#but they would have fucked it up anyway so all in all i think this was the best Other way out. AND the song slaps. im happy honestly

[pedgito]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Tommy Miller x reader x Joel Miller

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summary | You need something to ease the pain, but Joel and Tommy aren't very generous.

author's note | this isn't for everyone, please read the tags. i'm already working for a follow-up on this, but if you decide to read this - thank you!! <3 also ily and thank you for the betas @gracieheartspedro @amanitacowboy

content warning | DDDNE — noncon & dubcon, there's not defined consent, reader is both drugged and has a head injury that is blurring the lines of reality, early outbreak days, dark!tommy, dark!joel, unprotected piv, restraints, degrading, deepthroating, creampies, this is literally them fighting over a shiny new toy, joel spitting on reader, marking/claiming, very little aftercare. this is dark fic, don't engage if you don't like.

word count — 5.3k

You had struck gold.

On, well, drugs.

There was the saying—only the strongest will survive. But, you’ve seen a clicker take down a man double its size without an ounce of struggle.

Then again, they were literal killing machines.

You’ve learned that sanity is what has kept you alive.

And lately, yours had been slipping.

It was the anxiety, the lack of food and water, the seventh group you’ve filtered into torn to bits overnight and because you were so weary – always sleeping above ground level and never really letting yourself succumb to deep sleep – had managed to slip away in the knick of time.

Regardless, you needed the drugs.

You’ve been on the run for two weeks, completely alone, raiding every hospital and pharmacy you’ve come across with no luck, all wiped clean.

Sometimes, the anxiety made your chest hurt — blood pumping into your ears so loud you couldn’t hear anything else, too aware of the functions within your own body.

It has gotten explicitly worse the past couple days and when you finally find some luck, therein follows the immediate feeling that it was too good to be true.

There was a catch.

This was a trap.

Well, fuck it.

What did you have to lose anyways?

You’ve been in this dilapidated house before, months ago when you were passing through with another group. So, when you find the bags, you’re wondering if this was just a mistake.

Someone had left these behind, surely.

There wasn’t anyone in the nearest vicinity, not a speckle of life anywhere to be found.

So, you dig.

There’s a treasure trove of bottles all half full or almost empty, scanning through the names until you find something worth taking.

Diazepam.

It could work, it would work.

By the looks of it, there’s only ten pills left and if you used them sparingly enough, you could stretch it out for a couple months, long enough to continue your search.

The end goal was always civilization, hopeful that you could stumble upon a well-established group that would be kind enough to take you in. 

Though, the outlook was grim.

You stuff the bottles of pills into your coat pocket and continue to dig, unsure why you’re feeling so greedy. Some of the labels are ripped and unintelligible, some of the bottles simply don’t pique your interest, crouched on the floor and burrowing through someone else's belongings like a rat.

You’re so focused that you don’t hear the footsteps until it’s too late.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is sharp, cuts through the silence like a knife and you freeze, hunched over and caught red-handed.

“Turn around slowly.”

You comply, unwinding yourself carefully, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s one man standing in the doorway, another a few steps ahead. 

They share a similar build and face, undoubtedly related. 

You raise your hands to show no threat, hands shaking slightly. “I’m just passing through,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”

The closer man takes a step forward, but the gun doesn’t waver. “You with anyone?”

“No.” You hate how weak you sound, “No—just….just me,”

Dumbass. You should have lied.

Your hands are shaking noticeably and you’re not sure if it’s from fear or adrenaline or relief that you’ve scored something.

It doesn’t matter. 

“Empty your pockets,” his voice is indescribable, but demanding, eyes lingering briefly to the quieter man behind him that lingered like a shadow, as you hesitate, the gun clicks, “I’m not askin’.”

“I didn’t—take,” you panic, licking nervously at your lips, “I—you don’t understand,” you know they can hear the shuffle of the half-empty pillow bottle in your coat pocket, clear as day, “please don’t kill me, god—”

The idea seemed more intriguing now than it ever has.

The two men share a look, clearly one they have passed along a million times before.

“Turn around,” the man demands, “keep your hands up,”

You follow instructions with minor hesitancy, hearing the footsteps grow closer before the hands spread around your waist and up your ribs and you catch the gentle woosh of longer hair against your cheek that ultimately belonged to the other man.

You’re not sure whyor where the courage takes hold – it was stupid, outnumbered and unskilled when it came to combat, you were fighting a losing battle.

Your elbow swings back into the other man’s ribs and he grunts, roughly grabbing you by the back of your neck before shoving you at the one wielding the revolver, “Screw this, I’ll just fuckin’ shoot ‘er,” the voice belonging to the one with the menacing scowl and hard gaze.

“Joel, slow your goddamn roll,” it was a tidbit of information that he shouldn’t have let slip, feeling the hand at your bicep as it twisted behind your back tightly, gasping at the sharp sting of pain.

“Kill first, take later,” Joel reminds the other man, “we’ve been over this, Tommy.”

Joel. Tommy.

Brothers, clearly.

The outbreak was still fresh in hindsight, only two years since the attacks on the city started. It was clear that some people thrived in environments like this, feeding off violence to achieve their goal.

You’d stumbled into the wrong hands, all of your luck having officially ran out.

You’re not sure why they decide to spare you, but they do.

Time passes — seconds that feel like hours, before the butt of a gun is making contact with the side of your head. 

You’re out like a light, meeting the floor with an unkind thump that splits open the skin near your temple, blood pooling around the wound and along the dilapidated hardwood.

“She’s your responsibility,” Joel tells his brother, shoving the gun into his chest, “take care of it.”

—

There was no expectation of waking until it happened.

Everything felt fuzzy, light, more welcoming than you expected. You could feel the cool sheets under your skin, a hastily applied bandage to your head, but your hands were bound.

There was an uneasy feeling to the picture painted before you, the usual diluted blues and green and greys of the apocalypse replaced with something warm.

You moan slightly, shifting as you blink to collect yourself, immediately faced with one of the men from earlier with a different kind of concern etched on his face. 

As far as you could tell, he was alone.

And much more docile.

“Oh, woah, little lady,” he says, all charm in his thick southern twang, “you took quite a spill earlier.”

You moan again, this time in response, “You—he…hit me.”

“Joel? Yeah, he ain’t much of a people person,” Tommy explains, “he left for a bit, though. I patched ‘ya up, gave you some meds to help with the pain,”

He notices your gaze drifting, like it was too hard to keep focus despite your valiant effort. 

You nod in compliance.

You can feel the hand that settles between your thighs, a soft caress as Tommy checks gingerly at your wound, the press of his fingers digging into the supple flesh at the inside of your leg.

“I think you’ll be right as rain, probably best to keep you here for a couple days until we can let you go,” he admits, “seems a little negligent and unfair to force you outside to deal with infected in your condition.”

Tommy liked his trinkets, though.

Sweet, shiny things that peaked his interest.

There’s a softness to your features that has been long lost on many, just the subtle glint of weakness he needs.

“I’m so sleepy,” you slur tiredly, groaning softly as you turn to your side, feeling the hand shift from between your legs to graze up the curve of your ass and against your back.

It was a nice touch, comforting — warm, safe. 

No part of you can recognize who the hand belongs to, not in this state of mind, the room swirling with faint orange from the setting sun — was it a bedroom? 

Living room? 

Or, it was a dream. The afterlife, even.

Maybe you had died and this was the sick way your body was deciding to cope, cared for by your captors.

But, nothing about Tommy outwardly screamed danger.

Not like the way Joel's bared teeth, scruffy beard and stench of blood had. 

No, Tommy was sanitary, preened and clean; a wolf dressed up in sheep’s clothing. 

You can’t muster the care to worry about this now.

“Get some rest, darlin’,” he encourages, the touch moving to your hair now, curling the strands around his fingers gently.

You give into the medicine slowly creeping through your veins. Sleep overtakes you with little resistance. There is only darkness for a while, the absence of thought or feeling, until there’s the strange sensation you are being moved and manhandled. 

Your limp body in someone’s arms, then in their lap, against their chest before you’re pressed into the mattress again but on your stomach, head carefully angled to avoid injury or irritation. Not that it mattered, your entire body was numb now.

It is a new kind of warmth that blankets you.

You can distantly hear a voice before you slip back into unconsciousness.

“... sweet little thing,” he says.

The passage of time feels endless.

The weight in the bed beside you comes and goes, the room filtering between light and dark, unsure how many days have passed. Occasionally you wake to drink water or take a few sparing bites of food, just enough to placate your angry stomach as you’re continuously fed meds to remain complacent.

It isn’t that you mind—you don’t. It was the best care you’ve had in months.

Actually, you don't ever remember being cared for like this.

There’s only ever one set of footsteps, no voices aside from one, and the constant looming feeling that he was around. You weren’t unsettled by it, rather comforted. 

Tommy was being unbelievably kind despite your actions—he could have killed you outright, but instead, he was caring for you. You weren’t sure if his brother would be delighted at the idea, but he wasn’t here right now.

You can hear the faint chirp of crickets and a room blanketed in blue when the bed dips under the weight of someone sitting down again, and warm fingers brush across your cheek.

“Hey there,” Tommy’s voice sounds from behind you. “glad to see you awake.”

He sounds genuine.

You turn slightly to peer up at him, vision still hazy.

His eyes are crinkled with a slight smile, a thick mustache covering his upper lip. He’s stripped out of his jacket, clad in a shirt and jeans, and his touch still hasn't left you. Instead, it grows.

Explorative, you lie still.

There’s a wondrous edge to his gaze, his touch roaming the expanse of your body, clean of dirt and grime and suddenly you realize you’re dressed in fresh clothes, pants folded at the end of the bed. There was only a shirt and a thin pair of underwearing covering your body.

He had bathed you? Changed you?

Tommy notices the panic of the realization but soothes your worry with a touch that is gentle against your forehead, a much smaller bandage covering your head injury.

It’s weird, the faint glow that surrounds him.

Part of you wonders if this is still just a dream—maybe you’ve been dead for days.

His touch is so warm, guiding your legs apart as you gasp, his fingers resting over your core like they weren’t meant to be there.

“Wait,” you breath, thighs closing instinctively, “don’t—”

“Shhh,” Tommy soothes, the fingers of his opposite hand running along the side of your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he traces the flesh, “s’alright, you’re still lookin’ a little sleepy, sugar. Go on, you can rest,”

You’re only vaguely aware of how your bindings have changed, spread out at either end of the bedpost rather than bunched over your head, somehow feeling more restrictive than the latter.

Sleep was incredibly hard to fight, eyes fluttering through the growing curiosity of his touches, eventually slipping under the fabric of your panties.

“....well, look at that,” his voice is distant, but he’s met with a wet, warm heat as his fingers slide between your folds, watching as your lips part with the touch, “she loves me, don’t she?”

A soft mumble of a response in protest because it shouldn’t feel this good.

Tommy takes it in stride, the swift whip of his belt as it comes undone.

“Think I can make it quick,” Tommy says mutedly, feeling like you were underwater, “Joel should be back later, but I’ll treat your right, don’t worry,”

As the fabric goes, you come to, eyes widening as Tommy was already stripped of his jeans and underwear, cock hard and proud in his hand as he positioned himself between your legs, a gentle touch of his finger pressing inside of you.

The stretch makes you gasp, the fullness even more apparent as he adds another finger, pushing deep. It’s too much, the intensity of it all as you gasp and squirm against the bed. It was akin to something your body craved but your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

It’s good, though—almost dizzyingly so. Tommy smirks; he knows it.

There’s a tightness in your chest that screams danger, but every time you open your mouth to protest, only a moan comes out.

“Fuck,” Tommy groans as he watches your eyes fall shut, finger working loudly inside of you against your squelching heat, “how am I supposed to wait with you so ready for me?”

He wasn’t. You could feel him shifting instead, hands spread out over your thighs as the head of his cock pushed between your folds—up, down, his face tilted to examine the sight before him, neglecting the tugs against your bindings in protest.

“Just watch,” he murmurs with a nod, barely above a whisper, “you’re gonna come on my cock before you even realize what’s happenin’, darlin’.”

“Tommy, please—” you choke, but everything else is a soft cry as he pushes inside of you.

His hips snap forward, filling you in one swift motion. 

The stretch is intense and overwhelming, a gasp of pain ripping from your throat.

You nearly whimper at the sensation after, his hand twisting around to your back to push up, arching you off the mattress as he rocks his hips in a steady timing—so tender in his affections, now languid thrusts drawing out a heat in your core that you didn’t ask for but can’t fight against.

The fight was useless, no give to the fabric tied around your wrist, the weight of his body against you as his hands spread out on the sheets beside the pillow under your head, his head level with your own but his eyes focused on the way your cunt sucked his cock up to the base.

He looks up briefly, tears in your eyes as they flutter shut in continued exhaustion.

“Don’t pass out on me now,” he teases when your eyes threaten to close, hips snapping forward to knock you back into the waking world, “I want you here for this, darlin’.”

He shifts slightly and your head is thrown back with an involuntary moan, every thrust dragging against that sweet spot inside of you that makes the world go white around the edges. 

He was right—he’s fucking right—and there’s no saving you from his cock as a full-body shiver invades you. You mumble something unintelligible, head throbbing with a dull pain.

“Look at you,” Tommy breathes and you force yourself to focus, unable to look away as his thumb dips between you both, teasing your clit with feather-light circles that make you tremble.

His touch is surprisingly kind, not indicative of his intentions or actions. He wants to make you feel good, he’s relying on it, actually. And you hate how it was working. Your walls clamp down tight on his cock as he grunts deep in his chest, pace increasing to an unrelenting speed that echoes through the room, skin on skin.

“God, please,” you moan, praying to an unknown, barely recognizing the needy pitch of your own voice. You tug at the fabric binding once more out of reflex, not even sure what you’d do if your hands were free.

He grins, low and predatory. “That’s it,” he says with a punctuating thrust, “Take it. All of it.”

His name is the only word left in your vocabulary for a moment, over and over and over again until he’s pulling out of you suddenly, hot streams of cum spreading out of your stomach and chest as he shoves your shirt up, the loss sudden and devastating despite your mind telling you otherwise.

Tommy slumps to your side after a moment, catching his own breath with a hand over his chest and his erection flagging between his thighs, biting your lip to stifle the quiet sobs as the realization of your situation had come into full-view.

No haze, no confusion, the medication wearing off. You were left with nothing but pain.

–

He’s sleeping beside you, has been for a while.

He redressed eventually, unsure as you had closed your eyes to feign sleep.

But, he looked so fucking peaceful.

He hadn’t bothered helping you much either, only slipping your underwear back on and shifting up the flimsy blanket to cover your shivering body, the cold biting at your skin—and you can feel the dried cum against your belly, the fabric of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallow the dryness in your mouth as you study him, the shadows under his eyes, the flutter of his lashes against his skin. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse on his face.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creak of floorboards outside the room, and you freeze. 

It could only be one person.

“Tommy,” A voice booms in the distance, “Tommy!”

Tommy stirs beside you, groggy and unfocused, a slow realization dawning as he registers the call. It was Joel’s voice.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pushing up from the mattress.

By the panic on his face and the minimal calculation in your head—you should be dead.

He was supposed to take care of the problem.

Instead, he’s treated you like a plaything. A toy.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch him. He puts on his boots with haphazard urgency, more worried about Joel finding him beside you rather than your obvious state of living.

He meets your eyes for half a second, but there’s nothing there—not pity, not guilt, nothing.

A coward, through and through.

He ducks out the door before you can respond, leaving it ajar enough that you hear Joel’s accusation cut through the silence.

“...always makin’ me clean up your fuckin’ mess,” He argues, “if you hadn’t left those bags out and let me shoot her then—”

“I know, I know,” comes Tommy’s reply, more distant now, but you can still hear him scrambling for an excuse. “Just hold on a sec!”

You can hear the heavy footsteps approach, “Just get the fuck outta here for a few hours before I kill you too,” he threatens, though it sounded empty.

A creeping fear begins to settle in as you realize this is it—this time, there’ll be no reprieve.

When he approaches, his shadow creeping through the door, you have no choice but to face him. Hands still bound, you were helpless.

“Rise and shine, little thief,” his voice carries.

Joel examines the room with careful eyes, taking note of the half-eaten food and dirtied rags. It doesn’t take a genius for him to realize his brother had dragged this out for a while. Joel was only gone a few days, but he’d been keeping you sustained and alive without needing to.

And against Joel’s instruction.

Joel shakes his head in silence before he’s pulling the gun out of his jeans, finger on the trigger and you don’t know why—but you beg.

“I–please, please,” you begin, your voice raw, “I don’t wanna die. Joel, please.”

He flinches at you using his name, stepping closer as he presses the barrel into your forehead and cocks the lever back, “I’ll do anything. I’ll help—I’ll be…be good. Tommy kept me alive for a reason, r—right? He could have killed me too.”

“He can’t,” Joel tells you, “my mistake for thinkin’ he could.”

You struggled against the bindings as you kick your feet, shoving the sheet away to reveal your state of undress, “He did a lot worse,” you snap at him, “you—your brother, you’re fucking monsters, no real men would do what he did.”

That has him lowering the gun just a fraction, like he’s considering it. 

The shadows of doubt flicker over his eyes, and in that moment you see your chance.

“I can help. Steal—lay low,” you attempt to convince him, helplessness thick in your voice. “You don’t gotta kill me. I’ve just been trying to survive.”

“You think I believe a word comin’ outta your mouth?” Joel says, but now it feels more like he’s trying to convince himself, “Why were you stealin’ our meds? You got some camp you were takin’ ‘em back to?”

“No,” you reply quickly, insistent, “no—it was just me. I just—I needed something, anything to get rid of this feeling that I have all the time. It’s constant panic.”

Joel seems to pause, a silent deliberation. He eyes your figure, strung up and helpless. It was worse than just killing you outright.

“Or, let me go,” you plead, hoping desperation might unearth some small fragment of mercy. “I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. I swear.”

His jaw tightens, and you think he’s about to pull the trigger. Instead, he curses under his breath and lowers the gun entirely.

“You’re pathetic,” he spits, tossing the gun aside and opening his knife to cut at your bindings, “Get up.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging your arms over yourself for some semblance of modesty, unmoving on the bed.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I don’t trust you. You’re gonna prove yourself or die tryin’ to.”

He throws you your old pile of clothes folding on the table beside your bed, reeking up mildew.

“Get changed, now,” He demands, but doesn’t leave,

Fine. Whatever.

You shift to your knees and strip the top over your head, wincing at the throb of pain between your legs as Joel seems to freeze, spotting the mess dried on your stomach.

