#i should warn you that if you click though you're gonna have to read about incest

[onethousandrbirds]

couple days ago i reblogged the poll that was like "do you know what prev's blog title means?" so here's an explainer of mine:

'Tis Pity She's A Whore is an early 17th century play by John Ford. In it Giovanni, a college/grad student comes home from school and falls head over heels in love with Annabella. Unfortunately, Annabella is his younger sister that he hasn't seen in several years. Giovanni knows this and has a crisis of faith/sanity/ethics and confides in his friar who tries to convince Giovanni that his feelings are wrong/he's just going crazy. Unfortunately, Giovanni meets up with Annabella one day who reciprocates his feelings and they begin a secret relationship until Annabella becomes pregnant. In order to save her honor and protect Giovanni, Annabella agrees to marry a rich old guy but ends up giving birth at a time that that reveals she was unfaithful. Her husband eventually finds out the truth and schemes to get revenge on both Giovanni and Annabella but she warns her brother of what is to come. Knowing that the writing is on the wall, Giovanni sneaks in to see his sister and kills her himself. Then, with his sister's heart (and in at least one production, severed head) in hand, Giovanni goes to a fancy society party and tells everyone what he and his sister had done in order to suicide by cop and take his father, brother-in-law, and a few others down with him. after the fight ends a cardinal says of Annabella, "who could not say Tis pity she's a whore?" as a question posed to those who remain and that the audience is meant to mull over its validity and fairness

anyway, signifyin' on that question became my blog title b/c i thought it was funny and apt¹

¹ insofar as that question is wholly inappropriate and the idea of calling Annabella a whore is an incredibly reductive assessment of what she did/happened to her BUT in her social context she would still be read as one nonetheless which can in a left-handed way be applied to be as a "bore"

[heliosunny]

I can’t stop thinking about yan warlord mydei x princess hostage reader 😭 like idk js imagine princess reader being absolutely scared for her life “oh what’s he gonna do to me” and mydeis just thinking of dinner while readers js panicking and ykw what if reader slowly warms up and mydei gets obsessed and now refuses to give reader back after their country had offered to finally pay of the ransom money… sigh i bang my head against the wall thinking of them SIGHHH

This makes me curious how this duo would go, but I adjusted them in my version so princess reader is more brave, I guess? You'll see what I meant in this reading haha-

Yandere!Warlord Mydei x Princess!Reader

The battle had been lost, and you had been taken—prized like the spoils of war, but not treated like one. Mydei, feared across nations, had captured you, but instead of forcing you into submission, he had only one goal: to trade you back to your kingdom for a hefty sum.

Days passed in his stronghold, a fortress of steel and stone. He never touched you, never forced you into chains, only kept you guarded and waiting.

Tonight, however, wine dulled your senses. Perhaps it was frustration, or perhaps it was the twisted comfort of being ignored. You had indulged more than you should, and when the door creaked open, you reacted without thinking.

Mydei barely took a step inside before you lunged. His body hit the floor with a dull thud, your hands pressing against his chest as you hovered over him. He did not fight back.

"You're.. drunk?"

You tightened your grip on his fabric. "And you're an arrogant bastard."

"Is that what your kingdom calls the man who spared you?"

Mydei’s golden eyes studied you, he could have thrown you off in an instant, but he didn’t.

"You could have done anything to me..." you whispered, fingers trembling. "Why haven't you?"

"Because I don't need to take what I can win fairly."

Your heartbeat pounded against your ribs, but Mydei made no move to break the moment. Your body burned with wine and rebellion as you straddled the infamous warlord, his golden eyes watching you with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

If brute force wouldn’t work against a man like him, then something else would. With practiced ease, you slipped a small vial from your sleeve, its contents a subtle but effective muscle relaxant. Before Mydei could regret leaving you be, you tilted his chin up and pressed the vial to his lips, pouring the liquid down his throat.

His brows furrowed as he swallowed instinctively, his hand snapping up to grip your wrist. But it was too late.

"That," he murmured, "was underhanded."

You smirked, leaning in closer until your lips nearly brushed his. "So is kidnapping a princess for ransom."

His breath was warm against your skin, his grip on your wrist loosening as the effects of the medicine took hold. You traced a slow line down his jaw with your fingers, enjoying the rare vulnerability in the otherwise unshakable warrior.

"You're playing a dangerous game" he warned, though there was no true threat in his voice.

"Maybe. But what’s the fun in playing safe?"

You ghosted a kiss over his lips—not fully meeting them to make him aware of the heat between you. His breath hitched slightly, but his body was too weak to act.

Before you could push further, footsteps echoed in the hallway. A guard? A servant? It didn’t matter. You shot a glance at the door before swiftly moving off him, your heart racing as you bolted across the room.

With a quiet click, you locked the door just as a shadow passed by outside. You turned back to Mydei, who lay against the floor, watching you with unreadable intensity.

"You’re enjoying this."

You leaned back against the door, tilting your head. "I don’t know. Are you?"

Even weakened, even at a disadvantage, the smirk that curled on his lips sent a shiver down your spine.

You weren’t sure who had won this round.

The moment Mydei’s body slackened beneath you, a wicked idea took root in your mind. He was still strong—his sheer presence alone made that clear—but the medicine you had given him worked fast, dulling his movements just enough to tip the balance in your favor.

Slowly, deliberately, you leaned down, your breath warm against his skin as you trailed kisses down his throat. His pulse was steady, but you didn’t miss the way it jumped just slightly when your lips skimmed lower. Your hands followed, slipping beneath the layers of his clothing until your fingers brushed against bare skin.

You didn’t stop there. With a smirk, you let your lips hover over his chest, barely grazing over the hardened peak of his nipple. The reaction was instant—a sharp inhale, his body tensing beneath you despite the medicine weakening him. His fingers twitched at his sides, as if debating whether to grab you or let you continue your little game.

"Careful, princess, you’re walking a fine line."

"I thought you liked playing dangerous games."

----

Morning came with a dull ache in your head, the remnants of last night’s indulgence lingering like a haze over your thoughts. You groaned, rubbing your temples as you sat up, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window.

Your clothes were still intact, and nothing felt particularly out of place—so why did you have the distinct feeling that something had happened?

As you stood, stretching, your gaze caught sight of him. The bed sheets were messy, but that wasn’t what held your attention. It was the discarded clothes, the deep scratches and faint bruises. Those marks—finger-shaped impressions, reddened skin—weren’t from battle. They looked like… like someone had touched him intimately.

Had he brought a woman in here last night?

A strange irritation coiled in your chest, one you refused to name. It wasn’t your concern. What he did, who he spent his nights with, meant nothing to you. You were only here until your kingdom came for you.

"You're awake already?"

You hummed in response, moving toward the wash basin, focusing entirely on refreshing yourself instead of acknowledging his presence.

"You don’t remember, do you?"

Your hands paused over the water, brows furrowing slightly before you shook your head. "Remember what?"

"Nothing."

You didn’t press further, still refusing to face him. You could hear him moving behind you, perhaps dressing himself, perhaps watching you in that quiet, calculating way of his.

"I assume my kingdom will send for me soon." you said coolly, changing the subject.

"Perhaps."

His voice carried something unspoken, something you didn’t have the patience to decipher. You focused on your reflection in the water instead, ignoring the way your mind kept drifting back to the marks on his skin.

-----

The first time had been an 'accident'. This time, it was deliberate.

While Mydei was out handling whatever duties he had, you slipped away from your quarters and made your way to the kitchen. The servants stiffened at your arrival, their hands hovering in hesitation.

"Your highness, you shouldn’t be here.."

You ignored them, sweeping past to where the wine was stored. If Mydei had ordered them not to harm you, then they wouldn’t be able to stop you. And you were in the mood to test exactly how much defiance they’d tolerate.

A bottle was in your hand before they could say another word. You uncorked it and poured yourself a generous amount into a goblet, drinking deeply without care for how the servants exchanged uneasy glances.

"Your highness, please—"

"You can either leave me be." you cut in smoothly, swirling the wine in your cup, "or you can try and stop me." A smirk curled your lips as you raised a brow at them. "But I wonder, will Mydei be pleased if you lay a hand on me?"

That shut them up.

You took your time, savoring the wine, ignoring the way the servants whispered among themselves. Let them. It wasn’t their concern what you did.

By the time Mydei returned, you were already feeling the effects of your indulgence, lounging carelessly at the long wooden table, an empty goblet in hand.

The moment he stepped inside, the room went silent. The servants quickly bowed their heads and stepped away, making themselves scarce before they could be caught in whatever storm was about to come.

Golden eyes flickered over you, taking in the way you slouched, the flushed color dusting your skin. His expression didn’t change much—but you weren’t too drunk to miss the slight furrow in his brow.

"Again?"

You smirked, raising your empty cup as if in a toast. "Missed me?"

The amusement in your eyes didn’t waver, even as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in close.

"You’re making a habit of this"

"And you’re still letting me."

Mydei’s patience was wearing thin, but he didn’t stop you.

"You’ve had enough" he said as he reached for your wrist, likely intending to drag you back to your chamber.

When you both reached your chamber. You yanked your arm away and, with the force of your drunken determination, shoved him backward. He barely had time to react before his back hit the bed, his body sinking into the mattress as you loomed over him.

"You dare," you hissed, your balance swaying slightly but your anger keeping you steady, "to drag another woman into this room? To put shame on my kingdom’s name?"

His brows furrowed, completely caught off guard. "What?"

You scoffed, your gaze flicking down to his clothed chest.

Mydei followed your gaze, then exhaled through his nose, realization dawning. "You really don’t remember."

That only infuriated you further. You didn’t want his vague riddles.

"Drink!" you demanded, reaching for the wine bottle you had stolen from the kitchen.

He gave you a flat look. "No."

You straddled him, pressing the bottle to his lips, your own gaze burning with challenge. "What, scared?"

He didn’t fear you, not in the slightest—but something about this moment, about you, was different. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tilted his head back and drank.

