#without feeling obligated to record any of it

[theskeletoninthegarden]

I cracked the code for day dreaming before bed. I imagine my WIPs in modern day, drama free, coffee shop or whatever AUs, and I'm good

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, feelings, oral sex (male & female receiving), sex w/ and w/o condoms, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving

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@sammysinger04 @jackrabbitem @statixx-x @xxkay15xx @lxblm

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @azkza @ash-tarte @certainlygay

@hantheconqueror @dakotakazansky @jaggersinclair @suhmie @kidd3ath

@lovely-ateez @thewulf @coffeecaketornado @glassgulls @beebeechaos

[flrlgreen]

jealousy, jealousy (toji fushiguro x reader) + twt prn link

a/n: thank you for the support on my last two posts! i appreciate it so much! here’s some filthy toji action tho. i apologize again for any mistakes i'm always tired.

cw:  age gap, sex toys, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, reader has a vagina, name-calling, recording, use of the names slut, whore, princess, and baby girl, possessiveness, size kink, teasing.

link

Having a much older boyfriend wasn’t for the faint of heart. Being a sophomore in college and dating a man who was in his late 30s proved to be challenging at times. Although he took care of your every single need and made sure you never went without. There were times when you couldn’t stand him. 

He knew that dating a young woman in college would be hard. After all, you know what they say about college life. Toji was a possessive man and would do anything to show that you were his. Never mind the age gap between you two. When he found out that Gojo Satoru, a classmate that you were supposed to work on a project with, had asked you out it took every ounce of his being not to tear that man apart. 

It didn’t help that you kept telling him that it didn’t mean anything and that his constant possessive behavior made you want to break up. It just ignited something in him. 

Right now your boyfriend was towering over your smaller frame. It made you rub your thighs together. “So, you wanna break up do you?” He said in a low register. All you could get out was a meek ‘yes’. He laughed when he heard your response and his thumb found your chin. He forced your gaze to meet his.

It felt like he was burning holes in you with his eyes. You couldn’t even manage to make eye contact. “Look at me Doll.” A small tinge of anger was laced with his words. “No.” You knew he wouldn’t like your reply, but getting him frustrated was a part of the fun. “No?” He says and before you could even process what he had said he grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder. 

“Toji! Put me down!” You banged your fists on his broad and strong back and it didn’t phase him one bit. He threw your smaller body on the bed and flipped you over. He wasted no time getting on top of you. You felt his hard cock on your ass. “I’m gonna give you one more chance to change that attitude.” He leans in and says next to your ear. “Fuck off.” You spit. Toji’s hand finds your ass and gives it a harsh pinch. “Stay right here, and don’t fucking move.” 

At this point, you’re leaking, and despite wanting to get under Toji’s skin for irritating you, you know better than to move. You feel his body leave the bed and you hear some shuffling before he climbs back into bed and gets behind you. You look up and into the mirror in front of you. “Arch, now.” He demands and you oblige. “Good girl.” He smiles and grabs the dildo he had in hand. You watch as he reaches over your arched body and suctions the dildo to the mirror. “Suck it now.” “R-right now?” You stutter. “Did I stutter, Sweetie?” 

Your lips press against the tip of the dildo and Toji watches as he palms himself with one hand and holds your phone in the other. “Don’t be shy now Princess. Show the camera how well you can suck cock.” Knowing you were on camera made you feel like jelly. 

Your tongue swirls around the soft tip of the sex toy before you begin to move your mouth down the toy inch by inch. As every inch slides down your throat, slurping sounds fill the room as you struggle to take the thick length. “Poor Princess, I know you can take more. You take my huge cock every night.” He teases and rubs your ass, still recording. 

Your throat relaxes around the inches before you take the remaining inches down your warm throat. “That’s a good girl.” Toji groans while pulling his boxers down. You make eye contact with your boyfriend in the mirror while you gag and choke on the fake cock. “Show Gojo how well you can suck cock.” That’s when you realize. Toji is recording this to send to him. The thought alone makes you want to pass out in embarrassment but also makes you hot.

 

Knowing this was going to your flirty classmate, you had to put on a show. You bob your head up and down the length while looking directly into the phone’s camera. Drool ran down your chin and fell onto the bed sheets. Your throat bulged and your eyes rolled to the back of your head every time you went down to the base. “So good at choking on cock. What a slut.” Your boyfriend mutters and pulls your skirt and panties down in one tug. 

“Take it all, and stay there.” Toji uses his free hand to give his thick cock a few experimental pumps before lining it up with your dripping cunt. He shifts the focus of the camera down to where you two are about to be connected. “So fucking wet, all for me. No one else.” He hisses and shoves his entire cock in all at the same time. “God damn,” He groans. No words can escape your mouth that don’t sound muffled.

The sudden feeling of being filled to the brim with Toji’s cock was otherworldly. You cry around the sex toy that’s stuffed down your throat while Toji starts moving. His brutal thrusts make your lower half flash with pleasure every time he hits that sweet spot inside you. “My baby has the tightest little pussy, doesn’t she?” He says all while not slowing down one bit. “Oh wait, your mouth is full isn’t it?” He laughs. “Only I can make you feel this good.” His tone was so deep and laced with so much jealousy like you had never heard before.

The gagging and smacking sounds continued and it was all becoming too much. Toji would occasionally angle the camera downwards so Gojo could of course get a full view of his assault on your pussy, and make direct eye contact with you in the mirror while he made you gag and cry. 

He noticed your body was beginning to show signs of giving out. “Aw, baby. Is it too much?” You nodded with your throat full. “You wanna cum don’t you Princess?” A muffled ‘yes’ was all that came out of your mouth while his tip kissed your cervix with each deep thrust. “God, I’m gonna cum to. Cum for me whore.” That was all you needed. Your knees shook and gave out while your orgasm washed over you and your boyfriend’s thrusts became sloppier. The now-soaking toy slipped from your throat as you melted into the bed. 

“Fuck, I came so fucking much,” Toji says and pans the camera down to the mess he made all over your pussy and ends the video.

Send.

[gigi-loveless]

Hiii is it alright if I request for a College!Camgirl!Ellie x college!reader? Could I also have a specific 💐 tag for when I ask things 😭😭?

PS: I love your work so fucking much, on my knees for them 💗🙏🏻

-💐

જ⁀➴ yes angel!! thank you <3 sorry this took so long btw!! lowkey had a bender over spring break and didn’t write 🫣

warnings: 18+, squirting, pet names, service top!ellie, camgirl!ellie, consensual video recording. photo credits to @ellies.galaxy on tiktok!

reqs are open 𝜗𝜚

────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────

“you can take it baby. know my girl can.” the auburn haired girl whispered, while guiding your hips to sink fully down on her brand new strap on that sits erect on her pale lap. the aforementioned 8 inch, lavender toy was generously gifted by one of her followers, with a message attached that simply said “to break her in.”

since moving in with ellie, you’ve gradually learned so much about her….possibly more than a roommate should. first, it was her adorable obsession with vintage video games, then the way she brings home little rocks and treasures she finds on the walk to class, then…it was finding her nude in front of a camera with your “missing” thong smothering her face.

but, you couldn’t possibly resist helping her, huh?

the video garnered tons, TONS of donations, likes, and subscriptions. her followers loved that it wasn’t a staged “getting caught” cliche, and that you fully indulged in her perverse energy. since then, she’s gotten lots of requests to keep you around in her videos, which you are more than happy to oblige.

the tip nudges against your cervix, a soft bulge appearing on your abdomen. as she shifts to zoom in on the precious sight, your long forgotten homework falls off the bed, papers sliding all across the floor.

“y’see that? how she’s fuckin swallowing me?” ellie asks the camera as she zooms in on the aforementioned “she”, being your fully stuffed cunt.

“els…please move….” you pant, digging your fingernails into her thighs as an anchor. “i…i’ll do….any-thng…” you whine desperately, dying to just rut into ellie’s hips on your own, but you know better. the first (and last) time you made that mistake, she tied you up with the vibrator on the highest setting for two hours, live-streaming the whole ordeal.

hey, at least she made over $500 off of it.

“show em how you feel, angel.” ellie coos, thrusting in and out agonizingly slow, propping the camera up on her dresser, the perfect angle to capture your doe eyes rolling effortlessly into the back of your head.

“els….ohmgd…please harder!”

without a word, ellie gets the most intriguing smirk on her face, massaging her calloused fingers into your hips for a moment….then suddenly gripping onto them, bouncing you on her cock unrelentingly. screaming her name, your legs go numb. every time your trembling hands go to grip onto her waist for support, she nudges you off, growing wetter and wetter watching you unable to stabilize yourself. a thin white ring forms around the base of her cock, that she scrambles to grab the camera and zoom in on.

“look at that…fuck.” she reaches down and thumbs on your clit, causing you to buck down into her even harder, if that’s possible at this point.

“gna…gna cum els….pleaseee…” you stare right into the camera, knowing that she’s gonna replay that moment over and over again later just to see the pathetic desperation in your eyes, your perfect pout penetrating her every thought.

“go ahead angel, cum all over this cock. show me how good it feels in you. how….how…god…how good i feel in you.”

those last words send you over the edge, collapsing into her while your entire body twitches. your tight, slick walls clench around the toy for the final time, her thumb on your clit encouraging you to drench ellie’s stomach and sheets.

“fuck…i got that shit on camera. you’re so goddamn hot.” she pans the camera down to her toned stomach, where your wetness is splattered. the euphoria hasn’t worn off yet, your eyelids heavy, vision blurry as ellie smooths down your hair delicately, throwing the camera onto her chair and cradling your head into her lap.

“such a good girl f’me…..”

[kaleldobrev]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

A rebloggable Dean Winchester Masterlist for your viewing and reading pleasure. All stories are Dean Winchester x F. Reader unless otherwise stated

Authors Note: Will update this as I post more stories

Come on Tiger (823) | You convince Dean to come to bed

You’re Not Normal (College AU) (556) | The reader and Dean become friends in a weird way

Happy Father’s Day (1.2k) |It’s Father’s Day, and the reader has some news to tell Dean

One Day (1.2k) | The reader and Dean talk about their dream life away from hunting

You Don’t Mean That (Demon!Dean) (2.3k) | Sam and the reader finally find Dean and bring him back to the Bunker. Sam says not to talk to Dean before they cure him, but the reader has other plans.

I Love The Way You… (2.9k) | Dean wants to propose to you but isn’t really sure how, so he asks Sam, Jody, and Donna for help

Nightmare Cure (1.6k) | You struggle with nightmares. So Dean comes up with a way to help you.

Autumn Vibes (1.2k) | Dean creates a new recipe in honor of the fall season.

A Date with Dean: Lucky Strikes (5.8k) | Dean and you go bowling for this weeks date night. But decide to make it a little bit more interesting.

The Comforts of a Winchester (2.2k) | Having a nightmare sucks, but at least you have Dean to comfort you.

I Dream of You (1.7k) | Dean dreams of a life with you, but do you?

Pizza, Beer & Zeppelin IV (1.2k) | Dean is surprised to find out what your ideal first date is; and he’s more than happy to oblige

You Deserve Love (2k) | Sometimes Dean needs reassurance that you love him

A Small Part of You (2.3k) | Although Dean is gone, at least you’ll always have a part of him

I Love Her, That’s Why (2.2k) | Dean thought that he was doing a pretty good job at hiding his feelings for you…until Jack started asking questions.

You Make Me Happy (2.3k) | With you doing what he believes to be an incredibly reckless thing on a hunt, Dean finally realizes how much you really mean to him

Old Man (3.4k) | Dean never had a problem with the age gap between you two; not until now any way

Without Hesitation, Yes (2.6k) | After all these years, Dean finally asks you to marry him.

Spitting Image (2.8k) | You think Dean looks like one of your favorite characters. Dean on the other hand…doesn’t see the resemblance.

Come Back Home (4.5k) | After a relationship ending argument that caused you to leave the Bunker, you and Dean haven’t heard from/seen each other in over a year. Are there still sparks between you two? The better question is: Did they ever truly leave in the first place?

Daddy in a Different Way (2.5k) | A simple misunderstanding leads an older woman to believe that you and Jack are together, not you and Dean. But Dean does a “very good job” at clearing things up…But maybe not in the best way.

Pumpkin Muffins (930) | You and Dean decide to try new nicknames for each other

Days Like These (1.4k) | You and Dean decide to spend the day in while it’s raining outside.

Mutual Pining (4.3k) | Dean and you are in love with each other, and it’s obvious to everyone but the two of you

Please Don’t Leave (2k) | Dean’s lucky to have you in his life and honestly doesn’t know what he would ever do without you

New Record (1k) | Dean and you set a new record

Pillow Talk (1.2k) | A common theme of yours and Dean’s pillow talks happen to be about having that white picket fence and apple pie life

Happy Anniversary (Non-Hunters AU) (2k) | You and Dean celebrate your 18-year wedding anniversary

It’s Okay (1.8k) | Dean’s a little jealous that Sam still talks to you and not him

I Finally Get It (2.7k) | Dean thinks he looks like a character from one of your favorite slasher films. You on the other hand…don’t see the resemblance.

Genuinely Happy (506) | You and Dean enjoy a nice car ride together while you admire how genuinely happy he looks

Coming & Going (1.8k) | You want Dean to stay, but will he?

What Are We? (2.1k) | Dean and you do a lot of couple things together but yet…you’re not a couple, and you often wonder why.

Stupidest Person Alive (1.7k) | After a near death experience in which you almost lost Dean, you tell him that you can’t risk losing him again.

The Day Before (743) | Dean comforts you when you get a migraine

Once Mine (Michael!Dean) (1.3k) | Michael thinks him possessing Dean can be a win-win for the both of you

Knew You’d Come Around (Michael!Dean) (1.5k) | Michael’s happy you’ve finally come around

Comfortable? (516) | Falling asleep in Dean’s lap while he’s driving

Would You Like To… (978) | You and Dean have been dating for a few months, and now he’s trying to figure out how to ask you to move into his room

Midnight Confessions (1k) | You and Dean have a “heart-to-heart” conversation on the way to Stanford to pick up Sam

Hauled Up (1.5k) | Sam recruits you to try and convince Dean to stop hauling up in his room

When You’re Ready (1.8k) | A case hits you particularly hard and all you want to do is be alone

Never the Favorite (844) | You finally try and set the record straight

Screw Consciousness (410) | Taking a nap with Dean after a long drive

Things Overheard (2k) | Dean overhears a private conversation between you and Sam

I’ve Got Ya (162) | Dean trying to comfort you after a nightmare

Blush (389) | For the first time in your life, you can say you’ve made Dean Winchester blush

Taste (657) | Dean going down on you in the back of Baby

Under Control (2.3k) | Dean keeps reassuring you that he has everything under control in terms of the Mark. But does he really?

Just Right (1.9k) | Dean hates when you’re sick. Not only can he not kiss his best girl without the possibility of getting sick himself. But you also can’t make one of his favorite things to start off his day: his morning coffee.