“You ain’t never shot a gun, have you?” Joel asks suddenly, “Killed anyone?”

You shake your head impishly.

“I’m good at being quiet, sneaking around,” you admit, aware of the way his eyes examine your breasts, the gentle curve as you pull the shirt over your head and toss it aside, “At least—I was.”

Letting you go was risky, but shooting you now seemed like a waste.

You had nothing to offer and Joel didn’t need that on his conscience.

Not that he really cared, but disposing of your body was more trouble than it was worth.

You recognize that same flicker of greed in Joel’s eyes that was prevalent in Tommy’s.

For Joel, it was more subdued and brought out by the sight that his brother had already staked a claim over you when he shouldn’t have, leaving Joel to clean up his mess.

He really didn’t appreciate that.

Luckily, Joel knew just how to fuck with Tommy; stealing his favorite toy.

He steps closer, a dangerous grin spreading across his face as you freeze, pausing your movements as you sit stripped down to your underwear before him.

“Didn’t even clean ya up, did he?” Joel mocks using the barrel of his revolver to motion at your chest, growing increasingly irritated at the situation before him.

“No, he didn’t,” you admit sheepishly, watching Joel’s free hand disappear behind your head until he could tip your neck back, exposing your bare chest as he gathered saliva in his mouth to dribble the spit over your chest.

You hated to admit it, but you were pliant.

Like putty in his hands.

“Clean it up,” he demanded.

Your eyes searched for mercy that would never come before dropping to your chest, the glistening mess trickling down to the waistband of your underwear. You stare back up at him nervously, but his face is stoic, unwavering.

You clear your throat softly and trial your fingers through the spit and drag it back up your chest, cleaning away the mess that Tommy had left, using the dirtied shirt to wipe yourself clean.

Before you can muster a response, he’s shoving two fingers past your lips, pressing against the back of your throat so hard that you choke, “He use this too?”

You shake your head impishly, lashes fluttering as he presses his fingers down against your tongue, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion. You sputter around his digits, tasting him and the salt of his palm.

Leaving his fingers in your mouth, he pulls you up to your feet with a matching furiosity to his previous actions that has you paw at his wrist for leverage, eventually releasing his fingers from your mouth with a pop and leaving you slack jawed and breathless. 

You don’t have time to recover, though, before he’s pulling his knife out and slicing clean through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Joel,” it’s a moan this time, breathless. 

He ignores you.

“Gonna show you what a real man does,” Joel says ominously.  

His rough hands push you to the floor, knees hitting the wood with a painful thud as they knock against each other.

“I’ll let you live,” he says gruffly, his own pants unfastened until he can shove them down enough to free his cock, precome already beading at the tip and dripping down his shaft.

He’s hard—so fucking hard—and just the sight of him makes your stomach churn in anticipation and fear, made worse by the hand that grips into your hair, forcing your mouth open as he pushes past your lips with the head of his cock.

“But, it ain’t without you provin’ how much you wanna,”

You gag instantly and Joel tightens his grip against the back of your head. There’s little to no fight in you after the display of power, your breath hitching as he pulls his cock out suddenly, gasping for air before he’s guiding himself back into your mouth, a rough but steady rock of his hips as he holds your head between his palms, fearful that he could kill you like this.

A simple snap of your neck and it would be over.

You were a fool for thinking this would be an easy end for you.

But, at least Joel was upfront about his fucking intentions. 

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Joel seethes, snapping his hips twice and rough as you sputter around his cock, chin slick with your drool, “want you to remember this,”

There’s no choice other than to comply, quick and shallow breaths through your nose as Joel fucks your mouth with little care, the taste of him heady on your tongue as his cock forces down the cries in your throat.

He was making you earn this.

Making you work for the trust, freedom—your life.

He’s relentless, a predator through and through.

There was no haze keeping you compliant, only a faint throbbing at your head and the sight of a powerful man standing over you, fist in your hair as stared up the line of buttons that led to his face, a soft growl in his throat at the sight of his cock disappearing into your mouth, eyes rolling back slightly when he pressed too hard.

You knew there wasn’t much choice in the matter, but you weren’t sure how defiant you would be if things were different—it was clear that Joel and Tommy could survive, and in turn, they could keep you alive too—couldn’t they?

You nod gently to his earlier statement, focusing on him as your now free hands roam up under the fabric of his clothes and squeeze, thankful for the brief reprieve as his cock slide back toward the tip of your tongue and rests there, watching his face scrunch and contort as he comes without warning.

It’s thick spurts against your tongue that are blended with his low, guttural groans as he slowly loosens the grip on your hair and offers a low, “Know damn well what’s good for you—like that,” he notes casually.

You wipe hastily at your mouth with your open palm as your rise on shaky legs, eyeing him cautiously before he tuts with his tongue, pushing your hand away, “Ain’t done with you quite yet,”

There’s a split second where you think about making a break for it, eyeing the door with a flicker of hope, but Joel’s grip is tight and forceful, feeling the sharp tug as he pulls you into his lap, facing you toward the bar at the end of the bed, gripping it as he silently guides your hands there—for a moment, you think he’s going to tie you back up like Tommy had, but he doesn’t.

He takes a seat on the center of the mattress and shifts his jeans down and off, your back to him as he settles you between his legs, watching the discarded clothing fall to the floor as you hold your breath.

You can feel the hot press of a palm flat against your back, up your spine as it curves around your shoulder, “You’re gonna go to Tommy after I fuck you,” Joel explains, gripping his cock as he slides it between your folds and presses in slow, gasping at the thickness as it spreads you open, “and tell him how this is all mine,” his hand squeezes at your hip, guiding your back against his cock as you grip at the metal frame, feeling him shift slightly until he’s on his shins, pistoning his hips into you with fervor, “and I don’t,” thrust, a rough grunt following, “fuckin’—” you moan shakily, biting at the skin on your bicep to muffle the noise, “share.”

He’s relentless, really.

His grip is bruising, not holding back in his strength as he guides your hips down against his cock, feeling the sweat in his palms as he breathes heavily behind you.

“Maybe you were a damn blessing,” Joel says softly, maybe not even aware he’s said it aloud until he continues, “been prayin’ for one for a while,”

“I’m—” You croak, speaking weakly, “I’m not,”

“Dunno,” Joel argues, “ain’t religious either, to be honest,”

You laugh at that, though it was mostly just a soft noise that filters out of your nose as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, frustrated with how much pleasure he was bringing you despite his nature and intention, using you for whatever means he felt was necessary.

“Pussy like this,” He notes with amusement and a tinge of fondness, “goddamn miracle if you ask me.”

Then suddenly, his chest is at your back, hand wrapping around your neck as he pulls you back.

His other hand curls around the inside of your thigh, drifting close to your dripping, swollen cunt.

There isn’t much expectation in a return of pleasure until his fingers are moving against your clit in tandem with his quick thrusts, a begrudgingly welcomed touch as he groans against your shoulder, his teeth biting into the skin until you cry out.

“Difference between Tommy and I,” he states, guiding you over the edge of your orgasm as you shake, head falling back against his shoulder helplessly before he groans low, animalistic in your ear before you feel his grip tighten, hips stuttering as he came deep inside your cunt, “I claim what’s mine.”

Joel didn’t need your response—he just held you tighter, like something earned, a prize won, something no one else would touch again.

When the silence settles around you and you’ve dressed obediently under his command, the only thing stronger than his words was the way your body still remembered both of their touches.

[3rachaslut]

SKZ and the type of sex they give you + links - (maknae line)

cw: SMUT. MINORS DNI !! seungmins is a bit degrading but that’s about it?

(not proofread sorry for any mistakes)

HYUNG LINE

han jisung

omg han LOVES working you up as he rubs your clit until you’re whimpering his name and begging for him to make you cum. the way he would chuckle at your reaction seeing his baby girl feel euphoric is so heart warming. he loves you so much :’( and the way he would kiss your neck and ears throughout it ahh

“moaning so pretty for me baby girl”

and personally, I think han is just as much of a sweetheart in the bedroom as he is outside of it. so it only makes sense that he loves when you’re on top riding him just so he can look at your beautiful face and your tits bouncing for him and telling you how beautiful you look on top of him. literally the definition of ‘words of adoration’. the way his face lights up every time you’re mouth falls open in bliss and runs his hands all over your chest and tummy aww.

“you are so fucking beautiful baby, you know that right?”

felix

as soon as you tell felix you are needy and want some attention, he would make you spread out in front of him to tease your pussy as you let him just love on you for a while whilst he gives you the most amount of neck kisses. he would drop WHATEVER he is doing just to make you feel good.

“that feel good baby? yeah?” *kisses your neck again*

no one can convince me otherwise, felix loves missionary so much, just because he loves being able to make out with his gorgeous girl whilst cupping your cheek as you ride his cock. however fast or slow as you want or need, it’s all down to you, he’s just so happy he gets to make love with his favourite girl.

“fuck, you feel so good baby, yeah just like that”

seungmin

hear me out, seungmin and lee know as lovers go hand in hand. sweethearts to you outside of the bedroom, but inside…it’s more than likely they wanna take you to nirvana. the way he finger fucks you so rough until you squirt for him over and over and ONLY then will he give you his cock. he knows how much you get off on being degraded (same) so he will happily do that for you as it’s pretty much his second nature.

“fuckkk, look at you squirting for me like a little slut”

and then when he FINALLY lets you have his cock, he definitely makes you ride him reverse cowgirl because you ‘don’t get to look at daddy, look at your self in the mirror, slut’. the way he makes sure to get his cock as far in you as possible as well ahh. he pretty much just used you as a fleshlight (and I love that for you)

“fuck yeah. good girl. no thoughts in that little head is there?

jeongin

now look, I reckon jeongin is OBSESSED with your tits, like EXTREMELY. no matter what he is doing, they are NEVER left out. he loves you riding him whilst he has your tit in his mouth whilst you run your hands through his hair and whimper his name over and over again.

“urgh i love when you whimper for me darling”

like when I say he’s obsessed with your tits, i mean he’s OBSESSED with your tits so much!! he lovesss making out with them whilst you pleasure yourself on his cock. as much as he loves the feeling of you around him, it’s alll about your pleasure and if he can give you more, he will give you MORE! happily!

“I cannot get enough of these tits baby girl, they’re so beautiful !”

a/n: I LOVED doing this one! maknae line is my bias line so I very much enjoyed this one… anyways, i hope you enjoyed!!

[darkbunnylove]

Task Force 141 finding out Reader has a crush on them

(mainly fluff but also angst because balance)

You thought you were playing it cool. Emphasis on thought. The glances that linger a little too long, the way your body seems to magically gravitate toward them. Barely noticeable, right? Yeah, maybe not so much. Because feelings like that? Oh, they have a way of showing, sweetheart. And once Task Force 141 catches on? Well, let’s just say you’ve got their full attention now.

Soap stays subtle about it for exactly one week. Conveniently, that’s also the same week he figures out you’ve got a soft spot for him. After that, subtlety goes right out the window. Not necessarily because he falls in love easily, but because he’s been working on catching your attention for months now. Laughing a bit too loud at your jokes? Check. Casual hand brushes? Yup. Memorizing the exact creak your boots make when you walk down the hallway? You bet!

So when he finds out you’re actually into him too? This man doubles down immediately. So much you even start finding little sketches of your face tucked into random notebooks. Oh, and of course, Gaz’s in on it too, sending him updates like: “Rec room. Alone. Go.” and “Laundry bay. Casual. Fold something, I don’t know.”

And sure enough, Soap just happens to bump into you. Constantly. Every day. Always asking if you’ve got time for a coffee. A walk. A chat. Already busy? No problem, how about tomorrow? Oh and while he’s at it, what about dinner this weekend? He’s definitely in too deep to pretend it’s casual now.

Gaz would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little smug about knowing you liked him. Not cocky, just very, very pleased. Well, maybe a little unbearable. But how could he not be? A dream like you, being all sweet on him? It’s taking everything in him not to grin like an idiot every time you look his way.

And the idea of you at his side? Of getting to introduce you like “Yeah, I pulled that. Can you believe it?” It makes his chest go so warm he doesn’t know how long he can take it. So he asks for your number through a friend and tries to play it casual. Then he spends too long staring at the message field, debating how many y’s to add to “hey,” or if he should just play it safe with “hi.”

But it’s alright, because soon you’re texting each other every day. Evenings turn into FaceTime calls. He lies on his back in bed, smiling like a fool while you talk about your day. Sometimes you fall asleep mid-call. But he never hangs up first. And during the day? Gaz always seems to show up right when you need a break. Leaning against your office door, telling some ridiculous story that makes you laugh until it hurts. You tell him he’s impossible. He tells you it’s your fault for laughing. Yeah. You’ve got him. Completely.

Ghost, unfortunately, is not so great about it. At least not at first. When he finds out you’ve got a crush on him, his stomach actually drops. Because there is just no fucking way, right? Not someone like you. Not for him. It has to be a mistake. And if he gives in? He’ll ruin it. He knows he will.

So instead of lingering near you, he does the opposite. He avoids you. For weeks. And every time you do bump into each other, he barely says a word. So you’ve already convinced yourself he’s just not interested. And Ghost? Ghost is convincing himself that staying away is the right thing. Until one night. Maybe it’s stupid but fuck, when he sees you on that hookup app, looking good, too good, and open for something casual, he can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t. But he sends a message anyway. You meet. And a single night slips into hours. Into heat. Into skin against skin...Perfect, right?

No. It eats him alive. Because now he’s sure you think that’s all he wants. That you’ll never know how deep this thing runs for him. He avoids you for another week. Can’t look you in the eye. Until one Saturday morning, he shows up at your door. Apologizing with flowers in hand and everything he can manage to say out loud.

Price doesn’t quite let himself believe you like him. A sweet thing like you? Surely you’ve got admirers. Someone better. Someone not so... worn down. And god, how old were you, anyway?

No, he doesn’t avoid you, but he overcorrects without meaning to. Careful with every word, every glance. Because he refuses to assume. Refuses to risk making you uncomfortable. So everything stays safe. Neutral. Professional. He says things like “Forecast says rain, tonight.” Meanwhile, he’s thinking about the way you laughed at his dumb joke four days ago. Later. Alone. While smoking. Definitely spiraling.

Then, one night at the pub, your people drift off until it’s just the two of you. Maybe you’re sitting a little too close now. Maybe you’ve both had a little too much to drink. He starts to pull away, because he thinks he should. That’s when another man says something. You laugh, just to be polite. Not into it. But still, it stings. So Price moves before he thinks. One step, then he’s there, hand at your lower back. “You alright, love?” he asks. “C’mon, time to go home.” And by home, he means his of course.

[northern-pirate]

Hee! This ending really is so good. XD

It's the last part/chapter/epilogue for The Queen of the Damned (which I finished reading this week for the first time, yay <3), and it happens after lestat has done exactly some things that Louis (and Marius) do NOT think he should do. It really is just as good and silly and beautiful as the last part of The Vampire Lestat.

Funny and beautiful and lovely end of the Queen of the Damned book spoilers and future season thoughts ahead~

So, end of The Queen of the Damned: basically everyone is chilling in Armand's villa on The Night Island. New coven gathered. Good vibes. Marius is reading the newspaper, Armand is playing chess, Daniel is listening to music, and Lestat goes into the room after having spent a long time just writing down a majority of the Queen of the Damned story.

Marius and Armand tell him that Louis has gone to New Orleans and that Lestat is free take the plane and go after him, and it's all very sweet. Also, Marius says "do NOT go fucking with the Talamasca, OK? Just don't." Lestat shrugs and says sure, why should I anyway? Gonna go off to see Louis now, bye.

The New Orleans part is beautiful and includes a revisit to their old apartment for some Claudia ghost spotting (guess what, it's not Louis who sees her~). Lestat offers to restore the run-down apartment to its former glory if Louis wishes it. Louis also wants to go see his own grave, so they do. It all really feels like something they could do beautifully in the series.

It includes Lestat saying that Akasha and he were lovers, Louis says he knows, and Lestat kisses him.

Stupidly I stared at him. How perfect he seemed to me as he stood there waiting with such kindness and such patience. And then, like a fool, I came out with it.

'Do you love me now?' I asked.

He smiled; oh, it was excruciating to see his face soften and brighten simultaneously when he smiled. 'Yes' he said.

*clutches heart* Okay, so if they decide to hold out on us, that would be a brilliant spot in the series to place the "I love you" from Louis that we desperately want and need.

Anyway~

Then Lestat wants to Do Something. Go off on a little adventure. And here comes a scene which is lovely in the book, and if they choose to include this in the series, it will hit differently because of episode 5, season 1.

... THAT is a trust exercise if I ever saw one, post-s1e5-drop. Gods. If they include this in the series, they can expand so much on it psychologically. Louis holding onto Lestat, Lestat holding onto Louis. No dropping. Just holding on, together. What would that moment even MEAN for the both of them in the series version? I think it could be amazing! <3 (I'd love to hear Sam's thoughts on this. How does one arrange interviews with actors anyway? x'D)

They fly.

First Lestat lifts Louis, easy peasy because he's super strong now, and then they go off Superman and Lois Lane-style, up up and away, Lestat's arm around Louis' waist and Louis' arms around Lestat's neck.

And well. The flying goes off to outside London, to the Talamasca motherhouse, because WHEN has Lestat ever listened to anyone - Marius in particular - when they say "don't go to this place and mess shit up now OK"?

So Lestat decides to introduce himself to David Talbot, in his apartment, and David is being quite sane and polite about it. Lestat gives him his phonenumber to call if David wants to become a vampire, or just chat. It's a very funny conversation. Louis fumes in the background and does very much not approve.

It's hilarious, and leads up to the quote from the book above. Which also is an epic fucking way to end a season, and would definitely end with a kiss in the series version. <3

[rex-rambles]

➤ THIS COULD BE LOVE | MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x not!soulmate(?)reader

request: more soulmate aus?

summary: when you and max meet in the middle of a monaco night, max doesn't want to believe in soulmates. he wants to believe in something real. 

wc: 7.7 k

warnings: angst with a happy ending! some suggestive content (not explicit), villainization of jos verstappen and reference to poor childhoods and past injury

➤ MASTERLIST - OSCAR'S SOULMATE STORY

When you and Max meet in the middle of the night, it's the sort of serendipity that makes Max believe less in the universe. He'd lost his faith in it in his childhood, of fate, of something set, of something magical, of soulmates. His parents were soulmates, anyway, and he knew how well that story went. He knew all the tales of those who gave up dreams and aspirations for magical nudges from something greater, none of which he found convincing compared to the reality of the world, the hard concrete ground of the racing track, and the voice of his father. 