You smirked, triumphant, before taking a long swig yourself. The warmth of the alcohol burned through your veins, fanning the fire already coursing through you.

"You think you can use me as a bargaining piece" you murmured, leaning down so your lips hovered just over his ear, "then play around with other women while I wait?"

His hands suddenly gripped your hips, steadying you. "You," he said, "are the only woman who has ever slept in this bed."

"Then prove it"

The moment Mydei swallowed another mouthful of wine, you smirked, setting the bottle aside. His golden eyes stayed locked onto yours.

"You’re still dressed." you murmured, your fingers already moving to the ties of his tunic.

He didn’t bother to do anything to stop you.

With slow, deliberate movements, you pulled the fabric apart. The marks you had seen earlier were still there.

"You act so untouchable," you whispered, dragging your fingers along his collarbone, "but I wonder…"

Leaning down, you pressed your lips to his skin, just beneath his jaw. Mydei inhaled slowly, his hands still resting on your hips, but he didn’t push you away.

"You’re playing with fire, princess."

You bit down his neck—"And yet," you whispered, tracing your tongue over the reddened spot, "you’re still letting me."

For once, Mydei didn’t have a response. Only the quiet sound of his breath and the tension in his body betrayed him.

And you? You were more than happy to keep testing his limits.

"You act like you’re in control. But right now… you’re completely at my mercy."

"You think so?"

You smirked. "I know so."

----

The morning light streamed through the windows, making you groan as you sat up, pressing a hand to your temple. Your head throbbed—yet another consequence of yesterday’s drinking.

You tried to recall the events of the evening, but everything was hazy. You remembered wine. You remembered Mydei beneath you, his body warm against your touch, the way his breath hitched when you teased him.

Did you…?

No, you shook the thought away. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that your father had sent word—he was prepared to take you back.

And so you followed Mydei out to the war camp, where your father and his men were waiting. The air was tense, the weight of negotiations lingering between them. You fully expected Mydei to take the offered gold, to trade you back without hesitation.

Instead, he crossed his arms and said, "Keep the money. I’ll marry the princess."

Your eyes widened. Your father’s expression darkened, his grip tightening on his sword. And Mydei’s own men, his most trusted warriors, stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

One of them stepped forward, his hand already on the hilt of his weapon. "Did you seduce him or something?"

Before you could respond, the cold press of steel touched your neck. You should have been furious. You should have spat a sharp retort. But instead, you turned your gaze to Mydei, waiting to see how he would respond.

Mydei grasped the hilt of the warrior’s sword and forced it away from your throat. The sheer strength in the motion made the man stagger back, his eyes widening in shock.

"Touch her again," Mydei said, "and I will cut you down myself."

The weight of his words settled over the camp. Mydei didn’t look at anyone else. His golden gaze was locked onto you.

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before speaking. "I need time to think."

"During this time," you continued, keeping your voice firm, "you will stay at my palace. If you refuse, then I won’t accept your proposal."

A beat of silence passed before he gave a single nod. "So be it."

You weren’t sure if you expected him to argue, but his quick agreement threw you off slightly. Nevertheless, it was settled.

And so, Mydei followed you back to your kingdom.

He brought along his most trusted warrior, a man named Rhaelon, a battle-worn soldier who clearly didn’t approve of any of this. You caught him watching you more than once, assessing you as if you were the one who had cast some spell over Mydei.

The first day was uneventful. Mydei didn’t cause trouble. He didn’t make demands. If anything, he acted as if this was nothing more than a political visit.

You thought, perhaps, this was just an impulsive decision on his part. That given a few days, he would realize the absurdity of his claim and leave on his own.

But then the second day came. And the third.

And Mydei was still here.

You sat in the study, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood of your desk as you regarded the man before you. Rhaelon stood stiffly, arms crossed.

"You wanted to see me, princess?" he asked, his voice level but cautious.

You didn’t waste time with pleasantries. "I need you to talk some sense into Mydei."

Rhaelon's brows lifted slightly. Clearly, he hadn’t expected you to be so direct.

"Sense?" he repeated.

You leaned forward slightly. "Doesn’t he have any women waiting for him back in his homeland? Some lover or noblewoman that suits him better than—this?" You gestured vaguely, frustration creeping into your tone. "Surely there’s someone he’s actually interested in."

Rhaelon exhaled through his nose. "You truly don’t understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

A chill ran down your spine as you turned to see Mydei standing in the doorway, his golden gaze sharp, unreadable—but there was something else beneath the surface. Something darker.

Rhaelon stiffened. "My lord."

Mydei’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "Should I be concerned about what’s going on here?"

You realized what he meant. He wasn’t asking about Rhaelon’s loyalty. He was asking about yours.

Before you could say anything, Mydei grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the study.

“What are you—?” you hissed, trying to yank your arm free, but his grip was firm. He didn’t say a word as he led you down the empty hall. Only when you were far from prying eyes did he stop, turning to face you.

"You…" he started, then paused, exhaling sharply as if debating whether to say it at all. His fingers twitched against your wrist before he finally released you, crossing his arms instead. "You don’t remember anything from that night, do you?"

"That night?"

His golden eyes flickered away for a brief second—was he… shy? No, that couldn’t be right.

"You were the one who pushed me down" he muttered. "You forced me to drink. You—" He cut himself off, inhaling deeply before rubbing a hand over his face.

Your mouth parted slightly as the memories started to piece themselves together. The wine. The way you had kissed him. The feeling of his body tensing under your touch.

"I… did all that?"

Mydei’s eyes flicked back to you, searching your face for something—regret? Guilt? Amusement? You weren’t sure what he found, but his shoulders stiffened slightly. "You truly don’t remember?"

You looked away, your mind racing. You had been too drunk to realize the full extent of what you were doing. And Mydei… he had let you. Even now, he wasn’t angry—just… flustered?

A wave of guilt settled in your chest.

"I didn’t mean to…" You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

This was suddenly far more serious than you had anticipated.

And for the first time since this all started, you didn’t know how to respond.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You had assumed he was just acting on impulse. A warlord staking a claim out of convenience, out of power, maybe even out of drunken amusement. But now…

Now you weren’t sure.

Before you could reach an answer, morning arrived far too soon.

And with it—chaos.

The doors to your chambers slammed open so violently that they nearly came off their hinges.

"PRINCESS!"

Your childhood friend.

The one you had forgotten amidst everything that had happened.

They stood at the entrance, eyes blazing, fury written across every inch of their face. Their entire body trembled as they took a step forward—only to be blocked by a broad figure.

Mydei.

He had moved before you could even react, standing between you and the intruder.

Your friend’s hands clenched into fists. "Get out of my way!" they snarled, "You think you can just take her like some war prize?!"

"She is mine."

Before you could step in, they were already fighting.

It happened so fast—your friend lunging, a blur of rage and desperation, fists swinging wildly at Mydei. And Mydei, unshaken, effortlessly dodging every strike.

You tried to call out, but neither of them listened.

Then—a sharp crack.

Mydei’s fist slammed into your friend’s stomach, sending them stumbling back, gasping for air. Another blow followed, a knee to the ribs, and then a swift kick that sent them sprawling onto the floor.

"Stop!" you finally shouted, rushing forward, but by the time you reached them, it was already over.

Your friend lay on the ground, barely able to move, blood dripping from their lip. Mydei could have killed them if he wanted. The fact that your friend was even still breathing meant he had been holding back.

But that didn’t make this any easier to process.

You turned to Mydei, speechless.

And for the first time, you truly questioned—

Just what kind of man had you entangled yourself with?

You turned to Mydei, "Just... go back to your land."

His gaze darkened slightly, but for once, he didn’t argue. He simply watched as you walked away, leaving him standing there in silence.

But he didn’t leave you alone.

Days passed, then weeks.

And with them came letters.

At first, they were composed, measured—requests for you to reconsider, to return to his side.

Then, they became desperate. Sad. Conflicted. Madness creeping into the ink.

Some pages were scrawled with sharp, uneven strokes, as if written in frustration. Others bore words so faint they looked like he had hesitated to even send them.

"I will have you back." "Do you even think of me?" "This silence is unbearable. I should just take you." "Come back. Come back. Come back."

You had thought of ignoring them entirely. But when Rhaelon himself arrived at the palace gates, you knew you had no choice but to confront this.

"Lord Mydei has asked for you."

You hesitated. But in the end, you went.

And what you found was… unexpected.

The great hall of Mydei’s fortress was filled with women. They sat around him, draped in fine silks, each vying for his attention with soft words and delicate touches.

Yet—

Not a single glance spared their way.

Your gaze flicked to Rhaelon, giving him a "What the hell is going on?" look.

He merely exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to say, "I have no idea."

Then—Mydei saw you.

And everything changed. His golden eyes lit up. In an instant, he pushed the women aside—literally shoving them out of his way as if they were mere obstacles—and strode toward you.

You barely had time to process before he was standing right in front of you, towering over you.

Rhaelon sighed heavily, rubbing his temple before turning away.

"I'll leave you two to… whatever this is."

He gave you a look that said don’t do anything reckless before motioning to the others. Within moments, the hall emptied, the murmuring servants and lingering women slipping away until it was just you and Mydei.

"If I cannot have you, I will destroy your kingdom. I will slay every last one of them until their blood drowns the land."

"And when it’s done.." he continued "Then I will follow them. I will end myself."

You slapped him.

The sharp sound echoed through the empty hall.

He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, waiting—no, desperate—for your response.

Your hands trembled with anger. "You think killing will make me love you?" Your voice was steel, each word laced with fury. "You think shedding the blood of my people, the people I swore to protect, will bring me to your side?"

"I'm.... sorry."

It was quiet. Sincere. But it wasn’t enough.

Because in the next breath, he added, "But I won’t stop."

"If you deny me now," he continued, "I will keep chasing. Keep persuading. No matter where you run, no matter who stands in my way—" His fingers curled into fists. "I will find you."

So you said the only thing that could end this.

