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tonycries · 4 months ago

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Madam Kamo - C.K.

Synopsis. Bréeding kínk? Going feraI? What the hell is that? Maybe your sweet clan leader husband knows the answer…

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Choso, arranged marriage, mentions of heirs, he’s a little ínsane, elders are awful, MARATHONS, he goes FÉRAL, BRÉEDING, creampíes, a lot of cúmplay, semi-public, dóm Choso, oraI (fem rec), cervíx kíssing, making it fit, bulges, cúmflations, matíng presses, dúmbification, overstím, making him CRY, p talking, spítting, HEADLOCKS, slight 5 + 1 things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.3k

A/N. CLAN LEADER CHOSO CLAN LEADER CHOSO

Choso Kamo - firstborn son of the ancient Kamo clan, more of a myth than a man.

Those who attended the sprawling Kamo Estate never dared utter a word about him; and those who didn’t, well, he was all that they could talk about.

He left no evidence, he left no remorse.

Only rumors of a silent, stoic leader who could slaughter four entirely different clans before he let even a singular whisper of it spread amongst the masses. Ones of pretty mahogany eyes, and a silver bow and arrows that hit the target of your very soul - so fluid it was as if he’d forged the weapon with his own blood.

And then there were the other rumors - more gossip than anything, really. Spread throughout every nook and cranny of stuffy social functions about how the deadly Kamo clan leader had another, secretive side. A softer side.

But, of course, rumors were rumors. Choso Kamo was simply an enigma.

And…your new husband.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes.

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories.

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze.

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting.

But something about it just made you feel hot.

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing.

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound.

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks.

Subtly.

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got.

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits.

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel.

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy.

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices.

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too.

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body.

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt.

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot.

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck.

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now.

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier.

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now.

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables.

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up.

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh.

This was far from over. You were fucked.

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that.

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers.

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend.

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks.

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin.

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all.

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for.

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps.

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off.

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off.

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his.

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts.

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides.

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra.

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle.

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess.

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs.

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin.

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do.

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore.

Ah, he was pussydrunk.

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that.

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck.

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you.

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs.

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted.

“Yeah- yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound.

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would.

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust.

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows.

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.”

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking.

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss.

Hot. Sappy.

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face.

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones.

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did.

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that.

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual.

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter.

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked.

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo.

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him.

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.”

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji.

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds.

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms.

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea.

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic.

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself.

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama.

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song.

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now.

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now.

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?”

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer.

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone.

Very, very alone.

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening.

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to.

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent.

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne.

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin.

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh.

So that was what it was.

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed.

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites.

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils.

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?”

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life.

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks.

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon.

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before.

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him.

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting.

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once.

Twice. Thrice.

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock.

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder.

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre.

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better.

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping.

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind.

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open.

And he was barely even pushing past the tip.

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head.

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs.

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied.

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you.

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot.

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings.

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now.

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s.

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows.

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head.

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea.

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot.

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters.

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now.

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most.

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily.

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock.

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening.

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds.

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut?

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now.

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy.

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder.

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #choso #tonywrites #choso kamo

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aroaceofthesea · 8 months ago

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I gave my sister my programmer's duckie and the house is so peaceful even tho she's studying she hasn't called for help in like 10 minutes

#i 100% made the right decision lol #she laughed at me when i explained the concept but now i can hear her talking to him all the time i dont think im getting him back lol #but with a bit of luck this will mean she can study while leaving me alone which is huuuge like #she called for help like 15 times in the 10 mins before i gave her the duckie #only 1 of those was an actual doubt and not an ''i skipped over this word so i didnt have enough info'' ''what is an equilateral triangle''#i think its especially great bc shes someone who asks for help for literally everything #avan when she knows the answer #which then is a problem in exams bc shes so used to it that it rlly messes her up so she gets 3s in her exams #even tho the day before she can do it perfectly fine at home #im hoping that this duck will 1) make her leave me alone and 2) teach her to be more independent so she can actually do well in exams #so yeah lol im glad i gave it to her i can hear her going like okaay so thats rational numbers and thats irrationals #she just told the duckie she didnt understand smth and is talking to him about it instead of calling me🥺🥺🥺#im so proud of her #mine #life

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kthologue · 2 months ago

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the bet — jason todd

synopsis. it’s harder to keep your relationship with jason a secret from the world's greatest detectives than you thought. (3 times each wayne family member tries to prove that you and jason are together and 1 time they actually do.)

notes. ooc. tooth. rotting. fluff. like 3k words of it and im sick. my first time writing for jason ever yay!

“You know, if you stare any harder, you might actually burn a hole through her head.”

Dick’s teasing voice slices through the comfortable silence between the two brothers, save for the distant sirens and the low hum of Gotham’s never-ending nightlife below them. They’re perched on a rooftop across from an upscale bar, the neon sign casting a soft glow on their suits. Through the massive glass windows, you sit at the bar, leaning in with an easy, disarming laugh as the suspect, some sleazy drug trafficker falls right into your trap.

Jason, crouched beside Dick with his elbows on his knees, grumbles beneath his mask. “I’m not staring.”

Dick lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Then I must be hallucinating.”

“I thought we got you checked out for that already,” Jason shoots back, his voice sharp.

Dick winces, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Low blow.”

“It was pretty funny.”

Dick doesn’t argue, just settles into a knowing silence, watching as Jason’s hand unconsciously flexes against the holster at his hip.

Jason exhales through his nose, his jaw ticking. “I don’t understand why she has to flirt to get intel. We could just beat the answers out of these guys. Hell, we’d probably get it faster.”

The older vigilante shakes his head. “Yeah, because nothing says ‘covert op’ like bashing heads through walls.” His voice is light, but his eyes flicker to the way Jason’s fingers tighten around the grip of his gun. “Relax. Your sweetheart can handle herself.”

Jason freezes, but only for a fraction of a second. His heart, though, does that annoying thing where it skips a beat, both traitorous and stupid.

Your sweetheart.

Not that anyone knew. Not that anyone could know. As much as he wanted to grab you by the waist and kiss you breathless after missions, he wasn’t about to hand his family more ammunition for their relentless teasing.

Dick, for one, was proving exactly why this relationship stayed a secret.

The silence should have been Jason’s first warning. The way Dick just sits there, absently swinging a batarang between his fingers, watching the bar with an all-too-pleased expression.

“You know,” Dick hums, as if lost in thought, “it’s important to let that special someone know how you feel. Your twin flame. That one person you’ve been pining over since– oh, I don’t know, your youth.”

Jason doesn’t move.

Dick pauses for dramatic effect, then casually props his chin in his hand, his gaze flicking to Jason. A slow grin tugs at his lips.

“Hm. You’re blushing.”

Jason’s breath stills. His eyes snap to Dick, but his head remains stubbornly forward.

“I am not blushing.” His voice is gritted steel. “And I haven’t been pining over her for that long.”

Dick tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Huh. Funny.” He leans back with an exaggerated stretch. “I never said who.”

Jason’s fists clench.

Damn it.

His mask covered his whole damn face. There was no way Dick could have seen a blush, no way he could have known.

Jason grits his teeth as realization dawns.

He walked right into that.

Like a lovesick fool.

The next time Jason’s nearly caught is at one of Bruce’s galas.

Jason had grumbled and rolled his eyes when you insisted on attending—something about not wanting to spend the night in a “stuffy ass ballroom pretending to care about Gotham’s elite.” You had countered that it was for a good cause, something you actually cared about, and that Bruce would appreciate the support. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

But, of course, he couldn’t just let you go without making things complicated.

“Matching colors,” Tim observes, arms crossed, his sharp blue gaze flickering between you and Jason.

You school your expression into something neutral. Jason, standing entirely too close to you, does no such thing.

“What a coincidence,” Tim drawls, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“It really was,” you force out a laugh, silently screaming at Jason for his careless mistake.

He had seen your dress before the gala, made a gruff noise of disapproval, and then—without a single word—had left only to return an hour later with a tie in the exact same deep shade of red.

You had almost thrown a shoe at him.

As endearing as the gesture should have been, it was infuriating. He was the one insisting that your relationship remain under wraps, but he was awful at hiding it.

Right now, you can practically feel his warmth radiating onto you, his fingers twitching at his side, itching to settle on your waist. His entire presence screams possessive, yet he’s standing there trying to play it cool.

“Right, Jay?” you prompt, hoping begging he plays along.

“Total accident,” he deadpans.

You mentally facepalm. He is not selling it.

Tim’s smirk deepens, thriving off Jason’s obvious discomfort.

“Well then,” Tim shrugs, barely suppressing his amusement. “If she’s not your date, do you mind if I steal a dance?”

Jason’s shoulders tense. His jaw clenches so tight you’re surprised his teeth don’t crack.

“Go ahead.”

His tone is flat, but you know better. His hands may be in his pockets, but you can see them clenched into fists. His entire body is rigid, like he’s forcing himself to not grab your wrist and pull you back to his side.

You want to laugh. It’s so obvious.

Tim takes your hand and whisks you away onto the dance floor before Jason can change his mind.

He’s is a smooth dancer, you’ll give him that. He moves with confidence, leading you effortlessly through the slow, sweeping steps of the waltz. The ballroom around you is a blur of glittering gowns and dark suits, the music swelling in a soft, romantic rhythm.

You try to focus on the dance, but you can feel Jason’s stare.

It’s burning into you from across the room, a weight against your spine that makes your pulse spike.

Tim notices. Of course, he does.

“I know I have a grand total of one song before your guard dog comes back,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he spins you. His fingers press lightly against your back, his mouth close to your ear. “So, between you and me… you can just tell me if you’re dating.”

You groan. “Why is everyone so obsessed with this?”

Tim pulls back just enough to give you a pointed look. “Because the two of you have been dancing around each other for years. I’m in pain just watching.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Buzz off and focus on your own romantic life, Drake.”

Tim just grins. “Yours is so much more interesting.” He spins you gracefully, his smirk growing as he catches sight of Jason still watching. Still fuming.

He tugs you back in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “So tell me… are the two of you together? Because I’ve been sensing–”

“You’ve been sensing jack shit, Drake.”

The voice is low, sharp, and pissed.

You barely have time to process Jason’s arrival before you feel a hand—his hand—on your waist, warm and grounding and claiming.

Tim barely gets a breath out before Jason smoothly steps in, seamlessly taking his place as if he had planned this from the start. His movements are precise, natural, possessive. The transition is so smooth it’s like the dance was meant to end like this—with you in his arms.

Tim watches, looking utterly delighted.

“Wow,” he muses. “Not even a full song? Possessive much?”

Jason doesn’t acknowledge him. His grip on you tightens, and you feel his breath against your temple as he leans in just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You should step back. You should do something to break the illusion.

But you don’t.

Because his hand is on your waist, his other hand holding yours just right. His body is solid and warm against you, moving with you effortlessly like he was made for this. The scent of leather lingers on him, comforting and intoxicating.

He is looking at you like you are the only person in the room.

And you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until he speaks.

“I don’t like how low his hands were.”

The words are gritted out, low and quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stumbles. You should not find that as attractive as you do.

“Jason–”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “He knows. He’s just trying to het under my skin.”

You blink up at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Jay, it was just a dance.”

His fingers flex against your waist.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words send something electric through you, something dangerous. You don’t have time to respond.

Because Tim, damn Tim, is still standing there, watching the whole exchange with way too much satisfaction.