Not the Same (Endverse AU) (4.7k) | Part One | Part Two

Coffee Kisses (3.3k) | Part One | Part Two

Old Man / Age Gap Universe

Shiny New Toy (Demon!Dean)

Supernatural: Purgatory Masterlist | 3/? parts done

My Hero Masterlist | ¾ parts done

Dean dressing up as a cowboy for a case and using Old West style pick-up lines

Introducing Dean to phone apps

Going to karaoke night with Dean at a bar

Pretending to be married to Dean for a case

Eating Halloween candy with Dean

Being one of the only witches Dean can stand

Getting Dean the perfect birthday present

Dean still worrying about you even though you’ve broken up

Dean still answering your calls even though you’ve broken up

Finding out you’re Dean’s soulmate from Apocalypse World Michael

Wanted Posters (Incorrect Quotes)

Dating Dean Poem/Moodboard

[tenroses07]

My final thoughts on the neil gaiman allegations;

Do I believe the women?: Yes. While I do find it still a bit odd that there’s missing context, I think that’s a fault of the podcast and not the fault of the women. I hope that they come forward to more reputable news sources and give their stories fully soon.

Do I think this is a right wing conspiracy: Yes and no. I do not think all of this is one big lie, but I do think the journalism here is clearly biased and I do not think these women’s stories would’ve been aired if they (the journalists) did not believe there would be any political gain. I do believe that it could be possible that tortoise media is trying to slander those who have worked with him. I do not blame the women for this.

Do I still wish to see more proof?: Of course. I think it’s possible to believe victims while also still wishing to see more proof. It’s important to be critical still, but once again this does not mean that it’s okay to say these women are lying because you haven’t seen proof.

Do I think any fandoms for media he created should interact with him again?: No. He clearly has a record of abusing his position of power, and I do not think any fans should interact with him again for the sake of their own safety. This includes on any social media. If he returns to being online, don’t send asks or react to them. Don’t return power to him.

Do I think anyone who was worked with him is obligated to come out with their reactions immediately?: No. It’s entirely possible the news hasn’t made it to them yet. It’s also entirely possible that they could be still processing things after working personally with him. If we as fans are shocked in disgusted, then imagine how those who have worked with him feel. Do not condemn them for speaking out immediately, they have lives too.

Do I think you can still watch his shows?: I feel mixed about this personally. I think it’s a better idea to 🏴‍☠️, but I also understand he is not the only person who worked on these shows. 🏴‍☠️ing affects more than him, so personally I don’t see a problem with watching his shows as long as you condemn him.

Do I think you can still read his books: Yes, but it’s a bit different here. I do not think people should be buying his books now. If you want to own them, buy second hand. If you don’t mind reading online, then 🏴‍☠️. I wouldn’t really recommend checking them out at a library as that still does give him support since the library could decide to purchase more of his books.

Do I think you can enjoy media he’s worked on or created without supporting him as person?: 1000%. His actions and alleged perversions do not translate into any of his work from what I’ve seen. I think it is 100% possible to separate him from his media in this case, especially with Good Omens and his shows.

Do I think you should burn/trash your books or media by him?: I don’t see a point, but I understand why someone may want to do this. Everyone is angry and upset, and if you want nothing to do with his works anymore that’s 100% valid. I just personally don’t see a point since they’ve already been purchased, and unless you bought them recently and can return them, you’re not taking any money away from him. If you don’t want to keep his books anymore, I’d suggest donating them to a thrift store or a library.

Edit: I wanted to add a section here about the relationships he had with these women since I didn’t really mentioned it before, so here (TW FOR SA);

While the relationships themselves were consensual for the most part (besides the two allegations of SA) I still do not think they were right to be had. The power imbalance and age gaps are gross. They’re not illegal, but morally they’re incorrect in my opinion. I know one of these women was a fan of his, and I believe he took advantage of that. And im also pretty sure he was 40 years older than her at the time. That’s gross.

As for neil’s current response as featured in the article, I don’t think he’s telling the truth. He admits to having relationships with those women, which adds to fact that I believe he’s not a good person for having those relationships already where he clearly was the one in power. The false memories claim could have some nuance to it (it’s possible that it could be something that happens to that woman without it being stated on medical records) but I personally believe it’s an excuse on his end, true or not.

Of course, continue to be kind to each other online. Don’t berate those who are upset and confused, and don’t berate the victims either. For those who believe it’s still all a lie, you have no reason to believe he wouldn’t be capable of any of this. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. I urge you to rethink everything about this situation and take some time to process it on your own. Denying everything is not the way to go about this.

I believe that’s everything I have to say. If you read all this, I appreciate this. If you think my wording is odd in some places or if it seems I said something I didn’t mean, please let me know. I’m writing this all on a bit of whim so I can put my thoughts out there instead of keeping it all inside. Thanks again, and stay safe

[lets-try-some-writing]

In your professional opinion: what would be some Cybertronian Superstitions? Like do the miners hit the entrance of mines after someone dies inside it to help free their sparks from their tomb? Do people not say Unicron’s name after dark for fear it’ll summon him? Is there a name(s) that you can’t say inside the Iacon Hall Of Records or else you’ll be cursed with bad luck????

Please feel free to go hog wild with this.

Oh boy I LOVE the idea of that sort of thing. Honestly, I can see all sorts of little superstitions existing due to mythos and history.

Miners make it a point to never leave their tools unattended. They take them everywhere. To recharge, to fuel, even to get repairs. As for why they do this? There is a certain belief that the tools carry a bit of the luck and wisdom of those who held them previously. And since most tools are handed down from one fallen miner to the next, miners treat their tools with reverence. Many have carried the same pick, and each has left their mark. It cannot be disregarded.

Additionally, miners refuse to enter a deep tunnel system without whistling down it first. The habit has been long since made null and void by tunneling improvements, but there are stories of miners getting lost in the dark, before they adapted to it. Many died before their optics were augmented to the low light conditions. Great swaths of miners still believe that the wandering sparks of those lost in the dark linger there, scared and alone. Whistling down the tunnel before entering gives the lost spirits of the dead something to cling to, a guide to the afterlife in a sense.

Gladiators have a particular set of beliefs revolving entirely around the concept of honor. They know that their work is bloody and often cruel, and so they have developed a strange set of beliefs. Every gladiator, before combat, will take a stick or something equally useless, and snap it in half. They will give half of their broken instrument to a trusted comrade and march off to fight. If they return alive, the two pieces are to be put back together and promptly crushed into powder to be cast out upon whichever mech or beast died so that the gladiator could live. A sign of respect. However, if the gladiator were to die, their comrade is obliged to gather up the fallen's half of the instrument and have them run through their funeral rites with the joined object. This is done out of a belief that the dead must be honored, lest they linger in the living realm to haunt those who killed them (in the case of the gladiator surviving) or to stay with the other piece of their spark (in the event the gladiator dies).

Gladiators also have a firm belief that going into battle without paint will inevitably lead to bad luck coming upon them. They take meticulous care of their accenting paint, tracing swirls and jagged lines with delicate touches meant for those of higher castes. Some believe the marks distract enemies. Others say that the marks ward off attacks, letting otherwise lethal combat situations turn in their favor. No one really knows what they do. It is just something that must be done. Failure to go into battle without paint has led to more than a few gladiators meeting their end. Seeing such things has left the rest preferring to not take chances. Megatron himself went into battle without paint one time, and he quickly learned never to do that again when he returned with a brand new scar on his shoulder.

Amongst dock workers, there are various superstitions revolving around cargo in particular. It's bad luck to look at someone's cargo if it has a written letter attached. It doesn't matter what is in the box, it is considered a stain on one's spark to witness the usually rather sappy interactions between those who bother with sending hardcomms. Additionally, dock workers have long since grown to fear any box that comes in solid black. There was exactly one incident where a black box appeared amidst the cargo and disappeared without a trace, taking several other cargo pieces with it. Since then, any black boxes are either thrown right off the truck with a collective agreement that the loss will be signed off as an accident, or said boxes are loaded up with one unfortunate spark to transfer alone. Black boxes being delivered by one mech are often found missing, the driver and the box itself having vanished without a trace. Black boxes are terrifying, and not one dock worker is willing to risk it.

It is also notoriously bad luck among dock workers to deny the youngling with golden optics a ride. They will appear anywhere and at any time without rhyme or reason. When they appear, they never say a word, instead coming up to dock workers and pointing toward whatever transport they are loading up. Dock workers have long since learned to quietly nod and promptly ignore the youngling as they load up alongside the cargo. Interacting with the youngling results in the worker in question befalling some unfortunate end. Ignoring the youngling entirely leads to a similar situation. This superstition began long ago, and many younglings have abused it relentlessly since no one knows what the mysterious youngling from the myth actually looks like aside from their optics.

Low caste mecha as a whole have a strange superstition revolving around the concept of truth. They are notorious for keeping information to themselves, but low caste mecha never ever outwardly or blatantly lie. They are very careful to leave even the smallest grain of truth in their words. Why? Because telling lies brings the whispers of Liege Maximo. What are the whispers? No one is exactly sure. It is an evil omen, one that has led the low castes to develop odd honesty. They don't want to risk Liege's touch, not when he was stated to have been torn apart during the first age for his manipulations.

Low level soldiers hold the belief that giving away their names to one another is bad luck. Since they can all die at any given moment, they find it easier to remain nameless around one another. To them, remaining without a name in the optics of those around them ensures that survivors of battle can move on without fear. Giving a name means binding oneself to another. Their sparks might linger if they are attached, and that could lead to pain for both themselves and their comrades. So to get around this, soldiers don't do the name thing. Instead, every soldier refers to each other through characteristics or words of endearment. "Yellow" for a mech with yellow plating. "Comrade" or "Brother" for a mech they have served with frequently. Anything except a name. It would be cruel to bind the dead to living and the living to the dead.

Soldiers also have a belief that leaving a corpse to rot is incredibly bad luck. It doesn't matter whose corpse it is. It can't be left out. If nothing is salvageable, the spark chamber must be removed and taken to be given proper funeral rites. Not a spark wants to risk and angry spirit lingering because the body was not tended to properly. This belief extends to the point where soldiers will actively tear out their own spark chambers if they know they are going to die (or request others to do it for them). They don't want to linger and haunt those around them, so its best that the core of their frame is guaranteed proper rites.

Flyers of all kinds simply refuse to fly when Luna 1 and 2 are fully aligned. There are a thousand stories telling tales of fliers crashing, being killed, hit by rogue shots, and everything else. They won't risk it, and instead of flying, flyers will instead actively hide from the moons on such occasions. Usually unwilling to be locked in tight spaces, such cycles are the exception. To be seen by the moons is to be hunted. They won't risk it. Additionally, flyers have one particular stretch of Cybertronian landscape they all avoid like the plague. Mecha have been known to go in and never come back out, or if they do return, they are changed. They don't want to mess with that place, not for anything.

Flyers also hold the firm belief that one must keep their optics in perfect condition. They run tests all the time to ensure that their optics function without issue. Some even go so far as to get goggles or visors built into their frames just to protect them. Most chalk this up to a simple desire to not go blind. But flyers think differently. They won't get their optics replaced even if its an option. Why? Because they hold the belief that they carry the optics of a mech who didn't get to soar. Every flyer who has ever lived has had the optics of a grounder who will never get to grace the skies. For flyers, they see their optics as something sacred. They fly not just for themselves, but also for whoever their counterpart is, living or dead. They honor another through their sight, and so they must maintain their vision at all costs. Some call the phenomenon something akin to soulmates. The flyers state that it is the price they pay for their gift of flight.

(Note: Starscream and many of his people do not subscribe to the above thought process. Thundercracker is the only notable exception. Most chalk this up to his love of romance novels.)

Enforcers have many little quirks depending on city, but one they all share is the universal habit of naming their weapon of choice. It is a strange not quite religious belief for them. Whatever the thought process actual is, Enforcers rely heavily on their weapons, and as such, they must appease the weapon itself. They have to bond to it, make it an extension of themselves so that they can move it just as easily as a limb. They go about this through naming, and once named, they never get rid of the weapon in question. Even if its outdated, old, or broken. The weapon stays. If it is obliterated or lost, the Enforcer is obliged to get a copy of their prior weapon for the sake of their continued success. For this reason, most Enforcers fight with inbuilt weapons until they settle on something, and then they buy several copies just in case.

Enforcers will also never actively say "goodbye" to one another. Doing so would imply that there is a possibility of not coming back from the next patrol. So Enforcers simply don't use such language. "Good luck" or "Get those slaggers" are common supplements. Surprisingly, Enforcers only dodge around "goodbye" while on duty. They will casually wave off companions when not on the clock without a care in the world. However, if an Enforcer really does not like someone while on the clock, they will say "goodbye" as their polite version of a middle finger.

It is not exactly a rule, but Archivist as a whole simply do not refer to the Primes by name most of the time. There is a belief that uttering their designations aloud will bring their gaze upon whoever spoke. That can either be good or bad depending on the context, but since Primus's chosen can never really be predicted, most Archivists won't risk it. Instead, if they must say a Prime's name, they will tap a nearby surface a few times to supposedly draw attention away from themselves and hopefully keep the Prime in question from seeing them. It makes no sense, but even Orion Pax kept to the habit. Although some, like Orion, usually worked around this by coming up with slightly different pronunciations of the designations of Primes to hopefully avert their gazes.

Archivists also refuse to read anything relating to relics after a certain time. There is a longstanding belief that doing so can drive a mech mad. Hidden knowledge comes at Primus's chosen joor. Sometimes Archivists will reach grand discoveries at this specific time after delving into records of relics. But more often than not, Archivists have been noted having mental breakdowns, crying, losing their minds, or otherwise going haywire. Medical professionals chalk it up to exhaustion and mania. The Archivists believe it is a warning. They refuse to read about relics during Primus's joor. Obviously, there are some thing between the veil they are not meant to know.

Medics won't come within a ten mile radius of the smelting pits where most of the dead are dealt with. They believe it is a bad omen to linger in places of death, and that the wrath of the deceased can stick to their frames, making other patients lose their lives. This has led medics to make it a habit to remove dead mecha from hospitals as fast as physically possible, handing them off to medical students to carry to the pits. Medical students hardly ever do anything of note with the patients, so the professionals don't feel bad dumping all the potential bad luck on them. The only medics who actively hang around smelting pits are morticians and mecha focused on autopsies. They think lingering around the dead will help them understand the dead. That way, they can better diagnose just what killed a mech. Such medics are usually avoided by the rest who work with the living.

Medics have very sensitive servos. There is a longstanding belief that if a medic is to retire or happens to die, he or she must give up their servos to a younger medic in training. This is to pass on skill, at least in theory. It is also a sign that a medic in training is skilled and worthy of note. To take the servos of an old medic is to take on their legacy. Similarly to the miners, medics take honoring those who came before them very seriously. They will go above and beyond to keep their servos in perfect condition so that whoever comes after them can have the vital sensors that come with a medic's servos. Ratchet is one of the few mecha to not have inherited his servos from anyone. He has also never signed up to have anyone get them after he dies. Most take this to mean he never will die. And considering how long Ratchet has lived, a good chunk of the population firmly believe that Ratchet is eternal.

