#why doe sit help to keep writing when we post it?

[thoughtfulfangirling]

Indecent Exposure

Property: Gargoyles Characters: Goliath x Elisa Words: 3,634 Fics are for fun, so no I do not edit these or rework them. At least right now. My focus is just trying to write again despite very little motivation. This also means writing every silly little self indulgent scenario I'm inspired to contemplate. And that's what this was! Let's say that this is maybe between the first and second season? Still early on but not like, early early on. XD

The only light on in Elisa's apartment at this moment seemed to be a lamp in her bedroom. Goliath made his way to the slanted glass, to-ceiling windows outside that room of her place. He had asked once about human dwellings and found they varied greatly in size based on a number of different factors. The place she lived seemed quite small to him, but he was to understand that for the location and setup of this apartment, it was actually quite nice. Windows like this definitely did seem pretty rare, at least for spaces designated for dwellings. But, it was awfully convenient for his clan to have a place to land outside and large windows to enter through.

He tapped on the window before sliding it open in the way she had shown him. "Elisa?" He called, as he dropped into the room with the light on. He didn't immediately see her. He did hear some sort of fan running from behind a door connected to the bedroom that he knew did not lead to her living room. That was fine, as he was in no hurry. It seemed likely she was at home as there was light coming from under that door and light on in her room. 

Goliath turned his attention to the lamp, for it seemed to sit upon a bedside stand with a glass of water, a watch, some smaller items he didn't recognize, a piece of cloth that seemed to run in a circle, and a book. He picked this last item up: "Eyewitness Testimony: Civil and Criminal." It had several authors listed. He flipped it open and found that her bookmark wasn't very far into the book. Either it was a new book, or it hadn't caught her interest. He made sure the bookmark was firmly in place before flipping the pages to the start and beginning to read.

Goliath was just finishing the introduction to the novel when he heard a 'click.' He looked up from his reading to address Elisa, but words died on his lips as she emerged in the doorway.

She was mostly silhouette, given the light behind her was much brighter than that of the lamp in this corner of the room, which was opposite the door, but there was enough light for faint details to reveal that the figure in the doorway was naked, head bent to one side, a long piece of fabric being worked around the hair draped to Elisa's side.

Goliath's wings flew up as, startled, he made to block her from his view, knowing he had managed to violate her privacy. The lamp crashed into the wall as his wings opened and he turned away. He heard a startled cry behind him, but he didn't turn toward it, knowing what more he could see if he did. Instead he focused on recovering the lamp, half fallen between the corner of the room and the nightstand, looking like it may already be broken, but the light was still on. 

Goliath kept his wings partially raised, as much as the space would allow, to be a clear visual indicator that he was not looking her way as he fumbled the lamp back into place and began scooping up some of the smaller items from the stand that had been knocked down by the shifting of the lamp.

"Goliath?!" Elisa's voice was breathless and startled.

"I'm sorry!" Goliath said, closing his eyes and bracing his hand against the opposite wall. He looked up in exasperation and noted that parts of the windows, that didn't have the glare of the lamp and the room beyond, reflected the rest of the room. He dropped his eyes immediately, feeling a little dizzy. "I called out to you when I came in, but... I realize now you must not have heard me over that fan." 

He thought he heard a slight, breathless chuckle before he heard Elisa say, "You gave me quite a scare there. I wasn't expecting anyone obviously. Lucky I didn't have my gun with me; I was ready to shoot." And this laugh sounded more natural.

He heard her shuffling around, some drawers opening and closing. Needing to know what was happening behind him caused him to lift his eyes to the reflections in the window without thinking. Elisa's back was to him now, and the cloth hung loosely around her, covering her lower half but showing most of her back. He couldn't make out what she was doing except that she was hunched over slightly like she was looking down. He lowered his eyes again. He hadn't meant to look. It was a difficult instinct to fight, not keeping an eye on movement behind him. 

Goliath cleared his throat. "I should leave." But he didn't move immediately. To leave would mean to go back through the window and for the moment, that was where her reflection still was. 

"Goliath, it's fine. Just give me a moment; I'm almost decent."

"Decent?" He asked, for he saw nothing about her actions that would deem her indecent. He was the one who had intruded. 

"Covered up." She said in that way she did when she was explaining how a word was used colloquially without going into a long explanation. "There." She said, and he lifted his eyes to her reflection. It was even harder to make out fine details there than it had been when she was silhouetted by the room behind her previously, but it did seem she was wearing something at least. 

"You don't mind if I turn around then?" He clarified.

She laughed as she assured him it was safe-another odd phrasing, but he believed he caught her meaning well enough not to question. 

He turned around, and it seemed she had resumed the activity she had been doing as she came out of the room and rubbing down her hair with the cloth. She now had clothes on, but somehow he still felt like he was intruding. He'd never seen her in so little. Humans seemed to put a lot of importance on covering up their bodies, but she did not seem uncomfortable in the black, somewhat reflective shorts that seemed... well quite short. And the top, while covering her torso, only seemed to cling to her by little more than strings, with the neck looping low enough to reveal cleavage. And the way the fabric laid on her body seemed different as well.

"I was taking a shower. Between the water and the fan, it's hard to hear much outside of the bathroom." Elisa explained, finishing on the ends of her hair with the cloth. As she did so, she stepped back into the bathroom for a moment. "It's odd, I've never thought to ask you all about showering. You guys function like... well, like you're not magic. But I think you must be." As she emerged from the bathroom, she was without the piece of fabric she'd been using before and was using a much smaller piece that appeared the same fabric as her clothes to push back her hair from falling into her face. He'd seen similar hair pieces on women before, but they usually seemed to stop behind the ears and be of a rigid material. 

"What do you mean?" Goliath asked, though he found himself distracted now by something of a very different nature. Another thing he had noticed about human females was that their breasts, while very similar in relative size and shape to female gargoyles, seemed to have a different property. They didn't... move the same. There was a rigidity to them. But suddenly Elisa's were moving like those of gargoyle women.

"I haven't heard any mention of needing a shower or a bath from you guys since you've been in the clock tower. I think the sun must refresh you over night. That seems awfully handy." She stopped as she reached the other side of her bed, and as he opened his mouth to reply to her assertion, he found himself stopping at the expression she gave him. He realized, with sudden intense embarrassment, that she had caught his gaze. He searched her face for discomfort as he tried to figure out what to say. He couldn't read the expression. Discomfort is not how he'd describe it. Much of it was amusement, but he did see some color on her cheeks which he thought probably did mean he was making her uncomfortable. 

He looked down at her nightstand as an excuse to look away and noticed the book. He touched it. "Light reading before bed?" 

Elisa sat down on the corner of her bed, leaving space between them. 

"I try to keep learning." She said with a shrug. "You know Goliath, if you have any questions for me, I am always happy to answer what I can." 

This caused him to look at her again. She was offering to him to address what had just happened but leaving him with an out. He didn't know why he was so embarrassed all of a sudden. Curiosity was natural, and there was a lot he didn't know. Elisa had always offered to fill in gaps where she could. In his previous world, it did not matter much what he did not know of humans or their ways. But now, if they were to survive in this world, humans were all they had for their communities, if they were to have any outside of their small group. 

He gave a nod and turned more toward her, fighting off his discomfort at broaching topics that seemed taboo. "The clothes you are wearing." He started, but found he wasn't even sure what the question was he was trying to ask, or how to ask it. This was not embarrassment, just a lack in knowledge about human norms. 

"My pajama's." Elisa offered with a nod. 

"Pajamas?" Goliath questioned. This felt like a route that would get him answers.

"They're clothes we wear to bed. Well, that's normally how it's thought of, but honestly, many of us wear pajamas as soon as we get home. They're the most comfortable things we wear." She gave a wry grin. "If we decide to wear anything at all. Many people don't wear anything to go to sleep."

Which begged the question, if he had not interrupted her, would she have gone to sleep as he found her? Had she put these on for his sake? And if so, had she done so for his comfort or hers? He ignored these questions for the ones more relevant to interactions with humans more generally.

"So modesty rules do not apply in the home." It was a question, but he made it a statement to demonstrate that he was starting to understand, and that the conversation was going in the direction of providing answers to the things he was curious about. 

Elisa gave a shrug, which with new revelations, did make Goliath uncomfortable. He tended to see the differences between gargoyles and humans more than he noticed their similarities, which did not seem to be the case for all of his clan. One of the more distinguishing differences to him when interacting with the women, was this oddness about the breasts. It wasn't like he ever stared. It's just a thing he noticed once, and then they meant nothing more to him than the color of one's hair or width of their shoulders. But suddenly the similarities stood out to Goliath as he acutely felt how long it had been since he had looked upon a woman he found appealing in a more sensual manner. He could never deny his attraction to Demona, but now seeing her brought so many painful feelings that there was no room for something as simple as attraction.

As he wrangled with these thoughts, Elisa had explained the various settings and modes of dress common among humans. He was able to gather peripherally that he had always encountered Elisa when she was dressed for work or a practical night out and about. That pajamas, or PJs as she'd started to refer to them, were one of the most casual of attires humans wore, and the degree of how revealing they run tended to depend on the relationships they had with the people they lived with, if any. 

It made a certain amount of sense to him. He had just assumed humans were much more modest than gargoyles, and he would have to consider this new information. It certainly made some things he saw often on the streets make much more sense. 

"Something I said seems to have made you uncomfortable." Elisa suddenly said, and Goliath realized that as she finished an explanation, they had lapsed into silence. 

Goliath looked back at her and saw an expression of concern. "No. Not at all. I am merely... thinking. I am seeing that I have made many assumptions without realizing. I... understood less than I realized."

"Is that upsetting?" Elisa asked, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. It was a casual movement, but something about the movement or her posture belied a sudden discomfort she hadn't had earlier.

"No. Certainly not." Goliath replied, shaking his hand. He looked about the room. He had the urge suddenly to not seem to take up so much space, but his choices seemed to be to sit on the floor or on the bed, and after everything she had just said about homes and bedrooms and sleeping being the most intimate locations, he felt to sit on the bed might make her further uncomfortable. "I am more concerned, after what I learned, about your comfort. Does it... is it upsetting for you that I am here rather than your living room? That I saw you earlier naked?" 

Elisa laughed, and that tension she'd had a moment ago seemed to ease. Her uplifted legs moved to a crossed position, and she leaned forward. "What would you do if it did?" There was a playful note to the statement that suggested she was not, but humor sometimes masked that which made us most uncomfortable.

"Well, I could certainly leave immediately. Perhaps that is what I should have done right away. I... don't know about the other, but if there is anything I could do that would... ease any discomfort, I would hear it." 

Elisa chuckled at that, and Goliath found himself once again diverting his gaze. He found himself desperate to know what had changed about Elisa that she... moved different all of a sudden, but he had already stumbled into crashing into various sensitive topics. Though it was a relief at how remarkable Elisa was taking it. He wondered how grossly he had overestimated human modesty practices. 

"What?" Elisa asked, her tone serious again. "Something keeps making you uncomfortable. Is it too strange seeing me like this? I can put on more clothes if I've managed to make you uncomfortable. Perhaps I’ve assumed too much about a lack of modesty among Gargoyles based on the attire I've seen?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice, but also a hint of frustration.

"No." Goliath assured her. "We do of course cover sensitive flesh, but it is mostly out of comfort than modesty."

"Then it's to see a human naked?" Elisa asked, and again there was something in her tone he couldn't quite interpret. "You have such an appreciation for the arts that I assumed you would have at least seen nakedness in art and photography."

"I have. Yes." He interrupted. "It's none of those things." He sighed. "I apologize. You have done nothing wrong. I am the intruder here. You are not making me uncomfortable. I simply find that I am confused, but I do not need to understand everything."

"Goliath, where else are you going to find answers to your questions? I don't know everything, but it's not like you can ask your books a question and get an answer. I at least could ask a librarian and find books for you. Look. I promise, I'll tell you if you ask me a question I don't want to answer, but you have a right to understand this world you live in, and I've offered to do what I can to help you. If I don't want to answer myself, if it makes me uncomfortable, I can try to find books on the topic for you." 

Goliath sighed and readjusted his wings, uncomfortable. Elisa pushed some hair that had fallen over her shoulder back. She made to tuck it behind her ear, a gesture he'd seen from her often, but of course the piece in her hair already held the hair back from her ears. 

"I don't know how to ask about it without questioning you... you're," He gestured helplessly at her chest and then jerked his hand back, realizing how brusque that must appear. It was embarrassing, but a relief when Elisa let out a burst of laughter at the gesture. 

"Boobs? You want to know about boobs? Goliath, gargoyle women also have them. Or at least Demona does. Weren't you and Demona intimate before she went... well, you know." She shook her head in a manner that suggested she meant to say Demona was crazy. 

Goliath shook his head as if to clear it. "Gargoyle women yes, they do have breasts. But they... move differently than yours. Or, I thought they did." He felt a bit light headed. This was not a conversation he wanted to have, but yet he found he was desperate to understand.

Elisa tilted her head and gave him a confused look. "I'm not sure I follow. I can't say I've noticed anything notably different, though of course I haven't seen Demona's naked breasts. Is that what you mean? You have referenced your kind lay eggs, perhaps gargoyle women don't have nipples?" Her voice was pure curiosity, but after a beat, he saw color rise in her cheeks again. He was actually comforted by the sight. He realized that part of his uneasiness was how much more composed Elisa had been than himself through all this, when it seemed to him their roles should be reversed. 

"They have nipples." He assured her. "But when a gargoyle woman walks, her breasts move with the movement. When she laughs, they move. It's not something that seemed to happen with human women, only..."

Elisa had made a sound of understanding. "Mine have" she finished for him. She got up and walked to the set of drawers along the far wall from her bed. She pulled something off the top and tossed it to him. It appeared to be a top designed for a woman, only it looked like it was intended only to cover the breasts. He looked at it for a moment, then looked at Elisa again and raised a questioning eyebrow. 

"Typically before leaving home, we put one of these on. It's called a bra. It keeps our breasts in place. It can get uncomfortable to do a lot of physical activity without something holding the girls in place. It also prevents our nipples from being visible through our clothes." She gave a shrug. "For some reason, it's considered inappropriate to let them be seen in public." 

"But your men have nipples." Goliath commented on the discrepancy while setting the bra aside. 

"Yeah. It's pretty dumb." Elisa said, returning back to the bed and sitting back down, this time one leg crossed under her. She gave a sudden laugh and shook her head. "All this time, and you thought our boobs were just stiff." Goliath gave her an embarrassed look, and she shook her head in response. "No it makes sense! How would you know? It's crazy how seamlessly you all have become such a normal part of my life that I forget how strange sometimes mine must be to you."

Finally, Goliath sat on the bed. It bowed a bit under his weight, but seemed to hold fine. The tension finally had seemed to evaporate enough that it didn't seem like an invasive gesture anymore. "It has been a learning curve." He admitted. "And I can only thank you for your candor. I think even among gargoyle women, to ask them about their bodies as I did yours would not have been very welcome."

Elisa just smiled at him then shook her head. "I suppose you dropped in just for the peak show then?" 

"What? Oh no! I came to see if you wouldn't want to meet us in the park tomorrow. Lexington has finished another project and wants to show us. And I believe Broadway wants to ask you to track down some movie or other that he wants to see."

Elisa smiled. "I'll be there at dusk when you all wake up tomorrow. I have a pretty busy night coming up with some stake-outs we have to do, though I'd love to see what Lex has gotten up to. But I can check in with you all and see what movies Broadway's heard about now. 

Goliath nodded and stood back up. "We will be pleased to see you. Next time I drop in, I will make sure to announce myself clearer and wait for you in your living room." 

Elisa chucked and nodded. "Have a good night Goliath.” 

Goliath gave her a smile and a short bow before bidding her a good night as well and taking his leave. 

He supposed there was a lot he should consider now and think on, but as he took to the night sky, he found he didn't particularly care to keep contemplating on what he'd learned. It was good to know, but it was just enough that he did. 

[yoyomomiko]

*Gasps for air*

D-Daisuke eating out f!reader… headcanons… please…

*Dies*

Pairings: Daisuke x F!reader

Warnings: nsfw (mdni!), oral (reader receiving), face-sitting, overstim, edging, praising kink, hair pulling, cursing, marking.

(A/N): I cannot write smut for the love of my life UGH it's so embarrassing😭 This is so bad and short😣 -> m.list

credits: @anitalenia (for mdni divider)

So for starters

We all know Daisuke's lowkey a switch leaning towards bottom...

But the moment he's in between your legs, face planted into your cunt, there's NO escape unless you force his head away.

He's grabbing at your hips and waist, leaving a trail of hickeys on your inner thighs (like I mentioned in my other posts, he's big on marking), all while he's whining

Pull on his hair and you'll lay there dor hours

OMG OMG IMAGINE HE TIES HIS HAIR UP SO HE CAN PLEASURE YOU BETTER UGH

He probably keeps a hair band on his wrist at all times in case of emergency if ykwim👅

Probably accidentally overstimulates you😔

He's just doing so good, maybe too good. You praised him so much when he started, but now all you can do is gasp and whimper. It was too much, and another strong release was building up. You pulled on his hair to push him away from your cunt, he thought he made a mistake but once you told him why you tugged his head back he's grinning ear to ear🫦

Ugh he's just such a sucker for it, loves to be buried in between your thighs

SIT ON HIS FACE

He prefers you hovering above him😋

He's not too experienced with it, a bit sloppy too, and he's clearly not a fast learner, BUT, he'll start remembering your most sensitive spots over time

Alright we already know that Daisuke has a praising and hair pulling kink.

He loves it so much when you tug on his hair, pushing his head further.

I feel like once his head band broke so you kept his hair away from his face, because you like helping him😊

He gets so pussy drunk it's not even a joke at this point💔

Okay but I feel like even tho Daisuke is usually all whiny, he CAN be a tease.

Might even edge you who knows🤷‍♀️

"Not yet..."

AND HE'S PULLING AWAY FROM YOU SO YOU SHOVE HIM RIGHT BACK INTO YOUR CORE😠

Who does he think he is🙄

Anyways

CALL HIM A GOOD BOY

Tell him how good he's doing, otherwise he might feel a bit down thinking he's not making you feel good

If you're like, shy or just don't make any noises, he's gonna think it's HIS fault and he might even ask you about it, just to make sure and all that😔

Overall, he prefers giving rather than receiving 💯

★yoyomiko ★miko

[glowettee]

✧ if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction ✧

hey lovelies!! 🦢

omg, so, i was literally journaling last night & this phrase just hit me like… so hard. "if it doesn't align with the dream life, it's a distraction." i had to stop writing and just sit with that for a min.

because honestly? i've been feeling so scattered lately. like my energy is going in a million directions but none of them are taking me where i actually want to go. and i realized that's exactly what happens when we don't have clarity on our it-girl blueprint.

so what even is an it-girl blueprint? it's not just aesthetic or vibes (tho those matter too!!) but it's this deep knowing of who you're meant to become. it's that version of you who wakes up excited, who feels aligned, who's living in her dream apartment with her dream career and her dream people. she exists!! she's waiting for you to become her!!

this post is a bit different from my most recents, i wanted to take a little tinyyy break from my pop culture series', like the pll x glowettee and vampire diaries x glowettee series' and just focus more on self-improvement again. i also wanted to take a break from the overwhelming aesthetics i've been using in my posts, and justtttt write~~ (no small text, no crazy colors, just my thoughts) and i realized that distractions have been very prominent in my life lately... so i wanted to address it in this post, and some possible solutions <3

✧ what's actually distracting you? ✧

okay so grab your journal rn and let's get super real about what's pulling you away from your dream life, feel free to use these prompts:

that situationship that makes you feel anxious every time they text (you know the one)

the hours of scrolling that leave you feeling empty inside

saying yes to plans when your body is literally begging you to rest

the "friend" who always has drama and makes everything about them

that project you started because you thought you "should" but you actually hate

staying in that job/class/situation because you're scared to disappoint someone

comparing your chapter 1 to someone else's chapter 20 (guilty!!)

i've been doing this work myself and it's kinda scary how many things i was pouring energy into that weren't actually taking me anywhere i wanted to go??

✧ getting clear on your actual dream life ✧

before we can align with our dream life, we need to know what it actually looks like! not what instagram or your mom or society thinks it should look like, but what YOU want.

some journal prompts that helped me:

when do i feel most like myself?

what activities make me lose track of time?

who makes me feel seen, safe, and supported?

what would my perfect morning routine look like if i had zero obligations?

what kind of spaces make me feel calm and inspired?

what would i do with my time if money wasn't an issue?

what parts of my current life would i keep even if i could change everything?

i did this exercise last weekend and realized that so many things i was chasing weren't even in my dream life blueprint?? like i was stressing about getting into this super competitive program but when i really thought about it, it wasn't even aligned with what i actually want. wild.

✧ how to actually make decisions that align ✧

okay, so here's my little framework for making choices that actually build your dream life:

the body check: before saying yes to anything, check in with your body. does it feel expansive and light, or contracted and heavy? your body literally knows before your brain does!!

the future self question: what would the version of you who's already living your dream life do? she knows!! trust her!!

the energy audit: does this person/activity/commitment give you energy or drain it? only say yes to energy-givers (this one changed my life omg)

the alignment test: ask yourself "does this move me closer to or further from my dream life?" be brutally honest!!

the joy metric: if it doesn't bring you joy or lead to joy, why are you doing it?? (unless it's like… taxes or something lol)

✧ how to let go of the distractions ✧

this is the hardest part tbh. because we get attached to things even when they're not serving us! here's what's helping me:

remember that saying no to something is saying yes to your dream life

start with the easiest distractions first (for me it was unfollowing accounts that made me feel bad)

create little rituals around letting go (i write things down and then burn the paper)

remind yourself that outgrowing things is part of becoming

be gentle with yourself when you slip back into old patterns (we all do it!!)

i had to let go of a friendship a few months that was taking so much energy, and it was really hard but also?? i suddenly had all this space to focus on things that actually matter to me.

✧ your dream life alignment practice ✧

here's a little daily practice i've been doing:

morning: set an intention to notice what aligns and what distracts

throughout the day: when making choices, ask "dream life or distraction?"

evening: celebrate the aligned choices you made + gently note the distractions

it's not being perfect!! it's becoming more conscious of our choices. because every tiny decision is either building your dream life or… not.

i've been doing this for about three weeks now and i already feel so much clearer and more focused. like i'm finally moving in one direction instead of being pulled in a million different ones.

remember: you deserve your dream life. and it starts with choosing it, over and over, in all the tiny moments.

question from mindy:

what's one distraction you're ready to let go of? and one aligned action you're ready to take? (feel free to send me a message in my inbox, or just reblog answering this question.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Bob just liked to spend time with you. It didn't matter what the two of you did just as long as he was in your presence. For the past couple of days, you have been complaining about your nails, the polish on them had chipped and your nails were starting to break so Bob had the brilliant idea of doing your nails while watching the TV show the two of you were binging.

He watched you carefully as you gathered all your supplies and noticed the sheet mask in the corner of your bathroom. "What are these?" He asked picking up the box. "Oh, those are sheet masks! It helps moisturize your face." He nodded as you explained it to him to show he was following along. "Can-could we do them? My face has been itchy lately. Ava said it could be the weather drying it out? Would these help that?" He hadn't noticed how he was rambling until his eyes met yours and noticed the teasingly smile on your face.

You took the box from him and reassured him that you didn't mind using them tonight. The two of you wandered to the TV area while discussing what you thought was going to happen next on your show. Setting everything up was easy as the peacefulness the two of you felt together settled in the room.

You were three episodes in when the rest of the team came into the room. John laughed seeing the situation unfolding in front of them. Bob was sitting on the floor between your legs with a sheet mask on and a black nail polish drying on his fingers. You were sitting on the couch with your sheet mask on and a matching black nail polish drying on your own fingers.

"What-" John cut himself off with his own laughter, "what the hell are you doing?!? Like seriously Bob can you ever say no to her? This is getting ridiculous what's next you're getting a perm!" His laughter echoes through the large room and you huffed pausing your show.

The sheet mask was hiding most of the redness that was spreading across Bob's face but from where you were sitting you could see his ears turning red.

Ava and Yelena took turns smacking the back of Walker's head as they argued back at him for not knowing how to show love as well as Bob does. "You wish you were half the man that Bob was! "At least he has masculinity!" Ava and Yelena's voices tangled with each other as they defended Bob.

A wicked smile spread across your face that made everyone slightly concerned. "Y/N...what are you planning?" John asked fearful knowing he had upset you by disturbing your night.