“Well,” he muses, rocking back on his heels. “That was interesting.”

Jason finally acknowledges him by glowering in his direction.

“Get lost, Drake.”

Tim grins. Because while he may not have gotten a confession, he definitely got confirmation.

After your encounter with Tim, you and Jason had agreed to lay extra low. No unnecessary risks, no slip-ups. No feeding into their suspicions. That plan, of course, went up in flames, quite literally when you almost lost a damn arm.

Jason had nearly lost his mind.

Now, standing in the training room with Cassandra, you tug absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your arm.

Cass, however, does not.

“That’s one nasty burn,” she winces, crouching slightly to get a better look at the angry, blistering wound.

You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “It’s nothing, really,” you say, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just reaching into the oven to grab some muffins, and my arm accidentally hit the hot rack.”

Jason, standing beside you with his arms crossed, snorts.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Told you to be careful this morning.”

The second the words leave his mouth, his body goes rigid. His eyes widen slightly, realizing his mistake.

Shit.

Cass doesn’t even blink before zeroing in.

“What was that?”

Jason schools his expression into mock confusion. “What was what?”

“Don’t play coy, Todd.” Cass’s voice is sharp, her dark eyes locked onto him with an intensity that could crack glass.

Jason ever so stubborn and entirely unwilling to admit defeat, doesn’t back down.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He doesn’t flinch.

Cass tilts her head, unconvinced. “I heard the two of you were on patrol pretty late last night.” Her gaze flickers between you and Jason, noting every shift in body language, every subtle tell. “So tell me, Todd… what were you doing with [Name] this morning too? Did you, perhaps, sleep together?”

Silence.

The tension in the room thickens, settling over you like an impending storm. Your pulse spikes. Jason’s jaw locks. Cass’s eyes remain unmoving, sharp as a blade.

The stalemate stretches too long.

Before Cass can press further, you jump in.

“What Jason meant,” you say quickly, forcing an easy laugh, “is that our patrol ended at around six in the morning. I invited him over for a snack, is all.”

You will her to believe it.

Jason exhales subtly beside you, relaxing ever so slightly at your quick save.

Cass, however, is not satisfied.

“You never invite me over for snacks,” she states, arms crossing over her chest.

You frown. “I’m sorry, Cass. How about next time?”

She considers for a moment, expression unreadable, before nodding.

“I’ll be there at sunrise.”

You smile, nudging her shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

Cass eyes the two of you for another long second before finally, finally, grabbing her bag and exiting the room.

The moment the door clicks shut, Jason lets out a heavy breath.

Without warning, his large frame topples over yours, his solid weight pressing against your back as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he mutters, lips brushing the sensitive skin near your ear. His voice is low, gravelly, full of something raw and unguarded.

His arms encircle you, pulling you flush against him.

You bite back a smile, leaning into his warmth.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” His lips graze the nape of your neck, lingering.

“Not nearly enough,” you murmur.

It’s a lie.

Because Jason tells you every single day.

If not with his words, then with the way he looks at you. With the way he touches you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. With the way he freaks out over every little injury, over every near miss, like the thought of losing you would be enough to unmake him.

And God, if he wasn’t so damn obvious about it.

Your charade finally comes to an end on a rare night. The entire family gathered around the Wayne Manor dining table. It had taken weeks of convincing, countless rescheduled plans, and Alfred’s unshakable will to make it happen. You silently applaud him, watching as he moves seamlessly around the table, topping off glasses and making sure everyone eats.

The conversation is lively but controlled, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air: no fights. Bruce was actually eating rather than brooding, Damian had only thrown out two insults so far, and Tim was at least half-awake. For a Wayne family dinner, this was practically peaceful.

No one notices that you and Jason are sitting a little too close, they’re all too engrossed with the hearty meal and a rare opportunity of having a civil conversation with each other.

Jason, ever the attentive boyfriend, wordlessly reaches for the serving platter and places another thick slice of roast onto your plate. Then, he carefully spoons asparagus onto your dish, making sure it’s coated just enough with hollandaise sauce just the way you like it.

“Eat up, sweetheart.” His voice is low and smooth, meant just for you.

Your heart does a little flutter at the name, and your lips tug into a smile as you pick up your fork.

But then a familiar voice turns the entire night around.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Damian’s voice cuts through the table, as sharp as one of his throwing knives, “but doesn’t ‘sweetheart’ have romantic implications?”

Silence.

A few forks hover mid-air. Bruce pauses as he cuts into his steak. Dick, who had been talking to Cass, freezes mid-sentence. Tim, who had been half-heartedly scrolling through his phone under the table, suddenly looks very awake.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Dick leans back in his chair, grinning like he just hit the jackpot. His eyes flicker with amusement as he clasps his hands together.

Jason’s chewing slows. Your eyes flicker to his face, trying to gauge his reaction. This was it. The moment he always dreaded.

“Todd just called [Last Name] ‘sweetheart,’” Damian supplies, ever helpful, pointing at the two of you with his fork.

Cass and Tim share a knowing glance, both nodding in quiet confirmation.

Dick gapes. “In front of my salad?”

Jason, rather than looking panicked, looks entirely unbothered. Too unbothered. His jaw moves as he stuffs another carrot into his mouth, chews deliberately, and then–

“It’s our one-year anniversary next month.”

Chaos erupts.

“WHAT?”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Called it.”

“Took you guys long enough!”

Tim smacks the table, rattling the silverware. Dick throws his hands in the air. Cass laughs silently, shaking her head as if she’s just been vindicated after months of waiting.

Stephanie, meanwhile, grabs Tim’s arm and shakes him. “You owe me fifty-bucks, Drake.”

Bruce, to his credit, looks unfazed, save for the slight twitch of his eyebrow. He sets his knife down and looks at Jason with a measured expression.

“Well done, son.”

Jason stares at him for a moment before giving him a single nod, as if they’re discussing business strategy rather than his romantic relationship.

You’re still flustered under the sheer weight of all the attention, but then Jason’s fingers interlace with yours under the table. Warm. Steady. Protective. He gives your hand a light squeeze, and just like that, your nerves settle.

The chatter continues, voices overlapping.

“I suppose that means I won the bet?”

The room stills.

Jason’s head snaps up. “Wait. What?”

Tim, not even looking ashamed, shrugs. “Technically, nobody won. We all knew already.”

Damian scowls. “The condition was that someone had to prove it. I did that tonight. Therefore, I win.”

Jason straightens in his chair, voice dangerously low. “Hold on. You had a bet?!”

You grimace, bracing yourself as the night takes a turn.

Tim leans back in his chair, smirking. “Oh, yeah. This has been going for months.”

“How much?” Jason demands, his eyes narrowing.

Dick, grinning, raises his glass. “A hundred bucks.”

Jason turns to you, betrayed. “Did you know about this?”

You shake your head furiously. “I would’ve rigged it to win if I had.”

“Unbelievable,” Jason mutters, rubbing his temples.

But then he feels your thumb brush gently over his knuckles, and suddenly, the noise fades into the background. He turns to you, the frustration melting from his features as he takes in the warmth of your smile, the way your eyes are only on him.

You squeeze his hand. “Well,” you say softly, just for him. “At least we don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

Jason exhales a low chuckle, shaking his head before turning to you fully. There’s adoration in his eyes, open and raw and entirely unguarded. His lips form the silent words, ‘I love you,’ and though no sound escapes, you hear it in the way his eyes soften, in the way his fingers tighten just slightly around yours. Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest, and without thinking, you smile radiantly, mirroring the love on his face.

thank you for reading! comments n reblogs are appreciated 💋

#kt.writes.·:*¨༺#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd/you #jason todd imagine #batfam x reader #batfam fanfic #red hood x reader #red hood x you #batfam fluff

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daryltwdixon · 2 months ago

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Summary: You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

|| smut MDNI 18+, pinv, no outbreak, talk of infertility, not cheating but def not exactly kosher, baby makin', breeding kink, dirty talk, size kink, boundaries being crossed || notes: forgive me father for I have sinned. this is filthy. but also thinking about a part 2. kinda sorta maybe inspired by some crazy reddit stories. you'd be surprised how many there are like this LOL

You knew this was a crazy idea. Batshit crazy, actually. You were aware. But maybe, just maybe, if you spun it the right way, if you framed it with enough love and logic, it wouldn’t seem so absurd.

See, the thing is, you and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. Trying and, well, failing. It wasn’t until your last visit to the OB-GYN that a simple question—"Has Tommy ever been tested?"—sent everything spiraling. A few weeks of waiting. A single piece of paper. An answer you never expected. It wasn’t you. It was him.

Not that you’d ever blame him. You loved him too much. But no matter how many old wives’ tricks you tried—holding your legs up after he emptied himself into you, orgasms before and after, cinnamon and honey in your morning tea—nothing could change the fact that no amount of effort would make it stick.

Which brings you to now. Sat at the kitchen table in your quaint, cozy home with Joel across from you, a few glasses of wine deep. His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mildly entertained from whatever dumb story Tommy had been telling. You’d needed a glass yourself, just to steady your nerves.

And then Tommy popped the question.

Joel blinked once. Twice. His mouth opened, then shut again, then opened just enough for a noise—somewhere between a scoff and an incredulous laugh—to escape. He shifted in his chair, pushing back just slightly, like he needed to physically distance himself from what he was hearing.

“You…” he started, then stopped. Shook his head. “You want me to—?”

He didn’t even finish the sentence. Just motioned vaguely, like the words were so ridiculous they refused to come out of his mouth.

Tommy sighed, his grip firm around your hand while the other wrapped around your shoulders. “Yeah.”

Joel exhaled sharply, eyes darting between the two of you, like maybe, just maybe, this was a joke. That you'd all start laughing and point at him with a big 'got ya!'. His lips parted slightly, his forehead creased.

“You’re serious.”

“We wouldn’t ask anyone else,” Tommy said, voice steady.

Joel let out a breathy laugh, hollow and disbelieving. He dragged a hand down his face before pressing his palms against the table, fingers splaying out like he needed to brace himself.

“This ain’t a normal conversation to be havin’ over dinner, Tommy.”

“We know.”

“Do you?” Joel snapped, finally looking at his brother again, his voice sharper now. “Because I gotta tell ya, it really don’t seem like you do.”

“This ain’t easy for either of us,” Tommy said, his voice steady despite the tension winding between the three of you. “But we wouldn’t ask anyone else. We want to keep it in the family, so…the baby would still be related to me.”

Joel’s jaw tensed. His fingers gripped the stem of his wine glass like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He looked over in your direction, but not directly at you, just at the table. At your hand in Tommy’s.

“And you’re…okay with this?” His voice was different now. Lower. Measured, like he was afraid of the answer.

You nodded. “We’ve talked about it. A lot. Ever since the results came back, we’ve been weighing options, and this—” You hesitated, swallowing, trying to gauge if he was even absorbing a single word. “It makes the most sense. More than adopting. More than a stranger. It keeps things in the family.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his ears tinged pink. He still wasn’t looking at you.

Not until you said his name. Soft. Careful.

His eyes flicked to yours, just for a second. Just long enough for you to see everything—the disbelief, the sheer what the fuck of it all—before he dropped his gaze again, shaking his head.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you said gently, exhaling softly. “Just… take some time to think about it.”

Joel didn’t respond.

A few minutes later, he left—no joke, no small talk of the next Sunday night football game could cut through the weight pressing down on the room. Just a stiff nod, a muttered see ya, and the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.