"Then I’ll kill myself."

Mydei’s entire body tensed, his expression shifting from shock to something dangerously unreadable. "No."

"Maybe that will be the only way to finally end this madness."

"NO." His voice was sharp, raw, a mix of fury and something close to panic. He grabbed you then, hands tight on your arms as he glared down at you. "I won’t let you. You think I would stand by and watch you die? You think I would ever allow it?"

For the first time, he looked afraid.

---

You never thought it would come to this.

Standing before Mydei, adorned in ceremonial attire, you felt nothing but emptiness.

The vows had been spoken. The warlord who once threatened your people was now your husband. And you—his wife.

Even after the wedding, the weight of reality pressed on you, suffocating. Mydei had been surprisingly restrained throughout the day.

But that night… he drank.

And Mydei’s drinking sucked.

You had expected him to hold himself together. But the moment you stepped into the chambers you now shared, you found him seated near the table, an empty bottle clutched in his hand.

He was a mess.

"Really, Mydei? On our wedding night?"

His gaze lifted lazily to you, a slow smirk curling on his lips. "You expected something different, wife?"

"Drinking yourself into oblivion on our first night as a married couple? That’s pathetic."

"Would you rather I take you to bed instead?" His golden eyes darkened. "Would that make you happier?"

"I'd rather you act like a husband, not some miserable drunk."

That seemed to strike something in him.

"You hate me, don’t you?"

Did you hate him?

You sighed, stepping forward and snatching the bottle from his hand. He barely resisted, just watching you with those damn eyes.

"Enough, Mydei." You set the bottle aside. "Go to bed."

He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze tracing your face, before he sighed and leaned back against the chair.

"What a mess" you thought, watching him.

What a disaster this marriage would be.

What you didn't expect was him kissing you right after.

You gasped against his lips, your hands pressing against his chest, intending to push him away—but he wouldn’t let you.

His calloused fingers slid along your jaw, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing closer.

This wasn’t like him.

This was Mydei with his inhibitions stripped away.

He was drunk, reckless—doing everything he never dared to do when sober.

His lips trailed lower, ghosting over your jaw, your throat. A sharp gasp escaped you as he bit down—hard enough to leave a mark.

"You’re mine now."

This was dangerous.

This was the man who once threatened to tear your kingdom apart for you. And now, he was falling apart in your arms.

"Mydei, you're drunk. You need to stop."

His lips lingered at your collarbone before he finally stilled. His arms were still wrapped around you, his breathing heavy.

And then—he slumped against you.

Completely unconscious.

You stared at his sleeping form, utterly stunned.

"You have got to be kidding me."

This was your husband.

This was your wedding night.

And he passed out before he could even finish what he started.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh before shoving him off you. "Idiot."

You didn’t even bother covering him up as you turned away, crawling onto the bed and facing the other direction.

What a disaster of a first night.

You woke up feeling disoriented.

Your wedding night had been nothing like what you expected.

Your husband—if you could even call him that without cringing—had gotten himself stupidly drunk, kissed you senseless, left a few marks on you… and then passed out before he could do anything else.

It was ridiculous.

And yet, as you sat up and looked at him—still fast asleep, shirt half undone, hair a mess from last night’s recklessness—you felt something unsettling crawl up your spine.

This is real.

You were his wife now.

And no matter how much you wanted to ignore it, he wasn’t going to let you go.

With a sigh, you climbed out of bed, trying not to think too much about last night as you dressed yourself. Mydei was still asleep, and honestly, you didn’t feel like dealing with him first thing in the morning.

Maybe some fresh air would help.

Or at least, that was your plan.

But the second you stepped outside—

An arrow whizzed past your head.

You barely had time to register the danger before a sharp scream tore from your throat, and you did the most natural thing your instincts demanded—

You bolted back inside and hid behind Mydei.

The man who just woke up with a pounding headache and a wife clinging to his back.

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temple as he blinked blearily at you. "…What are you doing?"

"I ALMOST DIED!" you shrieked, gripping his shoulders tighter. "THERE WAS AN ARROW!"

He sighed. "…So?"

"SO?!" You gawked at him. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘SO’?! I WAS ALMOST MURDERED!"

Mydei, still half-asleep, stretched before casually walking to the doorway, completely unfazed. You clung to him like a lifeline, peeking out from behind his broad frame.

Outside, one of his men stood in the distance, bow in hand. They met Mydei’s gaze and immediately lowered their weapon. "Apologies, my lord. Didn’t realize the lady was awake."

"DIDN’T REALIZE—"

Mydei let out another sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You should be more careful, idiot. The castle gets attacked all the time."

You stared at him, horrified. "All the time?!"

He nodded. "Yeah. Assassins, enemy spies—it's normal." Then, as if realizing something, he glanced over his shoulder at you, "But… since you're here now, I suppose I should try to put an end to it."

Your heart skipped a beat.

You weren't sure why.

You swallowed hard, slowly stepping out from behind him. "You better."

He smirked. "Scared?"

You glared. "Shut up... Should I leave a letter if I die here?"

Mydei’s expression darkened instantly.

"Don’t say that."

You raised a brow. "Why not? If assassins are a common thing here, I should be prepared. Maybe something like—‘If I die, please send my body back to my kingdom. Also, Mydei was a terrible husband—’"

Before you could finish, Mydei turned on his heel and stormed out.

"...Did I hit a nerve?"

You had no idea where he was going, but judging from the sharpness of his steps, he was pissed.

Moments later, you heard shouting. Then—the unmistakable sound of swords clashing.

You didn’t even have to look outside to know what was happening.

He was killing them. Every assassin, every hidden threat lurking around his castle—he was slaughtering them all.

Just because you joked about dying.

Somewhere deep down, you should’ve felt flattered.

Instead, you sighed and let yourself sink into a nearby chair.

Moments later, a few maids entered the room, their expressions carefully neutral. One of them spoke hesitantly. "My lady, the lord has ordered us to take care of you while he… handles things outside."

"Figures." You rubbed your temples. "Let me guess, he doesn’t want me seeing all that blood?"

The maid nodded.

You rolled your eyes. "Typical."

Even when he was being brutal, he was still thinking about you.

Hours later, Mydei finally returned, his clothes stained with blood.

You didn’t even bother asking if it was his. You already knew the answer.

Instead, you crossed your arms, watching as he stepped inside the room, wiping his hands with a cloth like he hadn’t just murdered a dozen people.

"Happy now?" he asked dryly, tossing the cloth aside.

"Not really. You still suck as a husband."

"Yet, you’re still here."

"For now." You leaned back against the couch, narrowing your eyes at him. "I was going to tell you to go back home, but I assume you’d rather die than listen to me."

"Probably." Then, his smirk faded slightly. "But honestly, having me as your husband and your father’s son-in-law would be much more useful for your kingdom’s army, wouldn’t you say?"

You stilled.

That… was actually true.

Annoyingly true.

With Mydei’s reputation, his military strength, and the sheer fear he instilled in enemies, having him officially aligned with your kingdom would mean a massive advantage in warfare.

You hated that it made sense.

You hated that he knew you would consider it.

After a long pause, you sighed in defeat. "Fine."

"I knew you’d see reason, wife."

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the way he said wife and instead focused on glaring at him. "But you’re still a jealous idiot."

"What?"

You smirked back. "You’re bad at controlling it."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

You scoffed. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

Despite your teasing, you knew the truth.

His jealousy was his greatest weakness.

And you?

You were starting to enjoy testing it.

----

You still weren’t used to calling him your husband—every time the title left your lips, it felt wrong in your mouth, like a misplaced word in a sentence that shouldn’t exist.

But one thing was painfully obvious:

Mydei was terrible at handling his jealousy.

It was almost amusing how easily he unraveled when it came to you.

For instance—today.

You were in the courtyard, speaking with one of your father’s generals, a seasoned warrior named Eryndor—a man significantly older than you, well-respected, and absolutely no threat.

Yet, when Mydei saw you laugh at something Eryndor said, his entire demeanor shifted.

When you turned your head to look at him, he wasn’t glaring at you—he was glaring at Eryndor.

The poor man had no idea.

Here we go again.

Eryndor finally noticed the intense stare aimed his way and turned to greet him.

"Leave"

Eryndor blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Leave," Mydei repeated, stepping closer. "Now."

Eryndor, wise enough not to test the infamous warlord, gave you a look that said I fear for your life before quickly excusing himself.

The moment he was gone, Mydei turned his attention to you.

You crossed your arms. "Really?"

"You were laughing."

"Oh, forgive me for having a sense of humor."

"With him."

"He’s old enough to be my father."

"Doesn’t matter."

"So you’re telling me that the mere sight of me speaking to another man makes you want to commit murder?"

"Yes."

But you refused to let him win this easily.

Leaning in slightly, you tilted your head, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "If I’m yours… then shouldn’t you trust me?"

You didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, you simply turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, seething.

----

Mydei certainly lived up to his name—a warlord who had been in and out of battle for most of his life.

This time was no different.

Tensions had been brewing between the western kingdom of Vaelmont and the eastern territories. A long-standing rivalry, years of uneasy truces, and a final betrayal—the assassination of one of Vaelmont’s highest generals.

Naturally, war erupted.

Your father, a strategic ruler, remained neutral at first. But when Mydei’s presence was requested to lead the eastern forces, he did not hesitate to send him.

Thus, Mydei left for war, leaving you behind in the palace.

And that was where the real trouble began.

It wasn’t a secret that your beauty and sharp mind had drawn the attention of many suitors—even before Mydei.

But now that Mydei was gone?

The floodgates opened.

Letters arrived daily.

Some were from rival kingdoms hoping to take you as a bride and weaken your father’s army. Others came from lords and nobles who wished to turn Mydei against your kingdom—knowing he had taken a liking to you.

Some were polite. Some were desperate. Others? Downright vile.

Each one was denied. Every. Single. One.

Yet, they continued.

Your servants grew increasingly worried. "My lady, should we report this to the king?"