[orbital-inclination]

Moltendreams - Ink Sans Alias: Fable Pronouns: he/him Personality: Upbeat and Absent Minded Ink seems perpetually Cheerful, Optimistic and full of energy. Frivolous and playful. He may came across as Tone Deaf or inappropriate, seeming unaware of sensitive subjects. However Ink is rarely, if ever intentionally mean or callous. Notes:

Fable carries a notebook he uses to record things he doesn't want to forget. His memory issues aren't as severe as Ink's, but he is still prone to forgetting things easily, specially: names to faces and important dates.

Fable loves watercolor.

His eyelights change shape and color to anything! (stars, exclamation points, swirls, etc.)

He also loves Fashion and even designs his own outfits.

He knows how to sew and stitch and usually has a comment on the tip of his tongue about your fashion choices.

Broomie is hollow inside and filled with diluted paint. Can be any color but usually the paint is associated with a positive emotion. - More info Under cut! -

The Doodleshere: In Moltendreams, Fable must travel to AUs directly to collect paint from them. In this multiverse, the Doodlesphere is scribbled on top of Fable's original AU, and rests in a sort of OUT OF BOUNDS space between AUs. Through the Doodlesphere, Fable can access every AU he has discovered so far. The Doodlesphere is an endlessly expanding liminal space; a series of interconnected empty indoor spaces, shops, malls, palaces, endless variants of regions of the underground, each reflecting an AU, through a door in each room. Despite how confusing the layout of Doodlesphere may seem to the outsider, Fable instinctively knows where everything is. Nothing is ever lost in the Doodleshere.

About: Fable acts as a Muse for Creation, he does not create AUs by himself but rather, assists in the creation by attempting to cox a Spirit of Creation (in-universe term and stand-in for the creator of a particular AU) into taking action. Most Spirits of Creation will create AUs on their own, but many will hesitate, abandoned their world before it's finished, or simply sit still while a world remains incomplete, seemingly waiting for some unknown que. While the Spirits can be influenced and encouraged, ultimately, they cannot be controlled, even by Fable. Fable has a similar history as Canonical Ink. He originated in a discarded AU, soulless but willed to life by a Spirit of Creation before it departed. Fueled by the desire to never experience the empty monotony of an unfinished AU again, Fable travels the multiverse to encourage Spirits of Creation to finish their work. Though the consequences of his actions were unintentional, Fable initially favored Positive AUs and could be said to be partially responsible for the state of the Multiverse as it is today. Happiness feels good. Joy feels good. Fable wants to feel good. He wants others to feel good too. Outcode Politics: Fable places equal value on all creation, and for that reason, he is forced into a position where he feels obligated to respect all "characters" he comes across, even "characters" like Error. Can art destroy itself? Should art destroy itself, if that is the intention of the creator? What do you do when one Artist's art can only be appreciated through the destruction of another Artist's work? Ink doesn't think of it in exactly those terms, but that is the gist of his internal conflict. Passive interference in any given AU is a problem for Fable. He believes the "narrative" should be left to play out organically without outside interference. To interfere could jeopardize the AU's stability. Or worse, antagonize the Creation Spirit that made it. Which can be dangerous for the inhabitants. But for the average encounter, Fable is a wild card. He follows no strict rules, and is just as likely to chase other outcodes off as he is to befriend them and attempt to guild them. Paint and Vials:

Specific AUs give Ink specific paint colors tied to certain emotions. Underfell will give Ink shades of red/anger/righteousness for example but won’t give him yellow/euphoria. Horrortale will give him deep blue/loneliness/grief and shades of purple/fear but won’t give him green/envy etc.

the more common the au is, the more of a specific color Ink will be able to collect from it.

this means that if a certain AU is rare he will use up the color associated with it more quickly. He will try to avoid situations that drain that specific color because it will be harder to refill it later.

Ink drinks a little bit of every color at the same time, daily. Rather than one at a time as it applies to a specific situation

it’s easier for Ink to collect paint from AUs in the “WIP” phase because the paint hasn’t dried yet AFCRUFTAFH

He can gather paint from a “finished” world but he won’t get as much.

Like Canonical Ink, when Fable is drained of paint he will become doll-like, an empty unresponsive husk. with a couple caveats. 1. Fable is aware of things that happen during this period. he just can’t react to them.

2. if what’s left of his magic feels threatened, (the minimal stuff that is keeping his body together) he will react to defend himself. it’s more reflex/instinctive than thought out, however.

3. if Fable had been focusing on a task, goal, or thought prior to going dry, he will react to external things related to that specific task/goal/thought.

Fable doesn’t immediately bounce back after getting his vials refilled. He’s sluggish, and there’s a noticeable buffer period between when something happens and when he reacts to it. He remembers what happened and what was said to him. This is the second most vulnerable period for him. if someone wanted to manipulate or influence him that would be the time to do it. OG Ink Sans/Inktale @.comyet Moltendreams @ me

[dipperscavern]

Hiiii!!! Could you please write something abt comforting Robb after a long day of leading the war? Just some nice, sweet moments between the two of em xx

anon i SPECIALIZE in this department. thank you sm for the ask, i hope u enjoy !!

the tent is dark in the cloak of night, lightly illuminated by the various candles placed about. robb fiddles with the stuck buckle of his armor inside his tent, sighing in his growing frustration at the persistence of his armor refusing to unlatch.

he’s got squires for this, he knows, but he’s been around men all day. taken lives of fathers, brothers, sons, he can take off his own damn armor.

he gives it one final tug before he gives up, sitting back and running his hands down his face, trying his best to rub the sleep from his eyes. he’s got wounded to check on, meetings to hold & ravens to answer. he can take off his armor later.

he leans forward, putting his elbows on the table & resting his head in his hands, just for a moment.

….

approaching footsteps interrupt his moment of reprieve, and greywind rouses from where he lays guard at the door. robb hopes it’s just the guards changing shifts, but he knows better. it’s someone coming to ask him for something. someone coming to tell him what he should be doing instead of what he has been. pigs are flying and he must fix it.

he closes his eyes, and he hears someone enter the tent. the guards are obligated to announce everyone’s arrival, are they not? who could they possibly let in without hesitation?

“what is it?”

his tone is harsher than he intends. he’s snappy, even when he doesn’t mean to be. when he gets no answer, he looks up, and it’s you. his expression softens in record time, guilt crawling up his spine. he puts his head in his hands again, sighing at his own stupidity. what kind of king speaks to his people like he just did? to his lady, nonetheless?

you walk over to him, wordless, and begin to unlatch the stuck buckle. it lets go in record time, and you move to the next. robb sits back to give you access to all of his armor, and you step into his space. you must be a gift from the gods, he thinks. some kind of… divine blessing that he could never be worthy of receiving.

some time passes like that. you, taking off his armor, and robb, sitting back ever so patiently, resisting the urge to pull you closer. the weight lifts off him as the layers get shed, and he can’t help the few groans that escape him. how long has he been wearing this? ten, twelve hours? his body relaxes as you work, and in tune, his mind. his hand reaches for any part of you he can hold while not interrupting your work. he almost thinks he’s bothering you until he feels you lean into him, whether you’re aware of it or not. it brings the first smile he’s worn on his face all day.

eventually you pull him up to send him to bathe.

“y’look like death.”

your comment has a playful expression adorn robb’s face as he pulls you closer, and he starts poking your ribs, the place where you’re most ticklish. you yelp in surprise, squirming in his grasp and trying to get away. he’s got a good hold of you, and your pleas for him to stop are drowned out by your own laughter.

even if you’re the victim, you secretly enjoy the playful moments like these. the ones where you get a glimpse of the robb you fell in love with at winterfell — where you both were just two stupid kids, head over heels for each other.

“robb- robb!”

he eventually decides on mercy, stopping his assault. you sway in his arms, catching your breath & letting smaller giggles escape you. he leans in, kissing your temple in a half-apology (he’s not sorry) as he leaves to wash the grime off himself.

he comes back to find you lighting a candle you just replaced. the glow of its light illuminates your features, and you’ve never looked so pretty. he approaches you, and he can’t help himself, sliding an arm around your waist & pulling you into him. however stuck you may be, you seem content with your situation. you aren’t sure how long you stand like that, soaking in each others presence, watching the candles flame dance. you’re both so enamored in this moment, you don’t hear greywind moving to stand up.

“Your grace.”

you both turn around to see the subject of the intrusion. a guard has his head poked through the tents entrance, greywind stopping him from stepping inside.

“A raven.” the guard holds up a sealed scroll, punctuating his words. robb squeezes your waist ever so lightly as he lets go, moving to collect the scroll and add it to his list of things he must do. he nods, silently dismissing the guard, and the guard bows, going back to his post.

he breaks the seal, and whatever’s written on the paper has robb’s mood growing sour as he reads it. he sets it down on the table, putting his hands on the old wood and exhaling through his nose, leaning his weight against it. his eyes are distant, overworked brain no doubt at a loss of what to do anymore. how much can one man take?

you hate seeing him like this. the crown on his head is heavy, and war has not been kind. you wish you could fix it all yourself, but you can’t. the best you can do is stand unwavering by his side, there to prop him up when he’s buckling. so you do.

you move to join him, gently moving one of his arms off of the table to give you room to wrap your arms around him. he’s immediate in his response, tucking his head in your shoulder & pulling your body flush against his. he sighs, a shaky exhale against your shoulder. he needed this. bad. and he didn’t even know it, not until he got it.

not until he feels the heat and weight of your body pressed against his own, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck. he can feel you trying to embed yourself into his memory, a reminder that even when you’re not here, he can come back to this moment. when he feels like he’s drowning in the vast sea of battle and politics — that he once felt like he was drowning here, inside this tent, too. and you were there to pull him back up. somehow, impossibly, he finds himself pulling you closer.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any solo ttrpgs that deal with like being a bodyguard or someone's knight? It's something I've had rattling around in my head for a while

Theme: Solo Knights

Hello friend, no luck in the bodyguard department but I sure do have some knight games! Let’s take a look.

Frog Errant, by ManaDawn Tabletop Games.

It’s a deadly and brutal world out there, and it is not too friendly for a lone frog. But if you embrace your quest and heed the omens, you may just be able to make a name for yourself. And if you wander long and far enough, you may be remembered in the songs of both frogs and mice.

Frog Errant is a solo, or GMless, game mode for Mausritter or other Into the Odd based games. In Frog Errant you will take up the role of a wandering frog knight-errant, seeking adventure, looking to fulfill a Quest - all while avoiding you prophesied Doom.

If you are familiar with Mausritter, then this game will be pretty easy to pick up. The game builds in some story that isn’t present in Mausritter - primarily the Quest that has been given to your frog knight, as well as a Doom that has been prophesied to overcome you. It looks like you can use a lot of the items and monsters from Mausritter, but Frog Errant has plenty of new pieces too!

Misericorde, by Andrew White.

Misericorde is a game of knightly romance, pining, unrequited love and confronting the expected behaviours of your social class. You play as a squire serving under a knight on a great quest, without your assistance they surely will fail and yet, as a squire you are obligated to remain in the background, forgotten and not commented on. However, you have developed feelings, perhaps unrequited, for your knight. The actions of the game focus on this struggle, between your Duty and your Desire. Will you hold back, hew to your duty and rank; or will you break free and open your heart, no matter how your beloved may respond.

You’re not exactly a knight in this game, but rather a squire to one. Misericorde is completely unlike the other games on this list because it focuses on devotion and desire, rather than the actions that a forsworn duty drives a Knight to do. You play the game by setting up scenes, asking questions, and rolling dice on an Oracle to figure out what happens next. This is an interpretive game, so while the Oracle will point you in a direction, you determine what exactly each result means.

Chalice, by Monkey’s Paw Games.

Chalice is a solo journaling role-playing game where you chronicle the perilous journey of a Grail-seeking knight in Arthurian England. During the game, you will tell the story of your Knight’s physical and spiritual descent as they quest for, and ultimately fail to find, the Grail. Your Knight’s quest is doomed. Their chivalric virtues will be surely undone by their fatal flaws and moral shortcomings.

This looks like the most immersive game for Arthurian mythology as a solo game. The game itself is designed to look like a manuscript from medieval times, calligraphy and all. Your Knight has benefits called Passions, key relationships called Bindings, and a fate determined by drawing cards from a tarot deck. Throughout the game, you will draw more cards that serve as prompts, which will give or strike through your Passions and Bindings, and play happens over the span of years. Each year is measured in two parts: the deed, which will be what your character accomplishes, and the Chanson, which is evocative recording of your character’s deeds. When you are unable to fulfill a prompt given to you, your story end

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard, by Amanda P.

Quests in King Arthur stories are about ideals, conflict and temptation. 

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard is a solo prompt-based journaling game where you create a Sun Guard and travel alone on a quest, attempting to hold to your Code until you reach the end, facing trials and complications along the way.  

You are the last Sun Guard. Will you take up the mantle and ride the ancient roads?

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard follows a cycle of play. You will start by travelling to a new location, and follow the directions according to each location’s prompt. This may involve using or acquiring resources, accomplishing great deeds, and writing a record of what happened with each step of the quest. When you run out of all of your resources, you can choose to either end your quest there, or break your Code to continue. If you like the story of Gawain & the Green Knight, this game might be for you.

Sanctum Guard, by Bulger007.

Sanctum Guard is a 20-minute pen-and-paper solo game about protecting a powerful magic artifact against a horde of night terrors. In this game, you are a lone guardian of a secluded sanctum built to protect the Obsidram, a powerful artifact that can potentially destroy worlds if it falls into the wrong hands.

You live in peace and harmony with the Obsidram while it is hidden in this secret and desolate domain from power-hungry minds. But one night, someone or something finds the way and you see a glimmering portal from which a horde of monsters descends upon you. Will you manage to protect the Obsidram?

This game runs like a tower defense game, and requires a sheet of graph paper to play. You will build your Sanctum randomly, then roll against generated monsters with the hopes that you can take them out before they utterly destroy the Sanctum and take your sacred relic.

This game doesn’t detail who you’re guarding the Obsidram for, although I think you could also substitute the relic for a person, if you want to be guarding someone instead of something.

Falling Kingdom: The Last Knights, by Purple Robed Wizard.

“The lands are shattered, the gods that once held our hand are dead and the beasts are upon us. Our King. killed by his own flesh. All of us, but waiting to follow. But we still stand, we hold our ground as we rot, we are the Last Knights, and we will stand until we last draw breath.”

In Falling Kingdom you control the last Knights of a realm threatened by a great, corrupting and unstoppable force. There is no great victory waiting for you at the end, no songs to be heard. There is only struggle, corruption, betrayal and death.  The Kingdom will Fall, but this story isn’t about that, it is about the heroes that face this imminent fall, the Knights of the realm, normal men and women elevated to a position where they will fight for their homelands against all odds.

This is a map-conquering game, with randomly generated missions, a Great Battle that could turn the tides of the war, and a stages of battles depending on how much territory you win or lose. You can accumulate corruption as you play, which is helpful in getting successful rolls, but accrue too much, and your knights begin to die. If you like a game about strategy, tragedy, and abstract warfare, this might be the game for you.

Sentinel, by Meghan Cross.

You are the lone guardian of a place of great power - known to you only as The Sanctuary. Many years you have kept vigil in this place, guarding what is kept within from any and all who come to disrupt it or steal it for themselves. 