Soulmates were just another distraction in a world full of them. To pursue your dreams, to want something bigger, you couldn't believe in fairytales fed to you by the delusional. It didn't stop Max's 18th birthday from rolling around anyway, waiting with baited breath for some sign, some magic name on the inside of his wrist, anything. It took a few days for his soul mark to be spotted on the back of his right shoulder, over his shoulder blade. It took a few days after that for Jos to notice and to continue his rants on the distractions of love in the path of greatness. 

After that, after everything his father put him through, everything Max did to earn his love, he stopped caring about soulmates. He'd meet the love of his life someday, surely, even with his soul mark bandaged, hidden from flashing cameras. It was through his fame Max realized how right his father was, of those attempting anything to copy his soulmate to pretend to be his love, a warning straight out of whatever textbook his father used to learn how to raise his children. If it was still in publication, Max was pretty sure he'd pay good money to have every copy burned. Soulmates, magical connections, they were just another distraction. He didn't want someone loving him because of a mark, because of how fast he went around a track and how much money he made, he wanted something real. Someone to look at him and think that he was meant to be theirs for no other reason than Max himself. 

It didn't stop the whole thing from getting to Max every so often, when someone close to him found their supposed one true love, when it made the headlines. Tonight, it was some bartender seeing colour for the first time, their soulmate a patron. The whole bar exploded with drunken excitement for them, forcing Max out into the night air because there were some things even a man as strong as him couldn't stand. 

"-and don't fucking follow me!" A man calls, slamming the door to a cab as it rips off into the hot Monaco night, and Max finds that the words are not directed at him, but rather you, sitting on the curb, looking entirely unenthused. 

Without thinking much of it, Max finds his place beside you. "Trouble in paradise?" He finds himself saying, scrubbing his hands over his face. Just because people were soulmates didn't mean it mattered, didn't mean it would last, didn't make both parties nice. 

"I wish," You breath out softly, "They're not my soulmate. Just a date." 

"A date?" Max echoes, sparing a glance your way. In the mixture of moonlight and streetlights, there's a sort of warmth from you that has Max wonder why you'd go on a date with someone who isn't your soulmate, even if he understands it perfectly well. 

"Surprising, isn't it?" You muse, sparing a glance up at the night sky. "Dating someone who isn't your soulmate, how terrible." 

"No, no." Max is quick to correct. "I understand." 

And then, in the middle of the heated Monaco night, you lock eyes with him for the first time, and if it were meant to be something, Max would feel something. Instead, he takes in someone pretty, warm from the night, flushed softly, probably from the drinks at the bar. He takes in someone who went on a date without their soulmate, and he feels a little bit less alone in this strange, awful world. Your eyes are slow to part from his, only breaking his stare when a car drives by too fast. "My soulmate passed away, I think." You admit quietly, almost hidden under the dragging noise of the car as it passes. "It's not worth being alone the rest of your life because you missed out on the perfect match. I'll settle for second best." Then, with a soft laugh, "Third, even." 

"I have a soulmate." Max says, and you turn to look at him again, that softness slowly slipping away. "And I don't want them. Don't know who they are." 

"So you're leaving some poor soul all alone for nothing?" Max shakes his head, trying not to think of whatever 'poor soul' matches with him. It was always a selfish thing to try and explain, but that was how Max was raised to think, and some habits die hard. 

"I want someone to want me for me." He says then, the words so often unspoken. He'd rarely talked about this to any of his teammates, and to admit it to a stranger somehow felt better. Your soulmate had passed; there was no threat of a matching symbol. You would just understand what it was like to be alone, to be othered and date anyway. "Not because I'm supposed to be a soulmate, or for some random choice that we don't even understand. For no real reason." 

You don't answer immediately, just staring at him intently, before you nod slowly. "You want someone to fall in love with you for the sake of loving you." 

"I don't want to hurt my 'soulmate' in the process," He says with air quotes, "But them loving me for a mark is just not what I want, in the end." He doesn't tell you about how he also doesn't want someone to fall in love with him for the fame, and he realizes only in this moment, it's because you could fall in love with him. 

For him. 

Your soulmate had passed, you were already going on dates. You could get to know him for no other reason than to know him, and he could make it work. The warmth he gets when he looks at you isn't magical: it's something realistic. "And how has that gone so far?" 

"Haven't got a single date." Max jokes, but it's the truth. No one wants to date a random stranger when their soulmate might be out there. "For obvious reasons. And you?" 

"They don't last." You say quietly, "Like I'm a stepping stone before they find who they want." Then, because that's not the kind of thing to admit to a stranger, you duck your head with a soft blush, and Max scoots closer, leaning to nudge his shoulder with yours. 

"You're the finish line for someone out there." He says, an unfortunate race reference he doesn't think about until later. 

"Thought you didn't believe in soulmates," You answer back softly, rocking your shoulder into his, and Max finds himself grinning down at you. 

He didn't believe in soulmates, he believed in this. Real connection, with real people, no magical, mystical interference necessary. "Didn't say that person had to be your soulmate. Could be anyone." His eyes flicker down your dress, stuck on the open back of it, the perfect curve of your spine, and he has to take a slow breath. "Some stranger on the street." 

You turn to look at Max with something so close to hope that he can't think too much about it, or he'll start to fall sooner than he can prepare for the landing. He just wants proof that he can love, and be loved, without needing a soulmate or matching mark. He doesn't need you to be the answer to all of his problems; he just wants a chance. "You're really sweet." You say, that look of hope flickering, "But I'm only here a week." 

"And?" He rises off the curb and extends a hand to help you up. "Doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves while you're here." 

"You're not a tourist?" Your hand slips into his, and if you were his soulmate, if they were real, it would be something magical. Every story has the first touch being something so important, the final connection of a soul bond, but when your soft skin glides against his, nothing remotely fantastical happens, and Max loves it all the more for it. 

"I'm a veterinarian here," He answers, the first fake profession he could think of as he helps you up. Might make the fact that he owns three cats more normal. He lets your hand drop, a terrible thing, and he gestures for you to follow him on the sidewalk. "I can take you for a midnight tour of Monaco if you like?" 

"You know, this is typically how people end up kidnapped or dead, or something." Without much thinking, Max pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands it to you, and you blink up at him. "What?" 

"If I was going to do something to you, why would I give you my wallet? It's got all my identification in there." You open the wallet, staring down at his driver's licence and flipping through the few cards he keeps in there, more out of curiosity, he thinks, than scrutiny. 

You spare a glance up at him, folding the wallet up and tucking it into your purse. "Now it feels like I'm robbing you, Max." 

"Well, I'd rather you take advantage of me than the other way around." You saying his name trips him up in a way he didn't expect, sounding so nice in your voice. It's just Max, he knows, but still. 

It does something to his heart that he didn't realize it could do. "You're one of the strangest people I've ever met." 

"Welcome to Monaco?" You laugh, another beautiful sound that has Max realizing he's more screwed than humanly possible. A week, he tries to remind himself, but with you by his side in that dress, it's hard to think of anything but the present. 

-

You're not sure how you end up on the beach with Max, heels in hand, but it's a pleasant change of pace. If it hadn't already screwed you over, you'd say it's fate, to be here with him, but that wasn't possible. Not when whoever bore your matching soul mark had faded out, or at least the soulmark had, splotchy and scratched out in a way you could only imagine meant death. 

It had happened so young, too, that it had never felt like you were able to pursue love or a soulmate seriously. Sure, there were online groups for widows, though you didn't consider yourself really a widow at this age. So, instead, you focused on all the other great things in your life, hoping for that miracle to come someday, and currently, it was in the form of a Dutch veterinarian in Monaco. 

Not how you expected your night to go. "They're named after clubs?" 

"Jimmy and Sassy are, but Donatello is not." Max answers very seriously, sparing a small grin your way, and you try to think what kind of experience he must have gone through to not want his soulmate, to want love from anyone, just for being him. You understand the thought of not wanting someone to just automatically stick with you for the sake of being a soulmate, but Max had so much to offer. You kept trying to find faults, but all you found were cats and a sweet tooth. "What would you have named them?" 

"Three cats? You should give them all names with the same first letter, like Jessica, James, and John." A laugh bubbles out of Max at the suggestion, a bright thing that has you blushing, luckily hidden in the dim light of Monaco's nights. 

"I am not naming a cat Jessica. Or James." 

"But John works?" You tease, stopping to stare up at a crystal clear night that, even with the light pollution, reveals a sky littered with stars. Max comes to stop at your side, saying nothing for a moment as the two of you just stare out into the night, and your hand brushes his. 

It shouldn't be this electrifying. Shouldn't be something so intense from a stranger, some truly random man you met in the night, but it was the sort of adventure you wouldn't mind pursuing. You only had a week here, but maybe you wouldn't mind spending that week with Max. "For the right cat," Max finally continues, still happily enthralled with the cat conversation, "John would work." 

"Do you think the water would be nice?" You ask, stepping closer to the shore. The water barely reaches your toes, and without much consideration for his pants, Max pulls his shoes and socks off, and wades in shin-deep. You laugh, watching him practically stomp around, and there's an evil glint in his eye that has him charging at you. You don't even try to run, letting him grab you by the waist and haul you into the water, spinning you around and sending water flying around with it. Your hands brace against his shoulders, and for working with so many different animals, he'd have to be strong for that, surely. 

Or maybe he just likes to work out in his free time, your hands smoothing against his biceps as he sets you down into the water, a pleasant thought you tuck away for later. "Does that answer your question?" 

"You are ridiculous." Then, you realize Max hadn't let go of your waist, and you hadn't let go of his arms, wrapped up together and standing in the water like it was normal. 

Because it could be. 

This could be your future, if you really think of it. Love was something worth pursuing, even if it wasn't the perfect match set out for you from the universe. You had spent so long mourning your soulmate you hadn't stopped to realize that maybe, just maybe, there were other people out there for you. 

That there could be a Max, after it all. And you could kiss him, if you wanted, looking up at him in the moonlit night, on a random beach, but fear stirs in your stomach too quickly to let you. There was little evidence this could ever be more than a pleasant night, that it would last, and Max notices your hesitation, very gently letting your waist go. "We, uh, don't have towels." You say, trying to direct the conversation away from your spiralling thoughts. "We're going to have wet feet." 

"Well, I might have wet feet." Max makes his way back to his shoes, using his socks to wipe off his feet before putting his sneakers on, and then he finds you at the edge of the shore, and holds out his arms. "But I could carry you?" 

"Carry me?" You echo, blush rising to your cheeks, and you realize Max is waiting for permission. "I mean, I might be heavy, I-" 

"Oh, heavy!" Max then proceeds to scoop you up, bridal style, like it's nothing. He marches up to where the beach meets a cobblestone road, and gently sets you on the low stone fence seperating the two. 

And then, like it's normal, like it's something people do, he squats down without a word and helps put your heels on, a Cinderella moment that has you considering if maybe he really was your long-lost soulmate. 

You'd never asked what his trait was, never got to see what it could be. Maybe you had matching, scratched-out marks. Maybe he got into an accident that damaged it. Maybe, by the way he's looking up at you, it didn't matter. "What brings you to Monaco?"  Max continues, as if he didn't just do the sweetest thing anyone has for you in a long, long time. 

"A break from it all." Max leads you down the street toward your hotel, and you don't want the night to end, both for your enjoyment, and the concern that it all might be over tomorrow.

Max doesn't realize you'd stopped infront of your hotel, sparing a glance to your side and then doing a small spin to face you again, lopsided smile revealed in the streetlight above him. "You should come back," He says, coming to lean on the wall of the hotel beside you. "I'm not sure I can show you all you need to see in just a week." 

"I might need more convincing than that." You joke, and Max smiles down at you, a sight that has your stomach flipping, and this time, before you let your emotions truly get in the way, you lean up on the tips of your toes and press a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for all this, Max. It really means a lot." 

Max's hand hovers over his cheek, shock plain on his face from the kiss, and you're worried you've overstepped before he's blushing deeply, a perfect pink colour picked up in the lights of the hotel. It's a view you could get used to. "Oh," He breathes out softly, a small, giddy smile breaking out across his face. "You're most certainly welcome."

You take a step up the hotel stairs and Max calls after you, making you pause above him, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, as if some kind of non-chalant defense for whatever he's about to say next.

"Think I could convince you to give me your number?" You half-heartedly roll your eyes, coming back down the stairs to put your number in his phone. You send off a test text, and you hope it's enough to make him want you tomorrow, because the more time you spend with him, the more you try not to get your hopes up. 

He's not your soulmate, and this isn't fate, but god, do you want it to be. 

You move back up the stairs and step into the hotel, leaving the door open to look back at Max, and you know you can't invite him up, can't jump through that many stages yet, and Max respectfully waits on the sidewalk, that stupid smile still on his face. "Goodnight, Max." 

"Goodnight," He says, along with some word in what you assume to be Dutch. You try to figure out what he possibly could have said when Max waves a hand, ushering you toward the elevator. "Forget it, it's Dutch. Go get some sleep." 

It's only when you get to your room do you realize you still have his wallet.

-

Max awakes to the sound of his phone buzzing. Glancing at the screen, since he came home and crashed, he's missed a handful of texts.

unknown 

hey! i still have your wallet

Then, about half an hour later, 

unknown

I really needed that tonight, thank you 

Maybe you can give me a tour sometime?

 

Then, this morning, 

unknown

me again, if this is the wrong number, can you let me know?

Glancing at the time, Max realizes he's slept in until noon. With a curse, he drags himself out of bed and quickly tries to type out a response that doesn't make him seem like a degenerate. 

max 

sorry, I passed out after I got home 

not used to staying out that late 

i could give you that tour in return for the wallet today? 

Your answer is almost instantaneous. 

unknown

that sounds wonderful 

sorry for keeping you up late

max

it was worth it

unknown 

I'm on a run currently, do you want me to pick you up some breakfast to start our tour?

max

you are perfect

and waffles?

And it was the start of something perfect. 

Without really putting too much thought into it, partially because it's early, partially because if he does, he'll start to crack into a million little pieces, he sends his address, and spends the next twenty minutes furiously cleaning everything he can. It's only once there's a knock on his door and he answers that he realizes he hasn't changed out of his pyjamas, left standing before you in an oversized t-shirt and boxers.

Somehow, though, it's not quite embarrassing. You just smile up at him, shaking your head with your arms full of take out boxes, his wallet balanced on top. "Give me a minute, and I'll get changed." He says, taking the boxes from you and setting them down on the counter, and you take in his space, almost presentable now with his frantic tidying. 

He disappears into his bedroom, trying not to think too hard about whatever outfit he throws together, something nice and casual, nothing to get him noticed in the streets. Considering you had his wallet, and knew his name, there's a chance you might have searched him, which ruins the whole fame aspect of this, but for some reason, he has faith. 

He steps back out to the kitchen to find you sitting on the ground, Donatello in your lap, and Max has to pause to take in the moment. It's so deeply domestic, of you curled up with his cats, boxes of waffles left open on the counter above you. He couldn't remember the last time he shared breakfast with someone outside of work, let someone into his space, like it was normal.

If he had his phone on him, he'd take a photo to remember the moment, but then you're looking up at him and smiling, and the memory will be better than any photo could be. "Who's this one?" 

"Donatello, or Donut." Max moves to the counter and gathers up the boxes of waffles and watches you struggle to pick Donatello up to join him, but the cat just lets you awkwardly cradle it like a baby. "He likes you," Max admits as he falls onto his couch and promptly tears into one of the boxes of chocolate waffles. "He doesn't let me hold him like that." 

"You're a vet!" You exclaim, coming to sit beside him, like this was normal, like you had always shared mornings, like it was meant to be, even if it never was. "Shouldn't you be an expert at this stuff?" 

"It's not about me, it's about the animal." He extends his arms to try and take Donatello, who leaps off his lap and disappears somewhere into the house. "See?" 

"Maybe that's what you get for naming him Donatello." You take one of the boxes, cutting up some crepe thing with a plastic knife and fork as Max takes his first bites of food. "Are you a car guy?" 

Max's heart stutters in his chest before you gesture to his shelf, where some replica cars and car books stand out, glaringly obvious. "Oh, yeah. My dad's a big racing fan. Do you know anything about cars?" 

"Not really, no." You answer truthfully, taking a bite. He waits for you to finish eating to continue asking questions, but then you're gesturing to his waffles. "Are they any good?" 

"Want a piece?" Without another word, you cut some crepe and give it to him as he offers up a piece of the waffle, trading like it's nothing, and Max finds that he doesn't really care if you figure out who he is, because so far, you've treated him perfectly normal. You're curled up on the couch, by his side, trading pieces of fruit and breakfast, an unspoken thing that you do the entire morning. 

When he slowly extends an arm over the back of the couch, letting you lean into him, you do, and you talk about the night before like it's nothing. 

Because it was nothing. It wasn't some big, meaningful thing, some soulmate bond, it was just you and him. You don't ask to see his soul mark, and he doesn't ask to see yours. You just sit in each other's company, laughing over the cats being idiots, and Max unfortunately realizes that he could really, really get used to this. 

A week wouldn't be long enough, so mentally, he decides to pull out every stop. Yachts, restaurants, hikes, anything that might convince you to stay, or at least stay with him. 

Anything to convince Max that something like this could last, and that it could be love. 

-

"What's your favourite colour?" You ask Max, taking your time as you wander through the Japanese-style garden he'd brought you to. For a veterinarian, he somehow had access to some of the best places in Monaco, apparently due to all the wealthy people whose pets are his patients. 

"Blue, I think." Max answers absent-mindedly, stopping to study a bush of flowers intently. "Here, come look." 

"What did you say in Dutch, the other day? Sounded like cat something." You join Max's side to see a butterfly perfectly perched on a flower, and distracted, you don't see how red Max gets at your question. 

"Nothing," He repeats softly, his hand gently brushing against yours. Without much thought, you link your fingers together, and walk the rest of the garden like that. "Just means good night." 

-

You are currently lounging on Max's yacht in a blue one-piece bathing suit, and Max has never struggled to look at a person more. It's sort of the opposite, really, that he wants to stare at you, to keep looking at the way your curves lay out perfectly on the blanket he provided, that you might have bought that suit for him, because it's his favourite colour. 

"You know," Max says before he can stop himself, "Wearing a blue bathing suit can be dangerous. You might not be spotted in the water." 

"What?" You say, rolling over to look at him, and Max has to stare intently down at the book he's trying to read to not look in your direction. "But I've worn this for years, no one ever said anything." 

I've worn this for years. 