You shook your head. "No. Burn them."

But no matter how many were burned, more arrived.

One particularly bold noble even snuck into the palace under the guise of an envoy, only to propose in person.

He barely left with his life after you had the guards throw him out.

When Mydei finally returned from war, he was victorious.

But his victory was quickly overshadowed by what he learned from the servants.

He had barely stepped foot in the palace when they rushed to inform him—

How suitors had flooded you with letters. How some had tried to steal you away.

They told him everything.

And Mydei… was livid.

He wasted no time.

The men who had sent those letters?

He dug up every single one of their crimes.

Corruption. Treason. Exploitation.

It didn’t matter if they were dukes, lords, or noble heirs.

He executed them all.

Their heads were hung in the public square, a warning to all.

Among those who dared to seek you out, Lord Verent of Alsmire was the boldest.

He was not just a noble—he was a seasoned manipulator, a man who thrived on deceit and indulgence. Known for his wealth, his twisted tastes, and his unshakable belief that everything had a price.

And in his mind, you were simply another prize to be bought.

When letters failed, he attempted bribery. Gold, gems, even promises of entire estates—all sent to the palace, all rejected.

But Verent was not a man who accepted refusal.

So, on one night, he made his final move.

The plan was simple—bribe the guards, drug the servants, and take you under the cover of darkness.

You were sleeping when they entered your chambers.

A cloth drenched in poppy extract was already prepared, meant to render you weak and compliant.

But what Verent didn’t know was you were no fool.

You had sensed the danger in the palace long before this night.

So when the hands grabbed you, when the cloth neared your mouth

You did not succumb.

Instead, you smashed a hidden vial of powder into Verent’s face.

His screams split the silence as he clutched his face, stumbling backward. The guards, now alert, stormed the room, catching his struggling form as you commanded them to throw him into the dungeons.

Of course Mydei couldn't let it slide.

There was no trial.

There was no mercy.

Instead, Verent was dragged into the town square, his wrists bound, his face still disfigured from the powder burns.

The people of the city gathered, whispers filling the air as Mydei stepped forward.

"This man attempted to steal what is mine."

Verent tried to plead, to beg—but Mydei did not care.

His fingernails were torn off one by one.

His tongue was cut out—so he would never whisper false promises again.

And finally—he was flayed alive.

His screams echoed through the city for hours.

When it was done, his skinned corpse was impaled on a pike, his head placed atop the city gates for all to see.

But Mydei was not finished.

He ordered the entire Verent bloodline to be erased.

And before nightfall, every last one of them was dead.

When Mydei returned to you, his hands were still stained with blood.

He did not look regretful.

If anything, he looked satisfied.

"No man will ever dare to claim you again."

--

For days, the air had been thick with blood and death.

But tonight?

Tonight, the city was celebrating.

The warlord had rid the land of traitors and cowards. His men, his allies, even some nobles who aligned themselves with him—they all drank in his name.

And, as expected, so did Mydei himself.

Yet, instead of spending the night in revelry, surrounded by his soldiers, he found himself standing outside your chamber.

The flickering torchlight in the hallway cast a long shadow beneath your door.

He wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t knocking.

Just… standing there.

You frowned, watching the unmoving shadow. Even inebriated, he was quiet.

Finally, you sighed. You weren’t going to pretend not to notice.

With a flick of your wrist, you opened the door.

Mydei stood there, dressed in half-undone battle robes. The deep crimson fabric hung loosely over his shoulders, exposing the hardened planes of his chest. His usual fierce golden eyes were clouded with alcohol, his lips slightly parted as if he had been debating whether to speak or not.

The moment his gaze met yours, he stiffened.

You raised a brow. “Are you planning to stand there all night?”

He was still unsure what to say.

It was almost amusing—a man who could execute an entire bloodline without hesitation now struggling to speak to you.

But then, the faintest furrow appeared on his brow, and he exhaled.

“…I shouldn’t be here.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Then why are you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He had been drunk before. You had seen it. But never like this.

Never so… uncertain.

“…I don’t know” he finally admitted.

That was a lie.

You knew exactly why he was here.

He wanted to enter. But he wouldn’t dare to.

Not unless you allowed it.

You could end this now. Send him away. Close the door. Leave him to his thoughts.

Or…

“Come in.” you murmured, stepping aside just slightly.

You hadn't expected him to actually listen.

Yet, the moment you stepped aside, Mydei entered.

The scent of wine and steel clung to him, his movements slower than usual but still unmistakably powerful.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

But as the night stretched on, his drunken haze didn’t stop him from reaching for you.

It was subtle at first—his fingers brushing against yours, the heat of his body drawing closer.

You thought, perhaps, it was just the effects of alcohol.

That, once sleep claimed him, he’d let go.

But he didn’t.

Even as his breaths deepened, even as his grip slackened just slightly—he never fully released you.

Every time you shifted, his grip adjusted, ensuring you couldn’t slip away.

Even in sleep, he still wouldn’t let you go.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 | neil lewis x reader

𝘀����𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | a visit to gumshoe video could go one of two ways... but one way or another, you're gonna get him.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | varies

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only), enemies to lovers, nothing too terrible just neil and reader bullying each other

this is a choose your own ending fic!! after the introduction, click to choose which way you want the story to go! each ending will have its own warnings section, so read those as well!

Technically, you always dressed well for work.  Corporate jobs require professional attire, obviously; but you were slightly overdressed today, and it wasn’t to go into the office.

Tight skirt and matching blazer, a silky-satin button-up, black heels, and thigh-high stockings with a seam up the back.  No, this wasn't how you dressed for a day in the office… this was how you dressed when you were closing a deal.

A little bell dinged as you walked into Gumshoe Video, and you looked around for a moment after you stepped inside: the decorations were… plentiful, and kitschy.  The displays were so small, and just a quick glance at some of the shelves had you frowning in confusion.  These are some seriously deep cuts… how do they make any money at this place?

Lucien came bounding up to you in an instant, hands pressed tight against his horribly out-of-fashion skinny jeans as if to hide that they were clammy already.  "Do you, uh, need help finding anything?" he asked.

You offered him a pitying smile, about to offer him a friendly ‘no thanks, but’ and then tell him why you were really here… but you were interrupted.

Jonathan, who had taken a break from sipping on a soda behind the counter, coughed to get Lucien's attention as he quickly shook his head.  He didn't seem to understand, though, looking back at you with his brows furrowed.

"Uh, ignore him,” Lucien laughed nervously.  “Are you looking for a rental?"

"Dude, she's not here to get a movie!" Jonathan snapped.  "Who dresses like that to pick up a tape?!"

"Maybe she's on her way to work!" Lucien returned sharply. "Or maybe she just came from somewhere!"

"Where?"

"My dreams!"

"No, your friend is right, I'm not here to pick up a movie," you admitted, and Lucien looked at you nervously.

"You, uh, don't like movies?" he wondered.

"I love them actually, but—"

The door to the office swung open, with Neil glaring at you from the other side of it.  "You," he announced with disdain.

"—but I'm here to speak with the owner," you finished, tilting your head and grinning at Neil.

"We have nothing to speak about," Neil assured you as he walked towards you.  

"We have multiple opportunities to discuss," you disagreed, "and my employers are very anxious that I deliver this message to you, so if we could please speak in your office—"

"Her employers?  Is this chick in the mob?!" Lucien blurted out fearfully.  "Neil, I know money's tight, but— oh fuck, was that 'small business loan' just a cover—"

"She's not from the mafia," Neil sighed.  "They actually have some morals."

You extended a hand to introduce yourself to Lucien.  After your name, you told him your job: "Head of Acquisitions, Media Giant, LLC."

Jonathan coughed again, poorly covering the sound of him saying "blood-sucking harpy" under his breath.

You smiled at him; "You really should get that cough checked out," you suggested pointedly.

“Whatever it is your puppet-masters want you to discuss with me,” Neil began, wiggling his fingers as if pantomiming a little marionette show, “you can take right over there into our women’s restrooms and shove directly up your ass.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” you smiled, “I bet you’ve been saving that one since our last little visit.  Can we go to your office now?”

“No, you can’t go in there— we just had the priest come by and bless it, we wouldn’t want your feet to burn now, would we?” Neil snarked in return.

“Fine— get it out of your system,” you encouraged.  “Say whatever’s been stuck in that pretty little head for the last month waiting for me to come back, and then we can have our meeting, alright?”

“I— well, uh—” Neil stalled, looking a little flustered as he suddenly leaned on a shelf of tapes with one hand.  “You think I’m pretty?” he mumbled nervously, running his free hand through his hair— only to put a little too much weight on the shelf and nearly tilt it over, having to scramble to catch it and make sure it was balanced again.

“Dude, pull yourself together,” Jonathan snapped at him, and Neil glared at him before looking back at you.

“Fine, okay— we can have a very brief conversation in my office,” Neil offered with a sigh, motioning for you to follow him, “but it’s going to go the same way it did last time: with me telling you hell no and you having to do the walk of shame back to your headquarters.”

“Looking forward to it,” you smiled, waving goodbye to the other men before stepping into Neil’s office as he shut the door behind you.

You watched him step around you to sit at his desk, looking at you expectantly with his legs spread and his fingers interwoven in his lap.

“Am I allowed to ask why you’re dressed like a cowboy, by the way?” you asked with a raised eyebrow, and he frowned at you as he tossed aside the hat and slipped the poncho off over his head, leaving just a much more normal outfit of jeans and a button-up underneath.

“We’re running a special on Westerns,” he explained, “it’s fun, okay?  Not that you would know fun if it smacked you on the ass and called you sweetcheeks.”

“Honey, that’s just what I call a Friday night,” you smirked as you stepped a little closer leaning against the side of his desk as he swallowed thickly.  You couldn’t just sit across from him— you needed to keep the upper hand.  “But I’m here for business.  Let’s talk business, shall we?”

“Right, business,” he frowned.  “I’m guessing your business here today is trying to buy my store, again?”