Sentinel is a solo journaling game about a solitary guardian and the place they are charged with keeping safe. It is a deck and dice based game in which you will create your guardian and the sanctuary that they protect before reliving the memories, facing threats, and finding interesting objects while time passes around you. And then, when the time has come for your watch to end, find out what happens to The Sanctuary when you are no longer able to guard it.

This is a journaling game that uses cards to determine what kinds of actions your character can take. Hearts summon memories, Diamonds grant you items, Spades bring threats, and Clubs pass time. If you draw a Joker, the game is over and the story ends. At the end of the game, the final roll determines whether or not you are successful in your quest. This is a great game for folks who like journaling and world building.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

5-Min Knight, by enui.

Fetch My Blade, by Ethan Yen.

[vernons-girl]

hi! yeah um i.. read ur newest fic 'not her' with kmg and i kind of wanted to add a continuation to that...? (only if u want to ofc!)

so basically reader got her heart broken by mingyu and her sister, soooo she goes on and vents her feelings and how heart broken she is to another one of her pals, seungcheol (without knowing seungcheol likes reader) so he comforts her and u can probably add the ending (fluff or angst or anything!)

im sorry this is too long.. i rlly tried to make it shorter lmao (btw i LUV ur fics so much)

not her | kim mingyu - choi seungcheol pt.2

PART 1 ; PART 2 ; PART 3 (final)

angst, fluff,wc:2.5k

taglist: @gaslysainz ; @graybaeismytae ; @mansaaay

a/n: did i completely put mingyu aside in this part? yes. will i make a part three where we really dive into the drama with everyone kdrama love triangle way? you guys tell me hehe

You couldn't bear looking at the scene that was unfolding in front of your eyes so you gathered your stuff in a hurry and left, completely forgetting the idea of shopping for a new outfit.

You made it home in record time. Rushing to lock yourself in your room once you made it through the door.

Mingyu choosing someone else than you was one thing, but your sister going behind your back to betray you, after you had confided in her? That was a whole other thing.

You couldn't help but cry as soon as you found yourself alone in the comfort of your room. You were feeling too many things at the same time and couldn't quite pinpoint why you were crying. Was it the pain? The anger? The disappointment? The heartbreak? Maybe it was all of it at once.

You couldn't bare the idea of having to face any of them about the issue right now, let alone having to see your sister when she would get back home, so you did the first thing that came to mind : you packed an overnight bag, texted your most trustful friend and headed over to his place.

You reached Seungcheol's place about an hour after you had texted him. You hadn't told him much over text, actually you hadn't told him anything besides 'can i come spend the night?' to which he agreed, of course, he didn't need to know why you needed to spend the night over at his place when you had a perfectly decent bed of your own, he just agreed without any further questions.

He greeted you at the door with a worried look on his face that he couldn't conceal no matter how hard he tried. You've confided in him before, but never did it feel so worrying. Without a second thought, he pulled you inside with a hug. The action broke down all the walls you had tried to build on your way there instantly. You felt as if you were falling apart in his arms, melting in his embrace perhaps, and you let the tears stream down your face, not caring about the embarrassing whines coming out of your mouth as you did so. He didn't seem to care either. Because all he did was hold you, closely, firmly but carefully, rubbing soothing circles on your back, shushing you like one would do with a baby. But it all felt so right amongst all the chaos around you that you let yourself be in the moment, until he pulled you straight on your feet to lead you to the living room, "Come on, let's talk about this around a warm drink, yeah?" he said, trying his best to show off a reassuring smile.

You obliged and sat down on the couch as Seungcheol got some snacks ready along with something to drink. In the meantime you allowed yourself to relax, sunking down onto the couch wishing it could somehow swallow you whole.

Thankfully, Seungcheol joined you pretty quickly so you didn't have the time to get lost in your thoughts once again. You straightened up to grab the cup he was handing out to you from the tray he had placed on the coffee table in front of you.

"Sooooo..." Seungcheol started, he didn't want to push you into it but he still needed to at least have an idea of what was going on.

You took a sip of your drink followed by a deep breath.

"So... I had a crush on this guy, and I genuinely thought that he could like me, you know?" you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes once again.

"And I wasn't the only one thinking this.. my sister thought so too." Seungcheol now had a curious look and urged you to keep going.

"I was supposed to meet up with him in a few days and I really wanted to confess, I really did." this time, the tears fell from your eyes, you couldn't help it, it was so fresh, so hard, your body needed to express this unbearable inner pain it was feeling.

Seungcheol offered some comfort with his free hand coming to rub up and down your arm, "We don't have to talk about it any more if you don't feel like it," he reassured you.

"No, it's okay, you affirmed, so, you started again, I wanted to make things right, I wanted to impress him, to make him like me any more than he might already do, so I went to the mall to do some shopping, a sob escaped from your dry lips, but then I saw them, him, her" you sniffled, letting out shaky breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down.

"Them ? Him? Her?" Seungcheol asked.

"My crush and my sister" you finally said, your heart breaking a little more. The look on your friend's face changed to... confusion?

"Wait so you saw your sister with your crush at the mall? What about it?

- They were kissing, Seungcheol. Kissing."

Upon hearing this last word, his expression morphed to anger in a matter of seconds.

"What the fuck?!" he suddenly exclaimed, almost slamming his mug down onto the table.

"She kissed him knowing you liked him? This is so twisted. I can't believe it." He let out in disbelief, rubbing a hand down his face.

"And he didn't tell me either. He never told me he was seeing someone. What if she told him about my crush on him and they both fucked me over? you put your face in both on your hands, crying softly, What am I supposed to do now Seungcheol?" you questioned desperately, almost pleading him for an answer.

He leaned back in his seat, looking up in thought.

"Who is he?" he finally asked.

"Who's who?" okay maybe it wasn't the best idea to play dumb, but how could you tell him that Mingyu, your friend who also happens to be one of Seungcheol's, broke your heart ?

"The guy, he said firmly, who's the guy?" ok so now he wasn't playing. You've never seen him look this serious before, the concern and anger still obvious on his face.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the worst when you breathed out : "Mingyu."

He clenched his fists upon hearing the name leave your shaky lips. As a matter of fact, his whole body tensed.

"So you saw Mingyu kissing your sister who knew you liked Mingyu ?" he summarized.

"Yeah.." you confirmed, your gaze lingering on the floor, the carpet curiously looking much more interesting than you friend who was sitting across from you.

"Does she know ? he asked

-Mh?

-Your sister. Does she know you saw them ?

-No, they didn't see me and I came over before she got home, so we didn't talk about it.

-And do you think he knew?

-Knew what ?

-That you liked him ?

-I don't know.. I don't think so, you reasoned, he would never be so cruel. you affirmed

-Yeah, you're probably right.." Seungcheol agreed, even though he wanted nothing but to punch his dear friend in the face for hurting you, he also knew it wasn't his style to hurt people's feelings. I mean this guy literally apologized to his last girlfriend for breaking up with her so of course he wasn't going to hurt one of his closest friends.

Seungcheol sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is a messed up situation, no doubt about it," he muttered, his expression reflecting a mixture of concern and anger.

You nodded, feeling a bit of relief knowing Seungcheol was there to listen, even if he couldn't magically fix everything. It was nice knowing there was at least one person you could trust in this whole mess.

After a moment of silence, Seungcheol leaned forward, taking both of your hands in his, his eyes fixed on you. "Listen, I know it hurts like hell right now, but you're stronger than this. I'm not going to tell you to not think about it because I know it feels impossible right now but you need to focus on yourself, okay ?

- Yeah.. you replied.

- What do you need right now?"

You thought for a moment, wiping away the tears that still lingered. "I just... I need some time to figure things out. Away from all of this," you said, gesturing vaguely around you.

Seungcheol nodded in understanding. "Alright. I get it. You can stay here as long as you need. I'll be here for you, okay?"

You managed a weak smile, feeling a sliver of hope, "Thank you, Seungcheol. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He smiled back, a reassuring presence in the middle of all of this turmoil. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. Just take it one step at a time. And remember, you're not alone in this." he finally said, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze.

And as you glanced over at Seungcheol, you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest, realizing just how much he truly cared for you. Perhaps, in the midst of all this chaos, there was a silver lining after all—a silver lining named Seungcheol.

"Come on, let's get you settled in bed, yeah?" he said, standing up and offering his hand out for you to take. You did so and followed him down the hallway.

As Seungcheol led you to the spare bedroom where you would be spending the night, he couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside him. On one hand, he was glad to be able to offer you a comfortable place to rest after everything you'd been through. But on the other hand, he couldn't shake the pang of jealousy he felt at the thought of you sleeping under the same roof in a bed that wasn't his.

As he pulled back the covers and fluffed the pillows, he tried to push aside those selfish thoughts. After all, what mattered most was that you were safe and comfortable. But as he glanced over at you, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful you looked in the soft light of the bedside lamp, your eyes heavy with exhaustion yet still so full of resilience.

"Here you go," he said, gesturing to the bed. "I hope you'll be comfortable here."

You offered him a grateful smile as you sank down onto the mattress, letting out a contented sigh. "Thank you, Seungcheol. I really appreciate it."

He returned your smile, trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat at the sound of your voice. "Of course. Anything for you."

As he turned to leave the room, he couldn't help but linger for a moment, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form. In that moment, he realized just how much he cared about you—more than just a friend, more than just a crush. And as he quietly closed the door behind him, he made a silent promise to himself to always be there for you, no matter what.

As you settled into the comfortable bed Seungcheol had prepared for you, your mind started to buzz with thoughts of the events that had unfolded earlier. Despite your exhaustion, sleep eluded you as you thought about your sister's and Mingyu's betrayal. A notification from your phone interrupted your thoughts, a message from your sister asking where I was, seemingly worried as to what you were up to. Against you better judgment, you decided to ignore it for the moment as you let out a heavy sigh and turned your attention to Seungcheol.

He had been so kind and supportive throughout the evening, offering you a safe haven and a shoulder to lean on. His actions spoke volumes, and somehow you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more behind his gestures. The way he looked at you, the tenderness in his voice—it all hinted at a deeper connection between you. And as you drifted off into a restless sleep, you couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Seungcheol's feelings for you ran deeper than mere friendship.

After ensuring that the spare bedroom was tidy and comfortable for you, Seungcheol made my way to the living room to clean up the mess from earlier. As he picked up discarded snack wrappers and empty mugs, his mind also ended up wandering to the events of the evening.

He couldn't shake the anger and frustration he felt towards Mingyu for hurting you, someone he cared deeply about. And yet, amidst the chaos, he couldn't deny the flutter of hope that sparked within him at the thought of being there for you, of being the one you turned to in her time of need.

As he finished cleaning up, he reached for his phone and sent a quick text to Mingyu, his fingers hesitating over the keys. Despite his anger towards him, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if this was his chance to finally confess his feelings to you. But as he stared at the blank screen, he couldn't bring myself to send the message. Instead, he pocketed his phone and made his way back to the spare bedroom, his heart heavy with uncertainty and longing.

As Seungcheol lay in bed, the weight of the evening's events heavy on his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the situation than met the eye.

As he mulled over the possibilities, a nagging thought tugged at the corners of his mind. What if Mingyu wasn't entirely clueless about your feelings? What if, somehow, he had sensed your affection for him, even if you hadn't explicitly confessed it?

The idea seemed far-fetched at first, but the more Seungcheol thought about it, the more it made sense. Mingyu was perceptive, after all, and he had always been attentive to the people around him. Perhaps he had noticed the subtle glances, the lingering touches, the way your face lit up whenever you were near him.

But if Mingyu was aware of your feelings, why would he pursue a relationship with your sister? Was it out of genuine interest, or was there something more sinister at play? Seungcheol couldn't shake the feeling that there was a piece of the puzzle missing, something lurking beneath the surface that he couldn't quite grasp.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind buzzing with unanswered questions, Seungcheol's thoughts inevitably turned to you. Despite the troubles of the evening, one thing remained clear: his feelings for you ran deep. With each passing moment, his love for you only seemed to grow stronger, anchoring him amidst the storm of uncertainty.

As he vowed to uncover the truth about Mingyu's intentions, Seungcheol's resolve was fueled not only by a sense of justice for you but also by a burning desire to protect you from further harm. For he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would do anything to ensure your happiness, even if it meant confronting his own heartache in the process.

With that thought in mind, Seungcheol closed his eyes, feeling a sense of determination wash over him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he would face them head-on, armed with nothing but his unwavering love for you. And as sleep finally claimed him, he couldn't help but cling to the hope that, somehow, everything would turn out alright in the end.

[143-iloveu]

Credit for all photos goes to the original owners. I do not own these images.

MDNI - Not all of my works are NSFW, but I do not want minors interacting with my blog just to be safe. All NSFW content will carry a Mature Community Label. Ageless and empty blogs will promptly be blocked.

Constellations

Idol!Felix X GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting Fluff

Content Warnings - None

Word Count - 548

When your exhausted boyfriend comes home from dance practice and falls asleep in record time... you can't help but admire him.

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

Fifty-five seconds.

That’s all the time it took for Felix to fall asleep once his head hit the pillow - a new record. You decided to count purely out of curiosity. He’s been heading to dance practice before dawn for the last four days, and Lord knows the boys don’t wrap things up until they are beyond exhausted. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep this whole week.

As he drifts farther into dreamland, his tense muscles are finally given a chance to relax. His lips are forming a sleepy little pout, and a trail of drool is forming at the corner of his mouth - his signature face whenever he’s burnt out. He looks so peaceful lost in his dream. Your heart flutters at the sight. You could swear that you found your heaven within Felix. What selfless deed had you performed in your past life to be given the chance to be with such a sweetheart?

You’re quick to take advantage of the opportunity to admire the beautiful man who’s lying before you. His blonde locks are fanned across his forehead, some falling in his eyes. His breathing is slow, chest rising and falling in time. But the thing that always pulls at your heartstrings is seeing the freckles on Felix’s angelic face. It’s as if God painted constellations across his cheeks just for you to cherish.

You lay in bed next to him, attempting to count how many individual freckles you can see.

‘One hundred forty-three,’ you think to yourself.

That’s the farthest you’ve ever gotten.

Suddenly, Felix rolls further into you, burying his face in your chest and wrapping a strong arm around your waist. He holds you tight against him, and you can feel a small smile spreading across his lips. He must have felt you staring and rolled over to hide his face. He’s always such a shy baby whenever he catches you staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

He’s trapped you within his grasp, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have only a single complaint; you weren’t finished counting. You sigh, accepting that your mission has failed. There’s always tomorrow. Although, you’re certain his freckles are infinite, just like the number of reasons to love him.

“Sweet dreams, my freckled prince,��� you whisper.

He hums in response.

“I love you, Yongbokie,” you say gently against his temple before pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he mumbles against your chest.

It feels as if you see God every time he says your name, intoxicated by the sound of it falling from his pouty lips. If his love were a religion, you’d be a devout worshipper. You’ve got him, and he’s got you; until the end of time.