•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○•°○

Bob laughed loudly as he took in the situation in front of him. He had no idea how you had achieved it but John was now sitting in the armchair pouting with a sheet mask on. You didn't go as far as painting his nails but you did make sure Yelenia took plenty of pictures.

Alexei came in and started cheering about what wonderful team bonding everyone was a part of. However his cheering stopped when a question formed in his head. "Why was I not invited???" He asked slightly hurt to not be invited. "I know the winter Barnes is in an important meeting. Shame he has to miss team bonding but me??? I'm on the team!"

You went over to Alexei talking about how he is a very important member of the team, a few minutes later he sat next to John with a matching sheet mask on and a red nail polish drying on his fingers. "This. This is team bonding!"

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting, and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3 If you like my Bob writing let me know if you'd like to be tagged! I have a lot of drafts for him

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

— ❈ YOU'RE SO PRETTY, BABY.

▸ prompt ; companions and their responses to being called pretty boy / pretty girl.

▸ a/n ; bit of a generic post im sorry forreal. while i was originally just going to write this for astarion i had ideas for. all the other companions.

most of the characters have a reader w a specific class or background, all varied! also spoilers for gale, shadowheart, karlach, and lae'zel.

reader / tav is always gender neutral!

▸ wc ; about 4.5k, about 700+ words per companion.

ft. astarion, wyll, gale, shadowheart, karlach, lae'zel

no minthara or halsin bc i could not bring myself to write it. but maybe later if enough people ask lol.

❈ ASTARION ;

Astarion tries his very best to find your affection for him trite, even when he knows it doesn't feel that way. It's an instinct for him, one you'll simply have to make peace with you if you're really planning on tailing him to the end of the world.

Truth be told though, he likes your generally affectionate nature. He hasn't reached a point he can admit this so openly, but the comfortable and easy way you reach for him is nice. He likes how your hands seem to stretch for him, the way you cling to his spine when you sleep in his tent and the likes.

And while he is not stranger to hypocrisy, he thinks it'd be amiss to try and bar you from calling him any pet names when he calls you so many. He's got quite a few handy. Darling is a favorite, followed by dear, and sometimes my love when he can muster up the courage to mean it instead of saying it like he's trying to perform.

You like to call Astarion by his name though, most often. He isn't exactly sure why you're so fond of it, and truthfully he's done little to consider his own name. You say it wonderfully though, tasteful and loving and soft.

Sometimes you gasp it in offense or horror or shock, other times in pleasure. Sometimes you whimper it in your sleep, groping around until your hands fist in the material of his shirt and you drag him back to you.

In any case, he's used to hearing his name. So hearing you utter the words pretty boy to him, he can't help but be a little shocked.

You're a little tipsy. A hard, arduous journey of fighting githyanki soldiers has taken a terrible toll on your normal inhibitions. You're quite flushed while you're drunk, and all the same sitting in his lap like you've not a care in the world.

Astarion doesn't mind holding you. In fact, he's thinking of all the terribly teasing things he can say to you come morning. So far, you've done nothing but mumble. It's a sudden movement, your hands clasped around his face.

"Feeling forward are we darling?" He says, like second nature. It's so reactionary it's banal, though he does have some enthusiasm since the flirtation is directed at you. Instead of your usual giggling, you stare at him with your lips parted.

"I suppose I am pretty boy," You reply, a completely foreign confidence in your voice that stops him dead in his tracks. Underneath the thick layer of flirtation is sincerity so unmistakable it almost proves to be too much "Could I ask you to keep me company?"

Astarion is, eternally grateful about the fact you don't get much more than that out of you. He spends the entire night thinking about it. You're certainly not the first to call him pretty, and that particular phrasing has been thrown to him more than once.

Yet it rings a little differently. The way you said it so tenderly, your hands stroking the nape of his neck and cupping his face. Well, it's not nothing. He can't decide if he hates it or not until the next morning comes.

Your eyes flutter open as light pours through the open part of his tent. You reach over to him with a deep sigh, engaging in some quiet morning affection when you repeat yesterdays sentiment.

"Good morning, my very pretty boy," You say - and this time Astarion is sure whatever he is feeling he has not ever felt previously "Sorry for the antics last night."

"So your memory hasn't failed you. Good to know." Astarion says back. You laugh lightly. "Your charming little pet name worried me quite a bit."

"Nothing to worry about my love." You say, warm and nuzzling into his neck likely to cool yourself from over-heating "I really do find you very pretty."

He can't help the feeling that floods his sense. He likes it even though he feels a little clingy, but perhaps there's no need to admit that.

"Oh, really, darling? How sweet you are. Tell me again, then. Just for kicks this time."

❈ WYLL ;

it's a matter of getting used to it for Wyll.

For the first month of your adventuring together, pretty boy, had been a somewhat condescending substitute for his name. Among other ones, like daddy's boy and prince. None of the pet names held any real affection.

You liked getting under his skin, after all.

You didn't get on at first, not for a long while. You're a rogue, a ratty street urchin turned mercenary who'd spent your youth climbing through the soil and mud of the Lower City's underbelly. Your words verbatim, not his. At first, your resentment for him caught him off guard, especially because Wyll prefers to keep the peace and get along with everyone. But, he had a difficult time understanding you, even with his people skills

Eventually it clicked that your resentment was less towards him, and more towards what he represents. You're a Baldurian, but one abandoned by the city and it's people. What else could the Ravengards represent if not the future you never had a chance to look towards.

It was easier after that. And Wyll had promised to himself to observe you closer. In that, he found to like you a great deal.

He's fond of pet names in general, but more fond of you lately. At the beginning of your adventure, it was a little difficult to get accustomed to your... roughness. You lack delicacy, but you're not exactly silver tongued.

Yet, you're not as cruel as you make yourself out to be. Contrarily, while you've traveled together, Wyll bore witness to only gentleness. Nothing more. The words you spoke about only doing things for coin had been clearly disproved by your countless acts of charity. Especially gentle and kind to children, and especially unforgiving to the rich and unhelpful.

Once he got used to it, there was something kind of...sweet about it. To see you say one thing and do another had it's own novelty that Wyll grew fond of you.

It was the night of tiefling party that roused his feelings. That night, he'd watched you play with the tiefling children all night, teaching them tricks of the trade.

And you'd started falling for him, too, judging by the way your usual snark was nowhere to be found.

Especially vivid is the change in your tone when you call him the same way you did before.

"We'll take a short rest for you, pretty boy." Your voice murmurs, looking carefully over his wounds while place down your own weapons "Get your spells back. Organize our things in the mean time."

He gives you look, examining your own worry before his smile stretches into one of fondness. It doesn't bother him at all, not anymore. No, lately - it sounds rather fond, and each time Wyll hears it, it does something for ego.

"No need for the concern, though I am appreciative," He says, not bothering to mask the smug quality in his voice at your change. He delights in it a little, admittedly . "I'll be alright soon enough."

You don't seem to notice, too busy wiping your blade of fresh blood, metal shiny as moonlight. "And there's no need for your heroism, Blade of Frontiers. Have some discernment about time and place."

You look up at him with your brows furrowed, and Wyll can barely help himself. "Are you worried I'll lose what's left in my appearances? I'm just telling you there's no need to trouble yourself over it."

It takes you a while to register to his words, but when it finally does - your eyes blow wide. The look of embarrassment on your face is well worth it.

"I thought you hated when I called you that." You say coolly.

"It's not so bad," He says back tenderly, staring at you "At least not anymore."

You pout a little. Wyll fights some unspoken urge to kiss you. A little longer.

"I prefer when you're acting oblivious,"

"Sorry to disappoint."

He lets his head lay on the wall behind him - reaching a hand for yours instead, trying to rest up as promised. He sees you smiling from the corner of his eye and affirms it to himself. You squeeze, soft, but otherwise say nothing about it.

Yes, lately, nothing you say could get under his skin. Even when you so obviously try.

❈ GALE ;

Gale is always the poet, never the muse.

He thought highly of his relationship with Mystra, and in many ways still does. He loved her. This much is true. He can't say for any certainty if she had loved him just as much, or at all. He wasn't the first mortal, and would hardly be the last.

But he loved her, enough to write about her and wax poetic about all that he'd lost.

When Gale examines any of his past relationship, he realizes this is some kind of pattern. Gale is good at being loving, but he does not know for certain if any of them loved him back. Or if he was loved in the way he loves - if it was anything near close. Gale had thought, at one point, it was just matter of destiny. Gale is after all, a man who bleeds with all he has.

He can't blame anyone for loving him less than when he is categorically too much. He thought that way for a long time, destined himself to never find love again or beg for Mystra's forgiveness for some new found purpose.

When you came into his life, he hadn't been sure what would come of your relationship. Certainly a brain parasite would make camp a difficult place for romance, but the two of you managed against all odds. Among all the things that Gale finds astonishing about your relationship - it's your affection for him that catches him the most off-guard.

It's a little sad, he can admit. But it's true. When you speak to Gale, your voice is always soft. It's never demanding. Before, always, there had been some kind of expectation. Gale had to be a certain way, to pour himself into someone else for the sake of it being returned.He loved. Surely he loved.

But now, lately, you love him back. Overwhelmingly. The easiness of your love makes him feel a little... spoiled. Which is embarrassing, at the stage of life he's in. He finds the whole thing tips him over the edge. The heat creeping up his neck every time he remembers. Your hand brushing against the back of his neck, cupping his face so gently.

Gale, perhaps unsurprisingly, is fond of your various pet names. All of them sound good. Make him feel important and desired. You like to call him a bookworm, sometimes you call him baby (which he really likes much more than he is ever willing to admit), and other times you settle on saying my love.

Pretty boy is new. Pretty boy is different, and makes heat crawl up the back of Gale's neck like a smitten school boy.

It has a special effect on Gale.

In between classes, spoken with your hands cupping his face as he leans on his desk. The sunlight is pouring through the large paneled windows, casting a warmth on your expression. Gale is sat on his desk, making you eye-level.

"I'm glad you've come to see me," Gale says to you first, breaking a period of comfortable silence. You're a busy person, given all the heroics. Gale finds it troublesome, despite the fact you've moved with him to Waterdeep. Your reputation precedes you "It's been ages,"

"Of course I'd come to see you, pretty boy," You hum, thumb brushing under his cheek - carefully drawing a line "You're very healing to look at."

The effect is rather immediate. As soon as the words leave your lips, spoken to him so lovingly - he unlocks a part of himself he always seems to forget about. Forgets himself in a fundamental way, the flurry of heat and euphoric sensation of adoration washing over him like water.

He gives you a look, and you laugh - pressing your thumb to his lower lip as you lean in for a kiss. "Stop pouting, will you?"

"I'm doing nothing of the sort," He insists, kissing you despite him. You laugh into, warm and bubbly. For a minute, he remembers all he might've lost had he done what Mystra told him.

He's glad he's alive. To feel you.

"You very much are," You reply back, once you've managed to pull away from each other "Don't be so surprised. You've always been very pretty to me."

He blushes again, deeper, and closes his eyes.

❈ SHADOWHEART ;

You don't often communicate your feelings to Shadowheart through words.

You're something of a stoic. Of the few people in Shadowheart's past who remain by her side, many of them communicate about how surprised they are about your partnership. Shadowheart is known to be a little snarky, witty. She used to be very prickly, at the start of your adventure together - so everyone questions how you were able to win her heart.

Truthfully, Shadowheart didn't know what to make of your personality at first. There's a silence to you. Maybe she should expect this of paladin so loyal. A Paladin of Torm, the unswerving enemy of injustice and corruption. You've always been a devout person, putting action and justice over everything. She hated it at first, a natural response for a Sharran, she figures.

Once she'd left it all behind, she could no longer use it as an excuse.

Truth be told, Shadowheart had always liked that aspect of you. Your devotion spoke to something greater than your oath or even your god. You had simply believed in the world, and inadvertently in her. You saved her from herself, her parents from her fate, and then some.

Your devotion to her as a lover isn't something so different. She often thinks you would swear yourself to her if you could. For Shadowheart, your affection is akin to worship. Every morning, the animals are tended and the flower bed is damp. You wake her mother up without a start, remind her of where she is without making her feel ashamed. You're good to her father, talk to him of worldly politics at the dinner table.

She has no complaints to make about you. Your love for her is tangible, something she can reach out and touch with her fingers.

She's unused to hearing your affections, though. Unused to hearing the words.

You lay together in the darkness. You're alone tonight, the entire cabin empty. Her mother and father have gone together on an outing together, after you accompanied them into the city. You've finally returned, put the horses up in the stable, and have to come to her side.

Shadowheart likes to lay in your arms. She lets herself curl into your weight, inhales the scent of your skin - earthy and rich as you let your arm fold around her waist. She lays ontop of you today, her whole body on yours like a blanket.

She looks up at you, her her tied loosely. She can practically feel how glowy her own expression is as she examines you - sees her reflection in your irises.

You let your hand lay over her back, reaching up underneath her nightwear to lay touch her skin. She gives you a look - her smile small, sincere. Your own expression is tired from travel, but fond. You insisted on taking her parents instead of letting them go alone.

She loves you more than she cares to admit.

"You're staring." She comments blithely "See something you like?"

Normally you'd flush a little at this, silent as you kiss her forehead or cheek. This time though, you use your fingers to brush the stray hairs from her face and nod.

"Yes, pretty girl," You hum, nonchalantly. Sagely. "I really do,"

She's so caught off guard, she can't help but gape. She lifts herself slightly to stare at you in shock.

"I've never heard you talk like that. Not once while we've been together. I mean.. you've called me beautiful but," Shadowheart stumbles, a fluttery feeling in her stomach she'd rather ignore "But it's never like that,"

"I think it more often that I say it,"

"And you always think to call me that?"

"Like I said, often," You look over he carefully, before your lips pull into an easy smile "You're pretty to the point I want to tell you all the time,"

Shadowheart is scarcely embarrassed by anything. She's a practiced woman at this point in her life. It's almost juvenile the way the words effect her. It's you saying it that makes all the difference. The way you've said it that makes her squirm. She lets out a little puff of air, silent as you laugh.

"Pretty girl," You repeat, warm and gentle and laced with exhaustion "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever met."

Shadowheart tucks her face into your neck, voice as soft a murmur as the sound of her own heart rings in her ears.

"Don't make a habit of talking like that," She huffs "I already know, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to hear."

You smile brightly. "I'm glad,"

❈ KARLACH ;

Karlach adores you, utterly and completely.

She's a little caught off-guard by it. Just when she'd convinced herself she couldn't love you more, you surprise her all over again. She'd probably harbored some sort of affection for you from the start of your adventure together, when you'd gone to bat for her and make sure Wyll didn't take her head as a trophy.

Since then, though - on your journey together, she'd taken careful notice of you. And gods, she likes you. You're very different she must admit. Where Karlach is strong and fiery, you're cool and calculated. She figured that's just what magic users are like, but Gale is pretty keen on correcting this assumption. You're a sorcerer, specifically, means the whole magic thing is in your composition and not your study.

Which explained why your head isn't the books like their local wizard. She does find you to be rather charming. You're good at talking your way in and out of almost everything, and you can outwit even the cleverest people on camp. You'd think it'd make you... annoying. Or cruel. And sure, you're a little calculating - but mostly, you're sweet.

Karlach's really never met anyone like you before. Her companionship is a little limited because before the Blood Wars, she was a rag-tag kid in the street of the city. But you grew up in a noble house, learned to charm and finesse your way through everything. You know how to read situations before they've even happened.

And you always explain them to her afterwards.

You make Karlach nervous, strangely. Which is wild! When it comes to socializing, she can get along with almost anyone. You though, you always see right through her. You know when she's using her own personality as a shield, and you always know just when to intervene. Or when to say nothing, and just let her sit with you.

The day she blew up at you, after defeating Gortash - you'd handled it better than she could've hoped. You were comforting, and kind, and let her feel it out without making her feel bad. With you, she felt hopeful despite knowing that the end was probably going to come for her eventually.

With you, she thinks she could endure even the end of the world.

You're in the city now, no longer sleeping in the woods. When everyone else has gone to bed, Karlach finds you in the study, a room attached to the main living quarters.

She knocks before entering. Your voice is soft as you tell her to come in. Dressed in your comfy night clothes, your hair damp from washing up. You're bent over the desk with a furrow in your brow that Karlach finds sweet.

"Hey, baby," She asks, her heart thumping soft "Hope I'm not disturbin' your research."

"Of course not," You reply back, encouraging her towards you "I'm actually due a break."

Wordlessly, you sit up from your chair, pointing for Karlach to sit. She follows through, a little confused as to what you're doing before you plop yourself back into her lap. She throws her head back in laughter.

"Don't know what I was expecting there," She giggles, arm curling around your waist "All cozy?"

"Mm," You melt yourself into her embrace, turning to look at her. Your eyes are soft, free hand cupping her face "I'm cozy. What's keeping you up, pretty girl?"

The words catch her off guard completely, her engine flaring from the heat.

"Shit, what's with that?" She glances down at you, smiling like the cheeky fucker you are "I can't get any redder, you know? It's making my engine burn."

"You like it, no?" Your voice is smooth, smug in a way that gets her hot "My pretty girl,"

Karlach stares at you as you say it. Traces the curve of your lips, the slight arch of your brow. Asses the weight and warmth of you as you lay your legs over her lap and feels her body start to react. She didn't think it was possible to feel so complete by someone, even among the impending doom at the end of the world.

With you it fades away to nothing. Permission to want freely, she had no idea she had wanted that so bad. She had no idea she could want more when you'd already given her so much.

It's nice to be greedy. A little greed is fine, after everything.

"If you keep talking to me like that, we're going to do a lot more than just sitting, you know?" She tells you seriously.

You smile and laugh but don't deny her "Only if you say please,"

❈ LAE'ZEL ;

The Githyanki do not fall in love.

It's a fact of the culture, a mark of their honor. Love is for the soft, tender fleshed species of the material planes. It does not suit warriors, not the ruthless githyanki who spend their entire lives training the sword and learning magic. Love had always been a flimsy concept to Lae'zel. To the point she'd never thought about it or cared too. For the gith, there is only pleasure and carnal desire. The foolishness of longing can only be harbored in the lesser existence of the outer-world. The world outside of her creche.

For a long time, this was true for Lae'zel. She had never intended her time in the material plane to weaken her in the ways in which it did. Or that the experience of a ghaik parasite trapped behind her eyes would will her into cooperation with lesser beings. In many ways egregious, unfathomable. In trying to rid herself of one parasite, she'd found herself another one - more intolerable and more consuming than the first.

You. What a foreign and remarkable bond. From the beginning she had told you the truth, that the gith do not love and she would not be able to love you. Though she could admit passion, admit admiration for your courage, admit possession - she could not admit love. She knew nothing of it.

Over the course of your journey, you'd managed to prove her wrong. Slowly stripped bare of the identity she'd made her life around, you stripped Lae'zel down to her soul. Her most honored solider, and most formidable ally. When the time came, you'd told her to do what she must, to liberate her people. That you'd be there when she returned.

That you'd wait for her.

Months apart with few visits in between meant that each time Lae'zel sees you must make every minute count. Enjoying your body and indulging in carnal pleasures is only so much of that. What Lae'zel looks forward too most, she must admit, is the gentleness of your touch whenever she comes back to Fae'run.

Soft warm whispers among the indulgent plush of bed sheets and candles. A room that smells like lavender and oak, prayer books and scripture littered on the desk. A cleric of Bahamut, and a soul strong as steel.

But this, her head resting in your lap as you stroke her hair so carefully, is what she's missed most of all. No doubt she's going soft.

"Chk. You are smitten by the text in front of you as if you have forgotten of my return,"

You look down at Lae-zel with a laugh, carefully placing said book down on the bedside table. The voice you speak with her is different from her own. Tender fleshed even in your speech, you let her curl herself into you.

A vulnerable position, open to whatever may come.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," You hum. The words practically startle her "I don't mean to neglect you. It was an interesting passage."

"Pretty...It is true among the githyanki, I am among the finest of their ranks," She replies, turning herself towards you - getting comfortable "Yet still, something stirs."

"Are you embarrassed?" You reply, delighted as her frown deepens. Before she has a chance to argue with you, you lean down to press your lips against hers briefly "How sweet of you."

"I do not get embarrassed," She insists, scowling as you begin to giggle at her "It was merely unexpected."

"You're beautiful to me, Lae'zel." You hum, stroking her cheek gently as she continues to lay herself across. Your eyes are tender and lidded. That look of obsession she recalled from the months prior returned in full, and no longer hidden. Unlike your other mortal companions, or the pale elf - there is nothing hidden in your words. No agenda "More beautiful than anyone else. At least to me. Getting to look at you so closely is a gift."

She softens, her hand gripping yours resting on her chest

"When it is over," She says seriously, a solemness to her voice "I will return to you. This I swear. Without you, the liberation of my people would be no less then a dream,"

You return her smile in kind.

"My pretty, wonderful girl," You hum. She loves you. She thinks she understands it now "I know you'll return to me, nailo. You always keep your promises."

"Yes," She says, an unfamiliar emotion overwhelming her "I will not forsake all we have promised."

The affection in your voice shakes Lae'zel to her core. Initial abrasion fades only into warmth. It's not so bad to hear, even if it is tender fleshed.

▸ a/n ; the word reader uses for lae'zel is elvish for swift winds!! reader is meant to be sort of a book worm so you do not need to picture them as a elf and more of a linguist.

this is the most substantial thing i've written in the last few weeks so commentary is very appreciated. i'd be willing to do a minthara and halsin addition to this eventually if anyone is interested!!

anyways, baldurs gate companions i love u. reblogs so appreciated !

[xiaowhore]

equivalent exchange.

DRAFT. this fic is incomplete, as i've stated in this post. this has been sitting in the dungeon for a while, and i have no plans to finish them, but i posted these drafts to not let them go to waste. it is up to you if you still want to read them regardless of their incompletion :) i will be writing my original ideas for the fic at the end so you guys will have an idea of what the fic was supposed to be like.

premise. when ayato stumbles upon a drafted resignation letter on your desk, he doubles his efforts to show you the perquisites of staying by his side.

he doesn't want to lose a competent subordinate. that's all there is to it.

note. what's wrong with secretary kim au but it's definitely not the same because i stopped watching at episode 5 and have no idea what happened. anyways i think we were all expecting a ceo!ayato x secretary!reader fic at some point so here it is. (couldn't keep this gender neutral for plot reasons, so feminine pronouns were used.)

Kamisato Ayato considers himself a good boss.

Or as far as things go, he's a decent one. He treats his employees well, takes them to expensive restaurants for company dinners, and discourages overtime so they can head off early for the night. He doesn't care much for formalities, and he gets along with his colleagues fairly well. He's never heard anyone talk behind his back or complain about his attitude at work, and there aren't any rumors spreading about him (if he turns a blind eye to the conspiratorial gossip guessing his relationship status).

But he does have minor faults. Like showing a more mischievous side when work hours are over. Getting Thoma dead drunk during dinners because his half-conscious inebriated talking is a form of amusement, or riling up Itto in drinking games just because it's funny. Then he leaves Sara to clean up the mess for him, since Yae seems to enjoy the comedy sketch as thoroughly as he does and probably won't lift a finger to help even if he asked her to.

As his assistant, you're prone to falling victim to his shenanigans, silly stunts that coax out aggravated eye rolls and sighs of exasperation. Years of experience eventually shaped you up to be entirely immune to April Fools' pranks.

He's in the middle of planning another one when he spots a letter of resignation on your desk.

At first, he thinks it's your rebellious phase arriving a decade late. He always found it odd how you never retaliated against his tricks, and this may just be the long-awaited April Fools' prank of vengeance. If it is, it's particularly mean of you—Ayato does have feelings, you know? Even he would feel hurt if you told him you wanted to leave! You shouldn't take this kind of thing lightly!

Then he remembers you aren't the type to make jokes, April Fools' or otherwise, and it's that moment when he feels (proper) fear.

“[Name] wants to resign?!”

Ayato makes a zipping motion and Thoma's shrieks immediately die down, but the disbelief on his face has yet to wane. His brows scrunch together, brain hard at work in processing this piece of information, though it seems to short-circuit in utter confusion from the sudden blow.

Scandalized, Thoma lowers his head and levels his voice to a hushed whisper, “Are you sure you saw it correctly?”

“I have able eyes. Unfortunately, my optometrist confirmed my perfect vision and assured I saw it just fine.” Woe is he.

“Get them checked again.”

“No matter how much I check, it won't change the results, Thoma.”

“We don't know that for sure, sir!”