“Something like that,” you relented.

“You know, I guess I should take it as a compliment,” he grinned, leaning back further in the chair.  “Clearly, you know I’m a threat.”

“Please,” you rolled your eyes, “we’re a Fortune 500 company, and you’re a guy wearing a poncho.”

“I took off the poncho!” he defended.

“So you’re… just a guy, then,” you corrected.  “The point is, we’re not worried about you stealing our business at all.  We just think this location is going to waste.”

“You want the real estate?” he realized.

“You’re in a perfect spot, you know,” you informed him, “you just need… a little more help utilizing it.”

He sneered at you sharply.  “I don’t want anything from you.”

“You only hate me so much because you resent success,” you informed him with a sigh.  “Just because you’re broke and proud doesn’t mean making money is a sin.”

“It is when you put making money above everything else,” he replied, “like creativity and community and the authentic customer experience—”

“How exactly does Media Giant conflict with those things?” you scoffed.  “We’re a company founded on creativity— and we always foster community—”

“Spare me the doublespeak, Big Brother,” Neil scoffed, “you’re just a bunch of— of robots!  Your whole company, it’s just full of people trying to make a quick buck, top to bottom: you think the people in the back at McDonald’s give a fuck about food?  That’s what you are, the McDonald’s of the film industry.  You’d probably let a monkey work there if it could wear a nametag and convince someone to rent Fast and Furious Fifty or whatever the fuck.”

“Fine,” you sighed, “let’s just say for a moment that you’re right.  That my company is so terrible because we don’t employ people like you.”

He relaxed for a second, and you leaned in closer in hopes that he was really listening.

“This is your chance to fix that!” you explained.  “You can save us from the inside out, you know.  You can start from the bottom, be our best sales guy, and then it turns into a promotion and a raise and soon you’re climbing the corporate ladder— where you can make some real change.”

He shook his head, laughing a little.  “That’s not actually possible, it’s just a fantasy you tell all your little minions to keep them compliant.”

“It’s what I did,” you shrugged.

“You?” he realized with a laugh.  “You, in one of those navy vests and nametags, selling people tapes?”

“I’m sort of a cinephile,” you admitted.  “I wanted a job where I could talk about movies all day— and thanks to me, that Media Giant location rented out more copies of The Seventh Seal than all the rest combined.”

He stood up quickly, stepping closer to where you sat on his desk.  “Y-you like The Seventh Seal?”

“It’s a masterpiece,” you answered, speaking a little softer as he was so close, “Bergman is a genius.”

A strange look crossed over his face, a heavy-lidded sort of look as he examined you.  “Tarantino?”

“Overrated, but not bad,” you replied quickly.

“Tarkovsky?”

“Good, but hard to watch.”

“Lynch?”

You scoffed; “Don’t insult me.”

He laughed a little, crossing his arms and looking away from you.  “You could be one of the good ones,” he realized, “but you sold out.  And now you’re just a suit.”

“It’s not so bad,” you smirked, “I think you’d like a little more… structure, given the chance.”

“And that’s what you’re offering?” he pressed, and you nodded.

“We’ll let you keep the name, your employees… most of the decoration,” you offered, “you’ll just be technically a Media Giant franchise.  You have nothing to lose, and so much fucking money to gain.”

He sighed a little, looking at you again.  You could tell he was considering it, but not very thoroughly.  All you could do was hope for the best, and wait for an answer…

CLICK HERE FOR THE SUB!NEIL ENDING

CLICK HERE FOR THE DOM!NEIL ENDING

[love-belle]

you're losing me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's losing him and he's not fighting for her either.

or

for when you lose someone you thought you'd spend your lifetime with. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

sequel - i hope i never lose you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - my heart broke while writing this :// still, i hope u like it!! lmk if u want a part ii though i'll write it anyway. i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lilymhe and 2,628,926 others

yourusername when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

9,926 comments

username MOTHER?????

username max :///

username if they break up i simply give up, it's that easy x

lewishamilton sending you hugs and love from me and roscoe ❤️

-> yourusername missing you both ❤️

username guys............what if they did b word u word ?

-> username don't spread lies 😘😘😘

-> username they break up and i stop believing in love ☺️

lilymhe i could be a better boyfriend just saying 😮‍💨

-> yourusername you're already my wife 😘

username we really went from "the first flowers he ever brought me became my favourite" to "when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst" huh

username im just gonna ignore this!!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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maxverstappen1 pole position!!

very happy that we managed to put the best bits together for qualifying today! great work by everyone in the team redbullracing & hondaracingglobal 👏

looking forward to be racing again tomorrow 👌

7,972 comments

username NO Y/N????????

username im delulu

username is it just me or did he not seem really into it like idk

-> username if me and my fiancée broke up i'd be the same

danielricciardo proud of you mate! 👏

username need y/n to comment rn so i can be at peace

username nice prank guys 😐😐 REALLY funny 😐😐😐

username NO BC THE WAY HE ALMOST MENTIONED Y/N WHILE TALKING TO A REPORTER BUT STOPPED HIMSELF

-> username NO BC MY HEART BROKE SEEING

-> username they're really over huh

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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f1newzzz formula one driver, max verstappen and singer/songwriter y/n y/l/n called it quits on their engagement, source close to the pair claimed. "they just wanted different things, their goals weren't aligning," the source explained, "marriage had seemed like the picture perfect ending at that time, when max had proposed, but in the long run, they both would've been very unhappy." though the exact reason for their split isn't very clear, many speculate that it was actually verstappen who ended their 11 month engagement. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

479 comments

username ur telling me that the woman who wrote "your past and mine are parallel lines, stars all aligned and they intertwined" about her man wanted "different things"??????? ok.

username max i just wanna talk ☺️☺️☺️

username no bc they were so in love everyone could see it

username she did not write "i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw u" for u to write this fucking shit post

username "she's been my rock, my biggest supporter, my proudest fan and im very grateful for her, forever will be. i don't deserve her and i don't know what good i did to have her in my life but im very glad i do" NO WAY HE BROKE UP WITH HER

username idk man if u write 3+ albums about someone and stuff like "all that u ever wanted from me was sweet nothing" or "all's well that ends well to end up with u" the universe should it impossible for u to break up

username just a daily reminder that u should drink rat poison before falling in love bc it never works out

username the day i stopped believing in love

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

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yourusername you're losing me is finally yours. this is easily the most vulnerable, heartbreaking, raw and personal song that i have ever written and sharing it with you all is like sharing a big piece of myself. you are, at some point in their life, at a place where you're begging someone to love you the way you love them and i think that's a saddest thing someone can do, i've been there. this song is a messy compilation of my feelings, my thoughts and the enigma in my mind, i hope you like it. and finally, to that one person, thank you for being my forever. it was real.

16,829 comments

username I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER

username the way we went from "i'd marry u with paper rings" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING

danielricciardo in awe of you and your talent 🤍🤍🤍🤍

-> yourusername danny i heart you

username no bc what really hurts is that throughout her albums and songs she's always been like "i can't wait to marry you!!!!" like from lover and paper rings and now it's hinted that max didn't wanna marry her and the way she's trying not to blame him by saying "i wouldn't marry me either"

-> username "she would've made such a lovely bride what a shame she's fucked in her head" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username the way that some people were saying that they got married secretly and the whole time they were broken up and she still continued to act like everything was fine like my heart's hurting for her

username "thank you for being my forever, it was real" IM CRYING IH NY GKD

carmenmmundt the most talented person i know 🤍 i love you so much y/n/n

-> yourusername you own my heart 💌

username the 1 is gonna start hitting different now

-> username "it would've been fun if u would've been the one"

username her heartbeat in the song i died.

username thinking about "he didn't try at all though" vs. "do something babe say something"

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART EIGHT)

"Junior's hitting the weights," Todd Fiedler said as we made our way down the fairway.

From anyone else, I would have gotten mad at the comment, but it felt like an extension of the flirty vibe he and I had. Innocent and yet not. It was the perfect Fiedler-Drake dynamic, maybe possible because we actually had never crossed the line into sex.

I shot him a cautious look but agreed. "He has been for a while. Braden's been showing him around the home gym."

Fiedler gave me a playful smile and said, "Dad's been on a real fitness kick. Something about having a new boyfriend will do that for you."

"What do you mean?" The doctor was getting at something.

"Jon," he said. Jon Fiedler was the second oldest of their sons, now in college. "I told you he's been brought into the fold, but he and Dad are actually dating."

"What do you mean, dating?" I probably sounded judgmental. I know I was shocked.

"What I said. Going on dates, being boyfriends, having hot sex..." Fiedler finally checked his voice level. "I mean, Jon's really wired for the silver granddaddies. All of his porn, too."

"Jesus," I hissed.

Todd looked over, buddy to buddy. He knew he could trust me with anything, like I could with him. "You're not weirded out are ya, Bill?"

I shook my head. "Well, it's unconventional as hell, Todd."

That made him smile. "The Fiedler way. You gonna stick to the more conventional incest?"

That made me chuckle. "Buddy... Brade's doing this whole barefoot and pregnant thing that's driving me wild." I loved that I could share sexual details with Fiedler, in a way that I didn't even with Franks Connors or Doug Newcomb. "Like... he's been getting hot flashes how that he's knocked up with twins.... he walks around the house in just a pair of PT shorts, his pregnant gut hanging out. It's crazy."

The man nodded in understanding. "Bill, probably the hottest thing was seeing Dad wear a speedo eight months along. He chastised me for being such a horndog that vacation. But fuck..."

I laughed. Doc and I were different, but we shared some similar personality traits.

"So, Todd... with your dad and Jon... where do you fit in?"

He shrugged. "I love it. I'm getting closer to Andrew," he said, referring to their eldest. "It just seems that the pairing up works that way."

"That's awesome," I said.

He looked at me. "You're getting hard?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted.

"The boys are gonna notice."

The fact he said in a way where it could be read as a warning or a goading made me blush. That made him smile more.