The following Sunday, it almost felt like the conversation had never happened.

The three of you sat at the sports bar, watching the Cowboys play on the massive screens, the air thick with the scent of beer and fried food. Tommy was his usual self, shouting at the refs, leaning into Joel’s shoulder every time the score tipped in their favor. Joel, on the other hand, was harder to read. He was relaxed enough, beer in hand, his usual dry remarks slipping out here and there, but there was something quieter beneath it all—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Not one mention of a baby. Not a single word about what you’d asked of him.

And maybe that was his answer.

When your husband got up, throwing out the excuse of takin’ a leak, the energy between you and Joel shifted. Not in a way you could name—just… thicker. More noticeable.

He sat a seat away, the empty barstool between you like a buffer neither of you had the nerve to close.

You tried to let it roll off your shoulders, but as you sat there, your mind wandered. What if Joel had said yes? What if it worked? Would the baby have his dark eyes, that heavy, thoughtful brow? Would they get that serious little crease between their eyes when they were thinking? His thick hair, his strong hands?

Tommy would still be their father. That was what mattered. That was the whole point. But the idea of seeing traces of Joel—subtle things, the shape of a nose, the curve of a smile…

The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar feeling curling in your chest.

It hurt, his lack of an answer, of course it did. But how could you blame him? You were asking for too much. Asking him to do something unnatural, something messy, something that could never be as clean and logical as you and Tommy had tried to convince yourselves it was.

You swallowed, setting your drink down as the silence stretched. “Listen, Joel—”

“I’ll do it.”

It was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it out loud.

Your breath caught, as you stared at him, mouth agape. The side of his face gave nothing away as he kept his eyes on the TV as you waited for some kind of smirk, some sign that he was messing with you.

But he wasn’t.

Joel kept his eyes averted, like this was the kind of thing a person could say without looking someone in the eye. He took a long drink from his bottle, then set it down with a dull thud.

“You and Tommy deserve this,” he murmured, rolling the glass between his palms as he stared down at it. “To have a kid.”

Your heart constricted at the sincerity in his voice.

He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My life is better ‘cause of Sarah. Don’t think I ever told Tommy that outright, but… it is. I’d love to see him get to have that too.”

You blinked. “Are you…” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “You serious?”

Joel turned to you finally, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since last week before you dropped the bomb on him, “Yeah.” he said finally, “Yeah, I’m serious.”

He was clearly uncomfortable, clearly still working through it—but the fact that he said it at all, that he meant it... that was more than you expected.

To be honest, you knew the baster idea wouldn’t work.

Not that you’d ever say it out loud. Not to your very loving, very kind, very hopeful husband. But deep down, you were pretty sure that by the time Joel had taken care of himself, transferred it into a container, driven it over, and you’d sat back on the bed with your legs up, whatever needed to be alive in there was long dead.

You didn’t bring it up. Couldn’t. Not when Tommy was trying so hard to make this work.

Across from you in the kitchen one morning, another negative pregnancy test sitting between you, your husband sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw before reaching for his mug, “If I ask you somethin’,” he murmured, voice low, hesitant, “will you tell me the truth?”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “Of course, baby.”

His hand rested on the granite, fingers close enough that you reached out, tracing them lightly with your own. His eyes drifted down to your delicate touch against him.

Then, he exhaled slowly and cleared his throat.

“Do you think we should try…” His fingers twitched under yours. “Ya know. The old-fashioned way?”

For a second, the words didn’t land.

Not until you saw the way his eyes found yours and he was looking at you—serious, thoughtful, like he’d been turning it over in his head for longer than he wanted to admit.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Tommy sighed, pressing his lips together before setting his coffee down. “I just think… for it to stick properly, we might need to try somethin’ more… natural.”

Your mind reeled. Heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin before you could stop it.

The idea of being with another man…

Tommy saw it. The way your lips parted, the way your breath caught just slightly.

He stepped closer, smoothing his hands over your cheeks, tilting your face up toward his.

“Only if you were comfortable with it,” he assured, voice gentle, steady. “I’d never ask you to do somethin’ you didn’t wanna do.”

You swallowed hard, still trying to process. “I—I don’t know, Tommy.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “And Joel would flip out if we asked that of him.”

Tommy hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “Yeah, he might.”

Might was an understatement.

Joel was over the following day to help with your bathroom remodel, a project the brothers had taken on during the slow season. You were busy finishing whatever odds and ends you needed to get done upstairs when you heard his voice traveling through the house.

Not just his voice—but the volume of it.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind?!”

The sound rattled through the house, shaking the walls as you hovered at the top of the stairs, heart pounding.

“Joel—” Tommy’s voice, calm but firm.

“No. No, you don’t get to ‘Joel’ me right now, Tommy, because what you just said—what you just— Christ.” There was the distinct sound of something slamming—a fist on the table? A chair shoved back? You weren’t sure, but it made you wince.

“Look, man, I knew you’d be pissed,” Tommy started, only to be cut off immediately.

“Oh, did you?” Joel’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You knew I’d be pissed, but you went ahead and asked anyway? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I’m already crossin’ so many lines with what we’re doin’, and now you’re askin’ me to…to—!?”

You could picture it perfectly—Joel pacing the length of the room, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair, winding up, because when Joel was really mad, he didn’t just stand there.

“You’re makin’ it a bigger deal than it is,” Tommy tried, tone even.

Joel let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I misunderstand the part where you just asked me to fuck your wife?”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“We ain’t askin’ that, Jesus, Joel, don’t talk about her like—”

“You are absolutely askin’ that.”

“It’s not like that.”

“The hell it ain’t!”

Silence. Heavy, tense.

You swallowed hard, gripping the banister, unsure whether to go down there or stay put.

Then—Joel’s voice, lower now, but still laced with disbelief.

“Tell me you didn’t really think I’d say yes to this.”

And Tommy, just as steady as ever:

“I think you wanna say no.” A pause, and you could almost feel the shift in the air between them. “But deep down? I think you’re already considerin’ it.”

Joel let out a slow, sharp exhale, but he didn’t argue.

And a week later, he was back at your doorstep.

There were three rules.

1. No kissing.

That was the hard line, the non-negotiable. Kissing was too intimate— too personal, too close to something else entirely. You could rationalize everything else, strip it down to the mechanics of what needed to happen, but kissing blurred the lines. That made it mean something. And this couldn’t mean anything.

2. No talking about it outside the bedroom.

No slipping up over dinner, no awkward mentions in passing, no weird jokes over a few beers. It had to stay contained. A thing that only existed in a room with the door closed and the world shut out. Because once it bled into the rest of your life—once it became something you acknowledged beyond those four walls—it would become real.

3. No names

No whispered Joel in the dark, he couldn’t say yours while he was inside you. Names had weight. Names had meaning. And the second you said them, it stopped being about a baby.

So when your ovulation window came within the next few days, you found yourself in your bedroom with the two brothers. When Tommy excused himself from the room—pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out to meet his buddies at the bar like this wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing in the world— you turned to Joel

Over the years, you’d come to know him, grown comfortable with him. That familiarity should’ve helped, should’ve made this easier. But sitting here now, alone in the bedroom with him, awkward was an understatement.

Joel sighed, rubbing his forefinger and thumb along his brows as he stood at the edge of the bed. “Guess we better get to it, then.”

You nodded numbly, tucking your legs beneath you on the bedspread, looking up at him.

He was already tense, broad shoulders squared, avoiding your gaze like you weren’t even in the damn room. He exhaled sharply, then—without ceremony—unbuckled his belt. The clink of metal sent a strange ripple through your stomach, but you forced yourself to focus, watching as he shucked his jeans down to his thighs, taking his boxers with them.

Your breath caught.

Even soft as he was at the moment, he was bigger than Tommy. Thicker.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting his stance, one hand bracing against the bedpost while the other wrapped around himself. He wasn’t looking at you. Not even close. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere off to the side, jaw locked, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he started moving his hand.

It wasn’t working.

Minutes passed, the air between you thick and suffocating, but he remained… soft. The tension in his face deepened, brows knitting, his motions growing stilted.

You chewed your lip, watching as his frustration mounted.

“You don’t gotta sit there starin’ at me,” he muttered, voice gruff, like this was somehow your fault.

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m just… tryin’ to think how I can help.”

His hand stilled. “You’re fine. Just–just give me a minute,”

Then suddenly as the idea struck, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it up.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, eyes going wide. “What’re you doin’?” His voice was sharp, edged in something that sounded suspiciously close to panic.

You hesitated. “Just… thought maybe it’d help.”

“Well, don’t.” His ears were red. “Keep your damn clothes on.”

You huffed. “Jesus, it’s just a shirt.”

He grumbled something under his breath, but let it go, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

Another beat of silence, only the sound of skin on skin filling the air as he fisted himself.

“Can I help?”

His gaze flicked to yours, skeptical. “Help how?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. What do you like?”

Joel tensed. “…The hell kinda question is that?”

“A valid one,” you shot back, tilting your head. “C’mon, there’s gotta be somethin’. What do you like?”

He hesitated, shifting where he stood, uncomfortable. You rattled off a few suggestions, some kinks you’d heard of. He barely reacted.

Then finally, one seemed to slap him upside the head, “Do you like dirty talk?”

His entire body stilled.

His eyes finally, finally found yours.

Bingo.

A slow pulse of heat curled low in your stomach.

You leaned forward slightly, voice softer now. “What kind of things do you say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you, the tension in his jaw loosening, his pupils starting to widen.

“Come on, Joel,” you said, then immediately pressed your lips together, realizing you’d already broken one of your own rules—not even five minutes in.

“Sorry—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “But c’mon, do you want me to talk to you? Or what do you usually say to women?”

Joel’s eyes were suddenly burning into you, his chest rising and falling just a little heavier now. He exhaled sharply, remembering himself as his gaze flickered around the room like he wasn’t sure where to land it, like maybe if he didn’t look at you, this would stay clinical—mechanical.

“I uh…” He wet his lips, voice rough. “Usually will tell ‘em they’re bein’ real good for me,” he said, exhaling through his teeth. “Bein’ a good girl.”

The temperature of the room shifted, the air growing heavy, pressing down on you. A slow, pooling ache pulsed low in your belly. His nostrils flared as his eyes found yours again, like maybe he could see exactly what that did to you.

You swallowed, “What else?”

Joel’s hips twitched. He hesitated, his grip flexing around himself, fingers curling just slightly. You caught the bob of his throat, the faint shift of his stance. He was getting there.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Tell ‘em how pretty they look on their knees.” His voice had taken on a new weight—thicker, heavier, his drawl rolling low in his throat. “How sweet they sound when they moan for me. How bad I wanna feel ‘em wrapped around me, drippin’ and ready, beggin’ for more.”

The room contracted, the air impossibly tight, each breath harder to pull in. Your skin felt hot, your lips parting as you fought to keep your breathing steady. And you knew—knew—your pupils were wide, knew your face was flushed.

Because his was too.

His eyes had darkened, locked on yours, heat simmering beneath the surface. You inhaled deeply, the air between you charged, electric. You reached out, fingers grazing along his forearm. He tensed, muscles flexing beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“You wanna take this off?” you murmured, voice quiet but sure, fingers tracing up toward the sleeve of his shirt.

Joel let out a slow breath, something flickering behind his eyes—hesitation, uncertainty—but then, after a beat, he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor.

Your gaze raked over him.