“Trust me,” Ayato deadpans, looking off into the distance, “I checked with him thrice.”

Defeated, Thoma leans back to his chair, crossing his arms while deep in thought. “You saw the letter, but she didn't turn it in, did she?”

“She didn't. No e-mail, either.” Ayato taps the table in a mindless rhythm, expression stern but the shape of his lips almost resembling a pout. “Do you have any idea why she'd want to resign?”

Thoma rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Is that a genuine question, sir?”

Ayato's head snaps back to look at his companion. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“...Everyone in the office knows you... tease her for your own amusement.”

“It's my way of showing affection.” The corners of his lips curl up, stretching to a twisted smile as he rests his cheek on his palm. “Isn't she just so adorable when she gets angry?”

“You really do have a rotten personality.”

Ayato waves his hand in a noncommittal response. “We're straying off topic. What should we do next?”

Thoma hums, closed fist beneath his chin. “Since she hasn't turned in the letter yet, that means she must be hesitating. For what reason, we don't know, but it's keeping her here. So before she makes up her mind, we should dissuade her from quitting no matter what.”

Ayato laces his fingers together, brow in an inquisitive arch. “And we do that by?”

Green eyes sparkle with tenacity, clashing with blue irises twinkling in intrigue. “We bribe her, sir. It's time to show off your good points.”

--

“If a woman quits her job, what do you think her reasons could be?”

Ayaka blinks owlishly at her brother, taken aback by the abrupt question. It's a sudden thing to ask, especially odd given how their conversation hasn't led to that topic at all. “Did someone resign? I haven't heard anything of the sort, though.”

Ayato shakes his head, stirring the boba tea in his hands. “It's a hypothetical.”

Which means it's real.

Ah, whatever. At least he didn't go for the “my friend...” excuse.

Ayaka warily cuts a portion of her cake, scrutinizing each microexpression flashing on Ayato's face. It's one of their weekly lunch meetings, squeezed between hectic schedules, and they more or less have a silent agreement to avoid discussions involving work if they could help it. But this time, he brought it up himself.

How peculiar.

“Perhaps she wants to change workplaces? If she's exemplary, she might have been offered a better position or higher pay.”

Ayato nearly scoffs at the suggestion. The company, old-fashioned as it is, can only be inherited by a direct line of descendants. Outsiders can only go so far, and being the secretary for the chief executive officer isn't bad at all. Last time he checked, he's been paying you generously as well—how many figures was it? Six?

“Oh!” Ayaka exclaims, holding up a finger as she seems to have figured out something. “Or maybe she wants to settle down and get married? If her work is keeping her occupied, she'll most likely take time off to find a husband.”

Ayato proceeds to choke on a tapioca pearl.

“Or she got married and wants to be a housewife-”

“That's quite enough, Ayaka.”

Ayato would rather believe the Earth is flat.

--

If Ayato were any less desperate, perhaps he would have rationalized that putting together “give her what she wants to make her stay” and “she wants to get married” is a bad, bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, he is grasping at straws, so it leaves him no choice. Yes. Definitely. There is no other option than this, obviously.

(He does not delve deeper into the reason why he doesn't want you to leave, nor does he dwell any longer on why he was so quick to think he was fine with getting married if it was to you.)

“Don’t you want to get married soon, Ms. [Surname]?”

To clarify, Ayato does not spy on other people's conversations for a hobby, but he's always had impeccable timing. It comes with the job.

He stands by the door, reaching for the doorknob to the break room, but the mention of your name forces him to a halt.

“Why are you asking me that...?” You awkwardly dodge the question, sipping on your coffee. “I suppose I am at that age, though.”

“So you do want to!” The squeal rings with a note of glee, a stark contrast to Ayato's gradually dimming mood. “Wouldn't it be nice to marry a good man? I'm sure even you have thought of it at some point! Are you seeing anyone, then? Anyone you can imagine yourself marrying?”

“No, not yet.”

Before Ayato can even heave a relieved sigh, you follow with, “But my mother is making me go on dates to see people. Said if I didn't bring home a man soon, she'd come all this way to drag me back by my ear and introduce me to her friend's son.”

“Ah, I get that...” Your friend replies emphatically, nodding. “But those kind of meetings hardly go well. And you can't exactly tell your mother's friend you don't find her son attractive, right?”

“Why not just marry Mr. Kamisato, then?” Another one pipes up, to which Ayato gives a mental salute of appreciation. “You spend most of your time together. If you're not married to your job, then you're practically married to him.”

A cackle sends his heart dropping to his stomach.

“Not a chance.”

Can you at least expound why?!

“Huh? Why not? I mean, Mr. Kamisato is on another realm of existence and I can never hope to be on the same level as him, but you look good together!”

Your face pinches to a tight frown. “Look good together? In what way?”

“When you stand side by side, it just looks... right. And like I've mentioned earlier, you spend all your time with him. Why not seal the deal?”

“Mr. Kamisato is reliable, and if you marry him, you're set for life. He's handsome too, and we've all seen his muscles at our company sports day a few months ago!”

“I've never been so thankful for team-building events. Hallelujah.”

Ayato's face burns in embarrassment hearing the dreamy sighs. Even if they think there isn't anyone else listening on them (which is false), shouldn't they exert some restraint at work?

“Please don't lust over my boss,” you assert sternly, voice ice cold. “And we have a strictly professional relationship. So don't get any weird ideas from here on out, alright?”

“Fine. Tell me that again when I'm invited at your wedding, I dare you.”

“I said-”

They wave off your vehement protests at the statement. “Then if you're not into Mr. Kamisato, what do you plan to do?”

Ayato perks up, straining his ears in rapt attention.

“...I'm going on a date this weekend,” you sigh, rubbing circles on your temples. “I'll let you know how it goes.”

Oh no.

--

“-Dinner was nice. We didn't expect the rain shower, but he ran to the convenience store across the street to buy an umbrella because he didn't want me to get wet on the way to the car. He said it would be a waste if my hair got ruined since I-”

Slurp.

“...Styled it for the occasion. Then he drove me home. I found out we liked the same band from the music he played, and we agreed to-”

Sluuurp.

“-Go to their upcoming concert together. Then we somehow also like the same novel that's getting a movie adaption soon, so we also promised to see it-”

Sluuuuuuuuuuuuuurp.

“Could you please refrain from making noise when eating, sir?”

Ayato decidedly does not comply and only slurps his boba tea harder, nearly choking on a tapioca pearl yet again.

As always, you learn to ignore him.

“Concert... and a movie. I'm not sure about the concert, but the film you're talking about is the one coming out in the next two months, right?” Thoma confirms, sweating when Ayato's expression turns visibly grim. “You plan to see him for that long...?”

“Even if dating doesn't work out, we can always become friends, can't we?” You shrug, taking a bite out of your sandwich. “He seems like a nice guy. We get along really well, considering we've only met once. I ended up agreeing to a second date-”

The passive-aggressive slurping persists for the following afternoon.

--

“I've been meaning to ask for a while,” Thoma treads carefully, noticing Ayato's rapid-fire typing—no, striking—on the keyboard, “Ms. [Surname] is good at her job, but you seem really... eager to make her stay, sir.”

Ayato's fingers halt in their movement, and he takes a second to flash his business smile. “Of course. She's a valuable asset, and I'd be foolish to let her go.”

“Yes, I'm well aware, but...” Thoma scratches his cheek, looking off to the side. “You didn't go to such lengths when your former assistants resigned from their post. Or, uh... you fired most of them.”

“Yes,” Ayato simply agrees, still smiling, “she's competent. You don't find anyone like her easily, so it's only natural I'd want her to stay.”

“What do you mean by 'anyone like her,' sir?”

Thoma is awfully talkative today. Ayato might need to feed him something spicy to shut him up.

“Ms. [Surname] is special.” The words smoothly leave his lips. “Does anyone else have the meetings and company events scheduled for the next month memorized? She's the only one I can count on for work matters.”

Thoma's shoulders slump. “Okay, let me get straight to the point. Do you-”

“Mr. Kamisato?”

Thoma nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of your voice, accompanied by the clack of your heels.

“What is it?” The cold smile on his face finally melts to something more genuine, softer around the edges and looking especially radiant. It's welcoming, like your arrival counts as a joyous occasion, and he is exponentially more attentive compared to the way he lent Thoma half his ear (the other preoccupied with a phone call, which he swiftly ends the moment you walk in).

“I came to deliver some files from Ms. Miko... did I interrupt something?” You gesture to Thoma standing idly by the side, dumbfounded from Ayato's inconceivable behavior.

“Not at all. Is there anything else?” Ayato accepts the documents, noticing your hesitance to leave.

“Ah, yes, I will be asking for time off tomorrow.”

That's... rare?

But it's not a hard request. Ayato's own schedule is blank for the most part, since the latest project wrapped up not too long ago, and the workload is lighter than usual. Missing one work day won't do any harm.

“It's fine, but could I ask why?”

You fidget, tentative as you reply, “I was invited... for a trip on a cruise. He insisted I come since his friend bailed on him and the tickets would go to waste.”

The warmth in his eyes freezes over.

“The tickets would go to waste...” Ayato repeats under his breath, mockingly cruel. The tone flies past your head but it hits Thoma full-force, making him sweat profusely.

Distasteful. An utter disgrace of a man. The magnitude of his ignorance is so awe-inspiring, I have to applaud. I must give credit where it is due, and the foolishness of this clown is truly impressive. “The tickets will go to waste,” he says? His money must worth more to him than his dignity. Inviting Ms. [Surname] to a date on a workday with no regard for her schedule is one thing, but making her out to be an afterthought as a substitute for his original travel partner is another. How shameful. This is no way to treat a lady. If Ayaka were to be with a man of his caliber, I would never allow it.

But what he says outloud is of course, “I see. I hope you have fun, then.”

--

Corporate events are, for the most part, adequately entertaining.

Preparing for it is not.

But the worst part isn't even brainstorming themes, or finding an appropriate venue, or planning the logistics, or writing the guest list.

It's choosing what to wear.

Actually, the cause for Ayato's headache isn't even what attire he'll go with. It's yours.

“That looks wonderful,” Yae praises, looking at the picture on your phone. It displays a silver necklace, a tear drop topaz encased in a diamond twist. It pairs well with the dress you bought with Ayaka last week, an elegant fit that accentuated your curves.

However.

“He chose that for you, didn't he?”

The stoic line of Ayato's mouth twitches and his eyes can't help but sweep over your screen, scrutinizing each grainy pixel.

Though he has plenty of insults prepared at his arsenal, he can't find anything to nitpick about. Damn it. It's a good choice.

“You'll look stunning,” Kokomi assures good-naturedly, smiling in delight. Ayato does not doubt that will be the case, but he's sure he would be in a foul mood the entire night if he were to see you adorning it.

He has already retrieved his coffee from the break room so he excuses himself to his office, long strides that lead him out of earshot.

As a result, he doesn't hear the following conversation.

“Why this, though?” Kokomi asks, looking closely at the accessory. “It's a simple design. Doesn't look like something a man would pick from the rest.”

You shake your head. “I just told him I wanted something blue, and I couldn't choose myself because there were too many that caught my eye...”

“Blue?” She echoes, a simple curiosity. “Why blue?”

“...It's a pretty color.”

--

It is an actual coincidence that Ayato runs into you in the middle of shopping.

You're hunched over a display stand showcasing a variety of earrings, deep in thought as you observe each one. You're doing that thing where you scrunch your nose in concentration, a habit Ayato doesn't think you even realize you have.

“Fancy meeting you here, Ms. [Surname].”

(He wonders what face you would've made if he said “You go here often?” instead. Probably some degree of disgust.)

You blink, correcting your posture and nodding in greeting. You don't look particularly thrilled to see him, but at least you're unbothered by the prospect of seeing your boss on a free day. “You're here to shop too, Mr. Kamisato?”

Ayato smiles amicably. “I am. Were you planning to buy earrings?”

“Yes, but...” Your gaze returns to the display, your own smile faltering. “It is a bit difficult to choose.”

He walks over, scanning the variety up and down. “Is it really? You only need to choose a pair that matches your necklace, right?” He focuses on shades of silver, bypassing the vibrant colors of reds and pinks. Not even fifteen seconds later, he picks out a card and holds it out next to your ear. “This one looks nice on you.”

“Huh? Really?” Perhaps surprised by his swiftness, it takes you a moment to react accordingly. You take the card from his hands and flip it over, eyes widening by a fraction. “Oh. It is rather pretty.” Then they widen further as big as saucers. “I can't say the same for the price tag, though.”

“Hm? What price tag?”

He plucks the earrings from your hands, walks to the counter, and pays for it without a second thought.

“M-Mr. Kamisato?”

“Pull up your hair.”

“Eh? Oh, okay.”

You're so caught off guard that you unwittingly do as he says, tucking your hair back obediently and still processing the last two minutes.

His fingers tug at your ear, warmth bleeding to your skin, and by the time you return to reality, he's already putting the earrings on you.

STORY FLOW.

ok i lied i actually can't remember shit about this fic so i will be making up stuff as i go lol

what i do remember clearly is that the resignation notice that ayato found on your desk is years old. you meant to submit it way, way back when ayato was tougher on you, and you weren't as well-adjusted as you are now to the job yet. as stated in the fic, being ayato's secretary is no easy task—he'd fired countless people he thought was incompetent.

you fought a number of times, and you didn't know if you could keep up working for a man you thought was simply incompatible with you (in terms of being colleagues/partners).

but over time, you learned to work together. ayato acknowledged your efforts and hard work, and you knew ayato had been trying to give you less jobs to reduce your workload, but you were going to prove that hou could handle it.

what truly made you appreciate ayato more was when you got stranded at the train station. you dealt with a far company they collaborated with, but work ended later than expected, and you'd missed the last train home. taxis were an option, but youd have to go through several of them to get back. right when you were thinking of checking into a hotel, ayato informed you he was already on his way and drove a couple of hours to get where you were to bring you home.

time continued to pass, and that brings us back to the present. you were on the process of cleaning up your desk and left the old resignation notice out in the open by accident, which led to ayato seeing it.

it is very apparent to the others that you two like each other, but the involved parties themselves are unaware of it. you currently aren't eager to get married, but you were trying to meet people so your parents would stop bugging you about still being single.

anyway, ayato bought those earrings for you. timeskip to the corporate event. you unconsciously picked a blue motif for your outfit because it reminds you of ayato.

when you get there, surprise, surprise. the man you were meeting, kazuha is a bigwig, heir to some other corporation. he actually owned that cruise he invited you to and pretended he didn't because you might be intimidated. ayato didn't think the kazuha he knew and the kazuha you knew were the same person, and now the advantage he had over him was ruled out (i.e being rich). (actually while i was rereading i was surprised i didn't mention that it was kazuha...? istg i was imagining him the whole time i wrote about him)

anyhow, as it became later in the night, ayato wanted to get you home before kazuha could offer to drive you back or worse, spend the night with him. ayato acted drunk so you'd tend to him and accompany him home while his driver was in charge of taking you to his apartment. as you were nagging at him, he compared your interactions with him to yours and kazuha's. you were certainly nicer to that man. smiled at him a lot more, too. did you really like him that much?

if you did, could he let you go?

he was ashamed that he couldn't answer it right away. as if he had any right to whatever you do.

you carried him to bed when you got to his apartment, but when you were preparing to leave, he hugged you from behind. do you like that man? why do you want to leave me? why can't it be me? ayato was just pretending to be drunk, but he felt dizzy now, soaked in your scent. he said things that he wasn't supposed to. things that he couldn't take back. things that would change your relationship forever.

slowly, you took away the hands wrapped around your waist. ayato figured that was a message of rejection.

but then you pushed him back down on the bed and you straddled his lap. his mind was silent for but a few seconds before he started screaming mentally.

i've always wanted you, but i knew it was impossible. you have a fiancee. i'm an ordinary worker. your family won't accept me. ayato's mind was in a daze because your face was so close to his, and all he could see was the red, glossy shade on your lips, but he managed to hear those few sentences.

it doesn't matter. nothing else matters. i can't marry if it's not you. if you accept me, i swear i'll make you happy.

from here on, it could be a happy, fluffy ending where turns out, you were tipsy so you were more honest with him and you fell asleep in the middle of kissing so he took it upon himself to change your dress into something more comfortable and end the night with a forehead kiss...

...or you could continue what you were doing and the first thing ayato takes off is the damned necklace so he could replace it with a smattering of hickeys. your choice ^^

[oligbia]

good morning woke up thinking about this and writing it directly in my drafts to get it out of my system in a post-sleep haze.

He didn’t know much, but he knew you.

He knew your favorite flavor of candies, he knew that you took your notes in blue ink but took tests in black ink. He knew your favorite color. He knew the way you like to lace up your shoes and how you only single knot them, not double like he does.

He knew he loved you, loved you so bad it hurt. Loved you so big he’d never be able to express the depths of it but he’d spend every moment until his last breath trying to show just how much he loved you.

And he was almost entirely certain you loved him, otherwise, he wouldn’t be at your house every Friday night while you make dinner, he wouldn’t be the only person you have pinned in your text, his contact sitting next to your parent’s as an emergency contact. He wouldn't have a key to your apartment to come and go as he pleases. You wouldn't let him hold you at night like he does, you would let him intertwine his pinkie with yours in the grocery store or at the shopping center.

But, you never could give him the satisfaction of being his in the way that he was looking for. And is not for a lack of him trying, no, he tried a lot. Multiple times. But you continued to keep him waiting, keep turning him down or never responding- it was a game for you, making him chase you down. And he loved it. He ate it up every single time.

He had asked you to dinners, “why dinner out when we have food at home?” He asked you to his games, “I go to them anyway.” He asked you to accompany him on trips, on little outings, shopping trips just so he could have the pleasure of buying you things. You always went, always let him pay and thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, but never gave him the whole satisfaction of being his.

He was out of options. He needed the label, he needed you to be his for real, the title to fit the narrative you were both already writing. He needed you to be his lover, his future- his girlfriend.

So when he’s back at your apartment on Friday night so you can make him dinner like every he is week, he still finds himself coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as you cook, his head soft on your shoulder, juts like every week.

“You cook for me like you’re my wife,”

“It’s a reoccurring thank you for being a good friend,”

“We’re more than friends,”

“Maybe”

He groans and burrows his face in the crook of your neck. You smell good, but he’d never say it. You love his presence, but you’d never say it.

But then the weight of his body on yours wasn’t there, but you felt his hands gently on your knees. “What the hell?”

You turn around to see him literally on his knees, his hands clinging to your legs like his lifeline. He looked up at you with big, loving eyes. Like you were a goddess, something to worship. You can't help the way you drop the spoon you were cooking with and let your hands rest gently in his hair.

“I am begging you, please, give me a chance.”

“What are you doing, get up.”

“No, I’m not getting up,” he started, shaking his head.

“I’m not getting up until you agree to let me love you. Please. It would be the greatest honor of my life. It would be the biggest privilege in the world to love you, worship you. You make my world spin, I cherish you. I’d lay my life down for you. I’d spend the rest of my life reminding you how much I love you. I’m begging for you to just let me in and give me that last inch to show you how worth it I’ll make it. Let me love you. Please.”

“Fuckin' hell-” your voice is playful, your smile wide and cheeks pink. You soften so fast for him.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.

You nod, “you’re such a lover boy”

He smiles, kissing every inch of you he can while he stands up, taking your hands in his and kissing them too. “Always for you”

˚₊✩‧₊◜ Daichi Sawamura, Ryūnosuke Tanaka, Shōyō Hinata, Tetsurō Kuroo, Tōru Oikawa, Kōtarō Bokuto, Satori Tendō, Yūji Terushima, Atsumu Miya, + anyone else you love ˚₊✩‧₊◜

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A/N: dont talk to me about this being ooc I dont want to hear it

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[pearlessance]

Moral Modification

Summary: When you decide to pierce your nipples, Joel Miller breaks his moral code to lend a helping hand.

Pairing: JacksonEra!Joel Miller/reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, seduction, age gap(undefined), piercings and needles, nipple play, moral ambiguity, oral sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, size difference

NOTE: this one shot was written for my bff joelmillersgirlfriend and all of the bolded words are titles of her fics over on AO3!! if you haven't read any of her work i def recommend going over there to check it out she's incredible. we also have a 3-part co-write we did on AO3 called False Pretenses! thank you to everyone for reading, love u all <3

[cross posted on AO3]

[masterlist]

You find it on a scouting mission.

Maria had sent you and Joel out in search of books to fill the shelves of Jackson’s overused library. It was a leisurely mission, moving slowly from house to house, searching through broken shelves and dressers and nightstands.

The blistering summer heat has you feeling exhausted by midday, and so the sun hasn’t even set when you pick a still-standing apartment complex and settle in for the night.

You drop your pack and flop onto the moth-eaten couch while Joel triple-checks every exit and every entrance in the tiny apartment he’d picked on the very top floor. He’s going at it again, glancing out of the wide windows with his rifle in hand, when you say, “If there was a way in or out, I think you would’ve found it the third time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not a man of many words, Joel Miller. But he was certainly fun to torture with lewd suggestions. 

“It’s real hot today,” you say. And it’s the goddamn truth—your skin is warm and your shirt sticks to the small of your back, and even though you’re wearing jean shorts the fabric chafes at your thighs. 

He does nothing but grunt in agreement as a reply. Few words. 

Though you try, you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you tell him, “We’d be a lot cooler if we took off some of these clothes, you know.”

Joel Miller is a good man. A really good man. This is why he pretends you don’t get to him, why he pretends to shrug you off as just a naive little girl whenever you brazenly flirt with him.

But you see it. 

The way his calloused hands tighten around his rifle, the flush that creeps up his neck, the way he turns his head just enough to keep that smirk from out of view. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. But he leaves his spot at the window and joins you on the couch instead.

You set your legs in his lap and when he rests his hand on your calf you half expect him to push you away. But he doesn’t—his fingers linger, pressing into the tender muscle. “How am I ridiculous? It’s only common sense, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes catch yours at the name. He’s never directly said it, but you have a hunch that it does something to him, speaking to him as an authority. A part of you wonders if he ever thinks of you in the way you think of him, wonders if his mind is often filled with sinful, raw images. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t.” You do. Of course, you do. But you’re out here all alone and he’s sitting beside you and you can feel the heat of his skin against yours and he’s so big and warm and masculine. You want him, need him in a way you’ll never even try to understand. “Explain it to me,” you urge.

Joel leans his rifle against the arm of the couch and reaches up to rub the tension from his jaw. He smiles, one of those all-knowing smiles that makes your heart flutter. It’s a secret sort of smile, meant for just you and him. “You got any idea how old I am, girl?”

You shrug and say, “It doesn’t matter.” Because it doesn’t. “I like that you’re older. Besides, I’m not talking about that.” You are. “I’m talking about the weather. The heat. I’m going to take my shorts off.”

Slowly, carefully, you trail your fingertips over the curve of your chest, down the center of your abdomen. His eyes follow your every movement, pupils blown wide and jaw set firmly. His hand flexes around your calf, squeezing softly.

When you slip the edge of your pinky beneath the denim waistband his lips part. You trace the seam, from one hip to the other and back again, real slow. Joel watches you and you watch him, transfixed, thighs pressed together to abate the ache that forms between them.

For a moment, a single moment, you think you have him. You can see the temptation on his face, clear as day. You think you’ve finally cracked the eternal goodness and strength of one Joel Miller…but his hand covers yours the moment you reach for the silver button.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and you feel a little like you’ve been caught red handed. 

His fingers squeeze yours, but his touch is so sudden and electrifying that the faintest whimper erupts from your chest. You want him to touch you with those hands, to touch you everywhere. You want him to take all that you offer and more.

But he’s just so good. “Stop,” he says, breathless. 

The hesitance is palpable. The strain in his voice. You know he wants you, can see the growing erection pushing at the metallic zipper of his jeans from the other end of the couch. You know it’ll only take a little more convincing, a little more of the delicious chase…but you want the final decision to be his. You want him to need it, too.

So you relent.

You stand to your feet and move towards the staircase in the abandoned apartment. But when you step between his thighs, you linger. “Did you check for any books upstairs?”

He shakes his head. “No. Don’t think whoever lived here before were much the readin’ type.”

“Yeah, well…didn’t think you were much the reading type, either. But here you are.”

Joel shrugs. “Not much to do at the end of the world. Helps pass the time.”

You knock your knee against his playfully. “You even know how to read, old man?” He chuckles softly and it feels like a victory. “Never seen you in the library.”