"Listen, Bill... I've been wanting to bring something up."

"Yeah?"

"You guys ever think of moving to a bigger house?" he asked.

We lived in a nice 4 bedroom place, but things were getting tight, fast. "Every day. I've been running the budgets."

"Well, there's this subdivision development that's gone bankrupt. It's twenty-five miles further out so it'd be a bitch of commute. And I know our boys are in good schools."

"You saying I should move there?" I was trying to pick up on what he was suggesting.

"Business proposition. We pool our resources and buy it. There's two mansions built already and a couple more started. We can convince the Connors men to buy one."

The lightbulb was clicking. "Fucking incest compound, huh?"

Todd's eyes twinkled. "You got it, buddy. All of us free to do what we fucking want. Grow our families bigger."

I was fully hard now. "How much is it?"

"A lot. I'll send you the bid I'm preparing. But it would be worth it, if you're in."

"I'll run it by Braden," I said. Though honestly, I did the big financial decisions for the family.

****

The next day I stumbled across a private moment between Junior and Braden. Not inappropriate or outright sexual, but Braden was in the kitchen cooking, and I heard Junior's deepening teen voice ask. "Can I feel, Daddy?"

"Have at it, Bill..."

I stepped into the kitchen to see Junior running his hands along the big seven-and-a-half month swell of my husband's stomach. Awe in his eyes as he looked from the bare belly up into Braden's face. "I can feel my little brother's kicking."

"They're eager to meet you," Braden said, with fatherly pride.

"Yeah," Junior said. I could see his teen dick forming a ridge in his preppy shorts, but it was like our son was oblivious to his sexual turn on. He stepped back and said, "thanks."

"Hey guys," I said, breaking the spell between them.

Junior stepped away. "Daddy was just letting me feel the twins," he said. "Pretty incredible."

I stepped up. Maybe it was my possessiveness, but it was my turn to cup that stomach while I gave Brade a husbandly peck. "I'll say." Then to Brade, I asked if I could take over dinner prep. "You should rest, Sport."

"I'm fine, Dad."

Junior looked on. He was used to his parents' affection, though he had a greater knowledge of me and Brade's sex life, from overhearing us and occasional man-to-man conversations I had about being a good life partner to someone. Whoever Junior ended up with, I wanted him to know what love and commitment meant.

"Dads... I'll go take my little brothers out to throw the football. They need to get away from their video games more," Junior announced.

"Good idea, Junior," I said.

After he bounded down the hall, Braden couldn't stop laughing. "Jesus, the kid's so much like you, Dad."

I leaned in and placed my mouth to his ear while I felt up his bare pregnant body again. "We may have a little private time now... why don't we go up to the bedroom, Sport?"

Braden got a horny look on his face and nodded.

I think he thought I was gonna want a quickie but instead, after I shut the bedroom door, I crouched down in front of Brade and tugged down those Marines PT shorts. That son dick was already standing up, almost flush with his pregnancy gut. I began licking, then pulling Brade's dick down to my lips. Even if I was strictly the top in the relationship, I liked doing this from time to time. Sucking Brade off, tasting my own son's cum. And the feel of his twins pregnancy against my forehead as I bobbed up and down on him drove me wild.

Brade was keyed up, too. His hands cradled the back of my neck and his breaths quickly grew short. "Oh fuck, Dad.... suck me, Dad... I'm gonna cum... oh fuck oh fuck... right into my father's.. OH SHIT!"

It was a heavy cum and I nursed on the dribbles.

"Sit down on the bed," I urged in pure horniness as I stood up and peeled down my sweatpants. I wouldn't even need lube I was leaking so much. I stepped up, tugging wildly at my dad cock and I saw Braden's excited expression. "Fuck yes!" he hissed.

The vision of his big knocked up body did it. I shot heavy ropes of my paternal cum all over his furry pregnant body.

****

Junior and were getting closer. It wasn't sexual, at least that wasn't the attraction. After all, Junior was still young. And Braden was the recipient of my full libido now that he was entering the final stretch of the pregnancy. Even if he was too tired for sex, he urged me to jack off on his body, belly or back. My husband was keeping me very well satisfied.

The thing was Junior was more that he was becoming an adult, almost precociously so, and I could bond with him in a different way. Saturdays were our day. Tee time, lunch at the club, then I'd take him for driving lessons or just hang out.

It was two weeks before the twins were due, and Junior and I were hanging out at a restaurant that had a nice outdoor deck. Since Junior would be driving us home, I was enjoying a beer. And both of us were enjoying a nice man-to-man talk.

"So, kiddo... I'm thinking of moving us to a bigger house." I explained Todd Fiedler's plan.

Junior got very animated, wanting to know the numbers and how the financing would work.

"It's a stretch," I admitted. "But we got two little ones on the way..." I paused. "And probably more after that."

"That's way cool, Dad," he enthused. "I love having little brothers, you know that."

"Well, I appreciate you looking after Evan and Keith."

"Anytime," he said. "I'll help with the twins, too.... I know it's a big move, Dad, but you got this. You're fucking good with numbers." Now that Junior was just about 16, and I'd given him the green light to swear around me, he was taking full advantage.

A thought occurred to me. "You interested in seeing the plan?" I asked.

That was the right thing. I never had seen Junior so thrilled. "God, Dad... yeah."

"Maybe you can tell your old man if he's overlooking anything," I added with a wink. It was patronizing, but Junior ate it up nonetheless, happy to be included in such a big household decision.

We talked a little more and I figured it was time to check in. "So, kiddo... is there anyone you're dating right now? Or interested in? You can be a little private." Normally Junior was more likely to talk about that stuff with Braden, crushes our son had that sort of thing, but my husband hadn't heard anything lately.

"Not exactly, but..." he paused. "I'm sexually active now, Dad." There was a strange confidence in his tone.

"Good for you, buddy," I smiled, patting his knee. "You're looking out for yourself, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, Dad. Using protection... a good part of my allowance goes to rubbers," he laughed.

"I'll buy those," I asserted. "Or chip in to a rubber fund."

That made Junior laugh. "Dad!"

I didn't want Junior to have any incentive or excuse to go without protection. But I enjoyed the teasing dynamic we had. "Ok, buy your own, kiddo."

Junior was in a good mood, and I could tell he was enjoying opening up to me. "Can I ask a personal question, Dad?"

I nodded. "I don't have to answer, but yeah, go for it."

He leaned in and whispered some. "What's it like without a condom?"

I used to dread these kind of conversations, but now I was glad my son trusted me. It was the opposite of Braden at that age.

"For the top... I won't lie, son... it's really fucking nice to go bare. With the right man." I gave another wink. "It's why God created birth control pills," I joked.

That got another laugh. "Cool." He seemed to read me to see if he could open up more. "I've been trying to convince this guy to go on them, but no luck yet." I guess in his way, Junior was telling me that he was a top, or at least had taken that role so far.

"So... boyfriend....?"

"Just a guy," Junior said, cagily. "He's older."

"Oh," I said.

Junior stood his ground. "I know you and Daddy won't approve."

I sighed as I racked my brain to guess who this mystery man could be. "Come on, Junior, you know it's our job to look after you."

My son shrugged. "I know, Dad. But I'm learning about sex..." he dropped his voice. "It's been awesome. And I know how to be discreet. I'm not gonna get the dude in trouble."

"Well, let's put it on the record that I'm concerned."

"Noted, Dad," Junior said in a smart-ass tone.

****

The subdivision was perfect. Private access road, lots in an area surrounded by forest. Total privacy. The Fiedlers took the mansion at the end of the cul de sac. The Drakes would live at the other one on the road. Eight bedrooms, a large family room and a big basement. Huge backyard. My finances were going to be majorly leveraged for this, but as we moved in, I knew it was going to be worth it. Junior and I even skipped golf for a couple of weekends and built out the nursery.

It would take a year of convincing but the Connors men decided to build their house on one of the lots. A normal sized one, since they didn't want to have kids.

It didn't take nearly as long for the wheels to turn in the Newcombs' head. I didn't even have to do a hard sell. When Doug and Eric showed up to visit one time the excitement was evident on their face. "You're planning a whole incest neighborhood, huh, Drake?" Doug asked as I showed him around the backyard. His son was hanging out with Brade and playing with the boys.

"Pretty much. At least a haven where we can be ourselves, you know."

"Eric would love it here," the airline pilot said.

"You should consider a move," I said outright. "It's far from Minnesota, but it's a good place to live."

His blue eyes twinkled. "Yeah, buddy, we'll consider it fer sure." The Midwest accent was coming out. "We haven't really told anyone, of course, but once Eric's out of college, we're gonna start a family. You guys have been such an inspiration."

"Good for you, Newcomb. For real, you're gonna find your connection to your son even more powerful."

He smiled. "Sometimes I gotta pinch myself, ya know?"

"I know, man."

Brade's and my sex with the Newcomb men was very hot that night.

***

Junior was a good kid. Mostly. I gave him a lot of free rein. We lived further out and my son had his own car now. I knew he had to get his golfing in, plus extra curricular stuff at school, and I also wanted him to have a social life. He hadn't divulged more about his dating or sex life, but I wanted him to enjoy his teen years, like I'd enjoyed mine. Hopefully making smarter decisions.

But he made a really dumb one. He was late getting home one Friday night. The boys had all gone to bed, Braden too for that matter.

"You didn't text me," I said in my gruff "Dad" voice as I heard him walk past. He peeked in.

"Yeah, sorry, Dad. Lost track of time. Anyway, good night."

The fucker was trying to get away with something, I knew. "Wait, Junior." I got out of my seat and walked to the hall where my son stood.

"Dad," he objected, "It's getting late."

He'd grown bigger over the last year. Not Braden big, but he had packed some teen muscle pretty evenly on his tall frame. I'll admit he was a handsome young man, real fucking handsome, and I could see why he had success playing the field, if that's what he was doing. Maybe he was getting back from a date now and that's why he was acting weird.

"I know it's late," I said.