His shade of blue, like it was meant to be, but it wasn't, because this was just something real, something two people could share without anything else influencing it. "I can take you shopping for something brighter? Just in case." 

"You just want to see me try on bathing suits, that's what this is." You tease, and Max flushes red. Then, to his surprise, you rise, coming to sit on the end of his lounger in the shade, and he ever so carefully looks up, so that he only looks at your face. "Do you need any sunscreen? You're getting pretty red." 

"It's not the sun." Max blurts, before quickly trying to return to his book. Then, your hand comes to pull the book down from his face, and the joy in your expression is something evil. 

"You really do like blue, hm?" Max tosses his book to the side, uncaring where it lands before he's picking you up. "Wait, Max, Max! Not the water, not the water!" 

"Perfect day for a swim, no?" He teases, and you smack his chest. 

"I thought you said people couldn't see me if I was in blue." You do have a point there. Without letting you go, Max settles back into his lounger, you in his lap, and without needing any instructions, you happily bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting Max hold you there. 

At some point, your breathing evens out, and in the only chance Max has, he gently presses a kiss to your forehead and lets himself fall asleep too. 

-

The last day doesn't quite feel real. Max had gotten you dinner reservations at a Michelin star restaurant, and you had tried to teach him yoga in the morning, and somewhere in between, you'd gone for a hike and gotten gelato, and Max had fallen into what he realized now might be love. 

"You know," He finds himself saying, watching as you curl up in his side, Donatello in your lap and his suit jacket around your shoulders, "I think Donut might miss you more than me." 

It was a perfect mirror to your first morning here. You had come back from dinner, not even thinking about returning to Max's apartment instead of your hotel. At this point, he should've told you to bring your suitcase, to spend the week here, but there were some boundaries you had yet to cross. "I can't say the same for Jimmy or Sassy," You say up to him, both cats nowhere to be found. They'd always been more territorial over Max anyway. You shift further into his side on the couch, hand reaching up to adjust his jacket before remembering that you had to give it back, and before remembering that you had to go. 

Max watches both thoughts occur to you in real time, the smile slowly fading from your features. "I suppose this is it." He says softly above you. Neither of you had talked about what this was, what it meant, and frankly, Max was terrified to bring it up on his own. 

He loved you. It was a strange conclusion to come to in only a week, but you were living, breathing proof that someone could care for him without a mark, without the fame, his identity perfectly tucked away the whole time. You could've searched him up, could've done a lot of things, but he's not sure you ever did. 

"Can I ask a question?" Max asks, hand coming up to gently brush some loose hair away from your face, a domestic moment that might haunt him forever. "Did you ever search me? My name, in the wallet?" 

"What, Max Verstappen?" His full name haunts him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn't seem to come. "No, I didn't. Should I have?" 

"I'm not a veterinarian." He answers softly, and the confusion on your face morphs into something closer to fear, and very gently, Max finally admits what he's been keeping from you. "Another reason I don't want to pursue a soulmate is because I am a Formula One driver, and enough people have pretended to love me for that. That's why there's so much car stuff." 

"Max," You breath out softly, shifting up to look at him more directly, "I know why you didn't, but you could have told me." 

"You are proof enough that I was right, though." You were here, curled up in his home like it was yours, with no strings attached. He trusted you when you said you didn't know his identity, because he trusted you entirely. "I don't need a mark or money to make someone love me." Your eyes widen, and Max realizes rather quickly what he just said aloud, scrapping all the progress he made to drop that word on you after only a week. "I didn't mean, as in I thought, after the week, I-" 

"Wait, Max-" 

"I'm sorry, I didn't think of-" 

"Max." You sit up properly now, facing him, and if this were another fantasy, Max would drag you into his lap, hold you there for a while, but now, he lets his hands ball up into useless fists at his side, waiting for you to tear a strip off of him for saying that you loved him after a week. Instead of the coming anger he expects, however, there's a softness as you gently place a hand on his chest, smoothing down his tie. "I don't think either of us can call this love yet." You say, and Max tries to get something out before you can continue. "But you're right. You don't need a soulmark or money to make someone love you, because I have spent the most incredible week with you, and the only thing I've cared about is needing to get to know you more. Not more about your soulmark, or about your secret identity, I just wanted you." 

You just wanted him. 

God, this could be love. It's all Max can think as he leans in, kissing you before he can stop himself. It starts out as a soft, simple thing, but Max could never truly describe himself as soft, if not maybe only for you. His hands find your waist, pulling you into him, and you deepen the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck, slotting together like you were always meant to be here, even if you weren't. You pull apart for a breath, staring up at Max with so much knowing in your eyes that Max can't help but immediately loosen his tie, flinging it off to some far corner of his apartment before continuing. 

He doesn't want to rush you, doesn't need to rush this, but god, all he can think is that this could be love, and all the ways he might be able to make you stay, to make you his. He doesn't care how many jets he has to charter, how many rules he had to bend, because you cared for him, the closest thing he's ever known to love. 

Your hands begin to undo his dress shirt, beating him to his own game, and he practically rips it off himself to get to you, and your hand smooths over the bandage on his shoulder, and you still.

Desperately, Max wants to ignore it. He wants this moment to be his, he wants you to be his, and for this all to disappear. 

But that's not how life works, unfortunately. That's not what Jos allowed. Someday, he'll have to talk about it, and as you slowly pull away, Max swallows thickly, trying to think of how he could tell you all that he did, all that he's done, to get rid of this damned mark. To make his father proud. To be the driver he needed to be. 

"You don't have to show me," You say, somehow unexpected. Throughout this whole week, you had never rushed him, never tried to make him talk about soulmates again. Still, with this much tension between you, with that damned bandage under your hand, he didn't expect you to happily ignore it. "We don't have to talk about it." 

"It's ugly," Max says quietly, leaning back to press a hand to his eyes, the other still holding onto your waist, gentle but firm. "Shouldn't be seen anyway." 

"No soulmark is ugly," You answer, a knowing to your voice. "I would never judge you for it." 

"I scrubbed it off." The words hang in the air, a quiet admission that Max had never dared to tell another soul. 

That after the hundredth race belittled by his father, tormented by this stupid mark, by a love that served no one, Max had found some solvent invented to get rid of soulmarks, and to the best of his ability, he scrubbed it off. It hurt like hell, the scar worse than the soulmark was itself, but Max got rid of it. "What?" Your confusion answers everything Max needed to know, slowly leaning back to put distance between the two of you. 

"I was raised in a household where soulmarks didn't work. The universe didn't pick lovers, it just didn't...they didn't...work. And because I was determined to race, I was convinced love would get in the way. Didn't help that everyone kept throwing themselves at me, faking marks to try and convince me they were my partner. I scrubbed it off permanently, and I don't regret it." 

He does. 

It probably hurt his soulmate. It probably tortured him more than he needed at his age. You pull back even farther, a mix of emotions that Max can't read as you stare at him. Disgust, he's pretty sure. That he would do that to someone else. "That's why real partnerships matter to me. Not soulmarks that can be burned off." 

"God, I'm sorry Max." The apology comes easily, despite Max's experience that it should be difficult. No one ever apologized to him sincerely, but it came to you like breathing. "I'm so sorry anyone ever made you feel like you had to get rid of that to succeed. I'm so sorry they convinced you it wasn't worth it." 

"That doesn't matter now." 

"Doesn't matter now? Of course it does, Max." Your hand smooths over the bandage on his shoulder. "If I'm the proof you need that love doesn't need to be scrubbed away, then so be it. Soulmarks be damned, you are so worthy, Max. You never should have felt the need to do...to do all that." 

The tears come in waves that Max isn't used to, normally fighting them with all his might, but right now, he couldn't care as he lets them fall, your hands gently coming up to wipe them away. He was worthy. 

That was all he was ever waiting to hear, he thinks. "I'm sorry," He says as he presses his face into your neck, your hand gently sliding into his hair, soothingly parting his hair this way and that. "That you never got to meet your soulmate. They were one lucky, lucky person." 

"I got to meet you, didn't I?" You weren't his soulmate, he knows. But it was still a nice admission that has Max laughing sadly into your collarbone. "I never have to see your mark if you don't want, but never feel the need to hide it from me." 

Without much thought, Max leans back and awkwardly reaches over his shoulder, tearing off the bandage in one clean rip, but he doesn't let you see right away. Instead, he finds himself stuck, staring at you through slowing tears as you begin to pull your dress over your head, a shock that has Max's eyes squeezing shut tight. "Wait, wait, you don't have to-" 

"If you want to show me yours, I can show you mine." Max's eyes flutter open, and he never thought he'd be more distracted by a mark than by you, in your underwear, in his lap. 

But he is, because it's his. 

There, tucked on your ribs is his mark, the little lion-looking head, a symbol Max carried for years in homage to the one he scrubbed off. It's a matching scar, more faded now, but it's his, and instantly, his hand clamps over it to hide it from his sight. 

You're his soulmate. 

All that fighting, trying so hard to not need a soulmark to fall in love, and you were still his. "What, Max?" 

"Don't move." Max manages to say under his breath, the next round of tears coming. "Please, god-" 

Your hand smooths over his shoulder, fingers gently tracing over his scar, and once you make the full way around, you freeze, because of course you'd recognize a matching scar. All this time, you thought your soulmate had died because Max had scrubbed off his soulmark, making it look like he'd passed. "But I...I never felt the bond." 

"I told you," He answers through gritted teeth, "I scrubbed it off. It must have broke the bond." 

"Max." God, you should be so angry at him. He expects a tantrum, a fight, you storming out and ending this perfect week with all of Max's terribleness. 

Because if the universe was right, you were his soulmate, and he'd ruined it all for you. You and him had fit so perfectly, and he had just fucked everything up to a degree that even he didn't know how to fix. "Changes how you think of me, huh?" He jokes softly, unable to meet your eyes, and to his surprise, you gently take his head in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead. 

"Just confirms my suspicions, actually." You answer as Max's eyes flicker open, looking up to see you smiling at him. 

Smiling. "What?" 

"You might have destroyed our soul bond, but we still fell in love." You gently pat his chest as you lean back, taking a deep breath. "We were perfectly capable of falling in love with strangers, but something in me knew we were more than just...strangers." 

"You're not mad?" 

"This wasn't your fault." Oh. "You made some very, very poor decisions, but this...I couldn't blame you for this. I found my way back, didn't I?" 

Oh. 

Max pulls you into the tightest hug he can manage, holding you perfectly still as he finally comes to terms with the fact that once upon a time, you were his soulmate. He'd hurt you, scrubbed the mark and bond and made you believe he was dead, and you kept going. You kept trying to find love, and you found him, and maybe it all wasn't real. 

Maybe it wasn't the universe. Maybe it wasn't fate. Maybe it wasn't soulmates. The bond had broken, after all, and you had both proven you were able to love each other without needing an inch of proof of forever. You just needed him now, and Max has to fight the tears he'd had built up inside him since he was eighteen. 

He's not sure how long he holds you there, but it's long enough for him to be sure that you're going to miss your flight tomorrow, and long enough for him to be sure that no matter what this is, no matter what connects you, it's real. 

And that's all he ever needed it to be.

-

-

-

"So you're not soulmates?" One of Max's mechanics ask, stood beside you infront of the monitor. You almost don't hear them with your headphones on, but the words have been said enough times to get the essence of it. 

How could you possibly date someone who isn't supposed to be yours in the eyes of the universe? It was a hard thing to explain, that Max was your soulmate, but he had severed the bond, and you had repaired it anyway. You decided to keep all that from the world however, soulmarks tucked away to only be shared between the two of you. What the world didn't know wouldn't hurt them. "We don't have a soul bond, no." 

"But don't you think about your soulmates?" The final laps approach, Max having a fair advantage as you watch his car whip around the track. "Finding someone better?" 

"Better?" The best possible option was right here, shining in the night like he was meant to. You wouldn't lie and say that it didn't hurt, knowing that Max had purposefully tried to break the bond, but that didn't dampen your feelings for him. You were children back then, and he was hurting, and he thought this was the best way forward. 

Maybe, if he had kept the soulmark, you'd have found each other somehow, in some way, but that's not the love story you needed. Your love story started on the streets of Monaco in the middle of the night, falling for a man for no other reason than he was Max, and he was yours, and it was perfect. 

"Soulmates are not the be-all end-all. There is other love out there for us, and it's no better or worse." The only thing this could be was love, you think, soulmarks be damned. You believed, deep down, that something more than just coincidence connected you and Max, but what you had was built on a foundation of your own making, not the universe's. "Max is the best partner I could ask for, whether he was my soulmate or not."

The mechanic doesn't have time to question it further, because Max crosses the finish line, and your heart begins beating so fast that it has to be love. It was meant to be, even if at one point, it wasn't. You were meant to be here, and on that street with Max, and in his arms, and with his cats, and in each other's lives, and there was no explanation needed for why. 

It was love, when you rushed down toward the parc ferme, past all the garages and the flashing lights, that you were here for him. The headlines hadn't known what to do with you, and Max hadn't bothered to indulge their rumours. You were his, and he was yours, and nothing would come between that. 

Because you were soulmates. 

It wasn't a fact you let yourself indulge in too often, considering what you had wasn't built on the assumption of loving someone, but the growth of learning how to do it.

But, once upon a time, you were soulmates, destined to be here, and it felt like something finally clicked into place as Max meets you at the barrier, helmet and sleeve ripped off to kiss you senseless, because this is what you built, together. 

It was something real, no magical, mystical interference needed. 

You were healing each other in the ways only you could, and as you pull away, you find yourself picturing the young Max, who went through so much torment to be here, to be with you. To think this wasn't an option was impossible. "I'm so proud of you." You say, the few words that you knew Max needed to hear. 

That he was worth it, that he was loved, that there were other things in this world besides racing to devote yourself to. If you were somewhere more private, Max might let you know how he really feels about it, but instead, he gently cradles the back of your head as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "I told you," He says softly, "You'll be the finish line for someone." 

"Didn't realize you meant that literally." Sometime later, when the crowds disperse and the interviews stop and the night slows, you and Max drive away into the night for the hundredth time and end up back at the hotel, where a glimpse of his soulmark confirms your suspicions.

And, sometime later, after the room service gets delivered and the adrenaline of the day slows, you fall asleep on Max for the hundredth time, and as you shift in your sleep, he gets a glimpse of your soulmark as the shirt you'd stolen from him rides up on your chest.

Repaired, unscarred, and perfectly whole.

And, for the first time, in a long time,

Max starts to believe in soulmates again.

a/n: saw this request and tried to write something small and cute and ended up writing 7 thousand words of what it means to be loved - enjoy?

[kurooh]

FIRST DATE JITTERS ☆ MIYA ATSUMU

atsumu swears he isn’t crazy.

yes, he’s talking to himself while standing in the middle of his very empty apartment, right at the epicenter of the mess he’s made with his own hands. a lamp gifted to him by his mom is on its side on the floor, the lampshade permanently dented now—the flung shoes that had knocked it over are beside it, the toes pointing right at him to further prove that it was entirely his doing.

rumpled blankets are hanging off the foot of the bed, touching the floor while they’re weighed down by all of the clothes he’s dragged out of his closet. somehow, his high school jersey made it into the mix. god, like he’d ever wear that to a date.

atsumu slams down on the dial button again and waits impatiently, starting to fidget as the low tone of the phone drones into his ear. if he gets sent to voicemail one more fucking time—

“what do ya want, tsumu?” osamu’s grumble crackles through the phone, accompanied by the sounds of talking and clinking dishes. “ya only called me nineteen fuckin’ times. should’a known it was only a matter a’time before ya called the fuc—ahem, the restaurant.”

“answer yer phone an’ i wouldn’t have’ta call ya so many goddamn times! listen, i need yer help with something, i’ve gotta pick up a date in a half hour and i—”

“tsumu has a wittle date, huh?” on the other side, osamu ignores the weird looks from customers and his own staff members as he pitches his voice. “and ya just had ta make it my problem. i’m not comin’ over there, ya need to deal with it yerself.”

atsumu sighs indignantly, practically blowing steam out through his nostrils like a wild bison. his brother is really, really getting on his last nerve, but he doesn’t want to show up at your place with a vein bulging out of his forehead, so he tries to calm himself. “if ya’d just listen ta me, ya’d understand that i need some help choosing what ta wear. my apartment’s a fuckin’ mess right now, which coulda been prevented if ya picked up earlier, goddamn it!”

he shouts the last of it and hopes that osamu doesn’t hang up and instead senses his plight with the hard-wired brotherly instincts they both share.

“sorry, what was that? the restaurant’s real busy, i think i might have to get back to it.”

“i need yer advice! i don’t know what i should wear ta pick her up, so stop messin’ around and help me. yer the one who’s been on more dates anyway, ya scrub.”

osamu sighs, probably fidgeting with the phone cord as he contemplates giving in and helping out. this is the first time his brother has called with this much desperation over a date, of all things—he honestly thought that atsumu would get better at this whole song and dance once he made it onto msby. he supposes it’s a good thing that he’s the one atsumu is calling, and it’s a nice little ego boost too.

anyway, between the two of them, he’s always had an easier time talking to and wooing women. you’ve come up in their conversations a few times before, but atsumu tends to drone on about how much he likes you, so osamu pointedly avoids the topic. as much as osamu loves him, he knows that his brother can be a bit much—awkwardly making jokes when he first meets someone, describing volleyball to them against their will, and worse, texting back too quickly to start up more torturous conversations.

but from what atsumu’s divulged to him over the phone, osamu understands that you are a perfect match for his brother. you balance out all of his excitement and listen to his volleyball stories—even laughing genuinely at a few of them—in a way that nobody has before. osamu wants his brother to be happy, and he also wants to be the one credited with bringing the two of you together (he can see this working out in the long run).

“m’kay, tsumu, open yer ears and listen closely. got it?”

atsumu’s trying not to start sweating and ruin the results of what ended up being an hour long shower; you unknowingly send him a friendly text letting him know you’re ready to go and awaiting him. “yeah, i got it . . samu, fuck, she’s sayin’ she’s ready and—”

osamu snaps into the serious, focused persona he usually reserves for when he’s crammed in the kitchen during a holiday rush hour. “ignore her text an’ tell me what yer options are. i assume yer takin’ her ta dinner, right?”