He gives your waist a small squeeze before looking up at you with the cutest sleepy eyes. His lips are puckered, silently asking for another goodnight kiss. You happily oblige. A smile crawls onto his face, and he shifts to get comfortable again. He quickly falls back asleep, a light snore escaping his lips. You lay there truly appreciating the fact that you can call this man yours. Without him, you’d be completely lost. Soon, your exhaustion drags you off to join Felix in dreamland.

A/N: I am so freaking soft for Lixie. I wrote this one-shot in a couple of hours but went back over it hundreds of times since writing it. It has sat in my finished works folder for over a year, and I'm finally ready to let it see the light of day. I hope you love this as much as I do!

-Ashe 🦊🐺

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

[lxvxwritings]

Record me (pt.1)

pairing: eren x reader

word count: 1.2k

cw: afab!reader, pwp, dom!eren, sub!reader, little corruption kink, voyeur eren??, pet names (princess, love), degradation, name calling (slut, whore), finger sucking, tongue sucking, spitting on your pussy, pussy slapping (once), consensual recording, masturbating (f), fingering

You were in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water because you were going to combust. You needed to have your boyfriend between your legs telling you the nasties things.

After drinking, you walked to the living room where Eren was watching tv. He looked at you and smiled and you were biting your lower lip trying to gain the courage to ask him to rearrange your guts. You were quite shy and didn’t know how to ask for these things. 

“You need something?” said Eren a little playful. “Come here.” Signaling you to sit in his lap. 

“I need you, Eren.” 

He positioned you straddling his hips. “What does a naughty girl like you want?” His voice was deep in your ear and you were trying to suppress a whimper. Your hands were around his neck and you positioned your pussy in his clothed dick. One of his hands was on your waist and the other was going up to grab a handful of your hair, pulling it a little. 

“Answer me.” 

“N-need your dick, please.”

Eren let an airy laugh and started to kiss your neck. You moaned and couldn’t wait to feel his semi-hard dick on your pussy. You moved your hips, trying to feel the friction that his pants would give to your needy clit. Eren’s hand traveled with the other to place them on your waist, while he was biting your ear softly, he rocked his hips with yours. You noticed how his hands were now on your front, caressing your boobs and stroking very gently your nipples, without making them too hard, just to give you enough pleasure to keep you going. 

“Aah” you said softly while moving faster on his now hard dick. He separated you from his neck and squeezed your neck a little bit to make you look at him. “I want to see you play with your pussy for me.” Your eyes widened and you noticed how your face started to be warmer because of his demand. He saw your reaction and smirked with his handsome lips. You kissed him hard, trying to get him to suck on your tongue, you were very horny and you just wanted to do the nasties things. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” He knew you better than anyone else, and knew that you just needed a little boost to help you get out of your shell. You obliged and when your tongue was sticking out of your pretty mouth he started to suck on it. You moaned while his tongue was licking and sucking yours. Your eyes were at the back of your head and your hips didn’t stop moving for a second. You were going to cum in your thong from the friction that his dick was giving to your needy cunt. 

“You’re such a nasty girl. You like being a whore, don’t you?” 

You nodded while your tongue was still out and he took his ring and middle finger and started to push them inside of your mouth. You gagged at his fingers, but he didn’t stop, he loved seeing you take his fingers so well. “The things I’ll do to you… you don’t have any idea how much I want to see you play with your pussy. Shit” You moaned while still rocking your hips back and forth and pushed Eren’s fingers deep into your mouth while grabbing his wrist. “You’re a slut.” He couldn’t stop smiling at how nasty his girlfriend was becoming. He loved corrupting you and making you his little bitch, all his. He loved you so much. 

He made you gag one more time and finally, he took his finger out of your mouth. “On your knees baby, take off your clothes.” 

You did what he told you to and in no time you were naked on your knees. Your pussy was almost dripping into the floor. Your shyness went almost away as you looked at him with innocent eyes while circling your clit with one finger. He was sitting on the sofa looking at you as if you were his prey, dedicating all his attention to his girl. He had his hair in a bun and little pieces of his hair were framing his handsome face. He had his legs spread and his hands intertwined in his knees. 

“Ah, fuuck.” Your eyes were closed while you were going faster on your clit, you were going to cum in no time. “I’m c-cumming EREN SHIT.” 

“Not yet, baby, let me see how well you finger yourself.” 

“Eren, c-can’t, p- please.”

“Do as I say.” He said in a demanding tone. “Sit and spread your legs for me.”

You sat down and spread your legs to let him see how wet you were. You started to circle your entrance with your index finger and Eren came down to face you. He spread your legs a little bit more and spat on your pussy. You needn’t more lubrication but you loved it. You whimpered while watching his saliva get in your pussy and you didn’t need to be told twice. Your index finger finally got in and you moaned like a pornstar. Eren’s face was mere inches from yours, but he wasn’t going to kiss you, he wanted to feel how desperate you were. You inserted a second finger and started to curl your fingers inside of you, hitting that spot. 

Your eyes were closed and your mouth agape. You were moaning and whimpering while going faster, trying to get there, but you knew you couldn’t get there with your fingers alone, and less if Eren wasn’t touching you.

Eren placed a hand on your chin and made you look into his eyes. “I wish you could see how nasty you look.”

“Please, p-please need…” 

“What do you need, princess?”

“To see.”

“Want me to film how dirty and nasty you are? How angelic you sound when you moan?”

“Ah, ah yesyesyes.” You were so turned on by that idea you were surprised.

Eren took his phone out of his pocket and clicked on record. He directed the phone to your pussy to record the squelching wet sounds you were making while having a direct view of it. 

“You little slut.” He moaned while looking at how fucked up you looked fucking yourself with your fingers. 

“Eren, pl-please need your dick, mmmmph”

Eren took your fingers out of your pussy. While he was recording with one hand, he slapped your pussy with the other. “AH MMMM” you moaned loudly. His fingers were touching your pussy and you were bucking your hips like a bitch in heat, trying to get your clit to touch them. 

“Look at you, you have no shame, love. Your tongue lolling out of your mouth, moaning and rubbing your pussy in my fingers. I’m gonna destroy you.” 

“AAH, fuck I’m cumming EREN!” 

“Come on my fingers, whore.” 

You couldn’t hold it back anymore, and you came with a loud moan, wetting all of his fingers while your pussy was contracting, wishing you were filled to the brim. Slowly you started to calm down, rubbing slowly onto him. He recorded your face one last time and threw his phone into the sofa. 

Getting closer to your face he gave you a quick kiss on the lips “get up, love, I’m going to fill you up so good you’re going to cry.”

Masterlist

[pandorasprongs]

JAMIE TARTT | comfort crowd, you can always count.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY: reader gets cheated on and jamie, whose trying to be a better friend and person, decides to help her out by hiding her phone for the day.

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, language

A/N: first time writing something full length but i hope you guys enjoy this! sorry for the length but feel free to give any comments! (also, pretend that jamie continued to see dr. sharon after she leaves the team like ted did) EDIT: changed the title which is now based on the song comfort crowd by conan gray :)

As a physical therapist for a football team, there could be a multitude of reasons why a coach would call you down during training. Maybe someone twisted their ankle or landed on their foot the wrong way. Maybe it was because they did that stupid red string drill again. You really didn’t want to explain all over again that treating that was not your area of expertise. 

Luckily, everything seemed to be going smoothly as you walked onto the field and find the team doing their regular drills. All, except one player. You find Ted and Jamie in the middle of an argument — well, more of Ted joking around while Jamie was whining about something, the usual — and you approach them.

"Hi Coach, Jamie." You greet them, before asking Ted why he called for you. Without a verbal response, he surprises you by tossing an object to you. You swiftly catch it and dodge Jamie as he tries to reach out and grab it. You look down to see Jamie's phone.

You turn curiously to Ted who finally explains what is going on. "Our star player here," he rests his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, "managed to sneak his phone onto the pitch during training." At this point, poor Jamie is practically scowling. 

You try and hide your amusement, though can't help but let out a small laugh. Even with how he was acting right now, he still looked cute. Objectively, of course. Everyone on the team knew you had a boyfriend back home, so none of them ever tried something. That didn't mean you couldn't admire the aesthetics of the players. Well, a player. 

You started working at the club a little after Jamie went back to Man City, but everyone was pretty clear about their grievances with the guy, especially after the team got relegated. You vaguely remember Colin saying something about a jaundiced worm? So when he returned, you made sure to steer clear of him outside of your work obligations. Your feelings towards him were more apathy than anything else. But, once he started to get along with the team, that was basically your go signal to be nicer to him. 

In truth, you probably knew more about Jamie than you needed to, given how often he visits the treatment room. Even if it was just a small cramp or ache, he would request a quick check-up or PT session to make sure he can still play. During those times, you would end up chatting with him and talking about whatever was going on in both of your lives. That's probably why Ted decided to give the phone to you since he knew that you were one of the only people Jamie wouldn't wrestle to get it back.

"Now, why don't you hold on to that and Jamie can swing by your office to get it after practice, yeah?" Ted instructs you and you're more than happy to oblige.

"Sure thing, Coach." You smile as you slide his phone into your back pocket. You turn to Jamie who now has a defeated look on his face. "See you later, Jamie."

"Yeah, yeah," He responded, as you leave to go back to the treatment room. 

A few hours later, their training finished and the team was getting ready to go home. You contemplated going down and returning Jamie's phone yourself, but why make it easier for him? Since none of the players needed any treatment that day and all the records were backed up and updated, you spent most of the day aimlessly scrolling through your phone and the computer in the office. 

You liked looking through social media to see what your friends and family were doing back home. It was hard being away from them for so long, but it was always a dream of yours to go abroad. When you got the offer to work for Richmond, you just couldn't pass it up. Luckily, the daily calls and messages from your parents, friends, and your boyfriend Matt, helped treat the homesickness a little bit. Though recently, Matt's were much more scattered. You didn't think much of it, assuming that he was just busy at work.

You were starting to pack up for the day when you hear a ping from your phone. You expect it to be a message from Matt checking in on you, but instead, see a message from one of your best friends. ‘Hey! Heard about you and Matt, I'm so sorry. I know you're busy with your new life in England, but I'm always here if you need to talk.’

Both confusion and anxiety fill you as you finish reading the text. Why would she be sorry? You send a quick ‘???’ before three dots appear on her end.

‘I'm at a party rn and I saw Matt with a new girl? He said you guys broke up ages ago.’

You feel your heart racing. There's no way he would do that. It's Matt, for Christ's sake! You've been together since college and your relationship has survived worse things than long distance. Your lack of response prompts your friend to send another message — ‘I'm so sorry this is how you found out’, — along with a picture this time. Your hands are trembling as you open it and you see Matt in the background making out with another girl. 

That was enough to break the dam. You feel tears pooling in your eyes blurring your vision. You turn off your phone and just let the tears fall. It was already late, so there was less chance of someone walking in on you at such a low moment. Except, you forgot that you were still holding onto something.

Jamie, your most frequent visitor, didn't bother to knock and simply barged in. "Okay! Training’s over, it's time to return what's mine. Where are you keeping it hostage?" He greeted jokingly, which you couldn't even chuckle at.

You grabbed his phone from your desk drawer and reached out your hand for him to take it without even looking up. He accepts it gratefully and you swear you even hear him give it a kiss. He continued to celebrate before asking if you looked through it by any chance. You shake your head, more furiously than you intended, and hope that it was enough to get him to leave. But Jamie knew you better than you thought. Your slumped position and the fact you hadn't looked at him this whole time were good hints, but when he heard your quiet sniffles, he knew for sure.

"Fuck, are you crying?" You shake your head again, even more desperate for him to leave. Yes, you were comfortable around him, but having a breakdown in front of someone is at least a level 5 friendship type of thing.

You feel him spin the chair to make you face him. You still don't look up from your position, continuing to pick at your fingernails. He crouches down to your level and places his hands on your shoulders to try and comfort you. When you still don't look up at him, he finally asks, "What happened?"

"Just some stupid shit, Jamie. Don't worry." You respond shakily, as you try and wipe the tears from your eyes. 

"It can't be that stupid if you're crying at work about it." You let out a weak laugh and finally look up at him. His features are much softer than usual, even giving you a smile as you face him. Not his usual cocky smirks he does when he scores a goal or when he jokingly flirts with you. A genuine smile, one that helped ease your sadness a little bit.

At this point, Jamie has already seen your puffy face that for sure has obvious tear streaks, — you always hate how red your face gets when you cry — so how much of a stretch would it be to just tell him what's going on? You reach back for your phone which still has your friend’s chat open and hand it to him.

It takes a few seconds before Jamie realizes what's going on. "Oh, fuck."

He returns the phone to your hands, but not a second later, he's already enveloping you in a hug. It's hard to ignore how this is the first time you've ever had physical contact with Jamie outside of your PT sessions and it's even harder to not feel embarrassed of the reason why.

"I'm so sorry," He whispers and you can't help but laugh as you remove yourself from him.

"Why are you saying sorry? It's not like you're the one who cheated on me. It's that dipshit over there in the photo." You emphasize the last word as you return your phone to the table. "I don't even know why I held on so long. I just hoped that we could make it, you know? We’ve been together for years!" You start, trying to hold back tears as you explain it to Jamie. "What makes it more shitty is that he didn't even have the balls to break it off with me first."

You sigh, "You know what, maybe it's me. Maybe I shouldn't have gone halfway across the world without him. If I didn't, then—"

"No, fuck that!" Jamie interrupts you as he stands up, his eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. "If anyone's at fault, it's him. You didn't do shit, so stop blaming yourself."

You can't help but be surprised at how passionate Jamie is about this, his tone reminding you of Roy. It must've shown on your face because Jamie takes a step back. "Sorry if I shouted,"

You laugh. "No, it's fine. You're right, fuck him." You get up from your chair and start collecting your stuff. Once you're ready to leave, you turn once again to the football player. "Thanks, by the way. See you tomorrow, Jamie."

As you make your way to the door, Jamie stops you. "Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Oh, I usually just walk." You respond, rubbing your nose.

"No way. Come on, I'm driving you." Jamie declares and before you can even protest, he's grabbed your hand and dragging you out of the treatment room.

"Jamie, I am perfectly capable of walking home." You remind him as the two of you make it to the parking lot. It is already dark out and definitely colder than you expected, but you remain unfazed. You didn't want to burden the football player anymore, but when had Jamie ever not been stubborn?

"I'm sure you are, but I've been working on being a good person, so who am I to let a girl walk home alone this late?" When Jamie opened the door of the passenger side for you and did a small bow, you rolled your eyes.

"You know, most good people don't say they're good people." You point out as you finally give in and sit in the car. 

"I told you I'm working on it." He reminds you as he closes your door. You chuckled, as you make yourself comfortable. You knew that all the players including Jamie had expensive and extravagant cars, but you didn't realize how nice it was even in the interior. 

You don't have enough time to admire the inside though, as Jamie gets into the driver's seat and starts the car. He instructs you to put on your seatbelt in his usual Mancunian accent which makes you laugh. The last time someone reminded you to put on your seatbelt was when your mom was visiting and you had to take a taxi back to your flat.

You input your address on his phone and finally leave the parking lot. The drive to your house was quiet, and you weren't sure if it was an awkward or comfortable silence. Maybe somewhere in between, given that Jamie didn't seem too bothered by it. It took around 10 minutes before either of you said anything since you spent that time looking through your phone.