He spreads his legs further to give you more room, settling into the couch with his head tilted back. You know he doesn’t mean to look that fucking good doing it, but he does. Taking up all that space, commanding without even trying. It makes your mouth water, makes your skin prickle in every spot he allows himself to look. And then he says lowly, “I’ve seen you.”

It gives you pause. Because if he’s seen you in the library back in Jackson but you haven’t seen him, it means he notices you. Even when you’re not out here alone, even when you’re not urging him to touch you, even when you’re not trying. A seductive smirk finds your lips. “You gotta crush on me or something, Mr. Miller?”

Joel scoffs and shakes his head, turning away from you to hide the redness on his face that has nothing to do with the heat.

You giggle softly and decide to grant him a little reprieve. “I’ll be back,” you say, escaping the growing tension and focusing instead on the task at hand. “If they don’t have books, maybe they have something else that could be useful. Clothes or shoes or batteries or something.”

It only takes a few minutes before you realize what he meant when he said the past inhabitants of the apartment don’t seem much like the reading type. There’s not a single bookshelf to be found. Nothing on the walls, nothing standing in the spare room. There are three computers, though. Not that they’re worth anything now. 

Still, you try your damndest to find something. Anything. You rifle through drawers and find nothing but a cracked and weathered bible, of which you have a thousand and one copies in Jackson.

The closest thing you find to a real book is a stack of magazines in the cluttered bathroom. All are covered in a thick layer of dust and most have images of sports cars on the front, but they’re worth grabbing, anyway. You’re sure Tommy or Greg or someone wouldn’t mind skimming through them, so you grab the whole stack and return downstairs to Joel. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the magazine on the bottom of the stack tumbles from your hands. And it’s not a sports car on the front page.

Instead, it’s a woman all dressed up in leather. She wears platform boots that reach her knees, adorned with heavy silver buckles down the front. Even though you were born not long after the outbreak, you’re not oblivious. You know what pornography is, but you’ve never seen anything quite like this.

You pick it up and put it on the top of the pile.

When Joel sees the small stack in your hand he asks, “Anything good?”

“Mm. Not sure yet.” You set the pile onto the floor beside your pack, nestle back into your spot in the opposite corner of the couch, and flip open the magazine with the leather-clad woman on the front, reading the title aloud. “Have you ever heard of a porno mag named Dreadnought?” 

“What are you—is that—?”

“I’m just curious, Mr. Miller. Relax.” You lift your feet and put them back in his lap and discover he is anything but relaxed. You can feel the stiffness in his thighs even through the thick soles of your high-top sneakers.

“No, what? No, you shouldn’t—you should…”

You ignore his stuttering, flipping quickly through the pages. Most of them are filled with erotic images of women dressed similarly to the one on the front page. They each have a man in a curious, submissive position. But none of this interests you, none of it even surprises you, in truth.

Near the end of the magazine is where you find exactly what you’re looking for. The woman on the front page is in different outfits, one in leather, another in red lace. But it’s the third page of her feature where she’s completely naked. Her breasts are full and sit too high on her chest to be real, but they’re beautiful. Not for any reason other than those pretty silver barbells that are pierced through her nipples. 

You lean up, tucking your legs beneath yourself, and show Joel the image. “Was this common? You know, like…before?”

His face is red and you think maybe he’s forgotten how to speak. Because no words come out, he just sputters. “Is…what…which part—are you…I don’t—”

“I’ve never seen anyone with pierced nipples,” you interrupt. “That’s what I’m talking about. Was it common?”

He seems to find himself. “Uhm…no. Not really, I guess. Why do you ask?”

You shrug and find yourself leaning into his side, flipping to the next page. There’s another image of the woman, and though she’s back in that red lace again, you can see the piercings pushing against the thin fabric. “It’s pretty,” you say. “I like it. Do you think you could do something like that still?”

“Well, back then they had people who’d do that sorta thing professionally,” he says. “But as long as you’re careful, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

You let it go, and the two of you ration what food you have left, deciding to head back to the commune within the next day or two. You fall asleep leaning up against him, head resting on his shoulder. And you know Joel doesn’t rest much outside of Jackson’s walls, always too worried about being found or threatened in some way. But halfway through the night, you wake covered in a thin layer of sweat, scorched by the warmth of his head against your belly.

At some point in your sleep, you’d shifted, laying on the couch on your back, and Joel must have followed you. His arms are wrapped around your waist and his torso covers your legs, body heat warming you to uncomfortable temperatures. 

But you don't dare move. Instead, you slide your fingers through the soft tendrils of his hair and scratch softly at his scalp, smiling in the dark as he moans in his sleep.

Your luck the following day is much better. You stumble upon an old strip mall, and inside there’s a small, indie bookstore. Joel picks through the science fiction section, stuffing his pack with everything he thinks might be interesting. He finds a few children’s books and pockets those, too, while you browse the romance section.

Half the books are crumbling dust in your hands and the others have so much water damage they’re hardly legible, but you pick up what you can. While you’re rifling through the horror books, stashing anything written by Stephen King or H.P. Lovecraft, Joel comes up behind you and says, “You really read that kinda thing?”

“What, scary stuff?”

He nods, takes the copy of Carrie from your hands, and flips it over. “Yeah. Ain’t we got enough horror out there already?” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “It’s not the same,” you explain. You flick the corner of the book in his hands and go back to browsing the shelves. “ This you can turn off,” you try to explain. “If you get too scared you can just close the book. Have you ever read anything scary before?”

Joel shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Try it one day,” you say. “The best time is in October, though. Under the sheets with a flashlight, scared out of your mind. It’s so good, Mr. Miller.” 

His jaw feathers as if there’s something he wants to say. But the words never pass his lips. He simply slips the book into your pack and remains silent as he watches you. 

It takes a while, but eventually, you’re satisfied with your haul. The day is still early, and so you say, “If we head back now we could save some time. Get home before dark tomorrow.”

To your surprise, he agrees with you. The extra weight of the books has you feeling sluggish an hour into your journey back home, but you persist. And even though it’s significantly less hot today than yesterday, at least once an hour Joel’s passing you his plastic bottle and urging you to drink water.

It’s a sweet gesture, in truth. Joel’s got this innate instinct to provide for others, you know. You’ve seen it a hundred times, the way he just silently takes care of the people he cares about. Ellie, Tommy, Maria, you. You’ve observed him for long enough to know that he’s a protector, a nurturer.

The only problem with Joel taking care of you is how much you like it. It makes you feel soft and gooey on the inside, producing sordid images in your brain of repaying the favor on your knees. You think about Joel’s big hands on you often—in your dreams, even. 

But…today is different because you can feel the weight of the magazine at the bottom of your pack. You can’t shake the image of the woman on the cover and that metal through her breasts, can’t get over how elegant and edgy and bewitching she looked. You begin to wonder how it would feel to have Joel touch you if you had the same body modification—would his calloused hands feel more intense, sensations heightened with the sensitivity? Would he be gentle and slow-moving? How soft would his tongue feel against your skin over the adornment? 

He seems to sense your distracted thoughts. “You okay? Seem quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer a little too quickly. “I’m just…just hot is all.”

Joel reaches behind him for his water bottle again but you shake your head. 

“No, no. Not like…not like that.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat, and you can feel his eyes on the side of your face but you don’t have the energy to tease him about it. Not when you can’t stop thinking about his fucking hands. “Let's, uhm…let’s find someplace to rest for the night. Sun’s startin’ to set anyhow.”

“Yeah, that’ll be good.” As long as you stay six feet away from him. As long as you can keep your godforsaken hands to yourself. As long as he doesn’t look at you too long or ask too many questions or grunt an answer.

You find yourself praying, hoping to keep yourself from any further embarrassment, hoping to fight off that ache that seems to have made a home inside your belly. You cross your fingers at your sides and hope God’s got a private channel open for young girls with an insatiable desire for rugged, older men. 

It feels like divine interference when you crest the hill of the street you're walking on to discover a run-down tattoo parlor. It still stands in perfect condition apart from the crumbling siding. Windows dirty but intact, door closed and stagnant.

A distraction will work.

And it looks sturdy enough to rest for the night. You know Joel will circle it a hundred times before he’s satisfied, but you think eventually he will be satisfied with it. “Didn’t people do piercings at tattoo shops, too?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, they did. At most of them, anyway.”

The thought seems to cross Joel’s mind the second you look at him. “Do you think I could…?”

“Maybe. Let’s see.” 

You follow behind him as he approaches the building. He uses his knife to wedge the door open, and the two of you wait and listen for any approaching sound. 

There’s nothing, though. Nothing but stale, empty air, and a whole lot of dust. You stick by his side for the first two rounds of inspection, as is your routine. But when he goes back in for a third, you decide to take a look around yourself. 

In the front of the parlor, there’s a big, circular desk that sits atop the black and white tiles on the floor. The walls are painted maroon, and there’s a neon yellow leather couch near the door. You can only assume it’s where people would sit to wait, but the leather is smooth beneath your fingers even after all this time sitting unoccupied.

There are six smaller rooms behind the desk, each set up similarly with a blackout curtain and a medical-looking chair in the very center. In one of the rooms, there’s a binder flipped open, and as you begin to turn the pages you realize it’s an art portfolio. 

For a moment, you wonder about the person who’d drawn all of these designs. How old were they when they drew them? Did they have tattoos themselves? Are they still alive, out there somewhere still creating art?

People in Jackson still get tattoos, you know. But not as often as you think it might have been before the outbreak. You trail your fingers lightly over the next page. It’s an image of a glass half-filled with amber liquid, some sloshing out of the side. Below it, the words Tennessee Whiskey are written in cursive.

“Should be good.” His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. When you turn to face him, Joel’s got his rifle slung over one shoulder and he’s leaning against the doorframe, curtain pushed to the side. “Help me barricade the door?”

The two of you spend the next ten minutes moving furniture around the parlor, setting it all in front of the entrance. It’ll be harder to leave in the morning, you know. But you know, too, that a barricade like this means that Joel’s feeling too exhausted to spend another night pacing and you’re happy to give him the assurance of safety he needs. 

When you’re done, he spreads out on the leather couch and you put your pack beside his. “Joel?”

He turns just his head to look at you.

You sift through the books in your pack and reach towards the bottom, pulling out the magazine that’s plagued your every waking thought. “I’m going to pierce my nipples, I think.”

For several seconds, he doesn’t say a word in response. He just swallows hard and when his eyes leave yours, trailing down your neck, he squeezes them closed before they reach your chest. But you know, you know, even without any words, that he’s thinking about it. That he’s thinking about you, forgetting his morals for a single second.

It isn’t until you stand to your feet and start towards the closed-off rooms, magazine in hand, that he finally speaks up.

“Be careful,” he says. “I don’t want you hurt.”

You smirk at him over your shoulder. “Is that the Mr. Miller version of saying, I care about your tits?”

He snorts incredulously, but a chuckle follows shortly after, erasing all of your earlier embarrassment.

It doesn’t take you long to find the materials you need. In one of the cases you pry open with your knife, you choose two matching silver barbells with dainty, white diamonds on each end. You use a cloth to clean off a tall mirror in one of the rooms, and there’s a bottle of isopropyl alcohol that you use to disinfect both a steel surgical tray and your hands. 

You discard your shirt and bra, laying them in the chair in the middle of the room, and flip the magazine open to further observe the woman in the image. Thankfully, you find a drawer full of individually packaged needles and take out several just in case. 

Sterilizing your hands with the alcohol again, you align the jewelry over your nipple, inspecting the placement and maneuvering it until you’re satisfied. You rip open one of the packaged needles with your teeth and sterilize it too for good measure.

Carefully, you orient the needle just right, inhale until your lungs ache, and when you exhale—

“God fucking dammit!”

You can hear his footsteps before the sound of his rifle, and then comes his voice. “You alright? What happened?”

Your exhale is somehow shakier than your hands. “I’m okay, Joel,” you say quickly. You knew it was going to hurt, you’re literally piercing a needle through your flesh. But you didn’t expect it to be so excruciating. It stings even now with the needle pushed through, completely still.

He stands in the doorway, rifle lowered and pointed at the ground. Through the reflection of the mirror, you can see him glance around the room, looking at everything but you. “Are you sure? Maybe you shouldn’t. This could be dangerous, you can wait until we’re back home and—”

“And have someone else pierce my nipples? Yeah, Joel, I���m good on all that.” You pick the jewelry up, sterilize it again, and breathe slowly as you push it through. This part, while uncomfortable, is a world easier than the piercing itself.

You twist on the tiny diamond ball at the end of the barbell and admire your work. It’s perfectly straight, much to your surprise. And though it’s just a small change, it makes you feel as entrancing as the woman in the magazine. 

There’s no blood, which you take as a good sign. And as the seconds tick by the pain subsides and is replaced with a dull throbbing instead. It hurts, but it’s bearable. The only problem is that as you try to line up the second needle, your hands tremble too much to keep it straight.

Even though you try to take deep breaths, try to shake the tremors from your hand, nothing works. And you can’t just have one, can’t just leave this task unfinished, and so you gather your courage and turn fully towards him. “Joel? I need your help.”

You’ve never seen him quite like this, you think. There’s no flush to his face, no chagrin or hesitance or resistance. All of his morality seems to be replaced with a dark desire, a need unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. 

Immediately you know this is the Joel Miller he’s tried so hard to hide from you. Only glimpses of this terrifying man have slipped through the facade, each one smothered quickly by restraint.

Yet here he stands, hungry eyes swallowing you up, tracing the outline of the jewelry without remorse.

“I can’t…my hands are shaky. I need you to do the other one.” 

His hands twitch at his sides. And even though you now know he longs to touch you just as much as you want to touch him, his words tell an entirely different story. “I shouldn’t,” he says. “It’s not…it’s not right. Shouldn’t even be seein’ you like this. Too…too young. Too sweet.”

The southern accent in his voice is thicker now than you’ve ever heard it. Deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours. He pins you with that intense stare of his and you suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe. Flickering flames gather low in your belly.

“I promise I won’t try anything. I’ll just stand here. I just need you to…to push the needle through. That’s all.” 

It takes him a second, but he nods. “Alright…alright. I, uhm…okay. Yeah.” He nears you slowly and you feel crowded. You can smell the salt and sweat of his skin, can feel that warmth even though he doesn’t yet touch you.

You pour the alcohol over his hands and hand him another packaged needle. “Here,” you say. “Just do it as straight as you can, and once the needle’s in I can do the rest.”

Joel peels apart the packaging and takes the needle between his fingers. He discards the plastic and you can hear each of his ragged breaths echo in your ears. Slowly, experimentally, he reaches out and presses his fingertips just below your ribcage and it makes you moan. 

He pulls away immediately as if he’d been burned by your skin. “You said you wouldn’t—”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hold on.” You try again to catch your breath to no avail. “Let me close my eyes. I’m sorry.”

Joel nods, jaw feathering as he clenches his teeth. But you do as you say, closing your eyes and trying to convince yourself it’s not Joel touching you. It’s someone else. The same person who drew everything in that portfolio.

But when he does touch you again, his hands are warm and calloused and big and familiar. You know it’s Joel. Your Joel. The brooding man of few words. The too-good man who cares about you, who lets you sleep even though he never does, who gives you his water to guarantee you stay hydrated.

His hand moves upwards, palm pressed flat against your ribcage. It stops just below your breast as if he’s feeling the weight of it in his hand and you wonder if he can feel the hammering of your heart behind your sternum, too.

You don’t have time to think about it for long, though. Because his thumb slides across your nipple, hardening it into a peak, and all you can think about is the fact that he’s touching you. He’s touching you and you want more, want to feel him on every inch of your skin.

This time you’re able to hold back your moan, but only barely. It’s more like a whimper that gets caught in your throat instead. But he doesn’t pull away, and soon his other hand joins in. “Should I…uhm,” he clears his throat. “Should I count, or…?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just…just do it. Please.” The words are desperate for a whole new reason. Your hands tremble even more at your sides.

The biting cold of the steel reaches you before you feel the pain. You try to breathe through it but the second one is somehow even worse and obscenities fall from your lips at the agony. It hurts so badly that you don’t even register as Joel slides the jewelry through and screws the diamond onto the barbell.

Ultimately, it’s his voice that cuts through the fog.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Hey, c’mon. Finished. Look at me, pretty girl. Open your eyes.” You do because that thick, southern drawl is more enticing than anything you’ve ever heard. You’d follow it anywhere, you think. Do anything it asks. “There you go. Atta girl.”

His words make your mouth water. You want to taste them. Joel’s hands are still on you, holding your hips, pressing into the exposed flesh. It’s all you can think about until he turns you away from him, forcing you to look into the mirror on the wall. “Oh my God.”

It surprises you a little just how much you love them. It makes you look powerful, like you are the one who belongs in a magazine.

“They’re perfect, Joel.”

“Did it hurt too bad?”

The question is so insane that it makes you laugh. “Are you kidding? It was awful. I don’t even know what to compare it to to try and explain it.”

He laughs too, a deep, throaty chuckle that brings a smile to your face. “Well, you have my sincere apologies, little lady.”

When you turn back to face him, you ask, “What do you think? Do they look good?”

You know you said you wouldn’t torture him, but the look on his face is so sweet that you can’t resist. “They’re real pretty,” he says. “They, uh…they suit you.”

“Think so?” You look up at him through your lashes, trying your damndest to look as desperate for him as you are. “Hurts a little,” you tell him, pressing your thumb gently over the center of your nipple, the one you’d pierced on your own. “Right here.”

He sees right through your false pretenses. You watch him swallow, watch his eyes darken. “Careful, little girl,” he warns, voice low and gravelly.

The name makes you squirm beneath his catastrophic gaze, thighs pressing together. He catches the movement—and you realize you want to be anything but careful with this terrifying, powerful man. Of course, you don’t heed his warning. “Might help if you kiss it better, you know.”

“S’that right?” You nod and a sinful smirk pulls at the corners of his full lips. He leans down and you can feel the scruff of his beard brushing the side of your face. Against your ear, he whispers, “You don’t know what you’re askin’ for, sweetheart.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know it, and yet you can’t fucking resist. You’ve never been able to resist him. “Then show me.”

And just like that, his resolve withers. The cord snaps and the good Joel you know vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing but this hungry, desperate man behind. He grabs your waist and hauls you up against him, legs wrapping around his hips on instinct.

Your chest presses against his but the pressure is bliss, fighting off both the ache in your breasts and the one between your legs. He swipes everything off the metal table in the corner. Alcohol and needles and portfolio all crashing to the floor. 

Joel sets you atop it and his mouth hovers an inch above yours, breath fanning across your cheeks. “Last chance, little girl,” he says.

He’s giving you an out, you realize. One last opportunity to escape him. You lean up and press your lips tenderly to his instead.

It’s answer enough for him.

Joel’s mouth moves greedily against yours. One hand rests against the small of your back, pressing you against him, and the other holds the nape of your neck. His tongue slips into your mouth. He tastes like honey and whiskey and sunlight. You could drown in it, you think. But Joel doesn’t linger for long. 

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, your chest—-and when he flicks his soft tongue across your nipple, your back arches and you forget how to breathe. 

“Joel,” you say, voice needy and desperate. “Touch me. Please touch me.”

His hands flex against your skin, still holding himself back. You don't understand—can’t he feel how much you want it? Can’t he see it on your face, in your eyes? “I want to,” he admits.

You grind your hips against his and the sensation of the bulge in his jeans against your center has you shaking. “What’s stopping you?”

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his throat. He presses his forehead against yours, kisses the tip of your nose gently. “You make me crazy, pretty girl.” His hand comes around your throat, cradling your face. With the rough pad of his thumb, he traces the outline of your lips and says, “You make me feel like I’m eighteen again.” His hand travels lower, down your neck, knuckles dragging between your breasts. “Like I’m some little boy who gets a hard-on over a bra strap.” Lower, down your belly, between your ribs. “Or these fuckin’ shorts, baby.”

Everything aches for him. Every cell in your body has been lit aflame beneath his touch, longing to feel his hands, his tongue, to feel all of him. “Joel,” you say. “Please.”

He kisses a trail that follows the path of his hand, but this time he stalls at your breasts. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg,” he mutters against your skin. And then he’s kissing and sucking and biting marks into the softness of your breast, leaving proof that he was here, evidence of his affection. “If I touch you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“I want you to,” you say. “ I think about it all the time.” Your head falls back, hips rolling against his, seeking out any sort of friction you can find. “God—I dream about it. I want you inside me.”

His eyes darken as he looks up at you. 

A man of few words. This time it’s him who reaches for the metallic button. He pops it open in one smooth movement, tongue lapping over the metal barbell through your nipple. You can feel each pass over the sensitive flesh down to your toes. 

He wriggles his hand into your shorts, deft fingers finding your clit easily. You let out a lewd moan at the commanding way he just takes —as if he’s right where he’s always supposed to be. Right where you want him, right where you’ve needed him for all these years. 

Joel kisses a path across your sternum, mouth giving the same tender care to the opposite breast. He slides his fingers through your wetness, gathering your slick and using it to circle your clit. “M’gonna take care of her, sweetheart,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, s’that alright with you?” 

His words are filthy and obscene and you love it. You’re nodding quickly and saying, “Yes,  Joel, yes.”

A cold shiver passes through you as he rises back to his full height, towering over you when he takes a step back. “Let’s get these off,” he says. Joel helps you shimmy both your shorts and your panties down your legs until you’re sitting there in front of him completely naked. He’s still completely dressed and it makes you feel small and minuscule beneath the weight of his predatory stare.

He places both hands on your thighs and pushes them apart, spreading you open. And then he drops to his knees and lazily strokes his fingers through your wet heat. You can feel the chill of his breath against your clit and your fingers find the outgrown tendrils of dark hair on instinct, trying to pull him closer, wiggling your hips to the very edge of the table.

“Needy girl, hm?” He laughs softly. It’s not malicious but rather adoring, and you wonder how it is that someone so strong and authoritative can make you feel powerful and cherished in the same breath. “S’okay. I’ve got ya.”

And then his tongue is on you and it feels like heaven. So much better than you’d ever imagined, ever dreamed. His scruff scratches at the inside of your thighs as he slides his tongue through your pussy. Joel groans against you like this is more for him, and the vibration of the sound pulls staccato moans from your mouth.

He slips two fingers into you easily, encountering no resistance. You’re too wet, too eager to have him inside you. You whimper his name as he sucks your clit into his mouth, hands pulling tight in his hair. It feels so good it’s almost too much—but he seems to know what you can take more than you do. 

Joel looks up at you from between your thighs and you can see the palpable hunger on his face. You think maybe he’s wanted this for longer than you, maybe he’s somehow been even more starved for this than you once thought.

You can feel your orgasm creep down your spine, inferno building and building, settling low in your belly. You try to tell him, to warn him—but then he hooks his fingers inside of you, pressing against that sweet spot and—

“Oh, God—God, fuck—Joel, I—!”

“S’alright, baby, go’head. Cum for me, oh—yeah, that’s it. There you go, sweetheart.” His voice is so gentle, a stark contrast to the assertive way he moves his hands, pulling from you everything your body can give. The southern accent is thick as he talks you through it. “Feels so much better now, huh? Y’look so fuckin’ pretty like this, baby. So pretty when you’re all full’a me.”

Your thighs tremble even as you begin to come down, trying to catch your breath, holding onto his arms to ground yourself as he stands back to his feet, thick cords of muscle sturdy beneath your shaking hands. And he’s right—it does feel better now, but as he eases his fingers out of you and you watch him lick them clean, your pussy clenches at the sight. It’s better, it is… but when it comes to good and moral Joel Miller you are insatiable.

A deep, rumbling groan reverberates in his chest when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him towards you. Your slick stains the bulge in his jeans, darkening the denim material. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, big hands running slowly up and down your smooth thighs. “Shouldn’t be doin’ this…shouldn’t be takin’ advantage of you. Such a little thing, don’t know what you want.”

The answer comes quickly. “You, Joel. I want you.”

You reach for his belt and he watches your nimble fingers undo it, pulling the leather through the metal fastening. He hisses when you reach into his jeans and pull him out. 

He’s bigger than you thought, and wrapping your hand around him completely is a troubling task. You’re not sure he’ll even fit but it makes your mouth water, makes your swollen clit pulse with need. “Please.”

“I can’t, baby. Believe me, I want it, too, but I…you’re too good for me. Too—” He stops when you slide the head of his cock through your pussy, coating him in your slick. You watch the movement together and this time it’s Joel’s hands that shake. He curses under his breath, admiring the way he fits so perfectly. 