“fancy place over on eleventh street. both of ‘em are dress shirts, but it’s between dark blue, white, and—”

“dark blue, tsumu. make sure it has a goddamn collar, you ain’t going ta a team dinner.”

atsumu frowns as he holds up the shirt, scanning over the fabric for a single wrinkle. he got everything he could find dry cleaned just for this moment and steamed—three dress shirts, two pairs of pants, a vest, and two ties. you’re probably sitting on the couch at home, waiting for a text back in your pretty dress, completely unaware of the fact that he’s spiraling. seeing the dry cleaning bill plus the rush charge on top of it made him take a lap around the parking lot, but he returned brandishing his card, reminding himself that this much effort would totally be worth it. “‘m gonna go with the black pants. should i wear a vest too or will she laugh at me?”

osamu winces, sucking in a sharp breath at the thought. this is a risky maneuver, but it should be fine if he balances it out with a nice tie. one of his waitresses is mouthing a plea for help toward him, and he’s trying to let her know he needs two more minutes max.

“samu, come on,” his voice gets whiny and he stamps his foot on the carpet in frustration. “‘m getting sweaty already.”

“deodorant before ya put anything on, don’t wanna take her breath away with yer stench. match the vest ta the pants, make sure ya got clean socks on.”

“oh, fuck off! i always wear clean socks, it was only that one time.” atsumu is currently rifling through his drawers for a pair of clean socks without patterns in case you end up seeing them later on, and he finally comes up with a tight ball of fabric. he holds it up like it’s a gold nugget, the eureka of the decade, and then remembers that nobody is in the apartment with him.

“look, tsumu, i gotta go. remember ta be a gentleman ‘n hold doors, pull chairs, all that.”

atsumu’s face drops while he’s in the middle of pulling his socks on. he starts to protest uselessly, growing more panicked with every word that tumbles out of his mouth. “samu, oh my god. she’s gonna look really fuckin’ good, how do i compliment her? what if i start chokin’ when we’re eatin’ and i embarrass myself? i need ya ta talk ta me, i really like her and—”

“tsumu, breathe. no need ta get so damn worked up, it’s jus’ a date. be yerself an’ use yer judgment. ya got it in the bag, don’t sweat it.”

osamu considers that this may be the wrong choice of words, because atsumu groans and pops off the cap of what is probably a stick of deodorant. dejected, his brother mumbles a goodbye and a thanks, not wanting to hang up himself.

“wear a blue tie. send me some pictures, ‘kay? try yer best not ta look like a scrub, dude. good luck with her, yer gonna be fine.”

atsumu is quick to follow his brother’s instructions after applying one too many layers of deodorant. when he’s fully dressed, he takes a mirror photo and sends it to osamu’s cell, then texts you that he’s heading over to pick you up for dinner. he sprays a small amount of cologne and adjusts his too-tight tie before heading out the door, his tummy flipping nervously.

it is only soothed when you open the door with a smile on your face, right after a single knock. atsumu looks as handsome as ever, outfitted in a tantalizing combination of blue and black. his cheeks are a dusty pink, and they only darken when he respectfully tries to take in the beauty of your dress.

he clears his throat, snapping out of his daze, and offers you his arm, a cute though awkward grin splitting across his face. “yer just . . god, yer breathtakin’. so beautiful.”

you laugh as you take his arm, cheeks warming. “you clean up pretty well yourself, atsumu.”

—

“wait, what?” you cackle in disbelief, laughing breathlessly as osamu nods seriously. “no way, he really called you and begged you for your help?”

“yeah, he tore the fuckin’ place up all because he couldn’t make a decision. hey, tsumu, tell her how much ya spent on dry cleanin’.”

atsumu flares indignantly, cheeks burning with a visible glow as he sets down the wine glasses a little harder than he should. “samu, i know we’re gettin’ married, but that was two goddamn years ago. ya didn’t even help me that much, my tie was tangled and—”

you gasp in surprise, recounting the events of your first date. “baby, is that why i had to loosen it for you? it was so tight, i’m surprised you didn’t suffocate and keel over on the way up to my apartment.”

atsumu dramatically turns his head to the side, tipping his nose up in disdain. he did nearly choke himself out with the tie that had been a birthday gift from an msby teammate, but in his defense, he was rushing out the door and had only ever worn ties tied by either his mom or osamu. “maybe if i did, i wouldn’t have’ta sit here while you throw dirt all over my name, samu. and you, babe, yer laughin’ at me.”

osamu pours himself a glass of wine and watches as you console his brother, hugging him tightly. “mm mm, tsumu. i’m only laughing because i think all of the effort you put into that date was sweet. i didn’t look it, but i was almost as nervous as you were.”

eyes gleaming with hopefulness, atsumu softens and looks at you with a small smile. “really? yer not just tryin’ ta apologize for disparagin’ me in front of samu?”

“i promise,” and then you tilt his face toward your own, brushing your lips against his in what is clearly the beginning of a lovey-dovey kiss.

osamu sits back with the wine glass in his hand, then starts to gag and retch loudly when atsumu purposefully kisses you more passionately. “urk! i know yer gettin’ married next month, but everybody else an’ i don’t wanna see all that.”

instead of saying anything, atsumu lets his middle finger speak for the two of you.

inspired by this! haikyuu fluff will always be special to me <3

[gossamyrrh]

❛ 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄 ❜ ◞ toji fushiguro x reader x shiu kong

⤷ in which toji pays off his debt. . . cw. dubcon smut ♥︎ hehe… of course

letta’s note 🐰✉️: this is so self indulgent hhdfjj. dream scenario, i fear….

it’s toji’s fault, really, that things are like this.

with his tongue battling your own, his hand shoved past the band of your panties—and his friend, shiu, jerking off just across from you both on the sofa—the fact becomes painfully apparent.

“t-toji!” you moan into his mouth. “t-this is so awkward.”

“i know, doll. i know. but you gotta do this f’me, yeah? just this once…”

see, toji is what one would call…irresponsible. every time a paycheque comes in, he’s gambling half of it away, or using it to buy beer or scratch-offs. or something else he could easily fare without.

but, it’s a compulsion… something he can’t easily resist. that’s his excuse for it, anyway. that’s his excuse for this.

this, being, the consequence for one particularly idiotic wager—what was supposed to be a harmless bet with shiu. one that he was so confident he’d win.

“£100 if my horse wins.” shiu had bet, a smirk on his face as though he’d known what the outcome would be.

“your horse ain’t gonna win.” toji snorted. “bet my girl on it.”

but oh, how he’d been so wrong…

and now here you are: knees spread, panties pushed aside, whimpering as shiu eyes you hungrily—lazily pumping his cock as you squirm with discomfort.

toji can see the humiliation written across your face as he deftly works you open with his fingers—how your lips trembles and your eyes brim with tears.

which is what makes him coo, “he’ll only have to watch, sweetheart. that’s all. don’t worry.”

you nod, barely, swallowing down a sob and a moan that threatens to follow it.

but then shiu leans in, eyes molten. “yeah, i’ll watch. but i want her to look at me while you fuck her, toji. i wanna see her fall apart for you… while she knows i’m here.”

toji smirks. “you hear that, baby? gotta keep your eyes on him while i make this pretty pussy mine. think you can do that for me?”

you should say no.

you should tell them both to fuck off.

but as his fingers curl just right, and your hips jerk involuntarily, the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, shameful: “y-yeah…”

your voice is barely a breath—fragile, trembling, but it’s consent, and that’s all toji needs—cares for.

“atta girl,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers out of you slow, purposefully sloppy, so your slick clings and strings between his knuckles. “shiu, you watchin’? look at how fuckin’ wet she is.”

“hard not to,” shiu drawls, his voice a shade deeper now, breath catching as his eyes drink in the sight. “she’s gorgeous like this. ruined and embarrassed.”

your thighs twitch.

toji shifts, grabbing your chin and forcing your face to turn fully toward shiu. “keep those pretty eyes on him,” he says, mouth brushing your jaw. “no hiding. not tonight.”

it’s humiliating—your skin burns under shiu’s gaze—but your cunt clenches around nothing, aching for more—for anything toji’ll give you.

and he knows it.

“bet you’re fuckin’ throbbin’ right now,” he mutters into your ear, pushing his sweats down just enough to free his cock—thick, heavy, already leaking. “ain’t you, doll?”

you nod, lips parted, panting softly. “y-yeah…”

“yeah,” he echoes, one hand gripping your hip as he lines himself up. “could’ve just paid shiu his fuckin’ hundred… but no, i had to be a cocky bastard.”

his tip presses against your entrance—teasing, spreading you open just enough to make your breath hitch.

“you mad at me?” he asks, voice a smirk, but his eyes search yours, genuine for just a flash.

you don’t answer. you can’t. not when he pushes in, inch by thick inch, stretching you open slow enough to make you whimper, to make your nails dig into his shoulders.

“goddamn,” toji growls, burying himself to the hilt. “you’re always so fuckin’ tight, baby. like this pussy knows it’s mine.”

a filthy sound escapes your lips—half-moan, half-sob—and your eyes flutter, only for his hand to snap to your jaw.

“eyes on him,” he reminds you, thrusting once, hard, making you cry out.

shiu groans across from you, pumping himself faster now, lips parted and gaze locked to the point where your bodies meet. “she’s fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “you’re a lucky bastard, toji.”

“damn right i am,” toji grunts, hips snapping into you with wet, brutal rhythm. “and she’s gonna cum just like this—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, watching you stroke your cock.”

your body trembles in his grip, shame and pleasure tangling into something dark and addictive. every roll of his hips pushes you closer to the edge. and with shiu’s gaze locked on yours, hungry and possessive, you feel like you’re being devoured from both sides.

and maybe… maybe you like it.

you try to breathe, to think, to hold on to something, anything, but toji’s pace is relentless. every thrust hits deep, sharp and sure, the wet slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room like a filthy rhythm. you’re spread wide on his lap, trembling, thighs twitching as his cock drags against every aching spot inside you.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, voice rough and strained. “you feel that? how tight you’re squeezin’ me?”

you nod helplessly, mouth open, a choked moan slipping out.

“tell him,” toji growls, thrusting deep enough to knock the breath out of you. “tell shiu how good i fuck you.”

your gaze, glassy and glazed, flicks to shiu—his eyes dark and locked on you, his hand pumping faster now, knuckles slick with precum. your cheeks burn, lips quivering, but your voice comes out sweet and broken.

“s-so good,” you whisper. “he… he fucks me so good…”

shiu lets out a low, strangled moan, his hips twitching like he’s barely holding back. “fuck, she’s perfect.”

toji chuckles, low and possessive, hand gripping your waist tighter. “she is, ain’t she?”

his free hand slides between your thighs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the swollen bundle until your whole body jolts.

“toji—!” you gasp, back arching, head falling against his shoulder.

“there it is,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “you’re close, huh? feel it buildin’ up, baby?”

you nod frantically, whimpering. it’s right there—heat coiling low in your belly, building and building until it’s unbearable. your muscles tighten, breath catching, legs shaking as his thrusts speed up, sloppy and desperate.

“don’t fight it,” he rasps. “let go. wanna feel you cum all over my cock while he watches.”

and that’s all it takes.

the tension snaps, white-hot and blinding, crashing over you in wave after wave as your orgasm tears through you. your moan is loud, guttural, uncontrollable—your body jerking in his lap, cunt clenching around him so tight it draws a growl from his throat.

“fuck—fuck, that’s it, baby—ride it out,” toji groans, hips still moving as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high.

across from you, shiu curses under his breath, his body jerking as he spills into his hand, eyes never leaving your face as you come undone.

you collapse against toji’s chest, panting, sweat-slicked and trembling, while he thrusts one last time with a deep groan, spilling inside you with a shudder.

for a moment, all you hear is breath—laboured, ragged, heavy in the silence that follows.

then, toji’s voice, low and teasing against your ear:

“worth losin’ a bet, don’t you think?”

…

hi nasty people, check out my masterlist while you’re here ↜(⃔ ◞•᷅௰•᷄)⃕◞ !

[cacoetheswriting]

I have a request. Bare with me new at this request bit.

Eddie wakes up hands cuffed to his bed with reader blowing him. Then has sex with him.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k

content warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI: explicit and mature themes, smut, established relationship, cnc, somno, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, use of toys, adult language / dirty talk, use of pet names, a little pervy, more plot than porn tbh ‘cause i don’t know how else to write smutty content, slightly possessive!reader, jealousy, slightly dom!eddie but also slightly dom!reader - unedited - pls let me know if i missed any!

a/n: pls have your age / age range stated in your bio when requesting 18+ content. cleared here in the dm’s, but it saves a lot of back and forth when it’s in the bio - for any future requests.

He’s flustered. Stumbling over his words, cheeks a deep red. He’s avoiding your gaze. Staring instead at his beat up sneakers as he rolls a twig around with the sole of his shoe.

You can’t help the smirk that circles your lips as he stammers through the pros and cons of his proposition as if it’s a thesis and he’s aiming for top marks; or a close equivalent. If only he put this much care in his homework, you think to say but bite your tongue since he’s clearly nervous enough.

“What do you think?” He asks, finally meeting your eyes. 

The look behind the brown is hopeful, eager. Like a little boy waiting in line for a shiny new comic. Only, he’s not wanting a superhero book. No.

Eddie Munson has a request of a far different variety and you’d be lying if it didn’t excite you as well.

“You want me to suck you off while you’re sleeping?”

Eddie nods.

“If you think it’s too much, you can obviously say no and we can forget I-I even suggested it.” He’s stammering again. “I-I just thought it’d be a cool thing to try—”

“I’m not opposed to it,” you say, interrupting, and shrug your shoulders to showcase indifference although you’re feeling anything other than that.

You’ve been not-so-casually hooking up with Eddie for a little over a year. 

One would say — Robin — this situationship you have with the curly-haired metal-head is the reason you haven’t been able to find a real boyfriend, but what does she know about relationships anyway? Okay, harsh. She actually knows a lot considering she’s in one. Point being, it’s Eddie. And you’d forgo any connection just to hear him moan your name every single night: even if it means absolutely nothing the next morning.

“Are you putting a timeline on this, or do you want it to be a surprise?” You ask.

“Definitely a surprise.”

A week goes by.

You think about his proposition often. Sheer excitement mixed with a fuck ton of nerves. You’ve blown him before, numerous times. He says he loves when you do. Thinks about it afterwards. Jacks off to the memory of your lips around his dick.

This is different, however. He won’t talk to you. Won’t tell you how pretty you look on your knees for him. And you get off on his words.

You sleep over at the trailer twice during the week. 

The first night, you don’t want to seem too eager and make point to show Eddie how tired you are after he’s fucked you raw. He knows not to expect it then. Instead, he opens his arms and lets you cuddle him until dreams take over.

The second night, you sort of psych yourself out. His light snores ripple through the bedroom. It’s all you can hear, aside from the thumping of your heart. You think about this situation you have found yourself in with Eddie, and wonder if perhaps Robin is right about this whole thing between you and the metal-head. Maybe you should reserve the more kinky stuff for an actual boyfriend. Especially because there’s a lot of trust required to act on deviance when the other person is asleep and trust is often reserved for more traditional relationships, you think. What you and Eddie have is lust.

Then, one afternoon the following week, Eddie surprises you.

Unfortunately, not in a nice way. He’s talking to a girl. Flirting, actually. You can see them at the bar. He says something, which must be funny because the girl places a hand on his leather-clad shoulder and pushes him gently while throwing her head back in giggles. Eddie’s not funny. Okay, he’s hilarious but he’s not a make-a-girl-flirty-laugh funny. And your blood boils.

“A vicious thing, jealousy.” Steve mumbles next to you.

“Can you even be jealous if you’re not actually with the other person?” Robin asks.

You tell them both to shut up then force yourself to look away from the bar. From the guy that’s not your boyfriend, but rather the best hookup of your life, and the pretty girl he’s flirting with, who may one day very well become his real girlfriend. One could call this thing you’re doing now spiraling. Your friends do, they say it simultaneously because they see the look in your eyes. 

Wanting to save yourself from further embarrassment, you grab your handbag and your jacket, and tell your friends goodbye. They plead with you not to go, but only for a moment because Nancy is back with the next round of drinks and they forget all about your problems of the heart (and vagina).  

You push past the sweaty bodies of Hideout goers and slip out the front door, into the cool breeze. The sound of your heels against the pavement grows louder the further you get away from the dingy bar. Eddie was your ride home. He drew the short straw on being everyone’s designated driver for the night. He’ll have one stop less to make, you think, can spend that extra time with this girl he met.

Twenty minutes on foot and you’re home. You shed the night off your back. A quick shower, a fresh set of pyjama shorts. You down a cold glass of water, then another for good measure. And just like that, you’re feeling sober and ready for bed. Ready to forget the sight of Eddie and that girl.

The night however, has other plans.

There’s a knock on your door. Metal on wood. With a sigh, you cross the living room towards it and press down on the handle. Eddie’s standing in the corridor. His head snaps up as you open to reveal the inside of your apartment.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“I came to see if you were okay,” he answers. “You left so abruptly. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

You shrug. “You seemed busy. I assumed you wouldn’t notice I left.”

Eddie’s brows string together.

“Why wouldn’t I notice?” He sounds genuinely confused, then recognition feigns on his features. “Is this because of the girl?”

You shrug again, because what else is there for you to do without completely spilling your guts.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You know there’s only you for me, right?” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dollface, I’m not interested in anyone else. That was just harmless flirting.”

You drop your arms and step aside, letting him pass. You shut the door behind him before turning to face him once more.

“Eddie, I’m not an idiot, okay?” You begin, “I know what we’re doing is casual and that one day it might end.”

“Who says anything about wanting anything to end?” He counters with a smirk and walks away, down the hallway, towards your bedroom.

By the time you join him, the metal-head has stripped down to a T-shirt and boxers. Wordlessly, he gets into your bed and lifts the covers up, waiting for you to join him. You drop your arms with an exaggerated sigh and he laughs. Smooth, music to your ears. 

Once you do, Eddie’s asleep in minutes. But not before he murmurs, “You’re the only girl I’d let anywhere near my dick and heart.”.

You giggle. “Aren’t they one and the same?”

He snorts. “Exactly, dollface.” And proceeds to place a kiss to the top of your head before sleep takes over.

Satisfied with how the night ended up — Eddie in your bed; the usual — you get comfortable in his embrace. Feeling safe and content, it doesn’t take long for you to also fall asleep. 

When you wake, it’s still dark, aside from the bedside lamp you left switched on. Eddie’s snoring next to you, but that’s not what your sleepy self is paying attention to. Your focus is on something hard pressing into your thigh and call it possessiveness or whatever, but suddenly you think to act on his offer from a few weeks ago. Make it that much more difficult for him to leave you for ‘the real deal’.