Christ. He was the epitome of masculinity—broad and solid, built like something carved from rough earth, from long years of labor and hardship. His chest was strong, lined with thick, dark hair that tapered down his stomach in a steady trail, leading lower—disappearing into the patch just above where he was hardening in his hand.

Your mouth was dry, your pulse a slow, deliberate thrum in your veins.

You lifted your hands to the hem of your own shirt, pausing just slightly. He hadn’t looked away.

“Okay?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed, gaze dark, unreadable—but after a second, he nodded.

You pulled it over your head, the fabric slipping away, baring more skin than you’d ever thought he’d see.

Joel exhaled sharply, his eyes dragging down your body, heavy and slow, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes. Your nipples pebbled in the open air, a shiver running through you as his gaze settled there, his breath hitching just slightly.

You reached for him again, fingers trailing along the hard lines of his chest, dipping over the planes of his stomach. He was warm beneath your touch and he smelled like pine and musk and something richer, something leathered and sun-baked—something distinctly Joel.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “O—okay,” he exhaled, voice rough. “I think I’m… good,” he added shakily, and you could see his body finally catching up to the filth rolling off his tongue, the thick weight of him fully hard now. You swallowed dryly at the sheer size of him in his palm.

Standing slowly, your hands dropped from his body, but your eyes never left his as you slid your pants down your hips and let them pool at your feet.

Bare. You were both bare.

Your gaze dragged over him, from the broad stretch of his shoulders down to his stomach, the solid cut of his thighs, his cock standing thick and heavy between you. It was the most you’d ever seen of him. The most he’d ever seen of you.

And he was beautiful.

Joel swallowed hard, his jaw tight as his gaze traveled over every inch of you. Then, wordlessly, you laid back down on the bedspread, opening your legs for him.

He cursed under his breath.

You caught the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched at his sides before he climbed onto the bed after you, settling between your legs. His eyes darted down, locked onto the wetness pooling between your thighs, and his nostrils flared.

“All this from just a few sweet words, huh?” His voice was lower now, edged with something amused but dark, something he hadn’t meant to let slip through.

He shifted forward, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, suddenly shy. “It’s said that women are more likely to get pregnant if, um… if they orgasm during or… or before, I think.”

Joel stilled for half a second before a slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You doubt me so much?”

The teasing edge in his voice—the cockiness—made some of the tension in your chest loosen. You let out a breathless laugh, your body unwinding slightly from the tension earlier. “I just… I’ve never…”

Something shifted in his face. The smirk faltered just a little. “You’re sayin’ my baby brother doesn’t take care of his own wife?”

“No!” you said quickly, your hand flexing against his chest defensively. “He does, it’s just… I can’t finish just from penetration. Most women can’t, actually.”

“I know, darlin’.”

You gasped as the thick head of his cock suddenly swiped through your slick arousal, and he hissed, pressing his other hand into the pillow beside your head as he leaned over you.

“Fuck—”

His voice was rough, gravelly, wrecked, and something about it made your thighs squeeze around his waist, made the heat coil even tighter in your belly.

Joel lingered there, his cock sliding through your slick, slow and deliberate, teasing against your swollen clit with every pass. The thick head caught at your entrance, nudging just slightly, and a gasp broke from your lips before you could swallow it down.

His jaw ticked, fingers flexing in the pillow beside your head, his body wound tight like a spring.

“This okay?” he asked, voice rough, strained.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yes.”

He pressed forward, just an inch, just enough for you to feel the blunt stretch of him, and your breath hitched.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “So damn wet.”

Heat flooded your face, but you couldn’t think—couldn’t focus on anything other than how thick he was, how different he was from Tommy. You felt like you were being split in two, but you wanted more. Every inch only made that need, that hunger, grow.

His hand lifted from his cock, skimming over your hip before settling on your thigh, holding you open.

“Gotta take it slow,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside you. “I can take it.”

His head dropped for a second, a quiet curse slipping past his lips. “Don’t say shit like that, sweetheart.”

Something about that word, the way it left his mouth—low and full of something dangerous—made your stomach clench.

The stretch was slow, unbearable in the best way as he pushed forward even more, your body giving inch by inch, and you let out a sharp exhale as he filled you.

Joel groaned, deep and low, his fingers tightening on your thigh as he finally buried himself to the hilt.

Jesus Christ.

The weight of him inside you, the way he fit—it was overwhelming, taking up every inch of space, leaving you panting beneath him.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his hips flush with yours now, his jaw tight. “You’re—shit, you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight.”

Your thighs trembled around his waist, your body working to adjust to the fullness, to the sheer size of him, and then—oh god—then he moved.

A slow pull out, a deep thrust back in.

You moaned, head falling back against the pillows, fingers flexing against the sheets.

Joel’s breath was ragged, his grip tightening. “That’s it.”

As he began to set a steady pace, a deep thrust in, a gentle pull out, the tingling sensation you knew all too well was rising fast—too fast. It climbed up your spine, coiling tight, and your breath hitched in your throat. The sensation was familiar, so familiar, but not like this. Not from this.

Joel moved with deep, deliberate thrusts, each one stretching you full, dragging against every oversensitive nerve inside you with agonizing precision. His cock was thick, heavy, unrelenting—pressing deep, pressing right, pleasure licking up your spine like fire.

His hand moved between you, thumb finding your clit with ease, the calloused pad brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves, a touch just firm enough to make you jolt. Your whole body reacted, thighs trembling, an involuntary gasp ripping from your lips.

His breath hitched as he felt it too, and he let out a dark, pleased hum.

“Feel that?” he murmured, his voice a slow, deliberate drag against your skin. His thumb moved again, slick and sure, working tight little circles against you. “Now, what was it you said again?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers gripping at the sheets, at him, anything to keep yourself tethered, because the pleasure was coming in hot, hard waves now—building, climbing, making your skin flush and prickle with heat.

“I—I never—” You gasped, voice breaking, lips parting as your back arched into the feeling, as you felt your muscles tighten and clench under him.

Joel leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “C’mon, sweet girl. Use your words.”

Your hips met every thrust, dragging a moan from deep in your chest.

“I’ve never—ah!—never come like this before,” you choked out, breathless and desperate.

Joel swore under his breath.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he rasped, voice dripping in absolute filth and sin, “my pissy little brother never made you come on his cock before?”

The shame of it—the filthy, shameless truth of it—slammed into you just as hard as the pleasure. Your breath came in short, stilted gasps, your thighs twitching, heat curling low and tight, twisting like a wire pulled too taut. You gripped his biceps hard where they caged you in, your nails digging into his skin.

“I–”

“Never felt the way you’re squeezin’ the life outta me right now, baby?” His voice dipped lower, rougher, as his thumb pressed, rubbing slow and tight. “Never had you like this? Drippin’ and desperate? Makin’ the prettiest fuckin’ sounds I’ve ever heard?”

Heat flared in your belly, your legs shaking around him, pleasure tearing through you.

Joel felt it, the way you clenched down around him, and he grinned, breath hot against your mouth as he groaned through his teeth.

“Fuck—that’s it. Let me feel you.”

And you did.

Your body suddenly snapped. The orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and merciless, every nerve in your body firing at once, blinding you with pleasure so intense it was nearly unbearable. Your breath punched from your lungs as your back arched clean off the bed, thighs trembling, a cry tearing from your lips as waves of heat crashed through you.

Joel swore under his breath, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him, and his mouth hovered just above yours, his breath mixing with yours, the air between you thick and electric.

He felt the way your body fluttered around him, still pulsing with the comedown of your orgasm, dragging him deeper, tighter—trapping him. His breath was heavy, coming in sharp, ragged exhales as he dropped his head, his forehead resting against yours.

His hips kept moving quick and uneven, dragging his cock in and out of your still-clenching walls. He was throbbing, thick and hot inside you, every roll of his hips sending sharp little sparks of overstimulation through your system.

That was when, after coming back to earth, you saw the way his lips parted slightly, his breath hitching whenever you squeezed around him just right. The tension in his face, the way his muscles coiled and flexed with every deliberate movement.

He was close.

You wondered��

Your breath was still shaky, voice unsteady, but you let it slip out, slow and sultry, testing the waters, “You feel so good,” you whispered.

Joel froze for a split second, a sharp breath punching from his lungs as he reeled his head back to look down at you.

"Does it feel good for you?” you whispered, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. “Filling me up? Making me feel so full? So good?”

Joel let out a ragged, wrecked sound, his fingers digging into your skin, gripping you like a lifeline.

And in that moment—fuck the rules.

Because this was anything but clinical now.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, letting your breath fan against his ear as you whispered, gentle, teasing.

“You gonna give me a baby, Joel?”

Joel let out a wrecked groan, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace faltering. His thrusts turned rougher, sharper, his body moving on pure instinct now—chasing it.

And then he snapped.

A strangled moan ripped from his throat as he slammed deep, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside you as heat flooded you. His whole body shook, a ragged, guttural sound tearing from his chest as he came, thick and hot, spilling deep, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was trying to ground himself.

You gasped at the feeling, at the warmth spreading inside you, at the way his body shook above you.

Joel was panting, forehead pressed to yours, sweat damp at his hairline, his breath fanning against your lips, warm and unsteady.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Joel was still inside you, still filling you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, grounding you. His breath was heavy, warm against your cheek as he turned his head, his chest rising and falling against yours in slow, uneven waves.

“I should, uh…” His voice was hoarse, thick with something he wasn’t naming. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he sat up. “I should probably—”

You shifted slightly beneath him, still sensitive, still pulsing with the warmth of him inside you. Your thighs trembled, the ache delicious, spreading through you like slow heat.

“You can go,” you murmured, voice soft, a little sleepy. “I’m gonna stay here for a while.”

He hesitated as he looked down at you, your bodies still connected.

You blinked up at him, lips curving in a lazy, satisfied smile.

“It’s said that if a woman stays lying down after, it increases the chances of conception.” You hummed, stretching slightly, body still warm and loose. “Just want to give it time to stick.”

You felt him twitch inside you, like his body had just caught up to the meaning of your words, and then he was pulling out, hissing under his breath as he eased away from you.

His heat vanished instantly, and a shiver ran through you at the sudden emptiness, the cool air replacing where he’d been pressed so solidly against you. You exhaled, tugging the covers up over yourself, shifting deeper into the mattress, letting your body sink into the afterglow.

Joel, on the other hand, was already moving, and fast.

He turned away from the bed, running a hand through his hair, reaching for his jeans like he needed them back on, needed the barrier, needed to be done with this.

“Hey,” you called softly as he stepped toward the door, one leg shoved into his pants.

He paused, turning slightly, just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

You blinked up at him sleepily, the blankets pulled up to your bare shoulders, your voice softer now. “You okay?”

Joel hesitated. Just for a second.

His hands hovered at his belt, his fingers twitching. His lips pressed together, like he was weighing his answer, like he didn’t trust whatever was sitting heavy on his tongue.

Then, he gave you a short, stiff nod. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

You hummed, unconvinced, watching the way his chest still rose and fell in uneven breaths, the lingering flush at his throat, the tension in his hands as he buckled his belt like he was fighting something.

“Okay,” you murmured, turning your head into the pillow, eyes half-lidded, “And, Joel?”

His gaze flickered back to you, hovering, like he was bracing himself.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the blankets, warmth settling deep in your bones. “Thank you.”

Joel’s fingers twitched where they grabbed for his shirt, his throat working around something thick, something stuck. His eyes dragged over you one last time, heavy, unreadable, before he gave a single, curt nod.

“I’ll see you,” he muttered, voice rough, almost hesitant.