“Just a little?” Your own voice is hardly recognizable in your own ears, needy and deprived. You slide his cock back up towards your clit and it catches at your entrance. You both gasp in tandem. You love Joel and all his goodness but right now you want the worst of him. You want all of him. 

He nods and presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Okay…okay,” he says to himself. “Just a little. You sure? You’re positive you want—?”

You line him up and shift your hips forward, words fading into nothingness. It’s just a little like you promised, but the stretch is so delicious you find yourself wanting more. More, always more—you think you could die without it.

Joel pushes in further, a little less than halfway, and then pulls out slowly. He groans and you feel like crying. His cock is covered in your wetness and when he pushes back in you think this just might be enough to make you cum a second time. 

It’s filthy and obscene and you love it. You love him. He reaches down and circles your clit with his thumb, fucking you slowly, eyes locked on the place you’re joined. “You’re so big,” you whimper.

You can feel the tension in his shoulders and you do your damnedest to smooth it out with small, massaging motions. He touches you just right but you want it to feel good for him, too.

That heat of an orgasm begins to build again. A low, incessant thrum between your hips.

“I have to,” he mutters so softly you hardly hear him the first time. “I have to, baby. I’ve gotta feel you. I’ve gotta…” And then he eases his cock into you to the hilt without any warning, filling you so full it hurts. The invasion stings but your body adjusts quickly, making room for him in the same way your heart has. His head falls to the crook of your neck and you can feel him shudder as he breathes the word fuck into your skin. 

“Oh my God—it’s too much, too much—!”

“You can take it, baby. C’mon, spread your legs wider. I know s’alot,” he praises, circling your clit a little faster now. Your slick drips down your thighs, into the dark hair between his hips. “You got it, sweetheart. See? There you go.”

He pulls out just to sink into you again. This time there’s less pain and more divinity and your nails dig into his shoulder through his flannel as you adjust to the size of him.

Joel uses his free hand to tilt your chin up, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep. He sets an unrelenting pace, hips grinding against yours with each thrust. It’s so much and you’re so full of him in all the best ways. When you moan into his mouth you can feel his lips turn up at the corners, a predatory grin saved just for you. 

The sounds are filthy and echo in the room, an obscene symphony of devotion. You’d let him do anything right now—anything. 

He picks up the pace, hips snapping against yours. All you can think about is how right this feels, how you were made for him, how well he fits inside you.

A low grunt filters through his teeth and he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so pretty. How’s it feel? Tell me. Use your words.”

“S’good,” you whimper in response. Your brain is mush and your thighs become a vise around his waist, pulling him in impossibly deeper. “So good, Joel, don’t stop. Please don’t stop, I’m—I’m close.”

“Yeah? Gonna cum again already, hm?” He pushes his palm against your belly, thumb still gently stroking your clit. And the pressure of it feels so intense you let out a whine of bliss. “Yeah, you are,” he whispers. “Can feel her squeezin’ me. S’alright, baby. Wanna feel it.” 

His words send you tumbling over the edge of bliss, and he fucks you through it. Stars blind your vision and your ears fill with static. But you can hear Joel though, can hear him and feel him deep inside you through it all. 

“Ohh, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Pretty little thing’s just fuckin’ dripping all over me, feels so good. You feel so good.”

Before you even realize what’s happening, his rhythm falters. You can feel his cock pulse inside of you as Joel falls off the precipice. His head rolls back and the muscles in his forearms flex around the prominent veins. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and you know you’ll never see anything as beautiful as this big, powerful man weak for you.

He’s panting when he slowly pulls out of you with a hiss. Sweat dots his hairline and that flush on his neck certainly seems like it’s staying for a little while longer. He’s beautiful, you think. Crafted by the hands of God himself, made with imperfect grace.

When he looks up at you he smiles in the way he always does, like the two of you share a secret. And maybe now you do. A sinful, dirty secret that’s all yours. You laugh softly and he mirrors the sound, helping you back to your feet. 

You hold his shoulders for balance as he helps you back into your shorts. And when he hands you your bra and t-shirt, you’re starkly reminded of the dull throb in your breasts and think better of it before putting them on. “I think they might be too tight. I’ll look around and see if I can…”

Before you finish the sentence, he’s unbuttoning his red flannel and tossing it to you. He wears a light brown tshirt underneath, the arms just a little too tight on his biceps. He looks so good that you want to take him between your legs again even with the sweet ache that lingers. “Here,” he says. “Take this.”

You do. He helps you with the buttons and it’s too big but gives your new body modifications room to breathe and heal. You ask him how it looks. 

“Better on you,” is his short response.

When you begin to fall asleep on the yellow leather couch later that night, all wrapped up in his arms, Joel presses his lips to your forehead and says, “When we get home, I wanna read that book of yours. Carrie, was it?”

You shift at his side, turning your head up to look at him. “You’re not gonna wait till October, like I said?”

Joel shakes his head. “You got any idea how old I am, girl? I’ve got no time for waitin’ till October.” He’s quiet for several seconds. And then his voice is nothing but a whisper as he says, “No time waitin’ on this to be right in the eyes of others, either.” 

And you can feel the heat behind his words, can almost hear the unspoken meaning. No time for waiting until you’re older, no time for waiting until the perfect moment. Your mouth pulls into a wide grin. “Are you asking to go steady with me, Mr. Miller?”

With a scoff, he runs his hand playfully down your face and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he says. 

When he kisses you, you make a promise against his lips. “I’m yours, Joel.” 

He doesn’t say much in the way of a reply, your big man of few words. But he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

It’s more than enough.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Aftermath of Breakdown

So, after that one ask about cat hybrid!König and Horangi, I wanted to write a little fic about how it works out. Here's the finished project.

Tws: slight pervy behaviour, Konig being a creep

Wordcount:

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

Aftermath of Breakdown

You gently bandaged König’s paw as he moped in your lap.

“So you’re telling me you’ve been actual living human beings this entire time,” you said as you gently pinned the bandage into place. Without thinking, you kissed his paw before letting it go. You looked at the bandage and frowned.

“Does this mean he can’t change back now?” you asked.

“Not at all. C’mon big guy,” Horangi patted your cat on the head a couple of times and in an instant, your scruffy precious maine coon was a giant horrifying soldier man.

“Thank you Schatz,” the man murmured as he sat down on your sofa and kicked his injured foot up onto your table.

“No feet on the…” you squinted, “I don’t think that actually applies to you.”

Horangi took the chair opposite, leaving the only space left beside the Scary Big Bastard Man. He gestured for you to sit and König(?) looked up expectantly.

With a sigh, you lowered yourself down and let König wrap his arm around the back of the sofa. You glared at the offending arm, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

“So… What are you?” you asked as you looked at Horangi.

“Government experiments used in military espionage and combat mission to further national interests,” Horangi rattled off, “but for you? Cat hybrids.”

“Like… In animes?” you asked carefully.

“Kinda?” Horangi cringed, “we’re basically cats in human skin. Or humans in cat skins? I dunno. Point is, we’re both at once. We have the intelligence and cognisance of humans, but the instincts and predatory skills of cats. We’re essentially perfect soldiers.”

“And you’re in my house,” you concluded.

“Well, once the program was defunded, they didn’t really know what to do with us,” Horangi sighed, “so, they sorta just… Dumped us. They couldn’t kill us, we were human beings, but nobody wanted to take us in. Nobody wanted a vet with unchecked PTSD trained to kill on sight around their kiddos, right? So they kicked us onto the street.”

“Does that mean there’s more of you?” you asked.

“A lot more,” Horangi agreed, “but if it helps you at all, we’re pretty much all adopted. The only ones left are the ones who don’t want a home in the first place,” Horangi waggled his head side to side, “or that’s what they say at least. We keep trying to convince them, but they won’t hear it.”

“So you guys are contract killers that I’ve been feeding for the past year for free,” you said.

“If you want to put it that way, sure!” Horangi chirped, “but we’d rather think of it as us becoming a family together.”

“Building a family!?” you spat.

“Hey, hey, look. I know this is a lot, but I promise that we never meant to have you find out.”

“So you were going to lie to me forever?” you screeched, “and you were just going to take advantage of me!?”

“Take advantage?” Horangi puffed up.

“Hold on,” König held up a hand and then turned to you, “we didn’t want to take advantage of you. We just didn’t know how to explain this,” he gestured to himself, “and we didn’t want to lose you.”

There was an awkward beat as you waited for König to continue.

“I, ah, we have taken quite a liking to you,” König said softly, “we want to be with you for a long time. The plan was that we would court you as humans, but it never really went well. Horangi never seemed to find a good time, and you didn’t seem to like me at all.”

“It’s hard to like you when you creep me out,” you admitted.

König’s eyes drooped as he took in your words.

“You thought I was creepy?” he said, absolutely despondent.

“I mean, yes? I still do, but not as much? It’s a different type of creepy,” you scrambled before finally saying, “I mean, I was considering calling the police on you.”

“Why am I creepy?” he asked.

“Why are you acting surprised?” Horangi cut in, “I told you to cut it with the freak shit This is exactly why!”

“But I thought girls liked it when you-”

“Women do not like men staring at them and panting when they get close,” Horangi drawled.

König looked over to you.

“It’s really creepy,” you admitted sadly.

König looked like he could’ve died right then and there.

“Look,” you said as gently as you could, “if you’re not in my house all day, where do you guys go?”

“Mostly to work,” Horangi shrugged.

“Y-you work!?” you spat.

“Yeah? I’m a manager at the club downtown and König does private security gigs,” Horangi said, “when König’s between jobs he’s a bouncer at the club.”

You looked him up and down conspicuously. He notably stiffened under your inspection.

“So, if you have jobs,” you spoke as carefully as you could, “why are you not paying rent?”

“I can!” König practically yelled, “I can pay rent! Let me!”

You blinked and looked at Horangi.

“He’s been wanting to do this since you brought us home,” Horangi explained.

“And you didn’t let him?” you shot back.

“You tell me a good way to explain a strange man paying your rent for you,” Horangi glared at you over his sunglasses. When you couldn’t come up with a good answer, he sat back smugly, “That’s why.”

“So, you’re fine helping pay the bills around here,” you glanced between both the men.

König looked like he was about to burst when Horangi said, “Of course! We’d love to actually be able to help out. That, and eat some good food.”

You thought for a moment.

“Is this why you guys are so picky about your food?” you asked.

“Pretty much,” Horangi shrugged, “it’s hard to find cat food that tastes good. You got a good brand, but really we prefer to eat regular food.”

“So you guys have really been living rent free in my place for a year.”

König gently rubbed your shoulder, “If you’d let us, we’d like to take the chance to maybe take care of you like you’ve cared for us.”

You thought for a moment. If these men had actually wanted to hurt you, they would’ve done so by now. They hadn’t touched you inappropriately, they hadn’t stolen from you, the worst they’d done was bring a dead animal into your house. Actually, about that…

“Can you guys stop bringing me dead animals?” you asked, “it’s really gross. And as of today, it’s really creepy too.”

König sighed sadly as Horangi said, “Sure. But only if you agree to take the bell off my collar.”

“Done,” you affirmed.

“Then we’ve got a deal,” Horangi leaned back into the chair contently.

König nudged your thigh gently, “Are you going to let us stay, Schatz?”

You sighed.

“If you pay my bills, I don’t care what you do,” you sighed.

Immediately you were pulled into a suffocating hug. You squeaked and wiggled, then melted into the embrace.

“Thank you,” König chanted into your ear again and again. On the other side of the room, Horangi looked more pleased than ever.

“Can we still sleep with you though?” König asked hopefully, “it’s so comfortable in your bed.”

“Seeing as you haven’t done anything to me,” you sighed, “sure. But only as cats.”

“That’s fine,” Horangi said, “honestly, I usually waited until you went to sleep and then slept on your chair.”

“So only König sleeps with me?” you looked at the big scary man beside you.

“He’s always been the cuddly one,” Horangi drawled, “what did you expect?”

“Fair enough,” you sighed and slumped back into König’s arm. Without thinking, you slipped and let your head rest on his chest. It was… Comfy.

“So you guys never actually did anything in my sleep?” you checked.

“Never,” König swore, “you’re our… Um…”

“You can say it,” Horangi groaned.

“Our mate!”

You blinked.

“You think I’m your… mate?” you put together slowly.

“One day,” König said, “as we said, we both like you. Very much so. We always thought we could try to date you as men.”

You spluttered, “Both of you? At once!?”

“Well yeah,” König shrugged, “it’s only fair, right? We’ve already shared you for a year, and you’ve loved both of us equally.”

“We don’t love the same, so we figured it wouldn’t be so overwhelming for you,” Horangi added.

You gently pulled yourself out of König’s black hole and put your hands in your lap. You glanced between the men and thought carefully.

“You don’t have to commit to anything right now,” Horangi assured you, “this is a lot to take in. We totally understand.”

“I want an answer…”

“Shut up König,” Horangi hissed then turned to you, “ignore him. He’s a freak.”

You nodded primly, “I think I’ve figured that out by now.”

“So really, take your time with this,” Horangi urged you gently, “nobody’s rushing you but König, and if you haven’t figured it out by now, it’s best to just ignore him.”

“I think I get the idea,” you snickered, “but yeah. This is a lot. Honestly, I know I said you guys can sleep with me, but can you give me a couple of nights to just take it all in?”

König nodded sadly as Horangi agreed immediately.

“And also,” you glanced at König, “what’s with the hood?”

“This?” he plucked at the black hood, “it just helps a lot.”

“With?” you inquired.

“Social anxiety,” Hornagi explained, “he has a few scars too. They don’t show up when he’s in his cat form, but they’re pretty nasty in his human form.”

“Do injuries not show up when you change forms?” you asked then looked at König’s bandaged foot, “but that doesn’t…”

“Injuries transfer,” Hornagi explained, “but unless the scars are especially bad like our friend Nikto, they don’t tend to show up.”

“Nikto’s another hybrid?” you checked.

“Yeah. He had…” Horangi grimaced and König shuddered, “he got it bad when we were on the streets. Real bad. Just… People are awful. He’s got a good home now, but it’s a touchy subject. I shouldn’t have brought it up, honestly.”

You nodded sympathetically and turned to König, “So you’re trying to keep your scars covered?”

“If you saw me without my hood, I was worried you wouldn’t even give me a chance,” König admitted.

“Well, if you want me to be your ‘mate’, I wanna know what I’m dating,” you looked at him expectantly.

König glanced between you and Horangi, then with a nod from his friend, he sighed and took the mask in his hands. He unclipped his helmet and put it by his side. His fingers grazed the edges of his hood, and with a deep breath he pulled it off.

You blinked. Gingerly, you reached out a hand. He flinched back, then slowly let you cup his soft jaw.

“You’re so…”

König scrunched his face painfully.

“Handsome,” you finished softly.

His blue eyes opened wide, perfect mirrors of vulnerability. The light skin scratched over his skin ran across the bridge of his nose. Another line traced through his lips and yet another across his chin. Your eyes lingered on a particularly large line crossed his jugular.

“You’re incredible,” you murmured softly. You turned to Horangi and silently urged him to do the same.

Horangi didn’t have nearly the same hesitation, almost seeming eager to take the mask and sunglasses off. He put his helmet to the side and waved at you with a wide smirk.

“Hey,” his dark eyes sparkled in the warm light of the lamps, his smirk wide on his angular face.

“You’re also…” you frowned, “that’s not fair. Both of you are so hot and I’m…”

“Oh please,” Horangi laughed, “if we didn’t think you were perfect we wouldn’t still be here.”

“I might still eat the food,” König admitted quietly.

“Okay, König might still be here, but there’s no way I’d stick around,” Horangi’s smile softened, “we both think you’re beautiful. I promise.”

You smiled softly.

“Thanks,” you said, “but honestly,” you yawned, “I’m getting really tired. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow or something?”

“Of course,” Horangi nodded towards the cat bed, “c’mon big guy. Girl’s gotta sleep.”

“Princess need perfect sleep,” König agreed sagely.

You tottered back to your bed. As you shut the door behind you, you heard a couple of small poofs, and then König’s whine as Horangi smacked him.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Cat Hybrid!Konig

[princesevsnape]

Our Girl

Requested by @nottsbabe

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x Reader, Theodore Nott x Reader, Mattheo Riddle x Theodore Nott

Summary: You arrive back to your apartment you share with your boyfriends after a night out with Hermione and Pansy. Your boyfriends take care of you. (Set post Hogwarts)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (f & m receiving),

A/N: Thank you so much for your request darling. I loved writing this so much. I’m sorry if this is not the way you wanted the smut to go, this is just the way my brain works sometimes and it turns out different than expected. I hope you like it either way. 💜

You stumbled through the door of the apartment you shared with your boyfriends.

“Honeys I’m home.” You slurred before falling flat on your face.

“Princess, how much have you had to drink?” Theo asked you as he turned you over.

“Not much. Only a little bit.” You said laughing.

“Mattheo get here now.” Theo shouted.

“Ouch no shouting. Head hurts.” You said.

“Bloody hell. How much has she had to drink?” Mattheo asked as he noticed you on the floor your head resting on Theo’s lap.

“She says only a little bit, but I reckon probably enough to knock out a Hippogriff.” Theo said.

“I thought we told Pansy and Hermione to keep an eye on her and not let her drink so much?” Mattheo asked.

“Not there fault. Mione had to go home to Won Won. And Pans was distracted by a man hitting on her.” You said before suddenly laughing.

“What’s so funny Princess?” Theo asked confused.

“Won Won.” You said before chuckling again as you remembered the nickname Lavender Brown used to give Ron when they dated in your sixth year at Hogwarts.

“Ok let’s get her to bed. Grab her legs Mattheo.” Theo said.

“Why do I always get the legs?. She always kicks me.” Mattheo said frustrated.

“Well maybe next time when she comes home in this state after a night out with Pansy and Hermione, you should come to her first. As I’m always the first to make sure she’s ok when she comes in you get the legs.” Theo said.

“Fine.” Mattheo said.

Mattheo and Theo, carried you to the bedroom. They placed you down on the bed that the three of you shared.

Theo helped you remove your makeup and brush your hair. And then Mattheo helped you get changed into your pyjamas.

“No sex?” You asked pouting.

“Not while you’re in this state princess.” Theo said.

“I’m not in any state Mr Nott.” You said.

“Yes you are darling.” Mattheo said sitting on the bed next to you tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“No I am not Mr Riddle.”

“Princess yes you are. You call us Mr Riddle and Mr Nott when you’re drunk. We aren’t going to take advantage of you like that. You’re vulnerable right now. We love you too much.” Theo said joining you on the bed as well.

“I’m fine.” You said.

And to prove you weren’t as drunk as they thought you were you pushed yourself off of the bed and stood up. You took a few steps and then fell down on the floor. The second you hit the floor you were fast asleep. Ok maybe they were right but you wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

“For fucks sake. She never listens to us does she.” Mattheo said as him and Theo picked you up off the floor.

They tucked you into bed, shed their own clothes until they were in just boxers then joined you in bed. One either side of you.

You stirred in the middle of the night. Looking at the clock it was 5am. Technically morning but still early enough that you should be asleep. You were now surprisingly sober.

You looked at both of your boyfriends. They were both sleeping soundly. Unfortunately you had woken up extremely horny. You considered your options. Play with yourself. Wake up one of your boyfriends. Or wake them both up.

You didn’t have to decided since you felt Mattheo stir next to you. Looking over at him again, you saw that he was now awake.

“Hey baby.” He said with a smile on his face as he saw you.

“Hey Matty.” You said running your fingers through his hair.

“Someone’s sobered up.” He teased.

“I have. But I’m so damn horny.”

“Well baby. I can help you take care of that.” Mattheo said before kissing.

As he was kissing you Mattheo slipped a hand inside your pyjamas shorts. You gasped as he stroked your pussy. His fingers were cold.

“Fuck baby you’re so wet.” He said as he continued to rub your soaking wet core.

“Shall we wake Teddy?” You asked.

“No baby we shouldn’t disturb him. He was stressing out the whole night you were out with the girls. He was worried about you.”

“And you weren’t worried about me?” You asked.

“Of course I was but I know nothing bad would have happened to you. Theo is a little bit more stressed out about things that probably won’t happen. He can do with the rest.” Mattheo said.

“Ok Matty.” You said

Mattheo slipped a finger into your tight pussy making you groan.

“Fuck feels so good.” You said as he started rubbing your clit at the same time as his finger pumped inside of you.

Mattheo kissed your neck.

“Fuck I love you so much baby.” Mattheo said smirking against your neck as he felt your walls clenching around his fingers.

“I love you too Matty.” You said your breathing getting heavier.

“You’re such a good girl for me aren’t you baby.”

“Yes. Please Matty I need you. I need your cock inside me.” You begged.

“Patience baby. And I don’t want you cumming until I tell you to.”

“But I’m close.” You whined.

“I know baby. Hold on a bit longer.”

“Please.” You begged.

Theo stirred next to you. He must have heard your whines. He looked at you. Mattheo’s hands down your shorts. You a moaning mess.

“Where’s my invite?” Theo teased.

“Thought you could do with some extra sleep, since you were so stressed about our girl last night.” Mattheo said.

“Still would have loved to have been woken up.” Theo said as he looked at you.

“Then please join us Teddy.” You said.

That was the only thing Theo needed to hear. He grabbed your face and crashed his lips against yours.

“I love you Teddy.” You said.

“I love you too princess.”

“Let’s get these clothes off you baby.” Mattheo said as him and Theo stripped you of clothes and then of their boxers.

Mattheo went back to stroking your clit, as Theo took one of your nipples in your mouth as he pinched the other between his fingers.

“Feel how wet our girl is.” Mattheo told Theo before kissing you to stifle your moans.

Theo reached down between your legs to feel how soaked you were.

“Fuck Princess.” Theo said smirking.

“Please I need one of you to fuck me so bad.” You said.

“Patience baby. You’ll get what you deserve. You just need to be more patient.” Mattheo said.

“But Matty.” You started to say before you were interrupted.

“Ah ah ah Princess. You heard Mattheo. No whining and you’ll get what you want.” Theo said before kissing you.

Theo moved down the bed so he could position his head between your legs. He spread your legs and buried his face in your pussy.

Your heart started racing as his tongue circled your clit.

“Fuck.” You moaned grabbing a handful of Theo’s hair holding his head in place.

“Feel good baby?” Mattheo asked as he started tweaking one of your nipples between his fingers.

“Yes Matty.” You cried out as Theo continued to lick and nibble at your swollen clit.

“You love when Theo eats your pussy don’t you baby?”

You couldn’t get any words out as you felt your orgasm getting close, so you just nodded.

“How badly do you want to cum?” Mattheo asked as he noticed your breathing getting heavier.

“So bad.” You managed to squeal.

“Then cum for us baby. And then I will fuck you.” Mattheo said kissing you.

That was all you needed. Your thighs started shaking, and you came hard. All over Theo’s face.

“That’s a good girl.” Mattheo cooed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead as you recovered from your orgasm.

Theo lifted his head from between and smirked at you. His face was completely soaked.

“Want a taste?” Theo asked Mattheo.

“Fuck yes.” Mattheo replied.

Mattheo then leant forward and kissed Theo. Tasting your juices on his lips.

“Damn she tastes good.” Mattheo said licking his lips after he pulled away from Theo.

“Our girl tastes perfect.” Theo said licking his own lips.

“I think you should be rewarded for making our girl cum.” Mattheo suggested.

“What are you thinking?” Theo asked intrigued.

“How about as Y/N rides me I suck your cock?” Mattheo asked.

“Would you like that princess?” Theo asked.

“Yes Teddy I would.” You said biting your lip.

“Then I’m game. It’s not like we haven’t done anything before. We’ve wanked each other before. I guess this is just the next step.” Theo said.

“Exactly. And if it will make our girl happy then that makes me happy.” Mattheo said.

It turned you on even more that your boys were willing to please each other for your benefit.

The three of you switched positions. Mattheo laid on his back, you straddled him, his cock buried deep in your pussy as you rode him. And Theo knelt on one knee, one foot flat on the bed, as Mattheo sucked his cock.

You squeezed your tits as you bounced on Mattheo’s cock. You bit your lip watching Theo’s facial expression as Mattheo sucked his cock.

“You like this princess?” Theo asked as he noticed you watching.

“Fuck so much Teddy. Do you like it?” You asked.

“So much.” Theo moaned as he bucked his hips to fuck Mattheo’s mouth.

You didn’t ask Mattheo if he was enjoying it, you could tell he was. From the way he was thrusting his hips to bury his cock deeper into your wet pussy. And from the way he was choking on Theo’s cock.