There’s a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs locked to your iron-rod headboard (from the last time Eddie stayed over). Tentatively, you reach for it and click the loose ring around Eddie’s wrist — the hand that’s so perfectly placed above his head, since he fell asleep resting on it.

Satisfied, a smirk circling your still sleepy expression, you run your hand down his chest, stomach, until you reach the band of his boxers. You glance at the metal-head, still sleeping, his erection now in your gentle grasp. So you sit up fully, pushing the covers aside.

Without further hesitation, you first circle your tongue around the tip of his cock, lick down his shaft, and then slowly drag it up along the underside. Lightly, you flick your tongue across the vein, just under the head. Eddie shivers underneath you, but makes no further indication that he’s awake, so you let your lips envelop around his head, taking him into your mouth.

Cheeks hollow, you suck, then swirl your tongue around and lick his shaft again. He moans in his sleep, shifts under you and the handcuff rattles. You glance at him from under your lashes and wet your lips before continuing. 

You slide his cock across your mouth, once, twice, then wrap your mouth around it once more. A moment passes as you hold him, erect. His cock fills your cheeks, nudges at the back of your throat, throbbing with need. Sucking, you slide your lips upwards, licking around the tip.

A groan escapes his lips. The sound is magical and it fuels your own desires further. You feel a little bit pervy, a pool of wetness pouring between your own thighs as your lips work on his release. You pick up speed, hands cradling his balls as you take him as deep into your mouth as you can.

“Mhmmm…” Eddie moans awake, “Baby, baby, baby…”

“Let me take care of you,” you say in a sweet tone, batting your lashes for good measure, although you know he can’t see, face buried into your pillows.

You take him back into your mouth, one hand now holding him in place. You slide up and down every inch of him, again taking him as far as you can into your throat while letting your hand do the rest. At the top of the stroke, you swirl your tongue around his head.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re making my wildest dreams come true, dollface.”

Flicking your eyes up to Eddie’s face, you find him watching, his own mouth open, his eyes glassy. He tries to reach for you, but the handcuff is keeping him in place and he groans — a mix of frustration and pleasure. As you work your magic, he braces his body on the bed, so he can jerk his hips up towards your face and you smile into his crotch, his eagerness fuelling your own.

“Mhm fuck, you’re going to make me cum,” he grits.

“Please do, baby. I need your cum in my mouth.”

And you increase your speed as he drops his lock of hair back onto the pillow below. You bop your head up and down his rock-hard length, encouraging him to give in and let go. Face a sticky mess of saliva and precum, you can feel him pulsing and throbbing in your mouth. Suddenly, his hips still and his cock swells between your lips.

He gasps. Chanting your name like a prayer, the metal-head shoots his load into your mouth, feeling more awake than ever. Rhythmically, you squeeze him and press your tongue against the back of his cockhead, drawing every drop out of him. Hot, thick, liquid splatters against the inside of your cheeks and runs down your throat as you straighten, satisfied.

Eddie sits up too, or tries to at least with the fluffy cuff around his wrist. On the elbow he can rest on, he does, looking at you as if you’re an angel sent from above, just for him.

“God,” he grounds out, “You’re unbelievable, dollface.”

A smile circles your lips while you lick them clean. You shuffle closer, hovering over his chest until your mouth finds him, capturing it in a deep kiss.

“I hope this is what you had in mind when you asked me?” You ask in a soft whisper.

He huffs out a laugh. “You exceeded any expectations. You always do.”

“Good.”

And you kiss him again, but not before freeing his wrist. He shakes it, cracks it, and reaches for your face. When his lips find yours for a third time, his dominant side takes over. The moment blooms. His hands work your body, over then under your skimpy pyjama set. Breathless, sweaty. Perfect. 

Unable to contain himself much longer, Eddie pulls you on top of him, one set of fingers digging into your hip bone as the other pulls your shorts aside. He’s smooth with his motions and settles you on his, once again, fully erect dick with ease.

“It’s only you for me, baby.” He says with conviction. “Never doubt that.”

His hand on your throat, squeezing gently as you roll your hips and moan his name until you see stars.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[mirainwonderland]

Content: MDNI, jealous Leon, afab sub, m dom, Leon x reader, cunnilingus (f receiving), unprotected, p in v, smut with some plot

Words: 3.4k

A/N: via request to expand on my headcanon of jealous Leon I come bearing this offering. (Thank you @daliastar) I hope I expressed how I think he would react well. If you enjoy it pls like and let me know, I love hearing from people ☺️ oh and if you have a request, send it over, I love ideas! :D okie bai have fun RIP you

──────────────────────

“What was that all about?” Leon tries to make his tone sound controlled and unbothered. It’s not working out so well. He tugs off his jacket trying to feign nonchalance, but there’s a fire burning beneath his rib cage.

“Hm?” Your oblivious little response makes the jealousy flare up even hotter, but he bites it back. It’s not like it was your fault. He doesn’t want to be that kind of guy anyway—that immature little prick that takes his insecurities out on his girlfriend.

You turn toward him, unbuttoning your dress as you do, and he finds his gaze drifting low over the sliver of your chest and bra that’s becoming visible with each button freed.

Goddammit. That’s his. That’s all his! Every inch of that goddamn gorgeous body is his and his alone, and nobody or nothing is gonna get a sneak peek at his girl.

He snaps himself out of it before you notice his internal petulant tantrum that he’s desperately trying to keep just that: internal. He takes a deep breath and tosses his jacket onto the back of the chair, reaching for his belt next, hoping you won’t notice how he’s all but yanking it off like a sulky kid.

You haven’t noticed a thing. Hell, you’re not even looking at him as you focus on changing out of your outside clothes.

“That guy we ran into.” He tries not to spit out the words and make it obviously venomous. “Where do you know him from again?”

He’s attempting to sound interested rather than interrogating. And thank god you’re not paying close enough attention to see the boiling jealousy behind his eyes.

“Oh. I told you. Knew him back in college. Same classes as me or something. Can’t really remember, actually.”

Leon watches your back as you walk over to your vanity and pull your hair back, dress hanging open.

“You… go out with him or something?”

Your little laugh tells him that you haven’t caught on to the slight cyanide in his tone.

“Oh god no! He wasn’t really my type. I don’t think he sees me like that anyway.”

Leon stares at your reflection in the mirror hard, like he can’t even wrap his head around how fucking dense your big beautiful brain is sometimes.

“Oh he definitely sees you like that.”

You pause in taking off your makeup to look at his reflection in the mirror with that dry, disbelieving expression you give him. The little pink on your cheeks that’s not from your blush doesn’t make him feel any better. You shake your head with an unconvinced smile.

“Don’t be silly Leon.” You return to scrubbing off your makeup.

He watches long and hard while you do your skincare. Your face glows as your delicate fingers apply that face oil you love so much. He feels his dick stiffen with mixed feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, and thoughts along the lines of, Only I get to see her naked like that. Face, body, everything. Just me.

Dammit, he hates himself. More than anything right now, he hates himself. But it’s like something else is possessing him as he watches you slip out of your dress and go into your closet for something more comfortable to wear.

That’s it. He really can’t stand it anymore. He tosses aside the belt in his hand, not caring where it lands, and follows after you. He corners you in the closet, approaching from behind you where you can’t see him just as you’re pulling a pair of your favorite lounge set from your drawer. He catches you, big arms wrapping around you from behind.

“No.” He says, voice sounding tender in your ear, but laced with an intensity you pause for. He intercepts your hand, taking the pjs from you and tosses them back in the direction of the drawer. “Don’t put on anything else.”

His lips trail over the back of your neck.

“Leon…” You kind of laugh, bewildered. Your hands come to wrap around his forearms. “What are you doing?”

One hand reaches behind your hair to pull out the clip you’d pulled it back with and let your soft strands fall down around your face again.

Beautiful.

“You didn’t see the way that guy was looking at you?” He forces his voice to sound more concerned than jealous. “He was undressing you with his eyes.”

His lips and nose brush your temple as he stares straight ahead, remembering the interaction from earlier.

“You really need to be more careful, Y/N. Guys do stuff like this all the time.”

He gives your temple a kiss. He feels the jealously bubbling in his gut, making him clench his teeth and hold you a little tighter.

“Leon, he wasn’t—“

His jaw clenches so hard, he’s surprised that his teeth don’t shatter in his mouth.

“C’mere.” He says more lowly and calmly than he even expects to. He tugs you around to the mirror he’d hung in your closet, just for you. He makes you look into it with him behind you, your body clad in nothing more than the bra and panties you’d put on this morning.

“Look at her.” He refuses to let go, even a little bit. He nuzzles the back of your neck again, mouth at the skin there and nuzzling your hair aside so he can reach more.

“Watch her face.”

He slides a free hand around the front of your throat, holding your jaw securely in his hand to make sure you’re watching. You watch as your eyes lid and your cheeks flush the color of obscenity. Your lips part but nothing comes out. He noses your hair aside and nuzzles the side of your neck.

He bites down on the skin, and holds you a little tighter when you jerk. Your mouth opens in a silent ‘Oh!’.

“Leon, what are you-“

“Tell me to stop.” He blurts, cutting you off. His face is lifted from your neck and he’s staring you down in the mirror.

“I-“

“Tell me. To stop.” He says, slower this time, emphasizing every word. He feels like an absolute asshole. He feels like even if he asks for consent a million times he’ll never truly make you realize that what type of feelings you allow him when you say yes. Do you know you’re consenting to his jealous tantrum that makes him wanna smother you with his body?

“You… don’t have to stop.” You say carefully, a little curious and bewildered of whatever this is that seemed to come out of the blue.

It didn’t really of course, you’re just a sweet little oblivious girl—his girl, and he loves you to death. But sometimes. Sometimes he wishes you could know how he feels. Not to make you feel bad but so that you can give him the reassurance he doesn’t know how to ask for.

But he’s too good at hiding things from you.

He grits his teeth, studying your expression in the mirror.

“What am I gonna do with you…” He sighs, shaking his head almost disappointedly. You feel a pang in your chest. He’s not disappointed with you of course, but with himself.

He grabs your jaw with more intensity than before and forces it to tilt to the side so he can kiss at your neck. You grimace, waves and waves of shivers migrating down your spine to pool in the bottom of your panties.

He wants to prove it to himself. That he’s it. That he’s the one you come to for everything. That you won’t ever need another man again. He knows it’s awful, but he wants you to rely on him for these things. He wants to be the one you come to at the end of the day and curl up with, or take your clothes off for. Whichever one you’re in the mood for, he’ll be here. He’ll do it.

He kisses your neck and your shoulders, and massages your skin with a firm touch of his hands. You wince a couple times when he’s too forceful, but you never open your mouth and say anything. You never complain. Secretly, you kinda like it; and part of you can sense that this is something he needs.

He’s too lost in his own internal conflict and jealousy to even register his own strength. He can’t stand it. He didn’t want to be so direct and vulgar, but you’re not moaning enough. You’re not squirming enough. Not making enough of those faces he loves to see.

His hand slides down your stomach and disappears into your underwear. You gasp and stiffen when you feel his fingers brush you, and wide eyes meet his blue ones in the mirror.

“Tell me no.” He whispers, his breath fluttering your hair. His heart thuds so hard in his chest he fears you might feel it. He’s challenging you, but deep on the inside he’s afraid he’s pushing it. He almost wants you to push him away and smack some sense into him.

But you don’t. You just maintain eye contact with him and slowly shake your head.

“Fuck.” He breathes, low and drawn out in your ear as his hand cups your mound and his thumb brushes over your clit.

Your reaction sends waves of satisfaction through him, and for a moment it’s enough to numb the feelings of self-loathing and jealousy. You jerk against him, letting out the sweetest moan as your face twists into one of those expressions he loves so much. His arm muscles twitch, holding you a little harder to keep you still and anchored to him, unable to bear the idea of you even having a millimeter of skin not touching him.

“How are you already wet, baby?” He hums in your ear, almost not sure how to feel about it. Was it him? Idiot, of course it was. But… you didn’t like that guy at all… did you? That guy didn’t turn you on, even a little bit, did he?

With all his compliments and flattering language and-

He grunts again, this time a more aggressive, irritated sound. He shoves his nose against your ear, breathing heavily into it. Your spine twists in his hard grip.

“It’s me. I made you like that. Didn’t I, hm?” He feels stupid. He know’s he’s out of his head with even thinking this, and he feels so guilty. He almost feels like he’s not even worthy to be touching you.

Almost.

“Tell me baby.” He growls into your ear.

“Y-yes, Leon. Wh-“ You don’t even know how to react. You’re sort of lost on what’s going on. Why he’s suddenly like this out of the blue. Who else would do this to you?

“Damn right I did.” He stuffs two fingers into you, loving the sharp little cry you make and the way your body snaps in his arms. He tightens his grip and brings you back against his chest.

“Leon, what the hell!?” You cry out, but it comes out on more of breath of ecstasy than any real sort of scolding. What the hell has gotten into him?

“Don’t question it, baby. Just tell me how good it feels.”

You moan again.

“That’s right. Just like that.”

He grunts in frustration as he watches you in the mirror. As he watches the way his hand moves underneath your panties and how he can’t see anything with the fabric in the way. He pulls his hands out just long enough to tug the cotton down off your legs and watch them slide down around your ankles. Then he’s plunging the two fingers back inside you.

Your back curves against his chest and he catches you, wrapping his free arm around your chest, pinning your arms with it, and dragging his nose and lips up the side of your face.

“That’s it.” He praises as he closes his eyes for a minute, just listening to you and breathing you in. He opens them to look back in the reflection and watch his fingers slide in and out of your twitching channel. He watches with tightening jeans how willingly you take his fingers.

He feels a pang of insecurity. He knows his brain is feeding him lies, but he thinks about how easy you are for him. Would you be easy for someone else?

That’s stupid, Leon. You idiot. He scolds himself for having the intrusive thought. He immediatly feels horrible for even thinking it. He knows you’re not that kind of girl. He remembers how hard it was to get you to open up to him when you guys first started exploring intimacy together.

That coaxes a sense of pride into his chest. How willingly you give yourself to him. No other guy could be as lucky. No other guy would ever have this. Such a pretty girl, moaning and clenching on his fingers. His pretty girl.

“Look at you, dripping down those pretty legs.” He breathes in your ear, making you shudder. He pulls his fingers out with a little whimper from you.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?”

He licks his fingers clean.

He spins you around and sinks down to his knees, letting your back hit the cold surface of the mirror. You writhe and pant against it as he throws a leg over his shoulder and licks up all the trickles of nectar down the inside of your thighs, making his way centerward. He nibbles on the soft skin as he goes, making you gasp and choke and shudder, over and over again.

He places a confident, flat tongue against you and licks the entire surface of your opening. The tang of your juices slides down his throat, and the noises you make force his eyes closed as he savors taste and sound.

“Leon!”

“Easy, baby. I know it feels good.”

He does it again a second time. Fucking hell, you taste good. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. It makes your insides clench, and you double forward at the intensity, catching yourself with a hand on his shoulder. You grip it, hand fisting into his shirt.

“Mm.” He moans against your heat, sending vibrations through the already swollen and puffy bundle of nerves.

He’s determined. It’s the only revenge he knows how to enact at this point. It’s too bad you’re on the receiving end since you didn’t even do anything wrong. But he knows that you’re not ever gonna actually complain about this later.

He swirls his tongue around your clit, bringing two fingers to prod more gently into you than the first time. He takes his time, gently probing around inside you for that sweet spot. He knows he finds it when you practically melt on him like ice cream.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Give me more of that. C’mon.” He pulls away from your puffy clit long enough to murmur that gentle encouragement. He returns to sucking and biting gently on the sensitive nub, as he rubs his fingers encouragingly against the spot inside of you.

If he can’t make you cum with nothing more than his mouth and two fingers, he isn’t a man worthy of the title.

Every breath is a moan from your lips at this point. You feel the tension in your tummy growing tighter, and you’re desperately trying to reach that peak. You focus on his ministrations and his coaxing words, chasing that illusive feeling.

“Leon!” You’re fingers fly to fist into his hair for something to anchor to and feel like you have a little bit of leverage; even if control is just an illusion at this point. But you’re okay with that, you don’t want control.

You want to lose it.

“Please please please please!” You chant quietly under your breath as you focus on the rise. It climbs higher and higher and each breath fills your lungs to bursting as your mouth falls open wider.

“That’s it, baby. Give it to me, sweetheart. Come on.”

He can’t take his eyes off your face. He grinds the pads of his fingers down on that sweet spot inside and sucks on your clit with everything he’s got. And he watches you explode.

It’s mind-numbing. Your body jerks hard and suddenly against the mirror and your wails of ecstasy fill the small walk-in like a symphony to his ears. He laps up your release like it’s a fountain of water and he’s a man dying of thirst.

He stimulates you through it until you grow limp against the mirror. He’s on his feet as you pant against the reflection and his mouth is on yours in a blink, forcing your taste into your mouth as he grips your arms tightly.

All the fight has gone out of you anyway, and you feel weightless. You just take it, allowing him to hold you there as long as he wants. You gasp for a deep breath when his lips finally release yours, and slump into his arms.

Fuck. He looks down at you all dazed in his arms, and he immediately feels like such a dick. He does feel a little self-satisfied though as you nuzzle your face into his chest and cling to his body like you need him to stand.

Because you do. It’s all thanks to him and he feels good.

“I’m so sorry baby.” He murmurs in your ear as he gathers you up in his arms, because he knows it’s not over. He can’t just leave it here, much as he knows in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be so pushy and cruel. But he just can’t help it.

He carries you over to your guys’ bed, and lays you down more gently on it. His clothes are abandoned on the bedroom floor and as he sheds the remainder of yours off you, he kisses your forehead.

Your hands slide gently up over his arms, and it makes him feel so strong and powerful, and desired.

“You want me?” He whispers softly against your lips.

“Mhm.” You nod your head against the pillow as he positions himself over you.

“Spread them a little wider for me then, baby.” His hand grips your thigh.

You obey and he settles between your legs. You feel his tip brush against your sensitive folds and you jump.

“Shhhhh…” He hushes, his hand coming down to grip your jaw and run his thumb over your cheek. He takes your bottom lip between his in a deep but gentle kiss, and holds you there as he slides himself in.

You gasp into the kiss, twitching and sucking in over-sensitive breaths through your nose as he takes it inch by inch. Your toes curl, and your nails dig into his biceps. When he bottoms out, he finally releases your lips, letting you pant beneath him and catch your breath and your bearings.

“Mm… nn-… Leon.” You breathe, your tongue feeling thick and your head feeling numb. All you can do is breathe heavy and look up at him through pleasure-lidded eyes.