You went through your friends' posts and notice a lot of them were at that party. In almost all of them, Matt was with that girl. You don't even recognize her, so if she was at that party, it meant that he brought her with him.

You decide to take your mind off it and finally asked something that has been on your mind since you left. "Jamie, why are you being so nice to me?"

You see him get ready to give his whole "trying to be a better person” speech and stop him. "I get you are trying to improve yourself, but you didn't have to offer to drive me home."

"Did you really want to walk home tonight?" He glances at you quickly, before turning back to the road. Truthfully, you didn't. 

Despite having lived in London for a few months, it still took an abnormal amount of focus to navigate the town. Not to mention the care it takes to make sure you don't get hit by a car by looking at the wrong side. You were in no state to make it home by yourself.

Noticing your silence, Jamie took that as your answer. "Look, we're friends, yeah? As my friend, I wouldn't want to leave you roaming the city by yourself and not being sure if you'd get home safe." You smile but keep your head straight.

He adds, "Plus, you just got your heart broken. Part of me’s worried you'd just end up in a pub and fuck someone to get over him."

You turn to him shock and punch his shoulder. "Jamie, is that what you think of me? That I'd go and find the first guy willing to sleep with me and go home with him?"

"It's what I would do!" You roll your eyes. Sometimes, you forget that the old Jamie is still in there, the him that can be a total prick. Most of the time he only came out during games, but turns out there isn’t a definite on-and-off switch for it.

"Well, I'm not Jamie fucking Tartt. But you're right, I probably would've gotten lost and ended up in a bar." You finally admit and turn to look out the window and sigh.

Jamie must've sensed something and quickly apologizes. "Hey, I didn't actually mean that. I know you wouldn't find a one-night stand. I mean, to be honest, I haven't had one in a while either, so I don't know why—"

You cringe and urge him to stop. "Jamie, it's fine. I know you don't mean it like that." He relaxes and nods his head, causing you to let out a small laugh at how nervous he was to make you feel bad. 

"But thank you," You say as he turns the corner to your flat. As he stops the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to him. "for you know, being a good friend."

You see the footballer give you a smile, a genuine one like before. Soon after though, he asks, "Could I get that in writing? I need proof for Dr. Sharon."

You roll your eyes as you get out. "Good night, Jamie." 

You walk into the building and only hear the car leave once you close the door behind you. You go up to your flat and you've never been so happy to see your bed. You take off your shoes but don't even bother changing. You spend the next few hours scrolling through whatever posts you could find that have Matt in them.

—

It's been a few weeks since that night, but your habits are even worse than before. Checking Matt's posts, looking at what his friends are saying, even stalking his new girlfriend's account was basically part of your daily routine. She's fucking beautiful too, much to your dismay. 

It's even starting to affect your work. If he hadn't shrieked in pain, you would've twisted Richard's foot off. All you were thinking about that session was the post you saw. It was a picture of Matt and the girl with the caption, ‘my favorite girl ;)’

You apologized profusely to Richard and check to make sure you didn't do too much damage. You spend the rest of the session thinking about something else. Anything else, like how nice the weather has been. How well the team's doing. How empty your bedroom wall looks now that you took off all the pictures with Matt. Fuck.

The next day, you head to the locker room to talk to Richard and to also see if anyone needs any treatment. You sit on the bench nearest to the door as you wait for the whole team. You quickly greet the players passing by you, but can't take your eyes off your phone. That is until someone rips it from your grasp.

"Hey!" You look up to see Jamie in some of his usual clothes. Dark tie-die hoodie, his 'ICON' hat, and the fanny pack where he puts your phone in. He ignores your protest and simply replied, "You're blocking my locker."

"Jamie, give it back!" You stand up and try and grab his bag, but he quickly takes it off and throws it to Ted, who had just walked out of his office. He catches it and turns to the two of you in surprise.

"You mind keeping that in your office, Coach? Need to keep this one," Jamie slings his arm on your shoulders, "away from it."

You try and plead with Ted, but he was already throwing it to Beard who shoved it in his desk drawer and locked it without question. You plop down on the bench in defeat, but not without glaring up at Jamie.

"Jamie, I will never forgive you for this." You say as seriously as you can, but it only makes him laugh. 

"You'll get it back at the end of the day." He says as he moves to take off his hoodie. You leave him to get ready and head to Richard to give him some ointment for his ankle if it bloats (you can't help but notice him flinch when you come near), before heading to the treatment room to get your treatment bag. If you weren't going to have your phone this whole time, might as well find entertainment on the pitch.

You reach the pitch and settle down next to Will, who was setting up. You make small talk with the kitman as the team starts to make their way to the pitch for training. You watch Jamie pass by, who then turns around and stops in front of you. "What are you doing down here?"

"Do you really have to ask?”

"So you'll be here for all of training?" He asks, and you nod in response. "Okay then, enjoy the view." Jamie winks at you and you only roll your eyes, as he gives you a confident smirk before joining his teammates.

If he had done that a month ago, you wouldn't have batted an eye. It's just Jamie being Jamie, right? But after breaking up with Matt and how kind Jamie was that night, it's almost like his little habits have a new meaning. 

Walking with you when you arrive at the same time, bringing you his extra pastries when he gets free muffins from the girl who runs the nearby bakery, and even what he did today. It pissed you off, yeah, but you had to admit that it was for the better. Can't be tempted to check Matt's page if you don't have anything to check it with, right? 

But you shake it off. Jamie's just a friend, a really attractive, kind, and fun to be around friend. Even if you were starting to like him — which you weren't, — it didn't matter. Jamie didn't see you like that. He's just trying to be a better person and him helping you was just a way for him to do that.

You spend the rest of your morning watching training, either being entertained by their game or looking out for any of the players getting injured. It was pretty light drills given that they had a game soon. If you weren't doing that, you were listening to Will talking about what he planned on doing during the weekend. He even invited you to a nice jazz bar, which you kindly declined.

Once they were out for their lunch break, you leave your treatment bag there since you'd be back anyway for the afternoon training. You wave goodbye to Will before walking back inside the building. As some of the players pass by you, you compliment how well they're doing in training which is met by a chorus of thank you's.

You almost open the door to the treatment room, when you hear someone call out your name. You see Jamie jogging towards you. "How's the phone drought going?"

"Well, I would've used it to call my best friend who is halfway across the world and eat lunch with them, but as you know," you shrug, watching a hint of guilt grow on the football player’s face. "I'm kidding. What's up?"

"Do you wanna go out for lunch? Keeley said there's a nice Italian place down the road from here." He explained.

"Did she also say to post it on your socials?" You add and when he takes a second to answer, you both laugh. "Sure, sounds fun. Though, I'm not taking any pictures of you." Jamie exaggerates his disappointment, placing his hand on his chest and groaning as if he's just gotten shot.

Jamie puts on a sweatshirt to hide his kit — as if that's the only way people would recognize him — before the two of you head over to the restaurant. It was way too packed to get a table so you guys decide to order take-out and eat it at your office instead.

You guys make your way back to the building, talking about the most random things. Jamie mentioned how a fan had seen him at a restaurant and spent fifteen minutes explaining and analyzing how the footballer could've won Lust Conquers All. You mentioned how much you loved Vanilla ice cream because when your parents would buy the Neapolitan ice cream, — the 3-in-1 deal was hard to resist — it was the only flavor your brothers hadn't completely devoured by the time you got some.

It didn't stop when you made it back to the building and had your lunch. As always, Keeley knew the perfect places to endorse. The Carbonara pasta from the place was absolutely delicious and after trading some for Jamie's meal, the Chicken and Mushroom Risotto might even taste better. 

You had taken a picture of the food before you started eating, but Jamie needed a picture of himself with the food for his post. Despite your statement earlier, you decide to take a picture for him anyway, for Keeley. As you took multiple shots, you started joking around to get him to make a genuine smile. Jokes ranged from ones about the sounds his teammates made during sessions and ones about the old celebration videos of Ted. You finally get a satisfying picture and call Jamie over. He leans over your shoulder and you feel the heat rising in your face. 

"Looks good," He says before sitting back down in his chair. You return his phone to him and continue to eat your Carbonara before you hear a shutter sound. You look up to see Jamie taking pictures of you. You try and (fail to) cover the camera as it’s your turn to laugh at the jokes Jamie was making. "Here, some photos of you if you feel like posting. You look nice,"

You try and ignore the feeling you get after he said that. "Thanks, Jamie. You mind sending those to me when I get my phone back?" He chuckles and nods.

The two of you continue to spend the lunch together till you had to get back on the pitch. It was only while walking did you realize that you didn't think of Matt the entire lunch time. You don't know if Jamie had been doing it on purpose, but if he was, he was doing a great job at helping you forget him. Like a good friend.

The second half of training was even more relaxed than the first, so no emergency situations for you to deal with. Sam was getting cramps after training though, so you decided to have a session with him before leaving for the day. You wait outside till most of the players had changed to find Jamie.

You see him fastening his fanny pack as he leaves the locker room and you reach out to grab it. But he's quicker. "Nope, don't you have a PT session with Sam? Your day isn't over just yet." That said football player was still changing, so you still had some time.

"Aren't you heading home soon?" You continue to try and reach over Jamie's broad chest to take it but to no avail.

"I can wait. Look, Sam's ready." You turn around to see Sam in a nice collared shirt and his spare training shorts. He'd only brought jeans to change and it's pretty difficult to treat him in them, so you'd asked him to wear whatever shorts he had. 

You give him a smile and lead him to the treatment room, not without giving Jamie a less-than-polite gesture. You hear him chuckle — “Guess you really want me to be a prick, huh?” — as you close the door behind you.

Sam said the cramps weren't too bad, but you still wanted to be thorough in case they came back later tonight. It took around 45 minutes, and Sam seemed much better afterward.

"Thank you so much," Sam said as he sat up from his position. "and sorry for holding you up, I know how much you want to go home before leaving for the game tomorrow."

"It's alright, Sam. It's my job to make sure you guys are fit and ready for all your matches. Good luck, yeah?" Sam thanks you again and hops down from the treatment table, grabbing his jacket and heading out. You stretch your back and relax before you hear the door open again.

You don't have to look up to know who it is. "Thank God, where's my phone, Tartt?"

Jamie lets out an exaggerated gasp. "We back to last-name basis now?" He tosses your phone to you, and you find multiple messages waiting. You decide to check them on the way home and slide your phone into your back pocket.

"I already sent the pics I took earlier, plus my own, in case you ever want to print it and hang it on your wall." You give up even rolling your eyes at him. You grab the bag that you fixed before the session and start heading out the door. Jamie appears at your side as you walk to the parking lot.

"Deja vu, huh?" You say as Jamie's car is the only one in the parking lot.

"Feel like going for a joyride?" He says as you turn to face him.

Your eyebrows knit together. "We’re going to be stuck on a bus for hours tomorrow. Don't you want to go home and rest or something?"

He checks his watch and shrugs. "We still got time." He leads you to the car, but this time you open the door for yourself and slide in.

You watch Jamie start the car without putting an address into his phone. As the two of you buckle your seatbelt and leave, you start to scroll through your texts. 

Your unread messages were made up of your parents sending pictures from their spontaneous date, one of your brothers asking for a video message from Isaac for his son's birthday, and your friends trying to organize a trip to visit you. 

You reply to as many of the messages as you can before you notice that Matt still hasn't sent you anything. No apology, explanation, or anything. You take a deep breath and finally unfollow him and the rest of his friends. You feel like a weight has been lifted off of you. You put the final nail in the coffin when you blocked his number. This is it, and you've never felt better.

You look up and realize that you don't recognize any of your surroundings. You turn to Jamie who is still unfazed by it, looking straight ahead. 

"Jamie, if this good friend thing was all just some elaborate ruse to bring me to the middle of nowhere and murder me, you are obligated to tell me right now."

Jamie lets out a laugh. "Calm down, will you? We're here," You turn toward the dashboard and see some people walking on the sidewalk. At least there's still civilization here. He stops the car and parks it in front of this beautiful garden. 

You get out of the car and walk towards the gate. Even with the dim lights, the place looks much more lively than the rest of the area. The entire garden is a mix of various flowers and plants, colors ranging from relaxing white and green to some brighter ones like violet and yellow. Jamie opens the gate for the both of you as you look around in awe. The two of you walk over to one of the benches in front of a small lake bordered by a fence. Despite its main purpose of making sure no one falls in, it doesn't seem out of place in the area.

"You know, if you were planning on murdering me, I wouldn't mind dying in a place like this." You turn to Jamie as you sit down. He gives you a small smile before settling next to you. "How'd you even find this place?"

Jamie hesitated for a minute, and you quickly add, "You don't have to tell me if it's too much." Jamie shakes his head and sighs.

"Back when I just got back to Richmond, I still had a lot of shit to make up for. Everyone still hated me, and I didn't really know what to do. I was pissed that they didn't want to give me a chance, so I tried to talk to Keeley about it. She brought me to Dr. Sharon." You knew that a lot of the players were seeing her when she worked here, but you didn't realize that even Jamie was seeing her.

"She knew I was trying, but said it didn't help that I'd get riled up during games and sometimes go back to my old habits like hogging the ball, so she told me to find something or someplace to relax before them. I drove around that night and just went around till I found this place. It was like a mini field of flowers like the ones in Amsterdam that my mom took me to when I was a kid."

"I go here every night before a game or before we leave for an away game and just sit here, looking at the lake and the flowers. It relaxes me, I guess." Jamie looks down and starts playing with his hands, and you see a version of the football player that you've never seen before. This Jamie is vulnerable, quiet, nervous even. He was sharing a part of himself and you’d be a massive prick if you made him feel bad about it.

You reach out and grab his hand and enclose it with both of yours. You keep your eyes on him as he looks up to meet them. You smile at him and hope it eases his nerves even just a little bit like he did for you back then. It does, as seen in how his shoulders relax afterward.

"Thanks for sharing this with me, Jamie. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone else and you can continue to keep this place all to yourself." You nudge him with your shoulder before standing up to look at the lake. It almost looked like the water was glowing, illuminating the fish swimming in it.

Jamie moves to stand next to you. You two are both quiet for a beat, before he interlaces your fingers again, "Maybe not all to myself." You turn to him and see his expression, a mix of his usual confident self but the vulnerability from a while ago. Without thinking, you lean in to kiss him.

If it caught him by surprise, he didn't show it. Jamie kisses you back, more enthusiastically than you expected. You let go of his hand and interlace your fingers behind his neck. His hands travel down to your waist and you feel him smile against you. Your back presses against the railing as he continues to deepen the kiss and holds you closer to him to steady you. Your senses kick in and finally pull away when you realize that you're in public.

"Shit Jamie, not here," You whisper, looking around to see if anyone caught you making out with AFC Richmond's star player.

"You wanna head back to your place?" That's what makes you push him away and he chuckles. 

"Take me out on a few dates." You give him a quick kiss on the lips before walking back to the car. "Maybe I'll consider it then."