As I stepped up I could smell the alcohol. Junior had been drinking, not a little bit, but a lot.

I became enraged, but I kept my voice to a low growl. "Keys," I said, holding out my hand.

"Dad!" The whiny teen personality was bubbling forth.

"I said give me your fucking keys, Bill. Now."

He fished them out of his pocket and roughly placed them in my hand.

"You're grounded. One month. No car, no phone, no golf, no fucking anything but school and homework. Got it?"

He was mad at me but also scared. "Dad, come on." Junior was going to try to plead his way out of this one.

"No argument. Go to your room."

He sulked away.

***

"Don't you think you went a little hard on him?" Braden asked me the next day.

"I didn't go hard enough. He's gotta re-earn our trust."

I thought my husband was going object, but deep down he knew I was right, he just hated the tension in the house now. And it got worse. Junior was majorly sulky, spending time in his room. Brade or I drove him to school and picked him up. I had a conversation with Coach Sargent to explain why Junior would be missing the golf team for the next month. He understood.

Around week 3 of the grounding the old Junior came back. More polite and respectful, more involved with the family. Braden almost talked me into ending the grounding early, but I felt the punishment was right.

I did cave a day early. Junior's 18th birthday was coming up the following week, and it was a Friday. I knocked on his room door.

"Come in, Dad," he said.

He looked up from his book. He'd spent the last few weeks reading about finance, economics and math. As I stepped in, I could see he had a book about parenthood on the nightstand next to him. I'd have to ask him about that later. For now, I had a mission. "Here you go," I said, extending out my hand with the keys.

It took him a second to process. "I thought I had another day." Pure Junior to assume I wouldn't show clemency. But he tentatively reached forward to take the keys.

"I figure you've learned your lesson," I said.

"Oh god, yes, Dad. I'm SO fucking sorry."

As our fingers toughed, they didn't immediately let go. I thought it was Junior holding on to my hand, but I realized I was gripping his too, feeling the warmth of the connection as our eyes locked. I loved my son so much, and I could see his ache and desire at that moment. Braden had talked for years about how Junior was crushed out on me, but I figured it was a phase he'd pass through. Or something we'd talk about at a future point.

Only I was leaning in. Sensing my motion, Junior was leaning up. He was a cute, hunky young stud. My own suntanned golf jock with the light brown hair of his daddy and a lot of my own features.

The kiss was electric. Lips touching and then parting. Then I slid my tongue between his parted mouth. I moaned as much as Junior did before i got an inkling of self control.

"I should probably shut your door," I said. But with enough of a question that Junior could say no.

"Yeah. Please, Dad."

I was majorly bricked as I leaned back up and went to shut the bedroom door. And when I turned back I could see Junior rock hard in his khaki shorts. He was handsome as fuck in his golf shirt, which clung to the teen muscle he'd worked so hard at. I remember what Brade had said about Junior wanting to get big for me. I hoped he was working on his body for himself first, but I was reaping the benefits now.

I kicked off my shoes and untucked my button down from my khakis, though I didn't make any move to strip down further. I wanted some make out time with my son and to show him how amazing that could be.

I was rewarded with the biggest smile on his face as I joined him on top of his bed.

"I can't believe this is happening," Junior said. "I've dreamed about this forever."

"I wanted to make sure this was right," I replied, snuggling up to him. We were the same height, tall Drake men, connecting, and I felt his sock covered toes playfully touch my own as we kissed once more.

"Nice, kiddo," I hissed, running my hands along his knit golf shirt and feeling the solidity beneath. "You've grown into a real stud."

"FUUUCK, Dad," Junior growled. He was now pawing at my middle aged build through my shirt and working his way down to my crotch. I thought of stopping him, or at least slowing this down, but I wanted it too.

"Your dad's dick," I hissed as his fingers gripped my boner through my khakis.

"It made me, Dad," Junior said. He was an incest kid all right.

"It made your Daddy too," I said.

He felt up my size and length before looking back up into my eyes. "Can I see it?"

I nodded and undid my belt. Then unzipped. I was so crazy hard that my erection was like teen rigid when I pulled down my pants and underwear.

"God, I love you, Dad," Junior said as he touched my prick, tentatively at first. "Sorry if that's wrong to say."

"Not wrong, kiddo," I said. "I may need to talk to your daddy about ground rules, but for now, let's enjoy this, OK?"

Junior nodded. We kissed some more. Junior's touch grew more eager, and I reached out to feel his boner. Getting the clue, he undid his shorts and pretty soon I was feeling my second son's bare dick in my palm. Slowly we stroked each other and made out.

Junior had a huge smile when we finally broke that kiss.

"So, Dad... how does Daddy take care of this cock?"

I grinned. It was a cheeky thing to ask, but also sincere. "He'll suck it, or I'll fuck him," I answered bluntly.

"Hot," Junior said, taking in the knowledge of how his parents have sex. "You ever bottom for him?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Your daddy's pure bottom. And I'm pure top. But I like to suck him from time to time."

His voice got soft, and his request was strangely respectful. "Can I see you naked, Dad?"

I nodded and pushed down my pants all the way, then began undoing my button down. Junior meanwhile was stripping down. His body exceeded my expectations, even. Mostly smooth except for a treasure trail and some leg and pit fur, Junior still had the muscle of a college dude.

Our embrace was even hotter now, naked father to naked son. We kissed and writhed against each other. I never was into frottage, but Junior was close to bringing me off this way.

Only he stopped. In a rash move he started scooting down my body. Maybe he was afraid I was going to stop him. I wasn't.

I felt Junior's tongue on my prick, lapping me up, tasting me, before he took me into his mouth. This wasn't his first cock to suck, and I was now glad he had some experience under his belt. I'd have to talk to him more about what he'd done so far.

For now I was going to lay back and let my son suck me off. I touched his neck and massaged his hair and encouraged him. I told him he was doing a great job. I told him this was incest, that he was sucking his granddad who was also his dad. I told him he was going to taste his brothers if he kept that up.

He did, bringing me to orgasm and excitedly moaning around my ejaculate. His first taste of his dad's cum. I knew it wouldn't be the last.

I gave him a thank you kiss then urged him up so I could reciprocate. It didn't take much. just a few sucking bobs, but I loved the thrill of having my second-eldest son's hard prick in my mouth and the idea this was my first taste of him.

"Damn, Dad!" Junior's voice was quivering as he shot his load, all over my tongue and right to the back of his throat. His semen tasted just like Braden's, it was wild to realize.

We held each other as we came down from the highs of orgasm. Our first father-son afterglow. I had my arm around his shoulder and rested my hand on his bare chest, which was rising and falling with his breath.

"That, young man, is what we call make up sex."

Junior laughed. "I know I still got a lot of growing up to do, Dad.... but thanks for trusting me."

I kissed his forehead. "That was incredible, kiddo.... I should get back to the others. But we'll talk more."

"Yeah," he said.

There was a quiet embarrassment as we found our clothes and put them back on. Junior's eyes were still on me, not as lusty but still crushed out. I was crushing out on him too. I gave him a wink before slipping out his bedroom door.

I found Brade in the nursery, feeding both the twins. We'd decided to breastfeed them longer, to maintain that bond.

"Hey, Dad," he said softly. "The little dudes are hungry tonight."

I nodded. "You're gonna want your dinner soon," I said. "What do you think of pizza night?"

"Sounds awesome."

I shut the door. Braden seemed confused until I spoke up. "It happened, buddy. Um, Junior and I just had sex."

I was expecting a hurt reaction, or something besides the big smile Braden gave me. "God, that's incredible, Dad. How was it?"

"Pretty frickin amazing... only I guess we need to talk about ground rules."

Braden didn't follow. "You mean you don't want me fooling around with him? I get it, Dad."

I shook my head. "No. I mean, you're my husband and I didn't ask your permission."

"Oh. Well, I don't know, I just assumed it was gonna happen, Dad. And I'm your husband, but you're Bill's dad. And he's my brother... I guess I'm happy he gets to experience incest, too."

God, I loved this guy so much. There was a reason I married my first son. I walked over and leaned for a soft kiss. "Thank you.... So, you'd be OK with me and Junior exploring things a little more?"

"More than OK, Dad," Brade replied. Then he got a sheepish quiet. "You, um, didn't...?"

"Nah, just oral. I'm not sure if he wants more. Anyway, I want to take my time."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Like you did with me."

"Damnit... you're gonna make me hard again," I teased.

"Good."

"So... I'll order the pizzas?"

"Get an extra one. I'm fuckin starving." Brade's appetite has spiked feeding both our toddlers.

"Will do. I'll have to see if Junior is joining us. I, um, I ungrounded him."

Braden laughed. "Softie."

"Guilty," I said.

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur work!! id love to read about chess player!ellie x chess player!reader hate fucking the shit out of each other after one of them wins the tournament 🤭🤭

"You're not as boring as I thought...

...you are not as bright, either."

warnings: 18+!! edging, brat!reader, slight mean!ellie, dom!ellie, sub!reader, yeah js.. smut

writers note: i never told u guys before but pspsp.. i play chess !! so surprising right🤭🤭 and yes i used dominiques quote because . and . also ...,.

"what the fuck was that, huh?" she asked with a serious, cold tone. and maybe you'd even bother to answer, if she wasn't about nine inches deep in you. you rolled your eyes with a quiet whimper. "what? gonna throw a tantrum? i'm the one who should be mad. shit— i am fuckin' mad."

"see, el— maybe..." you hiccuped, managing to fully open your half-lidded eyes for a second. "maybe i'm just... better."

"better?" her eyes widened in shock, because even though she knew how much of a brat you can be she wasn't expecting that.

at some point, you were right. on the other hand, you didn't have to rub it in her face like that.