It’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos as he gradually starts to move. He leans down to kiss your lips again, to leave them all over your cheeks and jaw.

“Tell me how you want it.” He rumbles against your skin.

“I don’t—“ Your head lulls back and forth on the pillow as breathing takes precedence over words. “—I don’t care. Jus’… it jus’ feels so good.”

God, he could explode right now. You feel him twitch inside you when you give him free rein to do what he needs to do.

His hips speed up a few notches. Skin slaps against skin as he pushes your legs open wider to an intense moan from you. Then he increases the harshness of his thrusts, slamming into you until he feels like it’s a rhythm that matches his frustration with every bit of himself that’s afraid of another man taking you away from him.

He nips your kiss swollen lip.

“You’re my baby.” He breathes.

“Your baby.” You echo, eyes as starry as your brain feels. Not a thought in your head except how he feels inside you.

“Mhm. Fuck— yes you are, aren’t you? My good girl.”

“Your good girl.” Your arms come up to wrap around his neck. “For nobody else.”

The tightness in his chest soothes a little bit, the tension he’d been carrying pushing out through his lungs. He watches as you succumb a second time, crying out his name as you shake underneath him and cling to him like he’s your anchor.

He doesn’t even mind the scratch marks. God knows, he loves them.

A semblance of peace washes over him, and he almost doesn’t even care about the release when it washes over him too, a moment later.

He got the release he was looking for.

[tojisteddy]

Just thought about Inmate!Suguru and jeeez | cw: 18+ mdni, some fluff, phone sex, masturbation.

Inmate!Suguru who has everyone in the prison on a tight rule despite being locked up himself. Inmates, officers, the god damn warden— everyone moves and does as he says.

If you think some people saw him like a God in there— you’d be right.

Strict on routine, Inmate!Suguru is up by five, morning tea with his cell mate, breakfast by six, headcount at 7, a college course or two in the morning, ‘straightening shit out’ he likes to call it right after lunch at 11:50, meeting his cell mate and a few of his older buddies for mahjong on the coast yard by 1pm. Work out at three pm while listening to Britney Spears and Aaliyah (yes, he’s a big fan). He’s either on weights, or playing basketball. Long hair slipping out of his ponytail, Orange jumpsuit tied at his waist, sweat dripping through his wife beater— God would you pray to see him like that right then and there. Suguru showers after that, dinner at 5, another headcount, he spends the rest of the time in his cell. Thinking, drawing (he’s got a knack for it), another tea, listening to the mixtape you sent him of songs you’d been listening to, writing a reply to one of your letters.

But when Inmate!Suguru does miss you, and I mean really misses you, gets out a little track phone hidden in his mattress and calls you. It could be the dead of night when he does it, lights out in the prison of course, he knows you’re deep in sleep but he calls anyway. You pick up on the forth ring, he sighs, “Baby.” Soft because he doesn’t he doesn’t want to disturb his cell mate, an old man who’d been in for too long on a sentence he didn’t deserve. You don’t even open your eyes, you’d just go on yapping about anything that pops up in your head because that’s what he wants to hear. Your sweet voice that takes him away from this dirty cell, this prison and home to you, where he’ll be in ten more months. even if it’s just for ten minutes.

That’s what he misses at times like this. Your voice, your smile, your soft body pressed against his— the way you’d laugh at the dumbest jokes, your curls getting in the way of your gorgeous face or when your brown black hair is overlapping with his jet black strands— he missed it all.

Inmate!Suguru who has Saturo look out for you while he’s in jail. He’s a good friend to him and to you and trusts him to take care of what you won’t tell Suguru because you don’t want to worry him. You car in the inbound lot? Suguru’s got Gojo to get it out for you. Sink making that weird noise again? Suguru’s Gojo’s calling a plumber to come fix it. Want to hang because you’re feeling lonely? Don’t worry, Gojo’s bringing your favorite snacks over and hogging the couch.

Inmate!Suguru who only calls you from the pay phone once a month. Just before dinner on the third Friday, 4:30 pm sharp every time. “You are now receiving a collect call from—“ and there’s a break in the automated message so he can speak, “missed you soooo much doll.” “Inmate number—“

Suguru can hear you moaning on the other line, squirming and rubbing at your bundle of nerves. “Miss you baby, shit!” You gasp, turning your head into your pillow. Suguru’s already imagining it, your mouth open, cursing up a storm, running away from your own pleasure.

Yup, phone sex. The freak had to hear you get off for him, help him envision exactly what he’d do to you when he got out of that place. He’d fuck you till you didn’t have words to speak, give you everything you needed.

“Come on baby, put your phone to your pussy, gotta hear her.” You follow, bringing the phone down and opening your legs further. You’re completely soaked, running your fingers through your folds that squelched with every movement. You were making a mess that’s dripping down to your little asshole. You’d been edging yourself for the last 40 minutes, waiting for Suguru to give you the demand to let it go. It always feels better this way.

“Good girl, sound so perfect. Stick those fingers in your pretty cunt for me, yeah? Just like I always do.” He grunts, shifting to give his growing chub some breathing room.

You slip one finger in thrusting it a little then another finger.

“Not- ughh- it’s not as big enough!” you whine thrusting your fingers inside your hole as best as you can but they could never do what his big tattooed hands could do. Get you cumming in two minutes. Suguru snickers, god you sounds you were making were music to his ears. “I knooow,” he fake pouts, his poor baby :(, “Just imagine it, you can do it. Try to find that spot for me, just like I would do. Rub on your fat clit, and think about me teasing your nipples. Licking all over ‘em just how you like. You can do it, you’re a good girl.”

You shake groaning at his words and working your fingers into your gushing entrance. Mumbling his name while your thumb found your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, “Gonna- hnnngh- cum! Sugu Lemme cum!”

Suguru smirks, the bastard, “Not so sure.”

“—B-but”

“—B-b-but,” he mocks, “come on, you can hold it for another second, can’t you?”

You huff, squeezing your eyes shut, “I-I’m a good girl.”

“Yes you are, my gorgeous girl. Bet you’re gushing right now, imagining how I take care of you, holding you and touching you all over, hm?”

And there’s yelling, too fucking loud, three phones down. A guard telling them to calm down or shut up. Suguru tried to ignore it. Focus on you, your moans speaking right to his aching dick. Just before he can get out the words to let you release, some prick comes yelling at him.

“—Damn it Geto! You’re hogging the fuckin phone!” Someone yells behind him. He takes a breath through his nose, closing his eyes and not giving the idiot the slightest attention. He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry, sweet girl, gonna have to finish yourself off without me, okay?”

“O-okay.” You hiccuped, clarity finally getting to you. “I was holding you up.”

“No, never. I love our calls baby- just- fuck— these damn monkeys don’t know when to keep their fucking heads down and mouths shut. Do they?” Your boyfriend sneers, he’s half talking to you, half talking to himself because how dare an imbecile below him interrupt his precious time with you?

Suguru knows the monkey doesn’t even understand the gravity of the situation, how incredible you were, his princess. How every second of his 20 minute call, hearing you moan and cry his name, was thee most important thing every fucking month he was in here.

He’d skin him.

“You write me a letter like you always do sweetheart. I miss you, love you.”

“Take care of yourself. I love you Sugu.” Fuck, the man’s heart gushed. He hears your sweet lips pucker, sending him a kiss and then the dial tone. Suguru puts the phone back, straightening his poster and turning towards the man who yelled at him and tying his hair up.

“Pray you don’t die today.”

Inmate!Suguru, who surprisingly became close with a man with pink hair named Sukana. And it’s fucking off that the two would get along, both men like control and to be able to control whatever setting they’re in. Any setting besides the little book club created by the sweet elderly woman, Ms. Joanne, who used to be in jail herself and decided to help those who were just like her when she got out. She new exactly how to control the big and tall men around her— by informing them she’d take away the books if they didn’t get their act together. That changed everything.

Inmate!Suguru who would rather you send him a letter than call often. Who knows you cried your eyes out those first couple months right after your calls and hates that he’s the cause of your pain. So he writes and writes all the feelings and words left unsaid down on paper so you can remind yourself of all his love whenever you want. And you do the same writing and writing till your heart is at ease, full, waiting for the day Suguru makes it back home to you.

a/n: finally writing by manga/anime boys, I live.

most recent masterlist

[biohorror-human]

I see it, but also this is why I usually just end up going with it but with the mindset of "English wasn't built for gender representation, we have to make new language conventions" because pronouns like he/him exist because they have to be in the place of "male" as a noun. I figure that's why neopronouns all have a linked noun (xe/xir being the pronouns that refer to the noun xirs) because the pronoun forms of these words were made to be alternative forms of their noun form. Some pronouns can exist without nouns (this, that) but he/him are the pronouns attached to the noun "male", she/her are the pronouns attached to the noun "female", and they/them is attached to the noun "they".

The reason I'm so specific about mentioning the noun/pronoun link is because I want to be clear: I don't think pronouns dictate someones gender, only which nouns to refer to the individual as. Nouns and gender can be unlinked, sure, I see no problem with that. But pronouns only exist to replace nouns. Pronouns refer to an antecedent, which must always be a noun of some kind. This is where I come to the conclusion "English falls short of the ability to do this" because I seriously cannot think of an instance where he/him would be used when the antecedent isn't "male".

IMPORTANT: looked some stuff up: this is apparently called the "pronoun and antecedent agreement" which literally just means "pronouns must match their antecedents in terms of number, gender, and person (first, second, or third person)" so I was right. It is a linguistic failure. He/him can't be used without "male" being the assumed antecedent.

Anyways I think I am sadly right about this unless someone who knows some more advanced linguistics stuff wants to rip me in half please. This seems to be a thing on a concrete linguistic level, it's deeper than just a cultural thing. Someone's gotta make some new words and language conventions now because "the antecedent of pronouns should not be assumed to imply the number, gender, and person of a noun in context" is maybe a good take but literally isn't possible in English. Yet. And I think "nah just ignore the pronoun and antecedent agreement" will definitely break more of this already fucked up language than it fixes.

btw you cant tell what a person's gender is based solely on their pronouns. we really gotta get out of the hole of he=boy she=girl they=nonbinary.

[27spoons]

oh yes i know you like to write pain and heart wretching angst

i love it too but i NEED a happy ending to survive unfortunately…..but i still thing hurt and no comfort is more interesting to read

that being said imagine being natalie’s sidepiece in the wilderness and you just see her kissing and holding hands with travis all the time…..and still let her into your pants whenever

-🪐

im gonna be so real w u. i would let nat gaslight the SHIT out of me.

"i swear im gonna leave travis soon" okay say less queen!!!

"no one can know about this, they wouldn't understand" no bc ur SO right. my lips are sealed (around her clit)

"ugh travis doesnt get me like you do/never makes me feel like this" right right which is why you're leaving him soon..... right??? hahahahaha

"why was i holding his hand? i wasn't. what are you talking about?" no bc ur so right. i was seeing things. need new glasses. whoops!

which is exactly why you never fight her off when she crawls into your bedroll at night. why would you??? you can't resist her--not when she's kissing you like she's starving, grinding on your thigh like you're the only goddamn person that can give her that relief.

"c'mon..." she rasps against your lips, already clawing at your pants. "need you. we don't got 'lotta time. gotta be quick. c'mon." "mmm... what time is it?" you ask groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "also... good morning to you too, nat." "yeah, yeah, whatever. shut up."

and once she finally manages to wiggle your pants off and slips her hand inside your underwear?????????? woof. for a second, you think she's just gonna take. that's she's here to get herself off and leave you in the aftermath. (wouldn't be the first time, whoops!)

but then--fuck. her fingers dip between your folds, and you feel bad for thinking she would leave you high-and-dry (because why would she ever do that??? exactlyyyyy, she wouldn't!)

goddddd.... she knows EXACTLY how to finger you. (honestly, probably because travis couldn't get her off so she had to learn to do it herself--) and she never takes her time, either. always just goes right to what she wants.

"shit, nat--" you hiss into her mouth, arching up into her fingers as they start to run through your folds. nat just chuckles, moving her lips to your neck, pressing wet kisses against the taut skin of your throat. "yeah? feel good, baby?" you nod as your eyes squeeze shut, her fingers finally slipping into your sopping (yes, i mean sopping. what can i say? nat just does things to you. that's why you're still letting her in your pants, anyways--) cunt, immediately burying herself to the kunckle.

her fingers fuck into you like she's getting paid to do it. seriously. she's hitting all the right spots, making your toes curl and your back arch, and you just take it--why would you do anything else??

you can't even think coherently right now. you're already shaking, biting your fist to keep from moaning too loud (because that would be very no bueno. and, after all, she's right. no one would understand the relationship you two have, anyway).

and she always kisses you when you come. like... fuuuuuuuuck. the second she feels you clamping down on her fingers, her free hand is moving your fist from your mouth and replacing it with her mouth.

and nat can kiss. im a firm believer this girl kisses with a passion that even the greats couldn't touch. AND she's humble about it. truly a masterclass.

when she kisses you, she tastes every inch of your mouth. like she's trying to claim something that isn't hers. you arch into her all the same, arms looping around her neck and holding her against you as your walls spasm around her fingers.

"jesus, you're always so loud," she vaguely complains, but the way her lips twitch upwards tell you it's more of a compliment. almost like she's proud of herself. "your fault," you murmur as she withdraws her fingers, cleaning them off with her tongue--which is, admittedly, a sight to behold. you could come again just from the imagery alone. nat just snorts as she helps you pull your pants back up (so nice of her fr!!! maybe she will leave travis for you!!), but doesn't comment further on the manner. in fact, she's just... leaving?? "wait, what?" you immediately prop yourself up on your elbows, "you're leaving? you don't want me to return the favour?" she just shoots you an easy smirk. "next time, pretty lady. i gotta get back to trav before he wakes up, yeah?" she pats your cheek sardonically, "gotta hunt and shit. try and survive without me."

then she leaves, and... god. you hate to see her leave, but you love to watch her go.

she'll be back. and she'll definitely leave travis for you. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[leupagus]

x

#anyway I'm team 'please don't fuck your coworkers it will make for a bad time'#honestly the fic I want to write is one character having to listen to all the gossip about everybody else's love life#while their internal monologue is like 'WHY WOULD YOU FUCK YOUR COWORKER THAT'S A BAD IDEA'#it would obviously end with them fucking a coworker because: lol

goddammit I incepted myself

September 2023

Jack came back from his vacation right in the middle of Fucking New Kids Jesus Christ season, which was bullshit considering he’d tried to time his vacation to skip this entirely.

“You do realize you’ll have to meet them sometime,” Ellis told him flatly when he explained his logic. “Like, you can’t just skip introducing yourself to the baby interns and med students.”

“You’ve been here two years now, when did I ever introduce myself to you?” Jack pointed out. “Come to think of it, who are you—”

“I will beat you with your own leg and your nasty-ass Hokas, don’t think I won’t,” Ellis said, closing her locker and offering him her hand. “Come on, we’re late for rounds.”

“You’re late for rounds,” he said, but accepted the hand up. “I’m the senior attending tonight, God help you all.”

It was Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, statistically the quietest night of an ED’s typical week, and sure enough the board was only moderately disgusting when they came out to hand off with days. 

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for you,” Dana said with a broad wink, giving Jack a peck on the cheek as she grabbed her keys from the desk. "Welcome back, handsome."

"Good to be back, gorgeous," he replied as she swatted him on the arm. He caught Ellis’s glare and spread his hands, what? Like it was his fault Ellis had gone and fallen in love with a straight woman.

“No, see, I haven’t fallen in love with a straight woman,” Ellis protested later, after they'd finished hand off and Jack had fobbed all the new kids off on some scrapes and the first foreign-object-up-rectum of the evening. Which left him with Ellis, who was also annoying, but he’d gotten used to her over the past two years. The new intern — who’d mentioned her son four times in the first forty-five minutes — and the second-year floater coming in from days — who’d already asked Jack if he knew how best to access hospital archives in order to study patient outcomes for a paper she wanted to write — were both so earnest Jack just knew he was going to end up hating them both.

“Aw, really?” Ellis said, grabbing the clipboard for North 17 — found comatose in the river two nights ago, some neurological damage likely but still breathing on his own, still no positive ID, still no change from last night. “I was hoping you’d like the cut of McKay’s jib.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“McKay — the bangs?” he said, miming scissors across his forehead.

Ellis rolled her eyes. “Yeah. The bangs, and nice smile, and the plucky attitude. She’s cute.”

“She’s an intern.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

Jack bit back a smile. “It has, in fact, stopped me before. I think what you mean is it hasn’t stopped Robby before, which I will allow. We really haven’t gotten anything back about who this guy is?”

Ellis shook her head, snapping on gloves so she could check John Doe’s pupil response. “Still reactive, just not waking up. But hey, maybe tonight’s the night.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. The guy was young, mid-twenties. Somebody had to be looking for him.

He followed Ellis out into the hallway. “Listen, even Robby didn’t ever date an intern. Collins,” he added as Ellis opened her mouth, “was in second year when they started dating.”

“Yeah, maybe when they started dating,” Ellis muttered.

“Personally, I don’t know what anybody’s thinking, dating someone from here,” Jack said. “You’re all freaks of nature who thrive on stress and adrenaline.”

“You listen to the police scanner on your days off,” Ellis observed, which was fair enough. “Criticizing the circus is pretty rich, coming from the ringleader.”

“Yeah, but I never fuck the monkeys.”

“That’s because—” Ellis paused and gave him a look. It was one he’d learned to live with the past three years: the expression of someone who was not sure how far they could go, if today would be the day Jack would be okay talking about Leslie or if it was a day where he’d shut down for the rest of the shift at the mere mention of her name. He can’t exactly blame them; for most of the first two years he never knew himself.

So he smiled and shrugged and gave Ellis an out. “Because I look at the messes you guys get yourselves in and I think, ‘no, actually, going home and listening to the police scanner is a better idea than having a tryst with someone from Neuro.’”

“A lobotomy is a better idea than having a tryst with someone from Neuro,” Ellis said. “Literally anything would be a better idea than having a tryst with someone from Neuro.”

“Didn’t stop Shen from getting together with, fuck, what’s her name—”

“Barreras,” said Terri as she went past. “That’s off again, by the way.”

Ellis grabbed the chart for their next room and made the slow/caution sign with her hand, frowning as she read. He could tell just from the way her eyebrows drew together what they were going to find on the other side of the door.