[jadewingedspear]

In which Xiao goes feral over your natural scent

Warnings: dom! Xiao, ooc Xiao, reader is afab, use of ‘pussy’, ‘clit’, etc. Cunnilingus. Slight coercion. Sorta gross bc reader hasn’t showered lol…sorry. Porn without plot. Not proofread. Lots of stuttering. Coming from someone who hasn’t written a fic in years.

18+ only

On mobile so please tell me if the format is odd!

You opened your eyes upon feeling a heavy weight nudging against your thighs. Rousing fully from your sleep, you looked around to find the pillow next to you empty. Looking down, however, you found your beloved yaksha curled up, head on your lap, his ankles entwined with your own.

“Good morning Xiao.” you yawned, stretching your arms high in the air with a grunt. “Will you let me up? I need to shower.” With that, you made a move to sit up.

“N-No!” Xiao protested, quickly throwing his body over your lower half. His arms squeezed your sides as he mumbled out, “I, I need you…” and quickly face-planted your midriff to hide his face. If you weren't lazy and skipped your shower last night, you’d be more than happy to participate in some morning activities. With a fond smile, you brought your hand to rest on his head, gently stroking through some of the strands. “Xiao, once I’ve showered and freshened up, I’m all yours.”

“You don’t get it.” Xiao sternly states, squeezing you harder.

“Please explain.” You let out a slight groan, wiggling in his grasp. Xiao wasn’t going to let go of you any time soon. He doesn’t say a word, but he does manoeuver so he’s hovering on all fours above your lower half, before lying flat on his tummy. He hooks his arms under both of your thighs, palms resting on the soft fat on the top of them. With ease, he pulls your whole body down to meet his face, his nose pressing right up against your clothed pussy. He inhales deeply. “Y-you smell so good…so musty.” Another inhale.You squeak in surprise, your face reaching record breaking temperatures. “Xia-Xiao!” You make a feeble attempt to push his head away, but Xiao persists. “You’re embarrassing me!”

Xiao shoots you a glance before hooking his fingers into the side of your sleeping shorts, pulling them down to your knees. He looks to the side, a small sense of shame suddenly waving over him. “I… I like it.” Xiao turns his head to look at you. “Please let me have you. I like it.” A light blush dusts his nose and cheeks. You chew your bottom lip, tucking your chin into your chest in an attempt to close in on yourself.

“O-okay…” You trail off. “But I’m showering right after!”

Xiao doesn’t acknowledge before he dives down, mouthing your underwear over your pussy. “Mmm… so good.”

Feeling his tongue prodding your clit through your underwear was enough to elicit a gasp from your mouth, and you couldn’t help but rest your head back on the pillow to let Xiao continue his administrations. You still felt wrong about this, disgusting, even. However, there was no denying a starved man’s request.

Xiao lifts his head up, finally pulling your underwear down. He pushes himself onto his heels and takes off both your underwear and shorts off your ankles, tossing them into a pile on the floor. Swiftly, he pins your left thigh to the mattress, “keep your right leg on the bed.” he orders. With a gulp, you oblige, legs spread and pussy on display. With his left hand, he caresses your folds delicately before using a thumb and forefinger to spread them. Your hole leaks some juices, traveling down to your ass. A tongue pokes out to coat Xiao’s lips in his saliva. Without another word, he leans down to circle your clit in his mouth, sucking gently. A loud moan is ripped from your throat, back arching. Feeling his wet muscle directly on you after his previous teasing felt amazing, sending shocks up your body. Xiao switches from sucking to licking, back to sucking. Some of the noises were sinful, but, well… you were past that worry.

“Your clit is nice and big,” Xiao whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to it. He sucks some more, before licking a long stripe from your hole up your folds and to your clit, circling the bud with his tongue. You grab a fistful of his hair, pushing his head desperately to you, as if he could get any closer. Xiao groans at the action, letting the flat of his tongue wash over your entire sex, collecting any juices. “So good.” He moans out. More moans escape your lips, but are soon cut off when Xiao sits up. He looks you in the eyes with a stern look on his face. “Flip over.” Your heart skips a beat at him looking down on you, his eyes darkening, but you can detect the hunger in them. You follow his request, rolling over onto your tummy, hugging your pillow to your face.

Xiao places his hands under your hips and lifts your bum in the air. Your chest is still pressed into the bed, but your knees are supporting your weight. The yaksha kneads the globes of your ass cheeks before spreading them apart. The heat returns to your cheeks once again, “Xiao…” You whine, but another gasp escapes you when he, again, dives down so his tongue can assault your wet pussy once again. He slurps and licks and sucks, neglecting nothing. Your clit, hole and folds all get the attention they deserve while he continues to squeeze and pinch your ass.

Your stomach begins to curl with that familiar feeling, the need to release becoming stronger and stronger. “Xiao, please, I’m gonna…” You can’t finish your sentence. Xiao moans into your pussy, his tongue and lips working harder to bring you to the edge. Your toes curl and you grip your pillow closer, and that coil in you finally snaps. “Xiao!” You call, your body lurching forward, away from Xiao before oversensitivity hits you. Xiao’s hands tighten their grip on you, pulling you back to him so he can lick up any juices and cream you released around his mouth with a low groan. “Xia-Xiao, please…” You beg breathlessly, chest heaving.

With some reluctance, Xiao pulls away, allowing you to let your body lay flat on the bed. With trembling arms, you push yourself into a sitting position facing your beloved. He sits on his knees, his nose, lips and chin glistening with your release. His eyes are lidded, full of lust but also satisfaction. He, too, is breathless, chest moving at a rapid pace as he collects himself. Your eyes trail downwards, to his pants, where his cock proudly produces a tent, a wet patch on top.

[jamneuromain]

For your Lloyd and Secretary one, what if someone who works closely with Brewer finds out about how he died and seeks out for vengeance? And how about he kidnaps and enslaves Secretary and Lloyd has to get her back? But the Secretary thinks that Lloyd would just replace her, even if she had developed some feelings for Lloyd, she still believed that he would leave her. But Lloyd finds her.

Hi nonnies! Sorry for taking so long to write :3

I love your ideas and I present to you--

Out for Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader (Driver!Denny Carmicheal), Graphic Depiction of Blood and Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has hemophobia (fear of blood), a lot of cursing.

W/C: ~5k

Summary: You were captured by a rival gang. Would Lloyd come and save you?

A/N: This is a sequel to A Whiff of Blood, Thank you for all your love to Mob!Lloyd<333

For the record, your hemophobia is directed to blood coming from other people, not your own. You wouldn’t faint or puke if you had a papercut, but you would (and did) puke when Lloyd showed up at your door a few weeks ago, littered with blood and cuts.

Tasting the faint tang of rust and salt from the cut inside your cheek, your tongue inevitably touches the wound in your mouth.

Ouch, it stings.

An almost ridiculous - but somewhat fits the situation you are facing - idea comes to mind.

You hope Lloyd could pay for your dental care if your tooth gets knocked out.

In a dark humid stinky cell, you are obligated to keep yourself from fainting.

How long is it since you’ve been captured? An hour? Two?

You don’t know. Not that the concrete walls give any clues as to where you are and when is it.

Your head is dizzy, and somewhere on the back of your head is throbbing, possibly the spot where someone knocks your head with a baseball bat or a heavy club.

-who the heck still uses a club to beat the shit out of their victims to issue a kidnapping these days? Aren’t they worried about possible brain injuries?

Your hands and feet are tied to a plain wooden chair with zip ties, not something you can get out of without tools and time. Knowing that they kidnapped you and took you to this place, instead of dumping you down the pier with a large stone tied to your feet? You’ve got time, some of them at least. They want something from you, hence the reason why you are alive.

The problem is to rescue yourself before they realize nothing is coming out of your mouth.

So, the real question is, how much time do you have?

Dull thuds of footsteps approach you. After some screeching from the iron bars and the clang of the lock opened by a key, that is supposed to be the cell gate’s composition, you assume, for you are forced in another direction having been tied to the chair, another screeching sound, and the door swings open, entering two men.

They stand before you, one has his hands on his hips, the other crossing his arm.

Think. Your mind goes one hundred miles per hour. Think. Sometimes Lloyd keeps his captives alive, but only when his men are wearing masks. But these two are showing their faces in broad daylight – nightlight, to be precise, since you left the office around 7:30 pm, and later got a smack in the head after having picked up the dry cleaning for Lloyd.

You watched their faces closely. The first man who appears before you is shorter than the other, it is difficult to tell his height when you are sitting on a chair, but you assume he is approximately your height (which is definitely short for an average man), medium build – again, it is hard to tell with his jacket on, you have to conduct most of your analysis base on guesswork. Something about his face looks familiar, however, you cannot pinpoint who or what, since as a secretary, you meet a lot of people daily.

The other guy, the taller one and the more muscular one, doesn’t strike you as someone you know in the past. A hint of tattoo peeks on the back of his hand, a sharp edge with the color of tattoo ink. The beard covers half his face, and that he’s bald, in contrast to his wild facial hair.

“Well, well, well.” The first one smirks, “If it isn’t Lloyd’s pretty thing in our hands.”

Think. They haven’t killed you yet, but they are planning to. Think of something smart. To stall. Or to gather enough information so that Lloyd will know who to revenge on if you are dead.

The hair on the back of your neck practically stands when the word “dead” crosses your mind for a split second.

You cannot panic. Not now. Think.

“You can drop an invitation to my mailbox, y’know? If you wanna talk.” You look up at them. A small smile raises the corner of your lips, but you are not smiling, not really, because your sharp eyes are taking in the minor changes in their expressions.

The first one raises his eyebrows, somewhat surprised, while the second one remains stoic.

“Impressive.” The man compliments, “Thought you would thrash and kick, but I guess you have seen too much of this - ” He gestures to your tied-up position, “working for Lloyd, eh?”

You neither confirm nor deny, yet, you make an attempt at deciphering his intentions, “What is it with this time?” God, you sound like you have been kidnapped twice a week since you got the secretary job. You raise your eyebrows as he does, “Threats to cooperate? Info about his latest business? Or are you two with the FBI?”

They both glance at each other when you mention the FBI.

Good news, they are not cops.

Bad news, they are not cops, which means they are more likely to kill you.

“Hey, you.” You turn your head to the silent bulk of beard, “Didn’t I see you tattling to your badge buddy two weeks ago? Is it what this is about? That I see you tipped off the cops?”

Of course, you haven’t seen the second man tattling to the cops. You don’t know him. But considering the tension ever since you pose the possibility that they are with the police and law enforcement, it is not a bad way to start an argument between the two of them.

That is, hopefully, there are only two that initiated your kidnapping. The plan of brewing a feud among the kidnappers would be more difficult to implement if there’s another person involved.

Under the first man’s continuous stare, the second man huffs out a grunt, grabs your hair in one hand, and lands a blow into your stomach with the other.

“Cука.” He grumbles, stepping back to where he was standing.

If it weren’t for the pain in your stomach, as the blow on your stomach feels like your guts have cracked into four pieces, you would most absolutely jump up from the chair that has you tied, and clap, for he has bared his identity before you, stripping clean.

Thank fuck you know a few curse words in Russian, one of them being “cука”, which means “bitch”.

Russian mob it is.

You know about the Russian mob in LA. A few weeks ago, Lloyd teamed up with one of his business partners to sell illegal substances (a nice way of putting it) and gradually took up the Russian turf. He got shot and was nearly killed after that, when the Russians ambushed him in the clinic he used to go, killing his doctor and one of his men. Lloyd himself barely got out alive and took shelter in your apartment.

Today, around 7 pm, Lloyd took his driver Denny and two of his henchmen to a club he owned to meet the Russians to settle for a truce. As his secretary, you know that he usually conducts his mob business there, instead of in the building where you work. So, you finished up the paperwork and called it a night, while ordering some pizza since cooking would take an additional one hour and a half.

You were on your way home, stopping by on the side of the curb to pick up Lloyd’s dry cleaning when you lost consciousness after a hit in the head.

Oh crap, you would have to send those clothes to the dry cleaning again.

Focus. You take a deep breath, clearing the irrelevant thoughts from your mind. Think smart. How could you subtly prove yourself worthy to them?

“Fine.” You huff out, “You are not working with a badge buddy, I get it.” Adding some sarcasm to the mix, you twitch the muscles on your face, your tone as despising as your expression, “I’m sure what I’ve seen with my own eyes is purely some illusion-voodoo shit.”

Great. Now you sound like Lloyd fucking Hansen.

The first man clears his throat, effectively silencing the grumbling Russian guy.

“Quite a temper.” He pulls a chair from the corner of the cell, sitting in front of you, pointing at himself, then back at you, “You know, we could’ve been friends, you and I.”

“Oh yeah?” You quirk your brow, “What’s stopping ya’? Enlighten me.”

Shit. Too Lloyd.

You are somewhat surprised when he responds per your ask, “If you insist…”

Yeah well, you weren’t exactly insisting (or interested, for that matter, you couldn’t care less). Nevertheless, you nod for him to continue.

“Suza Brewer. Rings a bell?” He smiles, but the friendliness is nowhere to be seen.

Of course, the name Suza Brewer rings a bell. Unfortunately, it’s the bad kind of bell.

Brewer had threatened to have you to himself, and asked Lloyd – not in a nice way – to balance between their deal and you.

… since you are alive and breathing and your limbs are still intact, without a doubt, Lloyd chose you, his faithful employee over the dumb biker Brewer, and fed Brewer to the fishes. You had speculated that there were crocodiles underwater where he disposed of the bodies, because damn, Lloyd’s body-dumping was never found by police forces, or any other people, for that matter, and now you are equally tempted to throw this kidnapper beneath the Westside Pier too.

If only you weren’t tied up like a lamb for slaughter.

“Vaguely.” You pretend to think, tilting your head to the side, even though the back of your shirt is soaked with your cold sweat, “Is he in trouble?”

Hell, Brewer is more than “in trouble”. He’s more like “in crocodile”. His body parts could be swimming along with those hideous beasts, travelling hundreds of miles apart from each other, as you speak.

Somehow, the phrase “in crocodile” has you close to smiling. Especially in this circumstance. Fuck. You are most definitely contaminated by Lloyd Fucking Hansen. You bite the inside of your cheek from actually smiling. As a result, you accidentally bite on your wound.

It stings like a bitch.

The man in front of you speaks softly, “Suza is my brother. And your boss, Lloyd Hansen, killed him.”

This is not going to end well.

You pray to whatever deity that would answer, and hope that you could have a better ending than the Brewer guys. If not, then at least a quick, painless death.

The man observes your face for any expression that could slip away some info, but eventually, he sighs and continues, “So, I decided that I would avenge him, by taking away Lloyd’s most prized possession.”

Ah. Lloyd’s most prized possession would be his gun. He’d spend an hour every day wiping it spotless with a fine cloth, counting the bullets in his gun before popping the magazine back in place. You have heard about a few of the henchmen joking that Lloyd would be more pissed if a man touches his gun, compared to touching his dick,

You have seen the gun on many occasions. Most of the times on his belt, occasionally in his hand, and once, only once on the table when he was dismantling it. But he quickly put it back together seeing you with the pile of paperwork and shoved it back on his belt. Twice, if you are counting the time when he nearly bleeds out in your home.

“Aaaaaaand you want to ask me what his prized possession is?” You pipe up.