Before you knew it you were all cumming one after the other. First Theo cummed in Mattheo’s mouth. Mattheo swallowed every single drop. Then you squirted all over Mattheo’s cock. And then Mattheo filled your pussy up.

The three of you then collapsed on the bed. You in between your boys. The three of you sweating and breathing heavily.

“How do you feel baby?” Mattheo asked placing a kiss to your temple and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“So good Matty.” You said.

“How do the two of you feel?” You asked.

“I feel good too princess.” Theo said resting his head on your chest.

“Good Teddy.” You said running your fingers through his hair.

“How about you Matty?” You asked.

“I feel good too baby.” He said smiling at you.

“Maybe another time I can fuck your ass Mattheo?” Theo asked.

“If it makes our baby happy then hell yes.” Mattheo said.

“Oh it will. I’m just glad you two are willing to try new things for me.” You said.

“Anything for you. We aren’t just dating you we are basically dating each other too. Might as well be intimate with one another as well. Don’t you think Theo?” Mattheo said.

“I agree.” Theo said.

“I love you Teddy.” You said.

“I love you too princess.” Theo replied.

“I love you Matty.” You said.

“I love you too baby.” Mattheo replied.

Shortly after the three of you fell back asleep cuddled up together.

[oh-obrien]

GRID ACE 0.1

GAMER READER X Lestappen SMAU

Summary: Reader is a Red Bull e-sports athlete who happens to catch the attention of two particular drivers with her streams

I am new-ish to the F1 fandom so hopefully I didn't mess this up too bad! I used to be an AVID fic writer on wattpad and I dabbled here in imagines and what not but a full time job (and a boyfriend who got me more into gaming RUDE) really shits on my desire to write sometimes and i found that SMAU's seem to be super popular in this fandom and they felt perfect 😊!

And my requests for these are open!!

All pictures are from Pinterest!!!

Reader has various face claims!

Masterlist / Next Part

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

Liked by yourbestfriend, maxverstappen1, and 6,756 others

Xx.y/n.xX the only appropriate way to spend a Friday night pre-stream

Yourbestfriend val really????

-> Xx.y/n.xX it’s almost like I’m a professional or something 🥸

-> yourteammate1 professional bottom frag maybe

-> Xx.y/n.xX SIT DOWN YOU INSTALOCK REYNA

User1 I fear the girlies claws are out today

-> Xx.y/n.xX I did do my nails today 😌

-> User1 THE QUEEN RESPONDED

-> Xx.y/n.xX rainy Friday nail day video coming to you soon!

Redbullgaming we love to see our number 1 girl on the grind

liked by maxverstappen1

-> Xx.y/n.xX awww admin you’re gonna make me blush

->yourteammate2 STOP STROKING HER EGO SHE ALREDY TOP FRAGS

-> Xx.y/n.xX get better then???

User2 is no one going to talk about THE Max Verstappen being in the likes?????

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 goes vroom vroom for RB 🤝 I go pew pew for RB

-> maxverstappen1 🫡

-> Xx.y/n.xX see he gets it!!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Xx.y/n.xX just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, and 12,568 others

Xx.y/n.xX join me, a Redbull vroom vroom driver and some other vroom vroom guy (his team is the red one apparently) on a stream!

Redbullgaming hope @ maxverstappen1 didn’t embarrass the name too bad

-> Xx.y/n.xX he went 4/22/2 his first game @ redbullracing please take him back!!! 😵‍💫

-> charles_leclerc I went 6/18/4! 😌

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’ve been informed this one belongs to you @ scuderiaferrari please tell him to stick to cars!!

-> Scuderiaferrari it’s not a race weekend he isn’t our problem

-> Xx.y/n.xX this is why I’m a @ redbullracing fan

-> Redbullgaming your contract also helps

Maxverstappen1 I’d like to see you behind the wheel of my car then

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullracing am I ‘on the grid’ (I was told those are the appropriate terms) next weekend?

-> Redbullracing y/n reserve driver when???

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ Redbullgaming you’re going to need to find a new Neon main 🫣

-> Redbullgaming @ redbullracing I’m afraid we need to keep this one, you don’t want her anyways (she bites)

-> Charles_leclerc I won’t complain about biting

liked by @ Maxverstappen1

User3 I’m sorry Max AND Charles streaming with her??

-> User4 like exactly????

-> User5 she doesn’t realize how lucky she is?

-> Xx.y/n.xX they were actually horrible teammates so…

-> User4 WAIT DID YOU NOT SEE THE COMMENT CHARLES DELETED????

-> User3 WHAT???

-> Xx.y/n.xX I plead the fifth, I’m American I can do that.

Landonorris where was my invite?

-> Xx.y/n.xX @ maxverstappen1 @ charles_leclerc does this one vroom vroom too?

-> Maxverstappen1 yes.

-> charles_leclerc yes.

-> Xx.y/n.xX ☠️

Teammate3 you traded us in?

-> Xx.y/n.xX more like downgraded

-> User6 PLEASE. I am living for Y/N absolutely roasting Max and Charles any chance she gets.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I mean @ charles_leclerc roasted himself with Brim’s molly so…. Not really my fault?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Charles_leclerc just posted

tagged @ maxverstappen1 @ Xx.y/n.xX

Liked by Xx.y/n.xX, maxverstappen1, and 24,568 others

Charles_leclerc when the groupchat finally meets up

Xx.y/n.xX vroom vroom 🏎️

-> User7 I love how unserious she is like she didn’t just spend the weekend with Max and Charles

-> Xx.y/n.xX I actually spent the weekend with bottom frag and almost bottom frag, who holds which title is interchangeable they haven’t earned names yet.

-> Scuderiaferrari TECHNICALLY they were first and second frag on the podium

-> Xx.y/n.xX excuse me admin, I didn't say you could speak

-> Charles_leclerc excuse me y/n, I didn't say you could be in my comments

-> Landonorris @ Xx.y/n.xX you're allowed in my comments

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

-> Xx.y/n.xX I KNOW THIS ONE HE'S AN ORANGE VROOM VROOM @ landonorris

User7 are we not going to talk about how fast she managed to get to a GP?

-> User8 are we not going to talk about how fast it feels like this friendship developed

-> User7 or how she already has other drivers joking with her too?

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm a big kid I can get myself to a GP

Danielricciardo Y/N showed the entire gird up at the after party

-> User9 DETAILS????

-> Xx.y/n.xX a lady never shares her secrets 🤫

-> Maxverstappen1 a lady does share her shots though

Liked by @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX SILENCE BOTTOM FRAG NUMBER ONE

Teammate1 We need her back soon thxxxxxx

-> Xx.y/n.xX I fear they have discovered they can't win games without me

-> Landonorris y/n carry!!

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1 and @ Charles_leclerc

-> Xx.y/n.xX nevermind the orange vroom vroom man can stay, I like him.

-> Maxverstappen1 no.

-> Charles_leclerc no.

Redbullgaming we hope you had a great time y/n (you better have spent time in the @ redbullracing garage also)!!!

-> Xx.y/n.xX this feels like a threat admin?

-> Maxverstappen1 sadly she was in the garage, she knocked over some tires and just said oops

->Xx.y/n.xX you love me

Liked by @ Maxverstappen1

-> User10 umm guys????? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS???

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Tweet 1

User13 The trio we didn't know we needed but we can't live without 🫡

-> User14 Did you see the tweet someone posted where they were apparently FLIRTING at dinner?

-> User13 NO?!?!?!

-> User14 @ User12 posted it go look at the thread

User15 I fear we have lost another one of the girlies chat

->User14 Y/N will always be a girls girl

User16 what is she doing in Monaco?

->User17 hanging out with vroom vroom boys apparently

->User16 hopefully we get a stream while she's there then!

-> Xx.y/n.xX I'm already on it, I'm trying to make sure they don't embarrass me though, they're not allowed to stream until they can go even

-> User14 She sees everything.

-> Xx.y/n.xX Yes, yes I do (so do bottom frag number one and two)

Tweet 2

User12 they were all sitting super close together and y/n kept touching both their arms, lots of shoulders bumping and giggling. They were also all totally sharing food which was kind of cute.

-> User18 sharing food??? I need DETAILS.

-> User12 they all kept just shoving their forks on to each others plates no asking or anything just stealing each others food.

-> Xx.y/n.xX to be fair we all got stuck super close together at the table so like no choice there (ick), and on the sharing we were all indecisive so sharing is caring ❤️

->User20 SHE REALLY SAID ICK.

->Xx.y/n.xX my mama always taught me boys have cooties sooooo...

User19 HELLO? Did you ask for a picture or anything like that?

-> User12 NO they literally looked like they were having the time of their lives? They kept swapping drinks and stuff too, the boys were LIVING for y/n’s fruity cocktails

-> Xx.y/n.xX I don’t drink wine, only mixed drinks or hard liquor, they were just mooching off my drinks because Mr. World Champion wouldn't order a little fruity drink himself.

-> User12 NOT THE WOMAN IN QUESTION IN MY REPLIES

-> Xx.y/n.xX I’m everywhere 👀

[specialagentsergio]

almost me again

summary: While visiting Spencer at Millburn Correctional Facility, the prison goes into lockdown, temporarily leaving you alone together. You don’t let the opportunity go to waste.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: smut w/ a lil angst because it’s prison spencer, 18+ (minors DNI)

content warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, making out, fingering, hand job, semi-public sex

a/n: [arises from the grave carrying smut]

i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins stuck together challenge! this return to posting writing after three years is brought to you by her, all my other awesome friends on her server for helping keep my interest in this show alive, and my successful carpal tunnel surgery last year. enjoy!

word count: 3.6k

masterlist

Visiting Spencer in prison is a mixed bag of emotions. First is the anger that he’s been framed and abandoned by the bureau, leading to him being in prison in the first place. Then relief when he walks in and you see him alive and… well, not well, but at least alive. It’s followed by stress and worry upon seeing how tense and sleepless he is.

Last but certainly not least, there’s the frustration that comes from sitting across from him and not being allowed to touch him. Years of casual touch, affection, and intimacy, all completely ground to a halt. It’s a special kind of torture.

You can tell he feels the same. His fingers twitch when they’re inches away from your hands on the table, itching to take them. His gaze will catch on your lips, and yours does the same to him. The line in between love and lust feels blurry. At least his lawyer had been able to pull some strings so you could visit in a private room instead of in general population, being heckled by the other inmates.

Today you’ve been visiting for around ten minutes, and having finished giving him the (depressingly small) update on the progress the team has made on his case, you’ve fallen into silence. Most of your visits end this way, staring at each other, words unspoken but understood.

And pretty much undressing each other with your eyes.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the sound of a buzzer. You both jump.

“What is that?” you ask when it repeats.

“I’m not sure.” He gets up and knocks on the door for the guard. “What’s going on?” he asks when it opens.

“Lockdown. Stay put,” the guard answers, in a voice you think he wants to invite no questions or conversation, but that kind of thing never works on Spencer. Or you, for that matter.

“Lockdown?” you repeat. “Why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to take me back to my cell when the prison goes into lockdown?” Spencer adds.

“I said, stay put,” the guard says harshly. “We’ll move you later.”

“Well, how long from now is ‘later’?” you ask, standing from your chair.

The guard doesn’t entertain any more chatter, though. He only gives another instruction to stay where you are, then the door closes and makes its own little buzz, locking you both into the visitation room.

Spencer looks through the small window in the door. “He’s leaving,” he says, disbelief covering his face.

“Leaving?” you confirm. “A guard, leaving us alone in a federal prison. What could even cause that?”

“I’m not sure. A riot, maybe?” he guesses. “Maybe they need more guards to shut it down or something.”

You move to stand next to him. “How long do prison riots last?”

“Well, historically, some have lasted months, but don’t worry; I’m sure they won’t leave us in here for more than an hour.”

“I’m not worried.” You place a hand on his shoulder and watch a shudder run through his body, eyes closing at the first touch of someone he loves in weeks. “It’d be a shame if we didn’t seize this opportunity.”

He turns to face you and you place your hands on his cheeks. And you mean to wait for him to respond to your suggestion before doing anything further, but you can’t help yourself—you pull him into a hug.

He hugs back immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes in deeply and you feel his body relax. The undercurrent of stress and tension he’s been carrying with him since Mexico shrinks. Not completely gone, but no longer overwhelming.

“Oh, I don’t care if they suddenly come back and I get in trouble for this,” he sighs. “It’s worth it.”

You open your eyes, looking out the window over his shoulder. “Well, there’s a guard at the end of the hallway, guarding the door to this wing, I guess, but he’s not looking this way. The other guy’s still gone. How long do you think we have?”

“I’ve no idea.” His hands wander lower, settling on your hips, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your skirt.

“Well, then I guess the question is…” You pull back from the hug so you can watch his expressions and make sure you’re not crossing any lines he doesn’t want you to. “How long do you need?”

“Depends on what you’re referring to.” He tilts his head to kiss one of your cheeks, then the other. “If you mean how much time I need to be with you…” He kisses your forehead. “I’m not sure forever itself would be enough.”

It’s far from the first time he’s expressed such a sickeningly romantic sentiment, yet like every time before, it makes your cheeks prickle with warmth. You take one of his hands off your hips and lift it to your mouth, kissing the palm of it.

“However, I’m ninety-five percent sure you’re referring to how long it would take to get me off,” he continues. You see a little smile grace his lips before he dips his head to kiss your neck. “In which case, it’s probably ten minutes at the maximum.”

You put a hand in his hair, toy with it for a moment, then tug it lightly, just the way he likes. He inhales sharply. “Oh yeah?” you question.

“Maybe less,” he admits. “Probably less. It’s been over a month, and unlike you, I don’t have any privacy to take matters into my own hands, pun intended.”

You laugh. “Well, should we see what we can do about that?”

Spencer’s answer is a sweet, chaste kiss, almost as if he’s saying thank you. It’s immediately followed by a crushing, downright greedy one that makes you take a step backward to avoid falling. One of his hands cradles the back of your head while the other wanders. He can’t seem to decide where to put it, wanting to feel everything at once. Eventually he settles on untucking your shirt.

His hand grazes the skin underneath for just a moment. Before he can get any further, you grab the front of his prison-issued jacket and turn him, then push him against the wall. He makes a surprised noise.

“One of us needs to watch the door,” you explain. “And it’s easier for you to see over my shoulder than the opposite.”

“Right,” he says. “Got it. Watching the door. Can I feel you up now?”

You make a half-snort, half-giggle sound. “Yes, you may.”

He doesn’t possess an iota of hesitation as he slides his hand back under your shirt and up to your chest. He makes a grumbling noise, as if he’d forgotten there would be a bra in the way, but manages to get his hand beneath it all the same. “Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he mutters between kisses.

You press closer to him, your hands doing their own wandering. “I can tell,” you say. “I’ve never seen—or felt, rather—you get completely hard so quickly.”

Spencer huffs out a laugh. “I told you, it’s been a while. Paired with the way you were looking at me earlier…”

He tugs down the collar of your shirt to bite and suck a hickey into the skin under your collarbone, making you gasp. “Spencer.”

“Mm.”

“Not that I don’t enjoy foreplay, but...” you start, and he finishes the sentence like you figured he would.

“We need to be quick. I know.” He sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the mark he’s just made on your skin.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask as you unbutton his pants. “Mouth, hands?”

“I’d never make you kneel on a concrete floor like this,” he replies. “And I want as much of your body touching mine as possible.”

You feign being put upon, as if you hadn’t been worried about the concrete floor as well. “Oh, if you insist.”

He doesn’t pay your tease much mind, instead adjusting one of your legs to hook around the back of his calf to keep your legs parted just enough for him to get his hands on you the way he wants, but without making what you’re doing immediately obvious to anyone who’d walk by or glance in.

You unzip his pants and push his underwear down just enough to free his cock, the tip already damp with pre-cum. You give it a few light strokes, coaxing more of the clear liquid out of it to spread down his length so you’re not jerking him off dry.

He sighs in a way that sounds like relief, and for a few moments, his hands still and he tips his head backward against the wall, letting the pleasure wash over him. You allow him his moment of calm, before gently reminding him, “Watch the door.”

He straightens back out and his eyes immediately fix on the small window in the door. “We’re still good,” he confirms. Despite your reminder on where to keep his eyes, they flicker back down to you, but you can’t really blame him. You’d find it hard to watch the door, too.

Spencer goes back to kissing you, sliding his hands fully up under your skirt to grip your ass and pull you even closer to him. He encourages the way you naturally rock against him, but when he moves a hand to rub between your legs, you feel a frown on his lips.

“Why did you have to wear tights?” he downright whines.

“What?” you ask with a surprised laugh.

“You wear this skirt—that I know you know I love, by the way—and that’s great, because skirts are easier to get into than pants, but then you paired it with tights, so it’s like you’ve canceled out the benefits,” he protests. “Why?”

The little pout he’s giving you, even as you continue to stroke his dick, is adorable. “Because it gets cold in this place,” you answer, which is the truth. “I can slide them down a little—“

“No need.” And before you can fully process what’s happening, he’s moved both of his hands to the junction of your tights and tugs on it until it rips.

“Spencer Reid!” you hiss.

“Tights aren’t that expensive,” he says dismissively, pushing on the inside of your thigh to open your legs to him further. “You have my wallet at home. Just take my card and get a new pair.”

“I’m less concerned about the cost of a new pair of tights and more so about the fact that I planned to wear these all day,” you say. It’s the truth, but you also can’t deny that what he’s done was unbelievably hot.

Spencer doesn’t address these worries, but rather gets right on with what he ripped the tights to do. He runs his hand once across the fabric of your underwear, and you can tell when he feels the slight damp spot because he lets out a little growl in your ear that makes you shiver.

“Sweetheart, if you wouldn’t mind…” he murmurs as he pushes your panties to the side. He gives a little rock of his hips.

“Oh!” You realize that you’d stopped stroking him when he tore your tights, and start up again, pushing his own underwear a bit farther down to be able to run your hand across his full length.

“Thank you, my love,” he replies in a soft and gentle voice that contradicts the greedy way he’s sliding his fingers into your folds and coating them with your wetness. He doesn’t waste any time in pushing one finger inside you, quickly followed by a second when the first glides in so easily.

You sigh in the same way he did earlier, a sound that’s tinged with relief.

“Your own fingers and toys just aren’t the same, are they?” he coos, beginning to thrust his fingers in and out at a steady pace.

You twist your hand as you run it down his cock, then thumb the tip, drawing a barely suppressed moan out of him. “No, they aren’t,” you reply simply. “You know there’s only one thing that I like inside of me more than your fingers.”

He hums. “I do. And as much as I’d love to provide that, we’re already pushing it with what we’re doing now.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “We keep slowing down; we need to pick up the pace here.”

He nods, glancing up at the door again to check for any changes. “Then let’s get to it.”

Spencer leans in to kiss you. As your lips meet, you change your hold on his dick from soft and casual to firm and purposeful. At the same time, he adjusts his hand so his thumb can rub your clit.

Both of you are well versed in how to get each other off. You know what each other likes the best, and how exactly to do it. You just don’t normally do it this fast and aggressively.

It’s working, though. It’s not long before you’re both panting into each other’s mouths more than you’re kissing. It helps that neither of you have been satisfied for over a month. He may think you’ve done just fine getting yourself off over that time, but in truth, laying alone in your shared bed always makes you too sad to get in the mood.

He doesn’t need to know that, though. Doesn’t need anything else to worry about, to feel guilty about.

You tip your head forward onto his shoulder as you feel the tension that’s been steadily coiling in your core start to close in on the breaking point. “Spencer,” you sigh out in the way you know he likes best.

His answer is a groan and a buck of his hips into your hand. “Don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last here,” he says, voice strained.

“I know I’m not making it another minute,” you say bluntly. The hand you’re not using to get him off has been gripping his arm hard enough to leave little crescent shapes through his clothing, but you move it now to push up your sleeve so it won’t get dirty when he cums.

He’s been remarkably quiet this whole time—his inclination to ramble carries over into the bedroom—and you imagine it’s been no small effort on his part. But when he feels one of the involuntary clenches of your walls that signals that you’re close, his resolve breaks.

“Honey, look at me, please, I wanna watch you cum,” he says, speaking as fast as he can while keeping the words clear enough to be distinguished.

You lift your head as he asks, similarly looking forward to watching him. The expressions he makes always enchant you, and unlike him, you don’t have an eidetic memory to draw on when you want to see it.

“Thank you, thank you. You’re so beautiful,” he praises. “Brightening up these dreary walls.”

You adjust your hands, wrapping one of them around the base of his cock and keeping it there so you can focus more on the head with the other. You watch him bite his lip to hold back what would usually be an unabashed moan.

“Best days are when you visit,” he continues on. “I just wish we could do more together. I wish I could touch you every time. Mm, so close.”

“You or me?” you ask, despite knowing the answer.

“Both.”

He crooks his fingers inside of you, hitting just the right spot, and you can’t help but gasp and momentarily throw your head back. Your body has its eyes on the finish line, and it’s racing towards it. You clench down on his fingers hard.

“That’s it, just like that,” he breathes out, and you can tell from the way his own muscles are tensing that he’s trying to hold back his release to see yours first. “Can you come for me, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Mm-hmm.”

As always, your body responds to his words with enthusiasm. Seconds after his request, you reach your peak, moaning out his name as quietly as you can. He shudders as he climaxes right after you. His release coats your hand and inner arm, warm and wet, as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers.

“Oh, my god,” he sighs out, an expression of the pleasure and relief he’s feeling. You both rather clumsily work each other through your orgasms, unable to keep up the same steady pace while you’re distracted by the flood of feel-good hormones washing over you.

You stand catching your respective breaths for a few moments, then with the casual, practiced synchrony of lovers, he slips his fingers out of you, you let go of his cock, and you both wrap your arms around each other, mindful of which hands are sticky and wet.

When his lips find yours again, they’re gentle, almost reverent. “Thank you,” he breathes.

“My pleasure. Literally.” After hearing his quiet huff of laughter, you turn your head to rest your cheek against his shoulder. You can’t settle into each other’s arms in your regular way, but make do the best you can. In the quiet, familiar post-climax calm, things almost feel normal.

Almost.

You both look up at the ceiling as the buzzer that had quickly faded into the background of your mutual haze of lust suddenly stops.

“Think that’s our cue,” Spencer says softly, voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah,” you agree just as quietly. You both straighten out, reluctantly letting space between your bodies. With your clean hand, you reach into your pocket and pull out a travel-sized pack of tissues

He pauses in tucking himself back into his pants. “You just have those with you?”

“Yeah. I, um…” You take a moment to think on how to respond as you use a tissue to wipe his spend off your hand and inner forearm. You decide on the partial truth. “I cry in the car after visiting you sometimes, so…”

More like every time.

You have to look away from him, then, or else the little heartbroken look on his face will make you start crying now. You take the few tissues he’s used from his hand and look around for some sort of bin or trash can, but there isn’t one, so you stuff the soiled tissues into your empty pocket. Apparently you’ll be doing laundry when you get home.

Spencer puts his hands on your cheeks, a silent ask for you to look back at him. “I’m so sorry I’m putting you through this,” he whispers when you meet his eyes.

“It’s not your fault you’re being framed, love,” you reply.

He shakes his head. “I should’ve—“

“Shh.” You press a finger to his lips. “We could talk all day about shoulds, woulds, and coulds. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. We do the best we can with the information we have at the time. That’s all we can do.”

He’s still cradling your face, and you lift your hands to loop around his wrists. You kiss him softly. He keeps his eyes shut when you pull back. “Try not to worry too much about me. Just focus on yourself and getting through this.”

The sigh he lets out is shaky, and a single tear falls down his cheek. “I’ll try.”

You wipe away the tear with your thumb and you’re about to try and comfort him further when the moment is cut short by the sound of a door opening down the hallway. “The guard’s back and heading down here,” Spencer confirms when he looks out the window.

You look over each other—you fix his collar, he straightens out your off-center skirt—then quickly move to your chairs.

“You know, I can hardly believe we got away with that,” you remark, lightening the mood and reaching across the table to hold his hand until the last possible second.

“Me either,” he chuckles, looking at you fondly.

The buzzing of the door signals you to pull your hands back and you fold them in front of you, trying to project a perfect image of innocence. You have to stifle a laugh when the two of you make eye contact out of the corners of your eyes.

The door swings open, and the guard doesn’t look much different than before, just red-faced and slightly sweaty from whatever he had left to do. “Visit’s over. All inmates are to go back to their cells,” he says, and you notice another guard is hovering behind him. He’s not as out of breath as the first, but definitely winded. You hope Spencer can get the scoop on what went down, because you really want to know.