Then he turned, and with the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, he was gone.

#Joel miller #Tommy miller #Joel Miller tlou #Tommy miller tlou #Joel x you #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #Tommy miller x you #Joel Miller smut #uncle Joel lol #the last of us hbo #tlou joel #joel tlou #joel the last of us #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #Joel Miller one shot

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sophiamcdougall · 1 year ago

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You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you. I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age." -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.

#ukpol #uk politics #fuck the tories #lost media #data loss #cultural vandalism

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edwardslostalchemy · 1 year ago

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I finally finished to program I signed up for. 😭 It's a certification program and my goodness I'm not just tired but I want to sleep for 2028384 hours. It was so much. It has been a very stressful week not only with the doing things for my new job but also doing this and I haven't gotten much sleep these past few days. I'm gonna sleep so great tonight.

#fran talks #the program: it'll take around 44 hours to complete this #me: oh that's okay i got it #me after finishing: im ready to kill someone but who is the question and the person that made this program is the answer #knowing me i probably took 45 hours #i started EARLY btw #and i still finished with 1 hour to spare #the pros: i get to have a cool new certification #the cons: dont ask me what i learned bc i cant tell you i can only watch it in my brain like a movie right now #eat your fruits and vegetables #exercise #✌️#i just wanted to enjoy this program 😭#i couldn't #do you ever just stop giving a fuck at the end? like especially when it's something about what you least know about?#yeah that was me right now #it had to talk about school nutrition policy and insurances #my brain is so fried i deserve some rice

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nanaslutt · 1 year ago

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Pussy so good he broke the couch

ʚ ft. Perv Roomate Geto

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, dirty talk, spit, unprotected sex, choking, praise, 1 face slap, spit, manhandling, teasing, sexual tension, consensual photography

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

You and your roommate Geto had quite the routine down by now. The two of you would turn off all the lights in the house except for the small side table lamp next to the couch before you gathered the essentials, blankets, pillows, and snacks. Only the snacks often were forgotten about. Without fail about twenty minutes into the movie, Geto would spread his arm out on the back of the couch, scooting closer to you as he did so. That's how it always started.

Of course, when he made such an obvious move like that, you couldn't just ignore him, right? So you scooted closer to him as well, closing the gap between you as you lay your head down on his shoulder, his body heat seeping into your skin. Suguru would soon abandon grabbing the back of the couch and scoot his arm forward, placing his arm around your shoulders.

The entire time the two of you stayed silent, no one uttering so much as a work to the other as the tension in the room grew. Not even when Suguru removed his arm from the back of you and brought it around to grab onto your thigh, his large, warm hand massaging the skin. This is usually where you start to really feel it. Your mouth runs dry, your palms get sweaty, and you have to press your thighs together to relieve the ache.

"You okay?" Geto always asked, noticing how hot you were getting, and you always answered with a smile and a nod, both of you pretending you had no idea what was going on despite the way you looked at each other like you wanted to devour the other. Suguru would slide his hand higher and higher, teasing his pinky on the inside of your thigh, making your breathing pick up.

Now Geto was fully hard and aching in his pants, thank god for the blanket draped across the two of you. Not like you seeing how hard he was matters when he would be buried balls deep inside you in a couple of minutes. Even when Geto started rubbing his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, making your heart rate spike, your breath obviously louder and more stuttered now, he kept his eyes on the TV, pretending to watch the movie as if he wasn't touching your cunt.

Only when you grabbed his wrist and finally moaned out his name so sweetly, breaking the silence, did the two of you give up the innocent act and give in to your desire. This night was no different, and Suguru was currently caging you in with his strong arms, his cock threatening to poke your cervix, as he pounded you into the couch.

"That's all you f-fucking got? G-give it to me Suguru." You moaned, your words coming out broken and stuttered despite your challenging words and cocky smile to match. Suguru shook his head as he wet his lips with his tongue, his hips never letting up inside you. "You want it harder? Huh?" He groaned against your lips, breathing in your moans, making him dizzy.

You wrapped your arms harder around his neck, pulling him closer against you. Each time he thrust his hips inside you, his hard pelvis was rubbing perfectly against your swollen clit, making your toes curl. "Yeah, give it to me harder." You moaned, your words a teasing barely-there whisper against his lips, making him groan in response, his face already flushed from feeling how tight and wet you felt around him.

"You sure? You look like you can barely keep up with this pace." Geto teased, laughing as he raked his eyes across your face, keeping his hips moving. Suguru pulled his lip between his teeth when you squeezed hard around him, his cock throbbing at the feeling. "You s-sure you're the one who can't handle it?" You teased back, squeezing your legs around his hips, pressing his cock deeper inside you when he thrust in.

You opened your mouth a hairs length away from his lips, feigning a kiss which he tried to reciprocate; his own lips parted expectantly; before you whispered, "You seem like you're about to cum already, need to take a break?" Suguru felt the vein in his forehead pop out at your words. The smile on your face was quickly wiped off as your brows knit together when Suguru's hand constricted around your throat, shutting down any more teasing words from you.

"You're so fucking smart today huh? Let's see who cums first." Geto groaned, emphasizing his words by squeezing his hand harder around your throat. The action made stars arise in your vision, it felt so fucking good when he choke you, the feeling always went straight to your cock. He closed the distance between your lips at the same time he picked up his pace. If his hips weren't bullying you before, they sure as hell were now.

You tried to keep up with the pace of Geto's tongue and he forced it against yours, overpowering you with it just like he was doing with his body against yours. Geto was fucking you so hard, his cock filling you up entirely, leaving no part of your walls untouched as he buried himself balls deep over and over. Your moans were being forced out of your mouth and into Geto's by his ruthless hips, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.

You moved your tongue weakly against his, your head starting to go dumb from the reduced air intake your lungs were getting thanks to his iron grip on your lungs. You were granted a little reprieve when he pulled away from your lips and sat back on his heels, your legs forced apart as they rested on his thighs. Geto pulled the fat of your upper thigh against him to make sure he was as close as possible before he started fucking into you again, somehow harder.

This new position was making him feel so much deeper. Your eyes repeatedly rolled back in your head as nothing but incoherent moans and whines left your lips, echoing throughout the room, the movie playing quietly in the backround still. You gripped Geto's wrist for support with both of your hands, the action only making him squeeze your throat tighter.

He shook his head watching your body squirm around against the cushions, he couldn't decide if you were trying to escape his cock or get more of it, it was cute. Suguru's face and chest were now the same color, beat red, as your pussy made him go dumb, his brain on autopilot telling him "harder, harder, harder, don't stop, make her cum."

"Such a filthy girl." Suguru groaned, a pussydrunk smile on his face as he took in your tits jiggling in every direction from the force of his thrusts. "F-uck S-suguruuu-" You tried to cry, pressing your thighs together tightly around his waist. "'S that feel good? 'M I fucking you nice n deep how you like it?" He asked, his balls slapping against your ass making a loud, lewd sound emanate into the room.

You nodded your head furiously in his hold while you repeated, "Yesyesyes 's fucking deep-" Over and over. Geto couldn't believe how someone so fucked out could still manage to look so beautiful. Tears and sweat were sliding down your cheeks and mixing into one, your flyaways were sticking to your forehead and your body was shaking and trembling with every thrust.

Geto released his hand from around your throat before quickly stuffing two fingers into your open mouth. You were too fucked out to close your lips around them, just letting your tongue swirl around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin. "You're so fucking hot, takin' my cock so good pretty girl." He praised, shaking his head at how shameless you were.

The couch made a loud creaking sound with every thrust, challenging the volume of your own moans. It did that every time though, both of you learning over time to tune it out as the sound soon became backround noise just like the TV. Geto's cock leaked pre-cum into your cunt every time you squeezed around him, becoming nothing more than added wetness as he continued thrusting inside you.

He tipped his head back and let his eyes fall shut as he relished in how warm and tight you were, making his balls throb with the need for release but he could tell you were getting close. Suguru hooked his fingers on the inside of your cheek, stretching your mouth open before he leaned over you and gripped your jaw with the other. You were jolted back to reality when Geto spat right on your tongue, your mouth closing instinctively, his fingers still inside, as you swallowed what he gave you.

Suguru sat back up and grinned, his cock throbbing at how eagerly you swallowed for him. He pulled his fingers out from your wet mouth before he pulled his hand back and left a small smack on your face, the noise echoing through the room. You smiled at the feeling, your cheek stinging a bit from where he just hit you, but it was quickly replaced by a kiss as he was now on top of you again, his body caging you in.

"What are you smiling for, huhh? You like gettin' hit?" Suguru teased, squishing your cheeks together. You nodded dumbly at his words, trying to rock your hips back up into him as you kept your cloudy eyes on his. Suguru smiled while shaking his head at you, "so. fucking. dirty." He groaned, emphasizing his words with his hips.

You moaned against his lips when he crashed his face against yours, his hand moving from your jaw to down between your bodies as he found your clit with ease, rubbing against it using small, quick circles. Your moans increased in pitch as you whined against him, his mouth swallowing up your sounds. Your legs shook with oversensitivity. His cock was steadily beating against the most sensitive parts inside you, and now he was rubbing your clit just right? Fuck, it was making you go crazy.

With your arms now snugly around his shoulders, you tried tapping repeatedly against them, a small smacking sound being created from how needily you were hitting him. "Too much? Gonna cum?" Geto teased as he pulled away from your lips. Your back arched off the cushions, your head tipping back with it as you felt your orgasm build up steadily inside you. "F-fuck, fuck don't stop- d-don't fucking stop-" You begged, your eyebrows pinching together with pleasure.

Suguru's insatiable lips found your neck when you tipped it back. His lips and tongue working together against your skin to suck hickeys and lick fat, hot stripes against you followed by kisses. Just when you were about to be pushed over the edge by Geto's fat cock that was fucking you so well, you heard a loud cracking sound followed by a crash.

Geto's cock slipped out of you as the couch split in two, your body falling into the crevice, Geto's arms pinning around you. "Wha-" You mouthed, feeling a slight ache in your lower back from where you had hit the broken wood. Your orgasm had fizzled away the instant the couch broke, but you still felt that tight ball of need deep in your tummy.

While you were trying to put together what just happened using your fuzzy, fucked out brain, Geto's large hand manhandling you took you out of it as you were placed on the floor next to the now broken couch on all fours. "W-wait the-" Your words were cut off as Geto slid his cock back inside you all at once, a groan leaving your lips simultaneously.

Geto seemed to be in a trance as he picked up right where he left off, fucking into you hard and quick, his hand dipping under your body to rub against your clit. "S-suguruu-" You whined, reaching for his hand. You must've forgotten you needed your arms to hold yourself up because as you gripped his wrist between your legs from under you, the front half of your body fell forward against the floor. Thank god for the plush carpet under your face.

"Cum for me, I can feel how close you are, cmon give it to me, n-need to feel it." Geto groaned, his words rushed and voice deep as he spoke. All of his actions were full of lust, he was more fucked out than you now. His other hand grabbed the fat of your ass and used that grip to pull you back against him harder, making his cock ruthlessly pound against your g-spot.

Geto's pace was getting sloppier, and you could feel how often he was twitching inside you, he was about to cum. Your knees pressed together and your feet kicked up between Geto's legs, fluttering as you were worked up to your orgasm again. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as he kept rubbing your clit, sloppy, messy circles doing the job just right. "Ohhhmygod-" You moaned through your teeth, your eyes rolling back in your head as you felt your orgasm crash over you.