“Okay, this is Kayla Hourlis, 17, and her mom Isabelle,” said Ellis in a low, calm voice as she presented, and Jack made sure he kept his expression completely neutral while he listened to just what had brought Kayla Hourlis into the Pitt tonight. He and Ellis treated her quietly and carefully, explaining everything they were doing for her and her wide-eyed mother, the two of them holding hands so tightly Jack was afraid they’d break each other’s wrists. Though it wouldn’t be the worst injury either of them had, not by a long shot.

After, he and Ellis leaned on the partition outside the doors and didn’t talk for a minute or so. It wasn’t something Jack had missed, on vacation out in New Mexico. This feeling, like you’d disappear down the hole in your own stomach.

“What did you mean before?” he asked.

“Before what,” Ellis said, turning to look at him. Her eyes were only a little bit red, but too bright. Jack leaned further over the partition to grab the tissues tucked in the corner, and handed one to her. “Thanks.”

“Before, when you said you hadn’t fallen in love with a straight woman,” Jack said, clearing out the catch in the back of his throat. They’d be able to help Kayla and her mom, that was the important thing. They’d gotten to her before it was worse than this. He cleared his throat again and focused on Ellis. “Pretty sure Dana’s straight, I’m sorry to tell you.”

“First off, you’re not sorry at all, and your oppression of the queer community will not go unaddressed,” she said, ticking off the point on her hand. A little bit manic, but so was he, probably — less than an hour back and he was already seeing things worse than he had in Afghanistan. “Secondly, I’m not in love with Dana anymore. I’ve sworn off.”

“Isn’t this usually a New Year’s thing for you?” Jack asked, nodding at Jesse over by Chairs, who was making the can you be a scary doctor man for a minute face. “It’s only September.”

“Jewish New Year was last weekend,” Ellis countered, walking with him to Chairs where a big guy in a Steelers jersey was using one of the chairs as a toilet, more or less, in an attempt to express his displeasure at the wait. So that was the next twenty minutes of Jack’s life.

“Was the swearing-off your idea, or is this some hospital-wide Lysistrata?” Jack asked her later, sometime after midnight lunch and three different eyeball stabbing incidents. “Robby said him and Collins are splitting up. Shen and his PT soulmate are splitting up. Do I have you to thank for the two of them crying on my couch for the next month?”

Ellis laughed, though she quieted down as they came back into North 17 — still no improvement or deterioration, or name. “Listen, I don’t know what Shen did, he’s been on days, but Robby and Heather splitting up is all on Robby.”

“Yeah, that checks out.”

“Although me and her did decide this year was the year of no more white milfs,” Ellis added with a sad sigh. “They’re bad for us.”

“Only milfs of color, got it,” Jack said as he squinted at the John Doe’s display. “Or I guess, mocilfs? Mothers of Color I’d Like To — how does the dangling modifier work for that?” The guy’s BP was still weirdly high, but everything else pointed directly to overdose, do not pass Go do not collect $200. Then he listened to the conversation that was happening. “Wait, how does Robby count as a milf?”

“Hey, hey, don’t be gender essentialist,” Ellis said, holding her finger up in warning. “I know you had to take that sensitivity class twice, Jackie—”

“I only fell asleep the first time because you’d gotten food poisoning at PRIDEburgh.” Jack wondered if he could swap Ellis in for one of the new kids for a while. He’d have to think of a better reason than Ellis is picking on me and she will pick on you too, so you’d better get used to it. “So I had to come in and cover your shift the night before and—”

“—and you know that ‘milf’ is a gender-neutral term denoting—"

“—okay first of all, no, there are such things as ‘dilfs’—”

“That’s a completely different category,” Ellis said, her expression as outraged as if he’d argued about intubation with her (again). “You cannot seriously be suggesting that Robby is a dilf.”

Jack was actually seriously suggesting that Robby wasn’t a parent full stop, and thus could not fulfill the basic requirements of ilfdom, but then a guy came in with a pen through his ballsack and they had to hold up the rest of the conversation for a couple hours.

[mangostarjam]

KARMAAAA BABEYYYYYY

caleb stretching you out bit by bit; caleb cooing at you even when you wince at the sting; caleb shushing you and kissing away your tears, groaning thick in his throat bc he's not even all the way in yet and he can already see the bulge in ur tummy; caleb hissing that you were made for him of course it'll fit --

i would like to sue for damages and also what the hell this was evil i love you

king sized — caleb x f!reader, 1.6k words, shameless smut, creampie, size kink, reader is called pipsqueak and girl, pseudocest, caleb is called nii-chan a few times, reader is not mc, unedited and written on my phone in a fit of i don't even know lmao

it was an accident, the way your gaze slipped to his shorts — but it's really his fault, because of course it is — what kind of grown man wears shorts that short to the gym?

you're not one to victim blame, but you're the real victim here, anyway. after all, caleb noticed.

(of course he did. caleb notices everything about you.)

"caleb, let me try," you huff, reaching for him. he raises an eyebrow. "will you relax — it isn't even that big. i can handle it."

caleb nearly drops the entire toolbox. there's a hum as his evol activates, saving you both from cleaning up a huge mess, and he clears his throat casually as he settles beside you like nothing happened. "right, right, you're a tough girl now, huh?"

"the toughest," you nod, holding out your hand. "screwdriver?"

caleb twirls the screwdriver in his hand, holding it just out of reach. "i kinda miss when my lil pipsqueak would let me build all her furniture."

"well, we're all grown up now," you say, snatching at his arm. he holds the screwdriver further away, chuckling as you try to drag his hand closer to you. you're practically climbing on top of him, nearly in his lap, but he fends you off with ease. "things have changed, nii-chan!"

"i guess so," caleb muses. you huff. stupid perfectly sculpted muscles. "i'm still bigger than you, though, so let me take care of you."

"i don't care how big you are," you grumble, "i could take you."

both of you freeze. the words drop into the air like stones, and you try with all your might not to glance — down. at his crotch. that you're hovering over.

you clear your throat as heat washes over you. caleb's grip on your wrist tightens just slightly, just enough for you to meet his gaze, which has gone storm dark.

"do you think so?"

it comes out low, like he didn't mean to say it out loud. you blink, and then — you look down.

it was an accident at the gym, but now you're looking on purpose, and… well. caleb is… big.

"y'know, if you keep looking at me like that, i don't think i'm gonna be able to hold back," caleb says conversationally. "so why don't you let me build your bookcase and i'll buy new gym shorts?"

you drag your eyes up slowly, taking in every inch of his perfect form. thick, strong thighs, a trim waist, shoulders so broad you reach for them subconsciously. caleb will always protect you — even when you dig your nails into his shoulders and tilt your head to pout at him.

"i want to try," you say, tugging at his dog tag necklace. "i bet i can take you."

caleb's breath comes out rough, like it's been punched out of him. he watches you for a moment, and you take the opportunity to reach down to his lap. locked into a staring contest with those eyes you've known your entire life, you trail a finger along the thick bulge in his pants and swallow hard.

"fuck."

you're tossed onto the couch before you can even gasp, and caleb's there — kissing you.

softly, carefully, like he's still trying to protect you as his fingers scrabble at the button of your pants. you kiss him back, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly just to hear him groan into your lips as he finally gets your pants loose and yanks them haphazardly down your hips along with your panties.

"caleb, your — shirt," you gasp, spine arching into his as he drags a large hand up your shirt. you feel like you're on fire. he shoves his thighs between your legs, forcing you to spread for him now that your bottom is bare.

"fuck," he mutters again, tearing himself away from your lips to press hot, open mouthed kisses to the bared line of your throat. you squirm at the attention, gasping again as he shoves your bra up to brush his thumb against one peaked nipple.

"shirt," you repeat, tugging desperately at his clothes. caleb relents, leaning up and quickly pulling off his shirt. as soon as he's bare, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, smoothing down the muscles of his back.

caleb returns to your neck, licking and sucking at the fluttering pulse point as you screw your eyes shut. he's overwhelming — he's everywhere. he grips your hip in one hand, pinning you in place and leaving him free to dip his other hand lower, sliding between your thighs and — oh.

"you're so wet," he breathes, lifting his head to stare at you in awe. "for me?"

your cheeks flush. "shut up."

caleb dips one finger in shallowly, a tease. you huff. "even if you're this wet, it's going to be a tight fit."

he says it steadily, like he's talking about the weather. his fingers slip through your folds, gentle and maddening. "i don't want to hurt you, y'know, pipsqueak? but i'll probably reach —" your eyes widen as he brings his fingers coated in your juices up along your stomach. slick cools on your skin as he pauses near your belly button. "around here, i think?"

"caleb," you breathe, thighs aching. you clench around nothing as your core throbs. "please, please —"

caleb's brows furrow and he kisses you again, sweet and deep, his tongue licking at your teeth as he groans. one finger slides in deep, to the knuckle, before he adds another seconds later. you gasp into the kiss as he immediately starts stretching you out, his fingers prodding at your insides in search of something.

your back bows off the couch when he finds it, legs clamping around his hips as you soak his fingers. caleb mutters a curse and presses his face into the cushion behind you, his breaths hot in your ear as he adds another finger.

"caleb —"

"so sweet," he murmurs. the air is filled with your gasps and the wet squelch of his fingers moving in and out of your tight cunt. "so perfect, so good for me, aren't you? just so good, my little distraction. who's gonna build your bookcase now, hm? fuck — just — cum for me first, okay?"

his hand on your hip is trembling. you're overwhelmed, overcome — he's everywhere, he's all you can smell and see and feel — and when he begins rubbing tight little circles around your clit, he's the only thing on your mind as your vision whites out.

you sob as the wave crests, crashing through you, your ankles locking behind his waist as pleasure sparkles up your nerve endings. for a moment, all you can hear is the sound of your own harsh breathing, and then sensation returns abruptly as caleb presses the tip of his cock to your entrance.

"o-oh—"

"you can take it, right?" caleb huffs, jaw tense as he fucks himself slowly into your tight heat. "aw, don't — don't cry, pipsqueak, here —"

you barely even register the tears leaking out as he pushes another inch in. caleb swipes your tears away carefully, but his gaze is burning. "you're t-too big," you gasp.

caleb chuckles and sinks in another inch. "you say that, but your pretty pussy keeps sucking me in," he murmurs. you can't help but whine as he draws back only to bully his way further in. white hot pleasure dances up your body, wipes out your fears. caleb always takes care of you.

he isn't even halfway in when you cum again. "ah, ah," he groans, fucking into you a little deeper. you're clenching around him, pulsing and dripping all down his cock. it's a miracle he hasn't busted himself yet, but caleb is well known for his iron control.

"caleb," you whine, and you're so pretty like this, breathless and fucked out, eyes teary. caleb presses in deeper, feels your walls cling to him as he stretches you out. "i'm gonna — ah."

he bottoms out as you cum again, his hips finally meeting yours as you gasp through your orgasm. "knew it," caleb murmurs, pressing down on your belly.

your eyes widen as you take in the position of his hand. "oh my god."

"knew i'd fit, knew you could take me, you silly girl," caleb hisses, grabbing your legs and hoisting them up over his shoulders. your eyes widen further at the change in angle, your hands scrabbling for something to hold onto as he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains.

"wait, wait —"

caleb laces his fingers with yours and pins them by your head. you're bent in half, unable to move away, forced to take it as he groans and finally begins fucking you properly.

"you're perfect," he grunts, dog tags swinging wildly above your face as he fucks you. "so — perfect, so good for me, shit."

"caleb, nii-chan, please I'm gonna — again — "

caleb's eyes widen above you and then he groans, hips stuttering, cock kicking as thick ropes of cum shoot off inside you. he manages a few short thrusts, riding out his high, hissing between his teeth as you squeeze his cock with your own orgasm.

"you're dangerous," he breathes, turning his head slightly to kiss your ankle dangling off his shoulder. the gesture makes your heart flutter.

"told you i could take you," you pant breathlessly.

"i didn't doubt you for a minute," caleb promises. he nudges your legs carefully off his shoulders and hisses under his breath when you lock your ankles behind his waist. "are you trapping me?"

"yeah," you say, "this is revenge for wearing those shorts to the gym."

caleb rolls his eyes playfully. "hope you're ready for another round, then."

no way. "you're still hard?" you squeak.

"i finally get to be with the girl of my dreams," caleb says, amusement lacing his tone. "i can carry you to the bed, if you want, but we won't be leaving it for a while."

your eyes widen. "i'll die."

"nah," caleb grins. "you can take it."

[devilmaymetalgear]

That was a long time ago

swap/evil au!Dante x childhood friend!Reader

Cw: a lot of exposition, dmc3 Dante, gn!reader, this is more of an intro post for the au so I could practice writing him, use of baby and sweetheart, next post WILL be smut with an older evil Dante where he actually is horrible, he's just a little mean in this ❤️

(THIS IS ANOTHER AU I DONT ACTUALLY THINK DANTE WOULD DO ANY OF THIS SHIT IN MAINLINE)

A/n: i have not played dmc5 in a while and forget what the fuck the area around their house looks like, so play along if there's not a forest nearby. I also like... i dont know what happened near the end, its not verg good

He remembered that fateful day. He was left alone, sparring outside. Vergil said he wanted to keep reading his dumb poetry. It was quiet, that familiar of bugs was missing. The chirping of birds gone silent. It was as if time went still.

He didn't notice it at first, that buzzing in the back of his mind that made him want to flee. He probably should of. At 8 years old his mother left him to die. Thrown to the wolves. Thrown to the demons, more accurately.

He watched as the house burned down to ash, the smoke high in the sky. Even as he fled, running for his life, he could see that smoke high in the sky.

And he remembered the days before that. Where he played with his brother and his friend. His secret friend. Mother and father were always worried about them, said they couldn't go too far off the property. But Dante never listened.

He saw another kid in the woods next to his house, plucking some of the wild flowers from the ground. Placing them into their little basket. They looked so excited with each little flower they plucked. And Dante never got to hang out with other kids his age. He crept into the forest, dodging every little leaf and twig that if crunched could scare them.

"Hii!" He shouted, watching them look up.

"Hi?" You waved back at him nervously, and he watched as you stood up straight from the ground.

"Who are those flowers for?" He pointed down at the basket, stepping in front of you.

"They're for my mom. She told me not to come over here but they're just so pretty. Look!" You held your hand up to his face, a small, red wildflower limp between your fingers.

"Can I pick some?" Reaching towards the ground, he grasped at the little flowers, squishing them in his hands. The delicate petals fell onto the ground, leaving partial, crumpled stems in his hands. He was about to give up and sulk, stomp off to go bother Vergil and hope that'll make him feel better.

But you reached out, gently picking up another flower of the ground. Setting into his hand as carefully as you can.

"Now you have one to give to your mom."

Thats all he can remember. His head aches if he thinks about it anymore. That's all he needs to remember anyway.

Why would he ever sit and daydream about the eight year old you, when he's got the smoking hot adult you?

"Dante.." You mutter, gazing down at the rubble and gore beneath temen ni gru. Hundreds dead or injured, the squeals of demons feasting ringing out loud enough for the next city over to hear. His hand tightened around your hip, pulling you close.

"Yeah, baby?" He snaps out of whatever place his mind was, a sharp grin on his face. He looked a little too delighted staring at the gore below him. Like a king on his throne. You wouldn't be surprised if he saw himself as one. "You like what you see, right?"

"It's... definitely something!" His hand drifts lower, resting right on your ass. As much as the urge to swat his hand away rises in you, staring at all the viscera makes you rethink that. "A little... excessive, don't you think? Couldn't we have done this somewhere more... rural? Not right in the middle of the busiest part of town?"

He snickered, leaning into you and glancing over. "I forget how stupid you are when it comes to hellgates and stuff. We can't just move a hell gate, baby. That's where it is so that's where it comes up. Not my fault that I killed a few people."

"You're the one who raised the hellgate! If you didn't raise it then those people wouldn't have died!"

He went quiet, snarling a little. He dipped his head a little lower, his nails digging into your skin.

"If you talk back like that again, I'll throw you down there with them since you pity them so much. You humans are so fragile, any time someone dies you just have to whine about it." He rolled his eyes, as if you were complaining about spilt milk.

He adjusted his grip on you, grabbing your wrist and walking away from the edge.

"Enough of this anyways, I've got a reunion party to plan."

Intro to the au next post WILL be sloppy pervert sex leave me recommendations for what he should do pls ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[anxiousnerdwritings]

*Cersei and Tywin rejecting the proposal from Willas Tyrell and instead marry Joanna lookalike! to loras so she won't be able to have any children*

Joanna lookalike * has bastard children with willas anyways*

Ceresi and tywin: "fuck"

Bestie, are we in each other’s heads? Cause I was thinking about this too!

First off, I just want to start off by saying that I wholeheartedly imagine Joanna!Lookalike!Reader having a very Rhaenyra and Laenor relationship with Loras. They are totally platonic soulmates coded and I will not be taking any arguments. Also, Margaery and Joanna!Lookalike!Reader having a relationship of their own similar to Rhaenyra and Laena, you can’t tell me otherwise, I won’t hear any of it.

I can just imagine all of the Tyrell family being in on the whole thing, save for Mace. No one’s telling him shit.

Cersei and Tywin would be utterly shocked when they get word that Joanna!Lookalike!Reader is with child. They’re all the more horrified to learn that this isn’t even the first one. I could see Tywin making immediate plans to head to Highgarden as soon as possible. He would have left the second he got the news but he can’t show how truly concerned and panicked he is. And you can bet Cersei is making her way to Highgarden too, probably against Tywin’s wishes, but she just needs to see her precious bby. She needs to know her beloved daughter is safe and healthy. The absolute worst would be going through Tywin and Cersei’s minds all the while.

I just imagine Cersei and Tywin rolling up to Highgarden separately but at the same time, they couldn’t careless for Mace and his buffoonery, trying to show them about the place and telling them useless facts about this or that, they just want to see their Joanna!Lookalike. Finally they’re brought to the gardens where the rest of the family is and there they see heavily pregnant Joanna!Lookalike!Reader sitting and laughing with Margaery, both women’s hands lovingly caressing her swollen belly. Loras is further out with one of ‘their’ children in his arms showing them the different flowers growing about the garden. And Willas is holding the other child in his arms as they sleep, he and Garlan talking away. Olenna is the first to see Tywin and Cersei and she greets them with a proud, near shit eating grin. This right here is hers; her happy, loving, little family. Growing strong.

I would also love to think that when Joanna!Lookalike!Reader went away to Highgarden she took Sansa with her to further protect her and keep her safe from Cersei and Joffrey. Not only that but the thought of how Cersei and or Tywin would react to Tyrion being there too, that alone showing them that he knew all this time that Joanna!Lookalike!Reader was with child more than once and didn’t notify them whatsoever.