That’d be easy. However, you doubt what this Brewer brother had in mind could be this plain and straight.

As far as you know, Lloyd doesn’t have any siblings, parents to account for (he was adopted by a gang member around five, who died in an alley fight a decade later), women that he’d ride or die for (he picks different escorts when he’s in the mood, no one, in particular, meets his eyes), or any offsprings (then your job would be more nanny than a secretary). In fact, you wrecked your brain for the answer to this question, and the truth is, that Lloyd doesn’t care about anyone in any way – apart from the men (and women) working for him. Even so, his expression of “caring” is to drop a generous check if any of them was taken out or quit voluntarily, and never pay attention to them again.

He doesn’t have any pets, neither a dog nor a goldfish to keep him company.

You wonder whether he harbors any feelings at all, except the thrill of being a sociopath.

… maybe he loves his gun in a romantic way, who knows.

“No. I got that part.” Brewer No.2 speaks with a wild glint in his eyes, “And she’s sitting right in front of me.”

You huff out a laugh. This could be the top 1 joke of the Hansen Government Services, that Lloyd sees you as his prize? Pfft.

But the man’s determent tone tells you differently. That he believes Lloyd cherishes you the most. Which means he is going to take you away.

“Don’t believe me?” He shrugs, “My intel snapped pictures of a file, hidden in his top drawer, on top of every shit he has.” Showing the pictures he has on his phone, he added, “You were on that file, Ms. Secretary.”

It was Lloyd’s desk. Dimly-lit, but still, Lloyd’s desk. Someone could burn that desk down to ash and you’d still recognize it. And the file laid bare. With a CV and a photo…

Oh no. Oh shit. It is you.

You’d be lucky as hell if Brewer No.2 simply told you something bad about Lloyd and gave you some money to run far away, as if this is some bullshit mob romance novel. In this situation, he is more likely to skin you alive and send your fingers in a FedEx package to Lloyd’s doorstep as a Christmas present. Or pull out your fingernails before shooting you in the head. Or torture you in the most painful ways possible. Oh God.

The fucking Brewer family and both of these men could go straight to Hell strapped on rabid Cerberus with burning white-hot iron shoes that could not come off.

Think. Think! He hasn’t killed you yet. Why he hasn’t killed you yet? You could be more deader than Suza Brewer who was stuck at the bottom of the pier right now. Why is this Brewer No.2 keeping you alive? What does he want from you besides to intimidate Lloyd?

You have no choice but to ask, “I’m guessing that, since I haven’t got a bullet between my eyes, you want something else too?”

A wicked grin perks up his lips. Handing his phone to your face, he says, “I want you to call him.”

Forget dental care, you now hope Lloyd could pay for a decent funeral.

Brewer No.2 dials the number for you and puts it on speaker. Your heart thumping in your ears, praying that he’d answer. But also praying that he won’t. What if it’s a larger trap to lure him here? You’d rather he doesn’t pick up and get it over with. Plus, he’s too busy to pick up calls, he’s negotiating with the Russians-

“Who’s this?” Lloyd’s sharp voice pierces through the speaker, and seems to have gripped your throat tightly.

Brewer No.2 urges you to speak, but turns out he’s too hyped up to wait for your mumbling lips to make a sound. He drags his tone almost annoyingly, “Hello, Hansen. I’m Levi Brewer, brother of Suza Brewer. I’m here to collect a debt.”

“Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”

That’s so un-Lloyd-like. He’d normally end the call until the person on the other end of the phone could learn to speak what they want directly, which you have witnessed a few dozen times. You can almost imagine Lloyd’s unamused face and his killing glare, having had to deal with Brewer No.2, Levi Brewer.

“You, Mr. Hansen, killed my brother, which is why I’m taking the love of your life away from you.” Brewer No.2 announces, pulling out his gun to flip the safe off. The crisp clicking noise is like a heavy punch to your stomach, declaring the clock of your life ticking towards its end.

Jesus. You? The love of Lloyd’s life? You could’ve sworn Lloyd has a deeper bond to that escort named Cherry than you.

“Say hello to the pretty little thing I’ve just captured.” Brewer slams his palm across your face, squeezing a yelp out of your tightened throat.

The only “pretty” thought about you is that you are pretty sure you are neither “little”, nor “thing”, but that’s a debate settled for another time.

“Say your name, beautiful. I’m sure your boss would catch up soon.” Brewer No.2 points the gun to your face, and places the phone near your lips.

No matter how reluctant you are, you know this might be the only chance where you can tip Lloyd off. And maybe, just maybe he’d revenge on Tweedle Dee by allowing Dee – Brewer No.2 share the same fate as his brother. “Evening, Mr. Hansen.” You mumble, the taste of iron roots deeply in your mouth that you cannot speak clearly, “Sorry to disturb you.”

Lloyd doesn’t reply. He must be mad. Deeply mad at you for ruining his negotiation with the Russians.

Russian? Fuck, the Russian in the room – you spare a quick glance at the silent bulk of beard in the corner – shit, they were in on it together. The Russian mobs asked Lloyd to give you up – nonono, it can’t be, Lloyd wasn’t that good at acting, and considering Levi is sharing this news that you were kidnapped just now, he could be plotting with the Russians.

Does Lloyd know? Your head is messing with your thoughts. Does he know about your abduction? Was he permitting this to happen?

No. Brewer works against Lloyd, which means Lloyd couldn’t have known.

Who should you trust? Was Lloyd generous enough to give you up? Even though he declined Suza Brewer’s deal: you for the business? And fed him to the sharks because he disrespected you?

… probably crocodiles, but who cares at this point.

“Are you hurt?” Lloyd asks.

“Not really.” The tip of your tongue presses against the wound in your mouth, eliciting pain to clear your head – desperate measures for desperate times – and you continue, “I was wondering, though. I think two teeth of mine are loose. Does the employee benefit cover dental care?”

Think, think, think! How can you pass on the message?

Before Lloyd can answer, you take a head start, “Must be one of those Alenka … Alonka Chocolate bars?”

Last Christmas, the Russian mobs sent over a basket of those chocolate bars, Lloyd ordered to have them tested (in case there was poison) and gave them to his employees after they came out clean. But that was about a year ago, and Lloyd saw the wrapping papers in the basket near your seat right before the day ended. He joked about “eating with the enemy” while you admitted the chocolate was not half bad.

There. The message. Loud and clear.

“The dental plan gives you a 10% discount,” Lloyd says calmly. Which is a big fat lie, because no dental plan would be so petty. He wants to say something about 10. But about what? Ten minutes until he’s here? He’d bring ten men along?

“But I won’t tolerate tardiness, sunshine,” Lloyd’s voice sends a shiver down your spine, “Your working hours are nine am to eight pm. Don’t you dare be late.”

Holy Mary and Joseph. First ten, now nine and eight? Lloyd is about to tear this place down in less than ten seconds.

“Enough chitchat.” Brewer No.2 takes the phone back and aims his gun at your face again, “Say your goodbyes. Lloyd Hansen, you are about to hear her final words.”

“My final words?” You lean back onto the chair, steadying yourself with your feet as much as possible, “You really talk too much.”

A loud blast erupts from where the silent Russian is standing. He is most definitely covered in a few dozen kilos of rubbles and bricks. Levi instinctively covers his head, but the blast knocks him to the ground, where he stays unconscious. You are the only one with enough preparations to lower your body, even though being tied to the chair. But you still get thrown over by the blast and the chair collapses underneath your body.

A few henchmen armed to the teeth step through the hole in the wall. After them, Lloyd.

Lloyd in a black coat.

Your ears are ringing, and you can’t tell what he’s trying to say.

Another man with a black briefcase comes to your side. Your pupils were examined, your pulse was checked, and your lungs were listened to.

“… you feel any pain?” The other man asks you.

You shake your head. It hurts a bit in your mouth but that’s just a little cut.

“She’s alright.” The man who appears to be a doctor confirms, helping you up from the ground.

You stand on wobbly legs. The past hour has been too much of a scare that your knees are shaking. You trip over your own feet, before a pair of solid arms steadies you.

“Easy tiger.” Lloyd’s voice booms by your ear, having your head snap in his direction.

He came.

Oh God he came.

Knowing this was a semi-trap, but he didn’t need to be here. He could wait until this is over and give you a proper burial.

And you could’ve died. He could’ve died. You both could’ve died.

You stumble into his embrace, fingers clenching his thick woolen coat.

You probably shouldn’t. He’s your employer, your boss. He’d probably sue you for sexual harassment. But you did.

The blood soars in your ears. You dare not breathe out loud, fearing that you are dreaming.

It feels like a dream. It all did.

“ ’s alright. It’s alright now.” Lloyd murmurs. He runs a hand down your spine, inching your head close to his shoulder.

“How-How did you find me so soon?” Among everything, this is the one you were the most curious about. Yet you dare not look at him. Even if he has just saved your life.

Lloyd narrows his eyes. If you were any other girl, you’d be crying and weeping, and wiping snot on his coat, telling him how much you wanted to be with him the moment you thought you were dying. But no. You were not any other girl.

Fuck.

Long story short, he doesn’t want to elaborate, for you have plenty of time to discuss about this later, “Noticed there was something wrong with the Russians. Then your doorman called.”

“My doorman?” You raise your head to look at him, your brows furrow in confusion, “The guy at the residence entrance? Henry?” While your fingers slowly untangling from his coat.

“He had my number – I’m the last tenant of that condo – told me your pizza came and he couldn’t reach you,” Lloyd explains as simply as possible.

Ah yes. You ended your work around 7pm and ordered pizza…

You make a mental note to thank Henry for saving your life.

A groan drifts to your ear. You turn around on instinct, as Levi Brewer regains his senses.

“Where… I… What…”

In a split second, Lloyd pulls out his gun to shoot him twice in the chest.

A scream gets stuck in your throat, when the crimson blooms in Brewer’s chest.

Your body is shaking, trembling - a natural fear towards the predator behind you.

Brewer crumbles to the ground.

Lloyd lets out a sigh. He puts his arm around you, guiding your hand towards a piece of lukewarm metal. The metal that has just shot Brewer in the chest.

“You have no idea how to shoot, do you?” He asks, but doesn’t expect you to answer. It is a miracle that you are not fainting, he had hoped for far less before arriving.

Wrapping your index finger around the trigger, Lloyd takes a deep breath before flipping off the safe.

“Eye.” He lifts your chin in the direction of Brewer on the ground.

“Arm.” One of his hands steadies your shaking arm into a stable angle.

“Mark.” He lowers the gun point to Brewer’s forehead.

His warm chest against your back, blocking every possible way of escaping. The familiar feeling of having your throat in his hands creeps up your neck, making it difficult for you to breathe.

Your heart thumping loudly, your breath as shallow as it can be, as the warm air coming out of his mouth reaches your ears.

“Aim for the head. And shoot.”

He curls his finger next to yours, and your finger hits the trigger.

The gun is well-positioned, allowing the bullet to dive into Brewer’s forehead, leaving a round of crimson around the bullet hole.

You spin on your heels immediately, fighting the hurling stomach deep down.

The hard piece of metal comes between you and Lloyd.

A gun.

Lloyd’s gun.

You just used a gun to kill someone.

You are never getting a decent job anywhere in the world.

You are going to keep this skeleton in your closet forever (and of course, working for Lloyd until the day you die).

The cold metal burns your palm. You remember about the jokes that Lloyd never allows anyone to touch his gun.

“I… This belongs to you.” You shove the gun into his hands, as if this is some beast that would bite your fingers off if you keep it for one more second.

Lloyd snorts when his prized gun is pushed into his hands. But he doesn’t say another word. He clasps the gun back on his belt before ordering his men to leave.

You follow his troop out of the building in silence. The past hour has been a series of roller-coaster events that you need some time to process.

Denny is waiting in the car when you climb in. While the rest of Lloyd’s men get in a van, Lloyd barks a few orders to them that you haven’t paid attention to. You sit in the car, your back rigid, and you put your hands on your knees like a pupil in class.

Denny offers a sympathetic smile when your eyes meet in the rear-view mirror. He isn’t the type to talk, serving as Lloyd’s driver. But he’s nice enough to hand you a bottled water from the glove compartment, which you take with a murmured “thanks” and clench it with your knuckles turning white.

The adrenaline fades from your blood system, and your heart beats in a stable rhythm, your breathing finally adjusts itself to slow inhales and exhales.

The bruises on your wrists and ankles are scorching in pain. The back of your head is hurting too. Luckily, none of your bones is broken, which could be the best news of this evening.

This feels way too familiar.

As Lloyd opens the car door, your heart jumps to your throat again.

You are worried. Worrying about he’d fire you, thinking you have leaked information to the Brewer guy. Worrying about you have touched his gun, using it to kill someone, no less, and he’d cut off your hand for using it. Worrying about Lloyd would be dead if he steps into a trap with you as bait, that Levi Brewer intended to kill him…

Why the fuck are you worrying about Lloyd? He’s perfectly fine taking care of himself. It is you who needs extra self-defense lessons.

“What… Um, what happened to the truce you went to negotiate with the Russians?” You can’t help but ask, knowing that the dead Russian who kidnapped you was dragged out of the rubbles and put into a body bag, heading in another direction on the van that had Lloyd’s men on it.

“It was a trick,” Lloyd grumbles, “to stall. We agreed upon no phones, so it took me a while to get the call from that doorman. Then I knew they were trying to stall me from getting to you.”

You were whacked when you had just picked up the drycleaning for Lloyd. “-my car, and my – your clothes -” You remember.

“-were taken care of.” He picks up where you left off, “I’m assigning you an assistant, Claire. She’s living next door. She has driven your car back to the garage, and sent the clothes to dry cleaning as well.”

“An assistant? I don’t need an assistant.” You argue, “I can work fine on my own.”

“And get knocked out on the street in the middle of the night?” Lloyd snorts impatiently, “She’s there to protect you, but ask her to pick up the coffee, take out the trash, and drive the car for you, I don’t care. Claire would be by your side when I’m not close enough to save your ass.”

Ah. So you are a liability to him.

Maybe you weren’t suitable for a mob secretary at all.

You were no prized possession, as Brewer claimed to be.

And he’s your boss. You should feel lucky to be alive instead of mulling over whether he treats you special or not.

“Yes, Mr. Hansen.” You collect your feelings. It is perfectly normal for him to assign you a bodyguard/assistant. Hell, it’s even perfectly normal that he wants to fire you for your incompetence. Hiring an assistant? He doesn’t want you to get kidnapped again, that’s all.

… or replace you when she gets the gist of your job.

You think bitterly, staring at the tinted window.

“By the way, you don’t have to come to work tomorrow.” Lloyd casually tells you, “Paid leave, and it’s Friday anyway, you deserve some time off after this …” He carefully considers the choice of words, “… incident.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hansen.” You reply automatically.

It is such a weird thing that you let out a small exhale of relief when you heard the word “paid leave”, as if he would’ve thrown you off the car and told you that you are fired right after saying you don’t have to come to work.

Lloyd isn’t so ruthless after all.

Your heart beats faster, hopeful for …

What are you hopeful for?

You kick the ridiculous thought into the corner of your mind, answering, “I’ll be back on Monday.”

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