Geto's body fell on top of yours, his hand caging you in by your head as he finished with you, releasing rope after rope of hot cum deep in your walls as your cunt pulsed around him, milking the cum from his balls. The two of your moans mixed together so sweetly, his hot breath tickling by your ear as his body went limp, save for his hips that kept shallowly, weakly thrusting his cock inside you, making sure he filled you up nice and deep.

"Sugu..." You whined, turning your head toward him. Geto let you grab his cheek and pull him down towards you, his lips meeting your own in a sweeter kiss, still a little fast, but more controlled. You pulled away from his lips after a moment to catch your breath, your lips parting with mutual pants as you rested your head between your arms on the ground in front of you.

Geto sat up and slowly pulled his hips back, both of you groaning at the oversensitivity. You could feel the strange and slightly uncomfortable feeling of Geto's cum chasing his cock as it dripped from your hole, sliding down your thigh. "mmmmmmm...." You groaned in disgust, your thighs pressing together to stop any more from coming out, to no avail of course.

You felt Geto's fingers pull your pussy lips apart as he oggled his masterpiece before you heard the camera click of your roommate taking a picture, your body getting illuminated by the light. Geto retracted his thumb from your cunt as he whistled, staring at his phone. You pushed yourself up on shaky arms and sat on your sore bottom, now facing him. "Did you just take a picture of my cunt?" You asked, looking at him incredulously.

You didn't care about him taking pictures. He'd done it before and you knew he was too weirdly possessive over you to show anyone else. "Yeah." He smiled, turning his phone around to face you. You were met with the apps on his home screen, only they were sitting on a unique backround, your dripping cunt. "Suguru you are NOT using my pussy as your homescreen you freak." You chastized, trying to snatch his phone out of his hand.

He retracted it out of your reach and placed it on the side table behind him before he faced you again. "It's hot, no one goes into my phone anyways." He shrugged, smiling at you, his face still red. You sighed and shook your head, not wanting to argue right now. You reached out and brushed his hair out of his face before you raked your hand down his scalp, practically making the dark-haired man purr. "Feels good." He said, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch.

"I bet it does." You responded, scratching the back of his head. "You know what's not gonna feel good though?" You asked, keeping a sweet and innocent smile on your face for him to see when he opened his eyes, looking at you quizzically. "Your bank account when you get done buying me a new couch."

Suguru's face immediately fell into a frown, a bit of a dramatic one as he glanced over at the very broken couch before back to you. "It was an accident." He said pouting. "I knowww~" You cooed, smiling at him through the irritation, "A six thousand dollar accident!!" You finished, dropping your hand and patting him on the thigh. "Good luck!! I want a grey couch this time by the way." You smiled, rubbing his thigh.

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websterss · 1 month ago

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THE HAND THAT’S FORCED (1) — ROBERT REYNOLDS

SUMMARY: You hadn't meant to get attached to Bob, much less fall in love with him. You hadn't meant for things to slip out right from underneath your grasp. Out of your control, much like Valentina holding your love for one another over your heads.

WARNING(S): angst, a slur, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death, a bit of a graphic depiction towards the end, Valentina being terrible

WORD COUNT: 2,739

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: Hope you guys like it.

MASTERLIST | PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

"What is this, Bob?" Yelena was curious as they all watched a new illusion appear before them.

"M-My memories..."

"Whose the girl-"

"J-Just watch." Bob silenced John.

"Hi Bob, remember me?" You smile up from your chart.

"You're Y/n." Bob answers.

"Yes, that's me. Would it be alright if I could draw some blood from you today?"

"You're asking." Bob's head remains faced down. You're highly aware of the two former doctors he's turned into shadows right behind you. "The other's never asked..." His brows crease in wonder.

"Well, I...I think we all deserve to be shown some bedside manners. Some respect for our boundaries. You more so than others..." You trail off.

"Do you think you do?" Bob finally raises his head to look at you.

"Do I think I deserve to be shown respect?"

"Mhm."

"I would like to think so."

"Why's that?"

"I haven't given you any reason to believe otherwise. I'm not here to poke and prob you. I don't have ill intentions, Robert."

"Why should I believe you?"

"I like to think we're a bit alike, honestly."

"Alike...you think we're alike?" He releases a dark chuckle.

You nod. "We're both here against our own will." You place the chart beside him. "My reason, albeit in contrast to your own, I'm under contract to see that you succeed in our experiments. Though if I fail...to meet certain requirements." You inhale shakenly. You muster your best smile, though it's far from meeting your eyes. "My family gets killed. So I can't afford to mess up."

"I don't want to be pricked by anyone anymore..." Bob finally admitted.

"I can work around that." You nodded in reassurance. "Needles isn't the only way. There are cotton swabs we could try..."

"But blood is what you need, though, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Blood samples are more effective for the test we want to conduct."

"You got a knife anywhere or a scalpel?"

"What for?" You tense.

"So you can get your blood sample..."

"Oh, yeah, I do!" You scurry around the room in search of something sharp. You instead find a sewing needle, something you found similar to the needles he didn't want anymore. "There's a needle, but I can step out if you want the scalpel."

"That'll work." He gestures it over.

"Where are we going?" You peer over your shoulder as Bob guides you into a broom closet. You hold your breath as heavy boots hurry past the door he shoved you both in. You peer at him in curiosity, in wonder as he strains his ear. "Valetina will have my head if she finds us alone-" You gasp as he cups your face. His lips silenced your worries in a matter of seconds. You sigh into the kiss as he backs you up against the metal storage shelves. You raise your hands to rake them through his locks.

"Bob, we can't stay in here-" You push back slightly, only for him to chase the kiss again.

"Shh-"

"Bob, I'm serious we can't risk this-" Your whisper is muffled by another kiss. You go to protest only to see he was quieting you once more with precaution.

"What do you mean you can't find him? Well, where's Dr. Y/L/N? She was the last one to know about his whereabouts?" You both pull back in time to hear and see Valentina's shadow fall below the door. You hold your breath again. "Well, page her now!" You begin to panic as you reach for the device tucked into your scrubs. Before it could emit its alert tone, you feel Bob reach forward and crush it in his hand. "You're all useless!"

You had been a former member of the team of scientists that had run tests and experiments on Bob when the team was only at the beginning of their trial runs.

Heavily emphasized as former, when Valentina viewed your empathy towards the man, incompetent to her wretched morals. Your perspective on your team's ethics and your reluctance to keep sticking needles in his veins had guaranteed you your very own enemy. A target on your back if you didn't comply with her wishes.

Bob had grown fond of your sweet nature, having made a friend out of you during your time spent in the lab. That friendship, though, the closeness you garnered, had cost you, cost him your company.

Valentina proposed access to you if he did what was asked of him. He too fell victim to Valentina's manipulation. What small but significant leverage she dangled over your own heads like dogs. You were his demise, as much as he was yours. But you would ensure the safety of one another, go to certain lengths, of what was asked of you to see each other. Then and only then would she bring you up the tower to see him. And she did for what felt like a month's worth of waiting to see him. Though it wasn't like any of the other times she dragged your cuffed hands towards the top floor. Dragging felt like a misconception; she all but shoved you face down onto the ground before Bob's feet. He knelt, brushing the disheveled locks back behind your ears as your fear-stricken gaze met his bewildered one.

This wasn't like your regular visits.

"Your lip?" Bob pointed out. It was busted.

"Bob, don't listen to her-" He helped you onto your feet before the clock of a gun triggered his fight or flight.

You turned cautiously towards Valentina, who directed the end of her pistol right onto you. Bob shoved you behind him, his hands out before him as though to tame a wild beast, in your case, Valentina, who always felt like the devil incarnate.

"Here's what's gonna happen, you two...I'm gonna send some people your way, Bob, and you are gonna deal with them for me, cause I'm getting real tired of having to put up with them. If you don't comply. I'm gonna shoot her dead. Right here." Valentina grinned, thumping her forehead with the butt of her weapon for her example. "And you'll never see her again. Though to be honest, I should have shot her the second she got attached to you. I'd have shot you too, but this won't do shit I'm afraid." Valentina sighed, tired of over-explaining herself. "You just had to go and let your heart win." Valentina glanced at you over his shoulder. Your face was reminiscent of a lost child, scared. Fearing the unknown. Like, where did your future lie in her hands?

"You broke your contract, you little bitch. What was the one thing I asked of you?"

"To not get-"

"What was that?" Valentina turned her face, cupping a hand behind her ear to mock you. "Oh, that's right, to not get attached, to not make a connection. Now look at you." She feigned a gag of disgust towards you both. "I hope you've been smart enough to keep your legs shut. Otherwise, that's a whole other problem that I don't have time for." Though the faint dread that crossed your face had her paling at the sudden realization. "Oh...you didn't, please tell me you didn't? When would you two have even found the time?"

"What kind of people?" Bob tried to shift her attention to anything else besides you.

"No, now I'm mad. When the hell did that happen? God, you're not pregnant, are you?"

"N-No." You promised.

"Well, good. At least you weren't stupid enough to conceive a baby of destruction. The press would have a field day with this!"

"What people?" Bob asked again.

"You'll know when they come. Let's go!" Valentina gestured for you to come over with the gun.

"I don't get my hour with her?" Bob circled an arm around you to keep you behind him.

"No."

"I've done everything you've asked of me..." Bob pleaded.

"Your lover hasn't. Why don't you tell him what I found out today? It'll help explain your fault for ending up shoved against the ground. Let him in on why I decided to bust your lip open."

"Y/n?" Bob turned to face you, confusion written across his features. Hoping your truth wasn't some form of disloyalty towards him.

"I tried to..." Your gaze averts Valetina's, feeling the water works begin. "I tried outing her plans...to the public, what they've done to you. The public should know of her cruelty. I tried reaching out to a contact of mine, but he was struck down in the air last I heard, going through therapy and training, so I was on my own. V-Valentina broke into my house this morning."

That explained your pajamas. His gaze shifted to your slippers.

"And that is why we are here today. Maybe I will give you your hour, to remind you of the good I do to allow you both to be together, since both of you comply so well." Just as she said this, her phone rang. Her mood shifted into one of ease and joy. "Ah, I've got to take this. You get an hour." She waved you off. As soon as she entered the elevator and the door closed behind her. Bob broke the cuffs, freeing your trembling hands that now circled around his neck to hide yourself in the nape of his neck.

"Hey, hey, you're with me now. She's gone, we have an hour again." Bob hurried you off to his enclosed case that remained open now. The single mattress on the ground welcomed you. Bob pulled you down with him. His lips colliding with yours in a desperate rush. Valentina hadn't let him see you for a month. Sometimes a month expanding into three, and before he knew it, three months had turned into more if he acted out. That solemn year without you had set him off. He was on his best behavior now, desperate to even catch a glimpse of you if Valentina was in good spirits.

Your tears hadn't stopped even if Bob kept wiping them away. Whatever grief you were withholding had broken your resolve. He could feel it in the way you gently ran your hands through his locks. Foreign to your usual wanting grip.

He'd never coax it out of you like Valentina would. He'd wait, and he'd be patient with you-

"I-I'm pregnant." You choked back a sob amid another kiss.

Bob's breath hitched at the sudden confession. His gaze neutralized as he continued to caress your wet cheeks with his thumbs. His only response in the moment was to kiss you sweetly, then lift the hem of your shirt, just enough to place a faint whisper of a kiss against your stomach.

His words of comfort only being. "I don't want her to use it against me if she finds out."