“Okay,” you say simply, and stand. “I love you, Spence.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he replies, staying seated for the moment.

When you get to the door, the guard steps aside to let you through, but not before studying you with narrowed eyes. You assume he was anticipating one or both of you to protest the abrupt ending of your visit.

You turn to look at Spencer one last time before letting the second guard escort you out. You put on the adoring smile you know is one of his favorites, then press your fingertips to your lips and blow him a kiss.

Smiling back just as sweetly—god, you’ve missed that smile—he pretends to catch it and touches his own lips. For just one moment, with eyes only for each other, he seems completely relaxed.

“Come on,” the second guard says, grabbing your upper arm and tugging you away. You hate being manhandled by the guards, and normally you’d give them a piece of your mind, but today you don’t care. It’s worth it. Because for the first time in months, Spencer looks like himself.

—————

tell me what you thought here!

[l-in-the-light]

Trafalgar Law on touching and being touched

It won't be a perverted post despite the title lol. But I won't stop your imagination, be free!

There's this funny theme going on with Law and Luffy in particular that picked my interest.

Luffy touched him first.

And he later returned the gesture, much more awkwardly.

Again, Luffy grabbed him angrily first.

Law made sure to return the gesture. (btw he also does it with Zoro, who was the first one to wrap an arm around him at post-Dressrosa feast. In Wano Law has no problem grabbing Zoro and shouts at him angrily. Again, it was Zoro who initiated the touch first).

Law grabbing Luffy to teleport them makes Luffy react in a curious way, you wanna know why?

Because it totally feels like this moment. Both Law and Ace, right after getting uncuffed, grabbed Luffy in same way to get him to a safer place. Ace-Law parallel in relation to Luffy kills me. The whole Dressrosa arc's plotline between Luffy and Law is just Marineford Went Well This Time. Ngl I kinda hated Oda at first for that. Now i dig it.

He didn't seem to like that. Luffy says "Let's all get along well!", but Law thinks alliances don't have to "get along".

Mistranslation here. What Law says here, being so surprised, is "nakayoshi ka?!" which means "you two get along?!" or "you two are buddy-buddies?!". It's a callback to Luffy declaring that Law and Strawhats crew should get along (he uses same word then, nakayoku-get along), Law learns here that Luffy's crew indeed "gets along well". You can interpret it whatever way you wish, but I will use it this time to put this scene into context:

The same gesture Luffy did to him before, but Law didn't return it to Luffy - that's because they're not crewmates. But he takes the lesson to heart and "gets along" with his own crew. Omg I can't believe i'm writing it, I make Law sound like this completely awkward adult who doesn't know how to be friends with people.

But bear with me, the shit is only starting. If you don't want to have feels I reccommend you just laugh at it and stop reading here. I digged up a feels landmine by accident. In-depth study starts below!

It's also a possible callback to the "reassurance" Law got from Cora-san. "I'm counting on you to escape" and Law did. He counts for his crew to steer the submarine well in similar manner.

Law's family didn't seem very touchy-feely, so please keep that in mind as well. He's got limited experience with touches and the few touches he did get familiar with were either taken away from him or brutalized.

Law getting patted on the head lovingly by his parent.

Next time this loving gesture happens, he gets thrown from like two-floor building into a pile of garbage.

And then he gets lied to that everything will be fine. We all know it wasn't.

Do you still wonder why he hates being touched on the head?

The sister touches his face gently while showing child Law support and compassion, reminding him not to despair, someone kind will help him.

Corazon doing the same gentle touch to the face while crying for him, thinking of all the pain Law had to experience. Indeed, the world sent Law someone kind. And Law lost him and blames himself for that.

Law holding Lammy's hand while lying to her that it will be alright. He never does that gesture again to anyone.

The sister holding Law's hand.

"Don't come closer! Don't touch us! We will get infected!" even doing the barrier gesture (I guess that's why Law doesn't get along with Bartolomeo). I used only few examples, there is much more, I just couldn't bear posting them all. Anyway, Law's got the message, his touch is unwanted. The body and mind remembers this.

Similar shit said at the auction in Sabaody about Fishmen, we don't see Law's reaction to that, but we can guess already that it was for sure triggering. Those people talking are sitting not that far away from him.

Ever wondered why Law throws people when teleporting? Besides the fact he avoids making contact with anyone unless they initiate it first, because that trauma is still strong in him ("Stay away! Don't come closer!"), there is one other possible reason:

Wonder no more! He does it to people because that's how people treated him as well, even people who apparently loved him.

Now that I have ruined the "Law is just an awkward unsocial nerd" joke for you, let me offer something to warm your heart a bit in exchange:

Corazon made sure to touch Law a lot and hold him in his arms, despite being often clumsy about it. I think he understood Law's trauma about being touched and his fear to touch or approach anyone, and tried to help him overcome it.

Being hugged and trying to return the gesture. Corazon's efforts did bring some results! But it only works for very few people, Law is still wary of people he doesn't know well. He expects to be unwanted and acts uneccessarily cold, distant and unapproachable because of that. But if you scroll back to the beginning of this post, you can see that he is trying his best to overcome it as well, one step at a time. Some things just can't be rushed.

And hey, at least he seems to be actually relaxed and almost like he *enjoys* being carried around. You think it makes him look uncool? Definitely. But suddenly it feels like Something Important, kinda intimate in a way and not just a silly comedy moment. It's a sign Law relies on people when he lets them carry him and that's why he doesn't protest.

Sanji is like "Why are you relaxing like that?! Get off!!" Finally, it makes sense why Law makes such a sour face here. Sanji should be grateful for the rare privileage after all! Anyway, this is anime-only extension, in manga Sanji actually doesn't tell Traffy to get off and Law chooses to scramble by himself, which doesn't taint the fragile trust those two just shared.

For those who made it to the end of this post, have I ruined Law's comedy moments for you forever? Because I sure just did that for myself.

I could also add one more cute thing from One Piece World Seeker Law's dlc, but I will let those interested to discover it by themselves!

I'm also amazed by the consistency of this theme. Both manga and anime never forget that touch is seemingly a big deal for Law.

[prettycalla]

|| litatio ||

Pairing: Geta/Reader/Caracalla

Summary: You have heard tale of the monsters that lie within the Palace walls. Little do you realise, they have their sights set on you.

Word count: 6k

Tags and warnings: Vampire AU, smut (not terribly explicit, but still very obvious), horror elements, mentions of blood and death (but nothing too graphic), biting, this is not emperor shipping - they're solely interested in reader, reader has the "mark me down as scared and horny" vibe, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(All of this started as comments about Geta that got way out of hand, and well, here we are. Whoops. @getaapologist also has a fantastic Vampire AU, please check out her work! She's like, the Queen of writing Geta to me. I also have some more Vampire AU posted - you can find it here!)

Masterlist || Taglist

There are rumours that echo through the halls of the Imperial Palace. Whispers passed quickly between servants.

Of the monsters that lurk within the grand walls.

Try as you might, it is difficult to ignore them. At first, you had thought they were merely the overactive musings of bored kitchen workers. But now…

A third person has gone missing. Stolen from their bed. If the violent scene left in their quarters is anything to go by, it was not quick.

Whatever it is, it knows what it does.

You do your utmost to keep yourself safe, keeping solely to the kitchens and the servant’s quarters as best you can. The Palace is deathly silent at night now, and everyone travels together in pairs or more where they can.

It is strange, but even with all of your safety measures, you cannot help but feel as though…something is watching you. It makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end. You try to convince yourself that it is the collective fear of those around you that is causing these deluded thoughts, but it does not work.

The feeling persists. You are losing sleep. The paranoia continues to loom and spread like a disease.

A fourth servant is soon found to be missing from their bed. They, too, met a violent end.

You mention the idea of passing the information along to the Emperors. It is immediately dismissed.

“As if they would care about what happens to us” is the sentiment you are met with, again and again.

“Perhaps if it were to be framed as concern for their safety,” you argue, but still you are met with resistance.

You decide to take matters into your hands. The next morning, you rush through your tasks as best you can, so that you may have a little time to slip out and make good on your word, at least to yourself. You tell no one, wanting to avoid the ridicule that would certainly follow.

It is a long walk, made longer by the dread that sits like lead in the pit of your stomach. It is not purely from why you must make such a visit to the Emperors - it is the Emperors themselves that leave you filled with apprehension.

Geta and Caracalla are the most feared men in the Roman Empire, and you, lowly servant that you are, have never been in a room with them alone. It has always been at grand banquets and festivities, pressed against a wall and hidden in the shadows until you are called upon. Never have either of them called upon you personally, and so you have yet to see them other than from afar.

You can feel the palms of your hands growing clammy from the very thought of it.

When you finally reach the throne room, you are met by a pair of large, intimidating Imperial guards, standing on either side of the grand doors. They cast a brief glance in your direction, but say nothing.

You muster what little courage you have.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice smaller than you would like it to be. "I need to speak with the Emperors."

One of the guards raises an eyebrow at you, before returning to a neutral expression once more.

You try again, determined to complete your task; however scared you may feel.

“Please, it is an emergency,” you beg, your hands clasped tightly to your chest.

The guards give you their full attention then, looking over your form before casting a glance at each other. They seem to decide that you alone are of no threat, as they push the heavy doors open to announce your arrival.

You immediately cast your gaze to the floor, for fear of incurring the wrath of the Emperors before you have even started what you have set out to do. You carefully make your way across the room, stopping a few metres short of where the Emperors sit, and greet them with a low bow.

"Speak," a voice commands.

It is low, with a smoothness to it. Geta, you realise.

"My Emperors," you begin, your voice already beginning to tremble.

A wild laugh interrupts you, high-pitched as it echoes through the high-ceilinged room.

"Are we really so frightening to look at?" this new voice asks.

It is Caracalla who speaks now. His voice is hoarse, with a rougher edge to it.

You reluctantly raise your head to look at them, keeping your gaze just shy of theirs. Both sets of eyes watch you carefully - it is intimidating, to say the least. Now that you are so close, you are able to see the differences in them. The fullness of Geta's mouth, the curve of Caracalla's nose. You knew them to be handsome, of course, but this...You are finding yourself growing distracted.

Geta sits on the right, elegant and composed in how he presents himself. Caracalla, by contrast, is almost slumped in his throne on the left, legs spread with his hand resting on his cheek. His robes mercifully provide him with some modesty, you cannot help but think to yourself.

"What business do you have with us?" Geta asks. "We do not have all day."

"My Emperors, forgive my intrusion, but there have been attacks in the servant's quarters of late," you reply, clutching your shaking hands tightly.

Caracalla lets out another high-pitched giggle. You hold your tongue, in spite of your irritation.

"We are concerned, Emperors, that you may both be in danger if this...creature is not stopped," you continue.

"Creature?" Geta asks. "What makes you think it is a creature?"

"The...The deaths," you manage to say, your voice failing you for a brief moment. "There is such violence to them. It cannot possibly be mortal."

There is a moment of silence then, that stretches long and uneasily across the grand room.

Caracalla sits up suddenly, as if he has realised something. He leans in close to his brother, whispering something in his ear that you cannot decipher. A small smile tugs at the corners of Geta's mouth. It sends a chill down your spine.

"I must thank you for bringing this matter to our attention," he says.

His tone is different now, but you cannot quite place why. It is still calm, even pleasant, but...

Whatever it is, it escapes you.

“You will certainly be rewarded for your efforts,” he continues, with a little bow of his head.

Caracalla's smile is too wide as he looks at you.

“Yes,” he says, nodding enthusiastically. “Most certainly rewarded.”

You cannot help but feel uneasy at their words, but you dare not show it. You bow politely instead, with a gracious smile.

“I am most grateful for your time, my Emperors,” you say. “I will leave now to return to my duties.”

It takes everything in your power not to run from the room the moment you have turned your back to them. As soon as the grand doors close behind you, you take off, scurrying back to the safety of the kitchens.

You say nothing of your visit, and no one is the wiser. You hope that you have been able to make a difference. Something has to change, things cannot go on as they are.

Your thoughts are unfocused as you go about your work. You cannot stop thinking about the Emperors. You knew them to be unsettling in their presence, but even so...

Something eludes you. Something that feels important.

You are unable to sleep as you lay in bed that night. The two other servants who share space with you have since fallen asleep, their soft snores echoing through the otherwise silent room. Normally it is soothing to you - you find comfort in knowing that you are not alone, particularly recently - but now your mind knows no rest. You think back to the events of the day, of meeting the Emperors. Of Caracalla's cruel laugh when you relayed your story, of the disconcerting smile Geta had given you.

What had Caracalla said to him?

You go over it all, again and again, until your eyes are unable to remain open any longer. You try your best to resist, but it grows more difficult, nearing impossible.

Just where are you hiding?

A voice, sudden and unbidden, as if from somewhere in the recesses of your mind. You know it, you are sure of it. But from where?

You sit up, straining your ears as you listen for it again. You do not dare leave the room, but you must know who it was that spoke.

Perhaps the paranoia that lurks within each of the servants has finally infected you too; yet still you sit in wait, hoping that you will hear it again.

Hours pass, and your exhaustion finally defeats you. You think no more of it, as you drift off into fitful dreams of fiery hair and dripping blood.

Time passes, and the situation is only growing worse. More and more servants are disappearing, only to be hastily replaced with new ones. Tensions rise ever higher, and no one dares even speak the names of the disappeared, for fear that it will bring some sort of curse upon them. Even you, polite as you are, barely stop to recognise the newcomers anymore, as you know that it will not be long before they are gone once more. It is a miracle of the Gods that you are still living. It is a sobering thought, and one that has cost you much sleep, amongst the many others that plague you night and day.

But it is not only that. Your dreams, having become more violent and terrifying as a result of the growing carnage in the servant's quarters, have now taken an even more unsettling turn. Almost every night since your meeting with them, you have dreamed of the Emperors. They are not unpleasant dreams, and this is what worries you most.

Of deft hands trailing across your bare skin, low voices drawling enticing, sinful words in your ear. Of sharp teeth, tearing into your flesh, rivulets of blood cascading into eager mouths.

They leave you sweating and trembling in the dark. They should leave you filled with terror, yet they do not. You speak of them to no one.

It has not escaped your notice how close it is to the arrival of Dies Sanguinis - the Day of Blood. It should not matter; surely whatever monster that lurks within the Palace does not give care to festivities. But even so…It feels too much of an ill omen for you to ignore.

The preparations for the upcoming celebrations leave everyone so busy that it is difficult to think of anything beyond the task at hand. Even you are struggling to remain vigilant when you are constantly called back and forth from various parts of the Palace.

The warning you had passed to the Emperors has clearly gone unheeded, as instructions for preparation for a full feast are passed down to the kitchens early one morning. You, of course, held no illusions as to whether they cared about their servants, but you had thought that they would care enough about themselves to reconsider the usual display of imperial grandeur. You cannot shift the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, even as you are run entirely ragged with errands.

It had been an unusually warm day for so early in the year; closer to the hazy heat of summer. Even the evening air still holds a thickness to it, and you are struggling to keep up with everything you must do. You know it is not the wisest decision, but you need a moment to cool yourself, lest you faint and make yourself an even more enticing target for…whatever it is that roams as freely as it does.

You allow yourself a brief detour through the gardens. It is simply another route back to the kitchens, you convince yourself, and there are enough people enjoying the festivities within the Palace that you feel a little safer, should anything happen.

You stop for a moment at the stone fountain situated in the centre, cupping little handfuls of water to drop across the insides of your wrists. Immediately, you feel the cloying heat that has followed you for most of the day begin to lift.

You find yourself momentarily distracted by the relief of the fountain water, and it takes a moment before you realise that someone is speaking. You lift your head. There is no one there; rather it appears to come from behind the large columns that run along the outside of the Palace.

It is a familiar voice, but you cannot decipher what it is saying.

Another voice follows, higher in pitch. A woman, perhaps.

You still cannot understand, but if their tones tell you anything, it is not a conversation you should be eavesdropping on, you quickly realise with burning cheeks.

You move to continue on your way, to give them their privacy, when-

It is then that you hear it.

A sharp shriek, followed by a sickly snap and a dull thud. Your heart is quickly gripped by terror, and you frantically whip your head up to see if you can find where the petrifying din had come from.

There.

A shadow, a shapeless silhouette lurking behind the columns. The voice you had heard before?

You try to move, to make your escape, but you are so focused on avoiding the attention of the thing that lurks in the shadows that you are entirely unaware of what is now standing behind you.

"Well, well," comes a low voice, close to your ear. "I have never had such eager prey."

With a terrified yelp, you take off running, not thinking of where you could possibly go where you will not be found. Faces are little more than blurs as you pass; so caught up in the fear that threatens to throttle you that you do not think to stop and ask for help.

I cannot be found, is what you think to yourself over and over, as you keep running.

Eventually, the stitch growing ever greater in your side becomes impossible to ignore, and you run into a nearby room. Mercifully, it is empty. You close the door as quietly as you can, wincing as it creaks beneath your trembling hands. As soon as it is shut, you slump to the ground, desperate to catch your breath. It is painful, but gradually your breathing begins to settle.

You manage to stumble to your feet once more, in the hopes of finding something that would be of use as a weapon. It is a bedroom you have hidden yourself in, you realise with a sweeping glance, and one far grander than you are used to.

As you search for something, anything, to defend yourself with, you think back to what the voice in your ear had said in the gardens, replaying the words over and over. You know that voice, you are sure of it.

And what of the creature lurking in the shadows? Were there two of them?

You have to escape, return to the servant’s quarters, warn them-

You are so caught up in the tempestuous whirlwind of your own thoughts that you do not hear the door opening.

You do not hear the footsteps across the floor.

It is only when a hand, strong and cold, slides around your throat that you realise.

You are no longer alone.

Your fingers scrabble to release yourself from your captor’s hold, nails biting into skin.

A voice shushes you, almost mockingly.

“Come now, there is no need for that,” it murmurs, low and smooth.

“Do you realise how long it took for us to hunt you down?” asks another voice, rougher around the edges.

Fear grips you suddenly, and your eyes widen.

“Emperors?” you manage to gasp out.

The wicked cackle that echoes around the otherwise silent room is more than answer enough.

“She is wiser than we gave her credit for, I must admit,” Caracalla says, amused.

“Please- I-” you try again, your voice weak.

The hand around your throat squeezes, and you immediately fall silent.

“Hush,” Geta says softly, thumb stroking gently across your skin. “Save your strength. You will need it.”

He lets go of you then, and you stumble forward, your knees hitting the ground harshly. A hiss of pain escapes you, as you frantically turn yourself over to finally look the Emperors in the eye.

Geta is as calm and collected as ever, hands neatly folded in front of him. He looks down at you with an expression almost akin to pity.

“You were most kind to come and warn us as you did,” he says. “But your efforts, while laudable, were for naught.”

Caracalla crouches down in front of you, and you instinctively pull back, moving until your back hits the wall behind you with a soft thump.

“You need not have warned us of the “monsters” that lurk within the Palace,” he says, almost gleeful, “for they stand before you now.”

He grins, and your blood runs cold as your gaze drops to his mouth. Glinting in the low light of the lanterns are two elongated teeth, sharp as knives and equally as vicious-looking.

Fangs.

"What- What are you?" you manage to stammer out.

You feel as though you are about to choke on your heart. You have never felt terror like it.

"We are as the Gods made us," Geta replies.

The simplicity of his answer surprises you. That cannot be all there is.

Caracalla is still crouched in front of you, blue eyes eerie in how closely they watch your every movement. His gaze flicks from your face to your neck, over and over. It makes your skin crawl.

"You...are the ones responsible," you murmur. "For the...For the deaths."

Geta hums in response.

"When you are made as we are, there are certain rules that must be followed," he explains. "We cannot eat as we once did. So, other...arrangements must be made, shall we say."

Caracalla bares his teeth once more, as if to impress upon you the point Geta is making. It is not necessary.

"And now that you have seen us..."

Geta trails off for a moment, as if savouring his next words.

"...I am afraid that we cannot allow you to leave."

You shake your head vehemently.

"Please, I- I will not tell a soul," you beg. "I swear on my life. I will keep your secret until my dying breath. Who would even believe me?"

Geta tilts his head, dark eyes watching you closely, as if in appraisal.

"You misunderstand," he replies. "While there are certain loose ends that must be tied up, we are not entirely concerned as to who you might tell of this. No, it is more than that."

Caracalla leans closer to you still, shaky breaths passing his parted lips.

"It is you," he murmurs with an unsettling smile.

"When you came to us, to warn us," Geta says. "It was then that we realised. What we had been searching for."

"Where you had been hiding," Caracalla finishes.

"Me? What are you talking about?" you ask, brows knit together in confusion.

"The servant's quarters are small, and there are so very many of you," Caracalla replies, "I have had great difficulty in seeking you out."

Your head feels as though it is swimming. With each new piece of information they provide you, you find yourself understanding less and less.

"Why me?" you persist. "It does not make sense."

"Oh, but it does," Geta replies. "My brother and I have particular tastes, myself more so. We are Gods, we do not drink swill."

He smiles then. For the briefest moment, his face contorts into something beyond your worst nightmares. You quickly blink, and he is once again as handsome as he ever was. You cannot have imagined it, surely.

"You will be far sweeter than anything we have yet tasted, I can already assure it," Caracalla says, bringing your attention back to him.

He is much closer now; his cold breath ghosting across your skin. You cannot move, entirely trapped as you are.

Your pulse is thrumming beneath your skin. Erratic, convulsing. How the air feels just before Jupiter strikes the sky with his mighty ire. In this very moment, you are little more than a rabbit, cornered by a hungry wolf.

And Caracalla…

Caracalla is ravenous.

He moves then, with a swiftness you cannot possibly have anticipated. He presses close to you, his mouth not quite touching the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder. You dare not move, for fear of what he might do. Trembling sighs escape him, sending shivers through you and leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

He is fighting for control. With what exactly, you cannot say, but he appears to be losing.

He breathes in; a long, shaky sound that leaves your blood running cold in your veins. In an instant, he rises, dragging you to your feet as well. His hands grip harshly at your arms.

“Caracalla,” comes Geta’s voice, low and commanding.

Warning.

He is closer than before, but no longer within your line of vision.

Caracalla snarls in response, a gust of breath beating against your skin, and you jolt in his hold. Your heart stammers, and his grip on you tightens.

“How long do you expect me to wait?” he demands. “Let me take-“

“No,” Geta interrupts harshly.

Fabric rustles against the marble floor as he draws closer still. Finally, you can see him. Your eyes meet, and the little safety you felt at his presence quickly wanes. His eyes are dark, almost black now; his gaze hypnotic in its intensity. You cannot bring yourself to look away.

He reaches out to you, taking your chin in his hand. His thumb gently strokes across your cheek, before dragging across your lower lip.

“You will wait,” he says lowly.

He is addressing his brother, yet his eyes never leave yours.

“Why should I?” Caracalla snaps in response.

He is close, so close to losing his temper, yet Geta's words still hold him in place.

“It will be all the sweeter for it, I assure you,” he replies.

A smile spreads across his face, exposing the sharp fangs that lurk within.

If it were not for Caracalla’s unnaturally strong grip on your arms holding you up, you would surely have fallen to your knees by now. Your pulse thrums beneath your skin so violently, it leaves you lightheaded.

“Perhaps we might…indulge her first?” Geta suggests, his gaze raking over you as he does so.

Caracalla draws back then, however reluctantly. His bright gaze roams across your face, sharp teeth biting at his lip.

He looks feral. No other word can possibly describe him better.

“Yes,” he replies thickly. “Yes, we…we should.”

You cast a glance between the two of them, hoping that perhaps they might explain themselves, as your mouth is so dry from fright that you are unsure if you can even form words.

Geta’s hand has not left you; his touch leaves your skin scorched.

“Tell me,” he begins, finally addressing you. “What thoughts have you had of us?”

Your eyes widen. He laughs then, as if he is mocking you.

“Do not pretend as if you are a Vestal,” he says. “There is no use in hiding it.”

You try to swallow, anything to make your mouth move-

“Did you know that each of us has a different gift?” Geta asks.

Each of us.

There are more of them.

“My brother has a sense of smell that could rival a shark’s,” he continues. “That is how we were able to find you in the first place.”

He leans in, his tongue licking at the corner of his mouth.

“And my gift…”

Caracalla lets out a giggle. He knows, of course he does.

“…is the ability to read thoughts.”

You feel your stomach drop at his words.

“So, I will ask you again,” he says lowly. “What thoughts have you had of us?”

He tilts his head.

