibly fast in time with Eren’s hips, and when Eren feels himself getting close, only moments away from his release, he meets eyes with Jean. Something overtakes him, something dark and unfamiliar, and Eren flits his eyes down to Jean’s cock, back up to Jean’s gaze, and nods. Jean cums with a loud groan and a shudder, triggering Eren’s orgasm. Eren clutches you to his chest desperately, pinning you down onto his cock and filling you with his cum as deep as he can manage, groaning in your ear amidst the sound of your whimpers and whines.

A beat passes, heavy and pregnant with tension. Eren and Jean are still locked eye to eye, watching each other to see who will make the first move. Jean, coated in his own release, glances down to see Eren’s cum dripping out of you, seems to come back to himself with a shudder.

“I…I’m going to shower,” he says, clunky and awkward, standing and pulling his shorts back over his softening cock, mindless of the white ropes decorating his abdomen.

“Jean?” You murmur into Eren’s skin, sitting up slightly and wincing at the feel of Eren’s half-hard cock still digging into the most sensitive parts of you.

“Yeah?” Jean stops in his tracks, looking over at you and Eren with all the tension of a wild animal that’s been caught.

“That was fun,” you smile dreamily, slumping back into Eren’s chest and blinking up at him, “don’t you think, babe?”

“Lots of fun, baby,” Eren strokes your hair, urging you to stay curled into him, knows you need to for a few minutes after he’s fucked you half-dumb, “what do you think, Kirschstein?”

“It was…” Jean gulps, looks around the room with a pink stain to his cheeks, “it was fun, yeah.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed us,” you giggle deliriously, “we’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Is that so?” Jean eyes Eren, narrows his eyes suspiciously. Eren almost rolls his eyes, out of patience for this Jean, all cautious and nervous like he hadn’t just cum down your throat.

“I think so,” Eren says in confirmation, trailing a hand up your back soothingly, “anything for my girl, right?”

“Right,” Jean frowns, almost as if Eren had said something in another language.

“See you soon, Jeanie,” you wave him off to the shower sleepily, biting a smile back behind your swollen lips. Jean makes a swift exit, still blushing madly. “Do you think he liked it?”

“I think he loved it,” Eren chuckles down at you, still cording his fingers through any parts of your hair that aren’t a tangled mess.

“And you?”

“I’d do it again,” Eren answers you with a noncommittal shrug. You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Seemed like you really enjoyed yourself. Am I the only one with a crush on Jean?”

“I’m not gay,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. You simply keep your disbelieving glare on him for an extra beat or two; Eren squirms uncomfortably under your knowing gaze, not necessarily wanting to confront this while he’s still balls-deep in you. To his relief, you ease up, gingerly stepping off of him and offering him a hand.

“Mmm, okay. We’ll talk after a shower?”

“Fine,” Eren grumbles, letting you pull him towards his half of the apartment and hoping you don’t notice the quick glance he shoots over his shoulder, catching a flash of Jean’s bare skin as he steps into his bathroom.

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