"She won't find out..." Your eyes space out as Bob reaches up to push back your hair. His gaze settles over your cut on your lip before he cups your jaw as he begins his light descent of kisses.

"If she touches you again. I'll raise hell. No one would be safe."

"It should just be Valentina. What does anyone else have to do with it?"

"I don't think I'd be in the right mental capacity to determine whose good and whose bad. I'd be too angry to try to be coaxed out of seeing any good morals in anyone."

"All because Valentina touched me?" Your heart felt overwhelmed by how deeply he felt about your safety. It warmed you as much as it almost concerned you.

"Because she hurt you." Bob's soft gaze hardened.

“That’s Y/n. My love.” Bob tilted his head with a smile as he showed the thunderbolts another memory of you. “I haven’t seen her since this day. I’m lucky enough to get any time with her throughout the month. Y-You guys haven’t seen her, have you? Valentina said she would bring her by today, but she hasn’t come.”

Yelena felt like throwing up at his words. If your discarded self, which she saw in the broom closet, wasn’t enough evidence to indicate your demise, then she hated the idea of telling him where you really were even more.

Yelena turned her gaze to close her eyes. The heaviness weighed down with the guilt that tightened in her throat. You poor thing. You only wanted to be with him, nothing more than wanting to see him again and again. You were innocent, a helpless life that Valentina took.

"You don't think she's done something to her, right?" Yelena looks up this time to find his gaze has settled onto her.

Bob's gaze was solemn yet imploring as he searched Yelena's expression for reassurance. His hands clenched involuntarily, a visible sign of his anxiety and concern. Her silence only fueled his unease, making the air around them feel heavy with suspense.

"Valentina wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, right?" Even as he asks, the lingering doubt in his voice exposes his inner turmoil.

Yelena knew the truth, and the weight of that knowledge pressed upon her conscience. The guilt churned within her, and she wrestled with the difficult task of finding a way to break the news to Bob.

"No..." Yelena finally replied, shaking her head as her voice was soft and filled with hesitation. "I hope not..."

You're a bad liar, you know? Bob’s voice appeared in her mind.

Yelena's heart sank as she heard him breakthrough her mental walls, the weight of her deception settling heavily on her conscience. She knew her lie had been detected, and the realization hit her with a pang of remorse.

I know. Yelena silently admitted, unable to meet his gaze. The weight of guilt threatened to overwhelm her, knowing she couldn't bring herself to reveal the truth to him. I don't know how long she's been there...

Bob's expression shifted, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the guilt in her eyes. He could sense the internal conflict that plagued her conscience, the secrets she was wrestling with. It made his heart ache to witness her torn by the burden of his ignorance.

"You…do you know where she is then?" His words cut through the tension like a knife, his voice a mixture of desperation and urgency.

"Know where who is?" John's confusion was evident in his voice as he looked to Bob for clarification. "No one's said anything?" John and the others looked over to Yelena, who kept looking down at her chipped nail paint.

"He just read my mind...Bob, I'm so sorry, but I found her body in a closet. By the looks of it, it could be the same one you dragged her inside of."

Bob's expression paled as Yelena's words hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind struggled to process the news, the weight of her revelation crashing upon him like a tidal wave.

"W-What...? You're not saying-" His voice trembled as he searched Yelena's face for any indication of falsehood.

"I do think Valentina would go that far, and she has."

Bob's emotions flared, a mixture of anger, despair, and disbelief swirling within him. The revelation that Valentina had gone to such extremes struck a chord deep within him.

"Damn it!" The outburst escaped his lips like a strangled cry, his fist clenched tightly as he struggled to come to terms with the harsh reality. "How?" He stopped to glare at her. "How'd she leave her?"

"Knowing won't change any-"

"Tell me!" Bob's voice rose. An echo of darkness mixed with grief, his emotions on the edge of uncontrollable. He was demanding answers, desperate for anything that could help him piece together your tragedy. “Just tell me.”

"T-There was bruising around her neck-" Yelena shook her head, not wanting to think about the state she found you in. "Her face was beaten..." Yelena's shoulders fell. She shook her head at Bob. "It looked intentional. Like it was done out of spite. If she fought back, I don’t think she stood a chance. I'm so sorry, Bob." Yelena's voice cracked.

Bob's world shattered around him as Yelena's words painted a haunting picture of your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of you gone. His anger flared, mixing with a profound heartache, as he processed the cruelty inflicted upon you.

"Out of spite…" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought of someone, particularly Valentina, intentionally causing you such pain made his blood boil.

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jungwnies · 24 days ago

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f1 grid (1/2) | forgetting their birthday

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : pretending to forget their birthday but actually having a huge surprise for them planned

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3719

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : god FORBID you forget one of their birthdays... i fear everyone but verstappen and piastri might overreact a tEEEEENY bit...

ʚ・max verstappen

you knew max didn’t love big birthday celebrations. he wasn’t exactly the cake and balloons type. but still, he deserved something special. and if you had to fake forgetting the day just to throw him off? so be it.

it started that morning. he came into the kitchen, hair sticking up on one side, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. you were already at the stove, flipping pancakes like it was any other tuesday.

“morning,” he mumbled.

you glanced back over your shoulder. “morning.”

that was it. no ‘happy birthday.’ no mention of it at all.

you saw the subtle twitch of confusion in his brows, but he didn’t say anything. just grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee.

you didn’t feel bad. okay, you felt a little bad. but it would be worth it.

by the time afternoon rolled around, max was quieter than usual. he’d disappeared into the simulator room for a couple hours, re-emerging only to plop onto the couch and scroll aimlessly on his phone.

“everything okay?” you asked, settling beside him.

he shrugged. “yeah. just… thought today might feel different.”

you leaned your head on his shoulder. “tuesdays are weird like that.”

he didn’t answer.

but when you stood up a bit later and said, “i’m just running out to grab some groceries, be back in an hour,” and kissed the top of his head, he nodded, not suspecting a thing.

what he didn’t know was that the "groceries" were actually a mad dash to finalize the surprise party you’d been planning for weeks. all his closest friends were already at the venue. there were red bull-themed decorations, his favorite food, drinks, and even a mini go-kart course set up just for him.

when you texted him an hour later, “hey, can you come meet me at this address? i need help carrying stuff,” he didn’t hesitate.

he pulled into the lot, looking around curiously. then walked inside.

and everyone yelled, “surprise!”

max blinked. for a second, you saw that classic verstappen processing face, the one he made when someone overtook him unexpectedly. then he turned to you.

“you little liar,” he said, breaking into a grin.

you shrugged. “thought tuesdays were weird like that.”

he pulled you into a hug so tight your feet almost left the ground.

“i really thought you forgot,” he murmured into your hair. “i was trying not to be upset.”

“i know,” you said, pulling back to smile up at him. “that’s how i knew it would work.”

max kissed you, soft and slow and a little overwhelmed.

“simply lovely,” he whispered.

and it was.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you figured lewis wouldn’t throw a fit if you forgot his birthday. he wasn’t that type. but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt him.

and that’s what made the plan a little risky.

the morning of, you played it cool. real cool. too cool.

“morning,” you said, breezing past him in the kitchen as he fed roscoe.

he looked up with a sleepy smile. “morning, love.”

you kissed his cheek, grabbed a banana, and scrolled through your phone. no ‘happy birthday.’ no card. not even a cheeky joke.

you saw the faint change in his expression. his smile dipped, just slightly. like he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be disappointed.

but he didn’t say anything. just nodded and went back to scratching roscoe behind the ears.

you left the house an hour later, saying you had errands to run. lewis stayed behind, probably expecting you’d come back with cake or something. but you didn’t. at least, not right away.

the rest of the day, he barely said a word. he worked out, took roscoe for a walk, sat out on the balcony with a tea. every now and then he checked his phone, like he was expecting someone, maybe you, to send a text. a call. anything.

nothing came.

you got home just before sunset, acting casual as ever. “you hungry? i was thinking we could order thai tonight.”

lewis looked at you, finally speaking after what felt like hours. “you didn’t… have anything else planned today?”

you tilted your head. “should i have?”

that hurt flickered in his eyes. he hid it well. but you noticed it, because you always noticed him.

he nodded slowly. “nah. just wondering.”

you stepped closer, and before he could pull further into himself, you said, “actually… yeah. i do have something planned. but i need you to come with me.”

he raised an eyebrow.

you handed him a hoodie. “put this on. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

the drive was quiet, but you saw the gears turning in his head. he was curious now. hopeful, maybe.

when you pulled up to the small venue you’d rented for the night, he looked confused.

until he walked inside.

there was soft music playing. his closest friends, family, and team were all there. dim lights, candles, vegan food lined up buffet-style, and roscoe’s favorite treats in little bowls around the room.

photos of lewis through the years played on a loop on a big screen. gp wins. childhood go-karts. that time he dressed up as batman for halloween. all of it.

he turned to you, eyes wide.

“you didn’t forget?”

you shook your head, stepping closer, arms wrapping around his waist. “how could i forget? you just had to let me lie a little first.”

he pulled you close, forehead pressing to yours, that quiet smile finally breaking through.

“you got me,” he whispered.

“i always do.”

lewis kissed you like he’d been holding his breath all day. and maybe he had.

later that night, after the crowd thinned and it was just the two of you swaying in the soft light, he said it again.

“i really thought you forgot.”

“i know,” you murmured. “and i’m sorry for letting you think that.”

he looked at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“this… this was perfect.”

and you could tell he meant it.

ʚ・george russell

you knew george would make a thing out of it.

the man had a flair for dramatics. you loved that about him. but it also meant pretending to forget his birthday was going to be a test of your own acting skills.

you woke up early on purpose, slipped out of bed before he opened his eyes, and left a post-it on the mirror that said, “went out to run errands, be back later x.”

no ‘happy birthday.’ no breakfast in bed. not even a cheeky wink.

the silence from your end was deafening.

by the time you returned home mid-afternoon, george was sitting on the couch like a man freshly betrayed. wrapped in a blanket, arms crossed, tv playing some mindless nature documentary that he was definitely not watching.

you dropped your keys on the counter and glanced over. “hey. everything alright?”

he didn’t move. “oh, splendid. never better. just enjoying the slow decay of time.”

you bit your cheek to stop from laughing. “cool. i got almond milk, by the way.”

“oh, fantastic. we can toast to that instead of, i don’t know, birthdays or being alive another year.”

you blinked. “was it someone’s birthday today?”

he whipped his head around, lips parting like you’d slapped him.

“i cannot believe this,” he said, standing up and letting the blanket fall like a cape. “you’ve forgotten. i’m going to spiral. i’m going to become a menace to society. this is your villain origin story.”

“i think you’ll survive,” you said, barely holding it together.

he threw a hand to his forehead. “i wore the nice socks today. the ones with the tiny stars on them. i thought we’d at least go out.”

you walked over to him, leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “get dressed, drama queen. we’ve got somewhere to be.”

george paused. “wait. what?”

“no more questions. just put on something that won’t wrinkle when you sit down.”

still confused but too intrigued to argue, he changed into something sharp, because of course he did, and let you drag him into the car.

you drove for about twenty minutes before pulling into a private racetrack on the outskirts of town. george stared.

“you didn’t.”

“oh, i did.”

there was a single vintage aston martin waiting on the tarmac. helmet. keys. and a sign that read “happy birthday, t-pose king.”

he looked at you with the most ridiculous expression of glee and disbelief. “you made me think you forgot. you let me sit there in existential crisis mode, wrapped in fleece, contemplating my place in the universe.”

you nodded, smirking. “and now you get to race a car that costs more than both our kidneys combined. so… you're welcome?”

george burst out laughing. “this is evil. i love it.”

he pulled you into a hug, rocking you side to side like a goof. “you are insufferable. i was actually about to text my mum.”