“Or perhaps, you have had thoughts of only me,” he says with a smirk.

Caracalla snarls as he rounds his attention on Geta.

“Either way,” Geta continues, not even acknowledging his brother. “You may keep them to yourself. But I will know.”

You desperately try to keep your mind blank, but your thoughts betray you, and an image comes to you in a flash, unbidden. Of you, between the Emperors, undressed and entirely at their mercy. Of the dreams that have been haunting you, night after night.

Geta’s smile widens.

“My, my,” he murmurs. “What filth you keep locked away from us.”

Caracalla looks between the two of you, as impatient as he is frustrated.

“What thoughts does she have?” he demands. “Tell me.”

Geta shakes his head with a small smile.

“Surely you can sense it, even without my help,” he replies.

Caracalla pauses, before his mouth splits into a vicious-looking smile.

“Oh, little dove, you have certainly been hiding that, have you not?” he sing-songs giddily, as one of his hands dips under the hem of your tunica.

You instinctively squeeze your thighs together as Caracalla’s hand drifts up along your skin. You do not want this, you think to yourself over and over.

But you are lying.

And when you meet Geta’s gaze, his expression speaks volumes.

He knows.

“Do as we wish, and we will give you everything you desire,” Caracalla murmurs, fingers tracing little patterns against your skin.

You bite your lip in hesitation. Terrified. Curious.

Wanting.

“It will not hurt,” Geta adds. “It will be as if you are dreaming.”

You do not miss the emphasis he puts on his last word. Surely he cannot…?

You look between the two vicious wolves that stand before you. You do not trust them. But oh…

How you wish to give in.

“Then give in,” Geta murmurs in answer.

Before you can even process his words, Geta’s lips are against yours in a bruising kiss, as Caracalla finally pries your legs apart and claims what is his.

Having so much attention focused on you at once, it is an intoxicating feeling that leaves your head spinning. Your thoughts halt in their tracks, and you desperately fight to remember how to breathe. Caracalla’s fingers move against you in such a way that it forces a sharp gasp from you. Geta’s tongue licks into your mouth, coaxing out a barely stifled moan.

Caracalla’s patience quickly wears thin all too soon, and he pulls back. You cannot stop the little whine that escapes you at the sudden loss of his touch. Geta withdraws then too, nipping gently at your lower lip as he does so.

“I cannot endure this any longer,” Caracalla says, his voice high and strained. “I must have her.”

Geta nods, holding out a hand to you. Without a thought, you take it, allowing him to lead you across the room.

It is with ease that you go, and you cannot understand why. Geta's grip on your hand is light; it would yield easily should you pull away. But you cannot bring yourself to do it. Surely it is a madness that you have been afflicted with. You have lost all sense of reason in your terror.

But there is more, more that lurks beneath the surface. More that you cannot begin to understand.

"You are but human," Geta says, as if in answer. "You will always fall victim to your baser urges."

You cannot find the strength to argue with him, with any of it.

Geta climbs onto the bed, settling himself comfortably in the centre. He truly is the very picture of royalty, lounging against the plush pillows. He reaches out for you once more, as Caracalla's hands press against your shoulder blades, urging you forward. He need not bother, as your mind is so rapidly becoming lost in your growing desire.

You allow Geta to pull you up onto the bed with him, Caracalla mere millimetres behind you. The stark contrast in the two of them is astounding: Caracalla is hasty, impatient; whereas Geta looks as though he could not care less, legs spread in a languid manner and eyes half-lidded as he watches you.

Caracalla's hands fidget with the hem of your tunica as you sit on your knees in front of Geta. He is clearly restraining himself from what he truly wants, and you cannot help but wonder how much control Geta holds over him.

"Not as much as I would like, I assure you," he murmurs, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

Your eyes widen. How many times will you forget this ability of his?

Caracalla lets out a huff of impatience, harsh against the nape of your neck.

"Undress her," Geta instructs, resting his cheek in his hand. "And mind your manners."

Caracalla mutters something obscene under his breath that under normal circumstances would have made you laugh. But this...

This was far from normal.

Eager hands tug your tunica from you, and your shoes and undergarments are quick to follow.

Geta's gaze travels slowly along your body, now bare before him. He sucks in a small breath as he stops at your thighs. You try to clench them together, but it is too late. He has seen it. The evidence of your arousal.

Caracalla's hands slide around to your front to cup your breasts. You gasp at his touch, and a moan escapes him in response. He presses closer to you, and you can feel how hard he is against you. You have a suspicion that Geta may be faring no better, though you cannot see under the folds of his voluminous robes.

"It seems you have quite the high opinion of yourself," Geta says.

Warmth rushes to your face in embarrassment.

Caracalla squeezes you harshly, as if to bring your attention back to him.

"If you two are going to continue this little charade, then I will take what I want and have done with it," he spits in irritation.

You jolt as his lips press firmly against your neck, one hand trailing up to your hair to hold you in place.

"My apologies," Geta says coolly, though he does not look in the least bit sorry. "She is just so...talkative."

You cannot help but glare at him, and he laughs, a soft sound that makes your stomach flutter. Geta rises then, kneeling in front of you. His hands ghost lightly down along your sides, to the curve of your hips, thumbs pressing firmly into the skin there as he grips you.

"Will you take her, or shall I?" he asks.

The question is obviously meant for Caracalla, but his dark gaze is focused on you as he speaks, leaving you squirming in their collective hold.

"I will," Caracalla replies, eager in his haste to answer. "You have drawn this out long enough. I will have no more of it."

Geta lets go of you then, returning to where he had been sitting before. He takes your hands in his, as Caracalla releases his grip on you, and you all but tumble into Geta’s lap. He positions you as he pleases, as if you are little more than a puppet, spreading your legs over his. He is built thicker than you had realised, hidden under so much fabric as he is, and already you can feel the muscles in your legs begin to protest being stretched across his lap as you are.

Neither of them allow you much time to adjust. Geta's hand dips between your legs, dragging across you, and you bite your lip hard to stifle the moan that is almost ripped from you. You are suddenly made very aware of how clothed the two of them are, and your cheeks burn in humiliation.

It is difficult to focus on it for long when Geta's fingers are moving as they are against you, back and forth, too lightly, too slowly. Already you can feel yourself growing impatient. How you wish they would take already.

Geta tilts his head as he looks up at you. His smile is downright dangerous.

"As you wish," he murmurs, and before you have time to comprehend his words, he presses two fingers into you.

Your mouth drops open involuntarily at the stretch of him. You feel so full, it aches, and yet it is not enough. Not nearly enough.

He draws back from you slightly, before pushing back in again. You feel your eyes roll back at his touch.

Geta gives you a knowing smile, but holds his tongue. He allows you a moment to adjust, for which you are grateful. Caracalla presses a hand over your breast, and he laughs breathlessly.

"Her heart is beating so fast," he murmurs, a tremble in his voice. "I do not know how much longer I can wait."

It is not long before Geta is pressing harder, deeper, again and again, until you are trembling in his lap. You can hear yourself, hear how obscene you sound; yet you can no longer bring yourself to feel shame, overwhelmed with pleasure as you are.

Not one to be easily forgotten, Caracalla presses a hand to your jaw to tilt your face towards him, and you go all too willingly. He kisses you, messy and vicious and everything you need in that moment. His other hand slips down your form, to rub tight little circles where you desperately need it most.

You gasp as your tongue drags over the point of one of Caracalla's fangs. Even retracted as they appear to be, they are sharp, and a brief feeling of terror blooms in you, before it is quickly lost once more.

“If it were not for him,” he murmurs as he breaks away, his gaze lingering on Geta momentarily in annoyance, “I would have torn you to pieces by now.”

Geta clicks his tongue. In spite of how he has you now, he is still able to appear as if he is completely in control.

“You have always been a glutton,” he replies tersely. “You must learn to savour your meals.”

Caracalla snarls in response, holding you closer to him as Geta presses into you, again and again.

They will surely ruin you. You do not know how much more of this you can take.

Geta's other hand is on your jaw then, eyes swallowed black with desire.

"She draws close," he murmurs, his voice trembling as he finally begins to lose his composure.

If you had thought they were overwhelming before, you are sorely mistaken. Now they seek to devastate you, dragging you closer and closer to the edge of release you so desperately long for.

It is too much, all at once, and with a sharp cry, you feel that blinding, overwhelming, wonderful wave of ecstasy crash over you.

It is then that they strike. Caracalla is first, desperate in his need, his fangs plunging into your neck. You stiffen in pain, convulsing in his hold, before a soothing warmth envelops you, leaving you docile and dizzy, as if you have overindulged on sweet wine.

Your head lolls against Caracalla's shoulder as he continues to drink from you. Geta takes your wrist in his strong grip, and pliant as you are, you give no resistance. His tongue drags across your skin, across your fluttering pulse, and another sharp sting of pain follows, quickly dulled to a pleasant ache.

You are truly and utterly lost to pleasure; you cannot bring yourself to care if they do not stop. You would gladly let them take and take and take if it meant that you could stay in this dreamlike haze forever.

Time seems to slow, and your eyes feel heavy. It is too much to hold them open, and you wish to let sleep take you.

Rest now, you hear a voice command, as if from within your very thoughts.

You think no more of it, as sleep drags you under.

Voices seem to float around you. Faceless, bodiless. You cannot say where you are, or who you are. It is as if you are floating. It is not an unpleasant feeling.

“What shall we do with her now?”

It is Caracalla’s voice, you think, but it is hazy. As if he is cloaked in fog, somewhere far away.

A long stretch of silence passes, then-

“We shall keep her,” another voice replies - Geta, perhaps. “She is of far greater use to us alive.”

The voices fall silent once more. Another long moment passes, before you are once again lured away by the siren song of sleep.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @lover-rep-fanfic @punkrockmlchael @x-vadon @dubiousmetamorphosis

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[aspirationatwork]

Listen. Sit down around the fireplace with me for a moment.

Artists. Gif makers. People who like memes. Anyone who posts images.

Y'all have got to start writing your own image descriptions. You have to. You really really have to start doing it yourself.

Us, the blogs dedicated to accessibility, cannot keep doing it for you. Well, we can, but we shouldn't have to. We shouldn't have to dedicate our time and energy to make posts that are not ours accessible and you shouldn't expect strangers to do you favors, especially when the work is so thankless. For every post I describe, a hundred more are posted without one.

The original post should be accessible. Adding an image description through a reblog is a metaphorical bandaid when what's needed are metaphorical stitches. Someone's ability to access the internet should not be dependent on the goodwill of others and goodwill that can just be ignored at that. People can simply choose to not reblog an accessible version of a post, whether intentionally or out of ignorance.

We don't expect volunteers to construct temporary ramps for buildings, we expect the building to have its own ramp, built to code.

The next time you see or post art, or a meme, or a screenshot from Twitter, ask yourself- does someone with a visual impairment not deserve to know what this image is about? Why should you get to laugh at the joke and not them?

Just.....just do it. Just write image descriptions. There's loads of resources out there to help you and even more references from the people who care.

Just. Do it.

Start doing then.

Start telling other people to do them.

Start reblogging them.

Accessibility is a necessity and it is not optional.

[sister-lucifer]

A Bullet in the Chamber

Proxies (Hoodie, Masky, Toby) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Horror/Dark Angst 

Summary: They want you to prove your love, to prove that you truly believe you’re meant to be together…with the help of Tim’s revolver, of course.

Content/Warnings: God, where do I start…obviously massive use of a gun, they play russian roulette, descriptions of gore, the proxies are super manipulative and emotionally abusive to reader, just a super obsessive not healthy relationship, this is NOT a feel good fic, it’s implied reader is being held captive 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

“We just wanna…play a little game with you, that’s all,” Tim drawls, his voice deep and lazy as he looks at you from behind his mask. 

You’re nervous suddenly. Unbearably nervous. A cold chill runs throughout your body and makes your stomach convulse in an agonizing manner, and you don’t know if you’re going to vomit or pass out first. You don’t know why. He’s only just started speaking. Maybe it’s the way he drew out the last part of that sentence, or the way he immediately tried to soothe you before you’ve even fully understood what’s going on, or just that look in his eyes that says ‘I want to fucking gut you.’ 

There’s a reason you learned to keep your guard up around these three.

Suddenly the little circle you’re all sitting in on the floor feels much, much tighter than is comfortable, and it doesn’t help that Toby slides in closer, bumping your shoulder with his and flashing you a knowing smirk. What exactly he knows, though, is a horrific enigma to you.

Brian is on your other side, and although he doesn’t move, for a split second he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before his gaze returns to Tim. He’s managing to hold a straight face, but you can see the corners of his mouth just barely twitching as he internally fights to keep the emotion bubbling beneath the surface at bay.

There’s silence for a few moments, you’re not sure how long, but you don’t realize they’re waiting for you to speak until Toby nudges you.

“I, uh…what, um— what kind of game…?” You stammer, immediately regretting your question despite the curiosity that’s gnawing at you like a starving animal. You shudder when Toby giggles, clearly trying to stifle the sound as he bumps your shoulder again. 

Tim thinks over his answer for a moment, scratching at his stubble in a manner that is far too casual. You think he’s going to speak, you’re expecting it, but he doesn’t say anything at first beyond a tired sounding sigh. Your eyes are locked onto his hand as it reaches behind him, and when it emerges once more it’s holding onto the grip of Tim’s revolver. 

“There’s one bullet in the chamber.” 

The world is spinning suddenly as you watch him place the weapon on the ground, and the sound of it sliding across the floor to you makes you sick. You bite back a gag as it slows to a stop in front of you. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as you struggle for words, desperate to pull out some sort of protest to what you know he wants but no sound comes. 

They watch you grapple with yourself for a few moments before Brian places a hand on your knee. It’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, and normally it would be, but now it feels like a threat. 

“Hey, don’t freak out so soon,” He says, lips curled into a subtle smirk, “We did this all the time when we were younger, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

Unsurprisingly, this does little to quell your fears. You’re shaking now, unable to wrap your mind around how they could be acting so nonchalant about putting your lives on the line like this.

“Listen,” Tim huffs, “I’m gonna be straight with ya, kid. We know how you’ve been feeling recently.” 

That hardly narrows it down. You’ve been feeling a lot of things recently, none of it good and all of it confusing. That’s just the sort of conflict born from this kind of captivity. You shrug, unsure what to say. 

“We know you w-wanna leave,” Toby clarifies, “I saw you staring out t-the window the other day…you just s-sat there for hours.” 

That…made you feel a bit guilty. You shouldn’t, but you do. You could’ve at least made it less obvious. 

“We trust you, hon,” Brian adds with a nod, “But we also think we could all use a little…what did you call it?”

He turns to Tim, who yawns before answering. 

“…Group bonding.” 

You shudder at the phrase. Disgusting. 

“I…I don’t think this is the best way to…t-to do that,” You murmur, but your words hold no weight when you can’t even look them in the eyes. You’d never take the risk of making any sort of real fuss anyways.

Tim shrugs, seeming to consider your words. 

“How would you do it, then?” 

You…don’t have an answer for that. Why don’t you have an answer for that? 

“I-I don’t know, I mean…can’t we just have awkward group sex like other, uh…groups, or whatever?” You ask, hesitating to call your dynamic any sort of relationship.

You make sure to tack on a nervous laugh at the end to make it seem lighthearted, but no one is amused. Toby giggles, but he’s laughing at you, and it’s painfully obvious. 

“Don’t stress about it,” Tim says, “Just think of it as a…a test, you know?” 

He sighs when you shake your head no.

“Ya know, like…a way of proving yourself. I mean, you trust us, right?” 

You hesitate to answer that, but nod quickly when Tim narrows his eyes at you. 

“Good. Well, think of it this way: if we all survive this, it’s a sign that we’re…meant to be together.”

“There has to be a better way—“ You blurt out before you can stop yourself, and Brian instantly takes to calming you. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his side. His other hand comes up to your face, holding your head against his shoulder.

“Calm down, baby,” He says softly, “Don’t jump ship so fast. I told you, we’ve all done this before. We’ll even go first to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of, alright?”

He’s not really giving you a choice. 

You nod.

Maybe you’ll be able to just get this over with. If you sit here for much longer, you’re gonna be sick. 

Toby reaches out to grab the gun first. That doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s never been one for forethought, or common sense in general. One day his hubris will get him killed, you think, but for once you’re hoping it won’t be today. 

Not today. 

Not here.

Not right in front of you. 

Brian doesn’t let you go, continuing to hold you against him as Toby makes a show of spinning the chamber, letting it run until it stops on its own. He giggles with deranged amusement as he presses the end of the barrel to the bottom of his chin, looking back at Tim with a crooked grin. 

There’s silent for a few moments, and you can’t look away from him until you follow his gaze to Tim, who is staring back with furrowed brows.

He’s still for a beat, and then he nods. 

A signal. 

Go. 

You have a split second to process Toby preparing to pull the trigger before you bury your face in Brian’s hoodie and he, in turn, covers your face with his hand and squeezes you tight. It’s hardly comforting, but it’s better than nothing. 

The soft click of the trigger seems to echo endlessly in the silence that follows. 

Silence. 

You quickly look back up and are immediately met with Toby’s hazel eyes looking back at you, their corners crinkled with the wide smile that’s spread across his pale face. 

“Lookie there,” He drawls with a laugh, “This h-handsome face is still in tact.” 

“Hardly the better outcome,” Tim mutters with a roll of his eyes.

This prompts Toby to slide the gun to him next, crossing his arms in feigned hurt. 

“You go n-next then, wise guy. If you blow y-your brains out, at least we’ll know you h-had one.” 

“Shut up,” Tim hisses back as he, too, brings his hand up to spin the chamber of the revolver. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You didn’t think they’d be so eager. 

You’re gripping onto Brian’s hoodie so tightly your knuckles burn as you watch Tim press the barrel of the gun to his jaw, angling it upwards toward the dome of his skull.

He’s not nearly as giddy as Toby. He’s straight faced and silent, which isn’t odd, but something in his eyes is darker than you ever remember it being. You can only see his eyes with his mask on, yet you know his expression exactly. He’s staring right at you, and you’re imagining his brains dashed against the wall behind him, his face and any identifying features that once made him human reduced to a splatter of viscera that barely resembles the pieces of a person. 

And when it’s all over, you think, you’ll surely be the one left to clean the mess of what used to be Tim. You’ll be left to scrub the red stains from the floorboards while the others continue on as if nothing has happened, and suddenly you can’t breathe.

The world stills as once more the trigger is pulled with a click.

Then relief hits you like a shockwave when that click is followed by silence.

Silence.

Your lungs fill faster than you were ready for, and you cough and sputter as your chest heaves with newfound breath. Brian rubs your shoulder gently, his other hand reaching out to grab the revolver as Tim slides it to him. The gun is exchanged without a word, only piercing eye contact as Brian lifts the weapon and spins the chamber, just as his companions had done before him. 

It seems so natural for all of them. In the half a second it takes for Brian to lift the gun you wonder how many times they’ve done this, if you’re the first  person to witness this ritual, and if not, what happened to those who came before you. 

You don’t find any hope of getting answers, though, as you watch Brian press the barrel to the side of his head. He gives you a squeeze, and you can’t tell if he’s assuring you or saying goodbye just in case. 

You still haven’t released his hoodie despite the throbbing pain in your fingers. You’re barely a thread away from tearing out a patch, but you can’t let go. You don’t look at him this time, unable to pull your head away from where it rests on his shoulder. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze like you’re trying to crush him, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle and ruffles your hair in response as if he’s amused by your terror. You’re a scared kid to him, a foolish little child running from an imaginary monster despite the very real threat. 

You can hear his hoodie shifting as he adjusts the position of the gun. You can hear the slight scratching against his hair as the barrel moves against his head. You can hear him suck in a quick breath as he readies himself to pull the trigger. 

You hear the click. 

And then silence. 

Silence.

You’ve never been so grateful for silence. 

You nearly jump out of your skin when Toby claps and laughs loudly, practically howling with wildly misplaced celebration. He shakes you in his excitement, unable to get any intelligible words out through his giggling. 

“Shhh,” Brian says with a finger to his lips, “We’re not done yet.”

He’s right. Goddamnit, he’s right. Not everyone has played yet. You were hoping that maybe just this once the higher being that trapped you in this hell would have this minuscule mercy on you, but you were met with a resounding no. 

Brian places the gun on the floor in front of you. You can’t hear the sound of the metal gently knocking against the wood floor, but it makes you feel ice cold. Your world is rapidly going dark as you struggle to make yourself breathe. 

You can feel the others’ eyes on you, three pairs of eyes staring right at you and boring a hole through your skull that’ll surely be identical to the one the bullet will leave. Maybe they’re imagining it, too. 

It seems you’re not moving fast enough for them.

Toby reaches out and grabs your wrist a bit too roughly, forcefully placing your hand on the gun. You wince like you expect it to burn, but you’re left with only the cruel sensation of metal on your palm. 

You weakly curl your fingers around the grip of the gun. It feels impossibly heavy as you lift it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. You force your other hand up, placing two fingers on the chamber of the revolver as you prepare to spin it.

You press the pads of your fingers against the metal, pushing down in an attempt to spin, but the gun slips from your shaking hands and clatters to the floor. You yelp in surprise and clamp your hands over your mouth, tears suddenly forming in your eyes but refusing to flow over. 

Brian sighs. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just disappointed. He picks up the gun, and you think that maybe, just maybe he’s going to let you out, grant you some small reprieve and tell you you don’t have to do this. 

Instead he wraps an arm around your waist and holds you close, and his other hand presses the barrel of the gun right to your head. 

“I’ll do it for you,” He says, as if it’s nothing serious. Like he’s just grabbing a box off a high shelf to be nice. 

You feel like he’s strangling you. He might as well be. It would be a more humane death. 

He’s going to kill you, you think, you’re going to die in this godforsaken house with these bastards, you’re going to die in isolation with no one to honor your body. 

They’ve sentenced you to death. 

You think back to that question of how many have come before you. Is this what they thought about, too? Is this the first, third or twentieth time someone like you has been here? How many unfortunate circumstances have stained the floorboards red over the years this cabin has stood? 

It doesn’t matter. 

None of that matters. 

You’re going to be the next. 

That’s all there is for you to be now. 

A stain of red on the old wood floors will be your only legacy. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you look up at Brian. His expression doesn’t move an inch. There’s no trace of the humor he always seems to have, not even a hint of feigned compassion or sympathy for your position. He’s not letting you out of this. None of them are. 

You reach down and grab Brian’s hand where it rests in your hip, your nails digging into his knuckles. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t even move beyond adjusting his finger to pull the trigger. 

Each second seems to go on for an eternity, yet at the same time everything is moving far too fast. You can’t process what’s happening but you just want it over with, that’s your only choice. 

He’s lifting his finger, preparing to bring it down on the trigger. 

He’s pressing the barrel of the gun into your skin just a bit harder as he readies himself for whatever happens next. 

This is it. 

This is it. 

This is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is it this is…

The trigger clicks. 

Then there’s silence. 

…it.

Silence.

And then Toby erupts with animalistic, ecstatic laughter. It rings in your ears and echoes around your skull in an almost painful manner. You can’t stand the sound. 

You’re alive. 

The game is over. 

All at once relief floods your body in such an overwhelming manner your vision goes dark. You can’t speak a word before you’ve gone limp in Brian’s arms, and he barely has time to put the revolver down and catch you. He holds you in his arms and makes a half hearted attempt to wake you, but when you don’t respond he looks up at Tim with a smirk. 

“Out like a light.” 

Tim can’t help but chuckle, and for a moment it’s even a full on laugh. This only encourages Toby, who’s flopped over onto his back as his body writhes with mirth. 

Brian groans as he stands, pulling your body up with him. He throws you over his shoulder and nods to the others. 

“I’m taking this one up stairs, gonna put ‘em to bed. I’m sure they’ll be whiny when they wake up, and you two better deal with it.”

Tim and Toby nod and wave him away. Toby’s finally stopped laughing enough to pull himself off the floor as Tim picks up the revolver. He shoves it into Toby’s chest, nearly pushing him over. 

“Go put it up,” Tim orders. 

“Or what?” Toby teases as he takes the gun, “You g-gonna get mad ‘cause I won’t clean up y-your toys?” 

“Just do it,” Tim demands with a growl, clearly not amused. Toby rolls his eyes and huffs like a defiant child, but nods. 

Tim starts to walk away, headed upstairs to his own room, but he pauses on the first step and turns to Toby. 

“Oh, and don’t forget to load it,” He adds, “If it’s empty the next time I need it, I’m gonna kill you.”