“and say what?”

“that you were a monster. but now i take it all back.”

you handed him the keys and grinned. “happy birthday, george.”

he kissed your forehead and gave you the most dramatic bow he could manage. “best gift ever. even if you did emotionally traumatize me first.”

“adds character.”

and with that, he took off toward the car, already shouting something about lap times and not crashing it.

you just shook your head and laughed.

he’d never let you live it down — and honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos wasn’t the type to make a fuss.

he didn’t expect fireworks or a giant party. but a little something? a kiss, a card, maybe even just a soft “happy birthday, amor” in the morning? that didn’t seem like too much.

so when he woke up to an empty apartment and a quiet kitchen, he frowned.

you were already gone. no message, no balloons, no surprise breakfast. just a sticky note near the coffee machine that said “be back later <3.”

that was it?

at first, he tried to reason with himself. maybe you were planning something. maybe he was overthinking. he went through his normal routine — showered, made coffee, and replied to dozens of “happy birthday” texts from friends and family.

but with every hour that passed and nothing came from you, the more that quiet little sting in his chest grew.

you didn’t call. you didn’t text anything special. just a casual “need anything from the store?” and a “don’t forget to hydrate.”

hydrate? on his birthday?

carlos wasn’t mad. not exactly. just… disappointed. the kind that sat heavy in his chest and made everything feel a little dull.

by the time you got home that evening, he was sunk into the couch, arms folded and mouth pulled into that very specific pout he swore wasn’t a pout.

you walked in like everything was normal, bags in hand, smile in place. “hey. you okay?”

he didn’t look at you. “fine.”

he was not fine.

you sat beside him, and he barely shifted. “you sure?”

he shrugged, voice low. “i just thought maybe today would be a little different.”

and there it was. not angry. just honest. soft, but it hit you like a punch.

“i didn’t forget,” you said gently.

he turned his head, eyes meeting yours. he didn’t say anything, but his expression asked all the questions he couldn’t put into words.

“come with me,” you said, standing up. “just trust me.”

carlos followed. quiet, still wearing that guarded expression, like he didn’t want to hope just yet. like hoping would make it worse if he was wrong.

you drove for a while, and he didn’t ask where. he just stared out the window, wondering if he had overreacted. maybe he had. maybe he hadn’t. but it still kind of hurt.

and then you pulled up to the beach.

he recognized it immediately — the quiet spot just outside the city. no tourists, no noise, just the waves and a little stretch of sand. it was the place he told you once reminded him of summer nights in mallorca.

when he stepped out and saw the setup, he froze.

there were candles tucked into the sand. a low table, set for two, his favorite food already waiting. soft string lights swaying in the breeze. a bottle of wine. a tiny chocolate cake with “feliz cumple, mi campeón” written on top.

his chest actually ached a little.

you stepped beside him. “i wanted it to be private. just us. i thought you’d like that.”

carlos stared at you, overwhelmed in that quiet way only he could be. he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head with a small laugh.

“you really let me sulk all day.”

“i didn’t think you’d get that sad.”

“i had a full sadness, cariño,” he said, grinning now. “i almost went for a drive just to feel something.”

you laughed and leaned into him, arms slipping around his waist. “happy birthday, carlos.”

he kissed your forehead, arms wrapping tightly around you. the kind of hug that said thank you and i missed you and you know me better than i know myself.

“don’t think i didn’t notice the silence,” he whispered. “you were evil for that.”

“but you love me.”

he rested his chin on your head. “unfortunately for me,” he said, smiling, “yes. i really do.”

ʚ・charles leclerc

you didn’t mean to emotionally destroy charles. but, to be fair, you also kind of did.

because pretending to forget his birthday seemed like a harmless little prank. he was dramatic anyway. he overreacted if the grocery store ran out of his favorite chocolate mousse. he once said “this is betrayal” because you changed the netflix profile photo without telling him.

so yeah, forgetting his birthday?

he would be insufferable. but it would be hilarious.

and it was.

it all started when you woke up and kissed his cheek, said “don’t forget to take out the recycling,” and walked away. no “happy birthday.” no breakfast in bed. no gift.

charles blinked at the ceiling for a full five minutes like he was processing a national tragedy.

by mid-morning, he was fully spiraling. you ignored his very obvious attempts to fish for attention — him humming happy birthday under his breath, sighing deeply while scrolling through birthday messages, and dramatically opening and closing drawers just to see if you’d hidden something.

nothing.

at noon, he facetimed arthur and told him, loudly, “yes, it’s been a very lonely birthday, merci.”

you were in the other room.

by the time 4 p.m. hit, he was flopped across the bed like a man who had lost everything. face down. motionless.

you peeked in. “charles? you good?”

he didn’t lift his head. “i have been disrespected.”

you laughed. “come on. you’re being dramatic.”

“i am a monegasque man. i feel things.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “put on something nice.”

he finally lifted his head. “why?”

“just do it. i’m taking you out.”

he narrowed his eyes. “out where?”

you shrugged. “it’s a surprise.”

he sighed, loud and exaggerated, but he got up. grumbling. mumbling something about emotional wounds. but he followed you anyway.

you drove up the hillside to one of his favorite spots overlooking monaco. he liked it because it was quiet. and because the view reminded him of home in a way that didn’t involve flashing cameras or team meetings.

when he got out of the car and saw the little table set up, the candles flickering, the box of pastries from his favorite bakery, and the tiny red-and-white checkered flag stuck in the cake… he froze.

“you didn’t forget?”

you grinned. “of course i didn’t forget.”

his mouth fell open like you’d told him you were actually a secret agent. he turned around in a slow, dramatic circle.

“you let me mourn. i was mourning.”

“yeah, i saw that.”

“i told arthur i was emotionally abandoned. you made me lie to my own brother.”

you handed him a fork. “eat your cake, romeo.”

charles laughed, stepping closer and pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever gotten from him.

“you’re terrible,” he whispered.

“but?”

he kissed your forehead. “but i love you. even if you are a little monster.”

you smirked. “happy birthday, drama king.”

“never do this to me again,” he said, full pout back in place. “i aged five years today. emotionally.”

ʚ・lando norris

you didn’t actually forget lando’s birthday.

you just didn’t say anything right away.

why? because watching your boyfriend slowly unravel in quiet confusion while trying so hard to act like he doesn’t care? prime entertainment. especially when it’s lando and you know his first response to emotional distress is going live on twitch like a victorian child playing the piano in a thunderstorm.

you left him a kiss on the cheek that morning. said something casual like, “i’ve got errands today, might be gone for a while.” no happy birthday, no gifts, no hints.

he blinked. “okay… cool.”

then you walked out.

lando sat there for a while. fully dressed in his comfy hoodie, expecting a “surprise!” to pop out from the bedroom or kitchen or shower. nothing. the apartment was silent.

he gave it an hour. then opened twitch.

“yo,” he mumbled into the mic. “what’s up, guys.”

chat immediately popped off:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KING!!!

WHERE’S Y/N??

ISN’T IT DATE NIGHT??

YOU STREAMING ON YOUR BIRTHDAY?

BE FR, ARE YOU OK

lando forced a smile. “yeah… nothing planned today. just thought i’d chill with you guys instead.”

he sipped his red bull dramatically. “no big deal or anything. just a regular day. like any other. i’m not sad.”

he absolutely sounded sad.

even his “poggers” had less energy than usual.

at one point he read a message and went, “no no, she didn’t forget, i don’t think… i mean, probably not. right?”

silence.

he died in-game two seconds later.

an hour into the stream, he looked directly into the camera and said, “if anyone asks, i’m emotionally strong. like… very mentally resilient. super fine.”

right on cue, your voice came from the door behind him: “hey, lan?”

he turned around so fast he nearly fell out of his chair. “yeah?”

you peeked in. “can you come downstairs real quick?”

“what for?”

you shrugged. “just come on.”

lando hesitated, told chat “brb maybe she finally remembered i exist” and followed you downstairs.

waiting outside was a surprise birthday setup on the rooftop deck of your building. pizza, cake, his favorite snacks, party lights, a mini projector set up to play shrek 2 (because of course), and all his closest friends quietly waiting with party hats on.

he blinked. then laughed. then rubbed his face like he was overwhelmed but also completely relieved.

“you’re evil,” he said, pulling you into a hug.

“you were really about to stream all night, huh?”

“i was playing the long game. guilt stream.”

“happy birthday, twitch boy.”

he looked around at everything, grinning like an idiot. “okay yeah. worth the emotional damage. ten out of ten.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you weren’t actually going to forget oscar’s birthday.

please. you’d had the whole thing planned for weeks. the idea was simple: pretend to forget, act super casual all day, then hit him with a surprise dinner, a stack of his favorite snacks, and a handmade card that said “happy birthday, nerd <3” in glitter glue.

classic. easy. foolproof.

except there was one flaw in the plan: oscar literally didn’t care.

the day started normally. you woke up, kissed his cheek, got out of bed like it was just any other morning. no mention of birthdays, no presents, not even a wink.

he just stretched and went, “do we have any cereal left?”

you expected some reaction. a confused glance. maybe a suspicious squint. but nope. he poured cereal, sat at the table, and started talking about tire degradation in the australian grand prix like it was a normal tuesday in april.

you were still waiting for the shift. for the "heh… you forgot something?" moment. it never came.

by lunchtime, you started to panic.

you casually said, “nothing special going on today?”

he looked up from his sandwich. “nah. not really.”

no sarcasm. no hint of drama. just full, honest indifference.

that’s when it hit you: he actually didn’t care that you hadn’t said anything. not even a little.

and that made you spiral.

“oh absolutely not,” you whispered to yourself, already grabbing your bag.

by the time oscar finished his sim session, the apartment was unrecognizable.

the lights were dimmed. candles were everywhere. a blanket fort was in the living room, fairy lights tangled in the sheets. on the table: pizza, garlic bread, a mini chocolate cake, and a birthday card shaped like a tire that said “p1 in being born.”

he blinked. “uh.”

you appeared from behind the couch, slightly out of breath and holding a party hat. “sit down. we’re celebrating your birth. no arguments.”

oscar raised an eyebrow. “i thought you forgot.”

“that was part of the plan. but then i realized you didn’t even care, and that was way worse.”

“i really didn’t,” he said honestly. “it’s just not a big—”

you shoved garlic bread in his mouth. “it is. you’re my favorite person and you were born today and that is a top-tier event.”

oscar slowly chewed. then smiled a little. “this is ridiculous.”

“you deserve ridiculous.”

he sat down, pulled the party hat over his hair with zero resistance, and looked around at the chaos.

“i seriously didn’t expect this.”

you nudged the cake closer to him. “good. i wanted to catch you off guard. you never let people do stuff for you.”

he paused. “yeah. i guess i don’t.”

you sat beside him. “well, too bad. today’s not about what you think you need. it’s about me forcing love upon you in the form of carbohydrates.”

he let out a quiet laugh, eyes soft as he looked over at you.

“thank you,” he said. “really.”

you smiled. “happy birthday, oscar.”

and for a guy who “didn’t care,” he looked suspiciously close to being emotional.

but he just picked up a slice of pizza and said, “do i at least get to pick the movie?”

“absolutely, birthday boy.”

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