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you could tell she had studied the art of offensive chess for quite some time. she would frequently sacrifice her pieces to gain control of the center of the board, relying on her opponent's hesitations to gain a positional advantage. however, her tactics had limitations.

as you continued to play defensively, her attacks became more predictable, and you were able to counter them. while you wondered how she had reached this level, you had to admit that her strategy would work perfectly against a not patient or uncertain opponent. time didn't matter to you, not as much as to your rival, so you easily took advantage of it.

she looked either bored or amused most of the time, keeping the atmosphere more relaxed than it should be. "...so those girls like chess players, y'know? they're just so easy-"

"focus." you cut her off in an indifferent tone. the fact that she wasn't paying much attention to your moves, busy with talking, was good, but her rambling also distracted you. you clicked the little button on the clock, signaling it's ellie's turn. "i get it, people like smart girls." you mumbled, leaning back in your chair. "are you one of them, though?" you continued in a doubting voice, unintentionally insulting her.

her usual smirk didn't leave her face but you could see her bite the inside of her cheek in slight annoyance or even frustration. "i'm gonna show you." she nodded, as if to reassure herself with a silent 'yeah, just you wait!' which you couldn't help but laugh at. well, maybe not laugh, but chuckle under your breath. your comment must really bother her, to the point you ruined her offensive tactic.

"you're not as boring as i thought..." you scanned the board through your firm gaze, searching for any potential threats. you straightened up, propping your elbows on the small table and laying your head on your hands, impatiently tapping your cheeks. as soon as she clicked the little knob you already knew what'll your move be, so you quickly extended your hand. "you're not as bright, either." you picked up your knight, tauntingly pattering it through the squares, mimicking a real horse. finishing the L-shaped distance seemed to take you ages, though it was really less than four seconds. you let go of it, making a muffled knocking sound as it hit the wooden board. "checkmate." you whispered, folding your hands and tilting your head.

you took a moment to take in her reaction, which, much to your disappointment, wasn't an interesting scene. in fact, her smirk only widened as she looked at the clock and saw what led to this - her reckless haste. she hummed and shook your hand, what showed that she agreed with the score.

"how could i not notice that?" she smiled, letting you know it doesn't matter to her. you started to wonder about her strange behaviour, which seemed weird compared to the known, easy to piss off ellie williams. and just then, you understood everything's how it should be. her grip on your hand painfully tightened, as if to prove that your suspicion is correct.

⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

you felt her strap slid out of you, leaving your cunt hopelessly clenching around nothing. you raised your head, letting out a needy whimper and hoping to see what was she's up to. "els—"

"shut up." she murmured as she parted your thighs, revealing herself between them. she leaned down to have your slit at her eye level, with a quiet growl. "you're such a—" her tongue ran up and down your lips, collecting most of the slick you have accumulated. she looked up at you with a proud smirk. "fuckin' slut."

your fingers uncontrollably tangled with her hair, tugging on it while your free hand gripped the bed sheets. your cunt was still sensitive after being filled with her strap, so her soothing tongue felt comfortingly painful. she lightly sucked on your clit, forcing a desperate moan out of you.

"so you're the smart one? is that right?" she asked, her voice interrupted by either your little gasps or her breaks to plant another kiss on your core. "why don't you say something smart then?" her mocking tone echoed in your head as you tried to form a sentence. before you could, she stuck her tongue in your throbbing hole, making your thighs snap shut. she quickly helped them regain to their previous position, not pulling her hands away for longer than needed as if she wanted to make sure her fingers will leave a reminder, in form of at least reddening your sensitive skin or, most likely, giving you some bruises.

you felt your climax approaching so soon it felt embarrassing, truly embarrassing. you started babbling nonsense as your cunt clenched around her tongue, which continued to fuck in and out of you.

the amazing feeling suddenly left, replaced by her thumb roughly circling your clit. you watched as she sat up and smiled down at you, licking her lips in a temptingly slow way. the brat living inside of you was the first one to speak up, huffing out her name in an obviously annoyed gesture.

"c'mon." she cooed in a mockingly sweet voice, making sure her thumb is doing a good job. good job at torturing, ruining and making you even more desperate, if that's even possible. "what would a smart girl say in your situation?" she clicked her tongue, making you feel all the control you had slid out between your fingers and sink into the bed sheets. no matter how much you didn't want to admit it, someone finally managed to make you feel hopeless.

"but, ellie, look—" you whined, trying to take as much satisfaction from the touch she was giving you, but it only seemed like a pathetic version of what you could have. you could have way more. you needed way more.

"i don't want to hear any buts." she stopped her thumb, hardly pressing it against your clit, staring at you with stern and serious eyes which you weren't used to see from her. "we both know what a smart girl should say, yeah? aren't you one? are you admitting you're just a slut?" she sighed as if she was disappointed in you.

you shook your head, closing your eyes from the mix of all possible emotions; from embarrassment to proudness. "please, need— need you and... oh, please, ellie..." you broke, begging for more in the most miserable way imaginable.

she bitterly laughed, murmuring an amused "god, you're really a slut" under her breath. her thumb left your clit and both of her hands found their place on your thighs, making you hiss at the touch of your earlier irritated skin. you whined, the sound of your rambling slowly drifting away and getting replaced by just as beautiful moans. you heard her voice but you didn't really understand what she said, nor paid any attention to it, as your mind went blank. your hips kept waving up and down, trying to add to the feeling. your miserable attempts earned either a chuckle or scoff from ellie, but she didn't even try to stop you, enjoying this as much as you.

hooking up with bimbo's might be easy, but making a mess out of a girl smarter than her was way more satisfying.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Eyes Wide Open | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Exhibitionism

Chapter Summary | You want people to watch you, Joel knows exactly how to help you with that.

Chapter Warnings | Are y'all bored of the porn without plot warning yet? Joel takes you to a sex club, public sex, exhibitionism, Joel gets cocky that people like looking at you getting fucked, unprotected PiV sex, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, aftercare, no use of y/n, no outbreak AU. Disclaimer that I've never been to a sex club so I have no idea if this is accurate, but we move. Please be kind.

Word Count | 3.5K

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | Shoutout to @hellishjoel for helping me work through the ideas for this one, and shoutout to my dreams for showing me exactly how it should play out. We're on the downhill stretch of the checklist now but it you're still enjoying this then reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that whilst this is part of a wider series, this can be read as a standalone if you wish.

Beautiful divider by @saradika

I no longer have a taglist, to keep up to date with my work, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

It’s a Friday night, not particularly late by the time you shut your computer down and sit back in the chair with a sigh. The door to your office clicks shut behind you as you walk through to the bedroom, intent on changing out of your work clothes and into something comfy, ordering pizza and spending the rest of the weekend attached to Joel’s side, but it seems like he’s got other ideas.

He’s sat on the edge of the bed, changed from his work clothes, but still looking casual in his jeans and a flannel, but sitting next to him, laid out so delicately on the sheets, is his favourite lingerie set of yours. Skimpy, all black see-through lace that leaves nothing to the imagination, and your trench coat sat next to him, and then your trusty pair of black heels on the floor. He’s smirking, but there’s an air of something nervous about him tonight, which you can tell from the bouncing of his leg and the way he runs his hand over his face.

“Change into this,” He says quickly, tone clipped as he stands, “I’ll wait downstairs.”

And then he’s gone, his heavy footfall giving him away as he walks down the stairs, leaving you a little dumbfounded. Your hands are already reaching to divest yourself of your clothes though, letting them fall into a pile at the end of the bed as you slip on the black lace. You don’t even bother to check yourself out in the mirror, you don’t care what you look like. All you know is that this little ensemble drives Joel wild, and that’s plenty for you, as you slip the black heels on and tie the coat around your waist with a knot.

Downstairs, Joel is pacing, something he rarely does unless he’s nervous. The keys to his truck are in his hand. He doesn’t even speak to you when he wrenches open the front door and motions with his hand for you to go outside. He doesn’t speak to you on the drive into town either. It’s not until he’s pulled up along a random street, outside of a nondescript building that he opens his mouth, but only when you question him.

“You wanna tell me why we’re sat outside some random building?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you with a little sigh, “This seemed like a good idea at the time, but I ain’t sure you’re gonna like it.”

“Try me, Miller.”

Another sigh, “Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about that list again, about you wantin’ people to watch you, watch us, and this was the only thing I could think of,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “It’s a sex club.”

You can feel the smirk growing across your mouth, “Dare I ask how you found a sex club in Austin?”

He grumbles something incoherent which only adds to your amusement of the whole situation, “We don’t have to go in, I know it’s a lot,” He adds, hand finding your thigh under the split in your coat, “Say the words and I’ll drive us back home, unwrap you and fuck you until you can’t walk, it’s up to you baby.”

You take a moment to think, because there is the low bubble of anxiety settling in your stomach. Sure, the idea of someone watching you, admiring you as you get fucked, has always appealed to you. There’s no reasoning behind it, you don’t really know why, it’s just something you’ve always wanted to try. But that doesn’t make the thought of this any easier - it’s a club full of people who probably do this sort of thing all the time, people who have specific things they like to watch, maybe even specific people and what if you aren’t one of them? But, that warm palm on your thigh makes you feel safe, and even if no-one else watches you, he always does.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting from the inside of a sex club on the outskirts of downtown Austin, but it certainly wasn’t this. The inside is beautifully decorated, plush velvet seating, red drapes that section off certain parts of the club, a floor that isn’t sticky, but immaculately clean instead. You were expecting it to smell too, and it does, but not unpleasant in any way. There’s low music playing, and you can certainly hear some of the other people here already having fun, but it doesn’t embarrass you, only makes you more excited.

At the door, someone had explained how things work - there was no obligation to do anything, but if you did want to engage in anything sexual, you had to use one of alcoves that were curtained off. If you wanted people to watch, leave one of the curtains open, and if you wanted them to join in, all you had to do was invite them to do so, but otherwise, they had to watch, and none of them could get themselves off whilst they watched either - the woman explained there were areas to do that elsewhere.

Joel has a hand on your lower back, guiding you over to the bar - strictly no alcohol for obvious reasons - but the bartender makes you a very nice virgin sex on the beach, which is ironic. Joel sips on a 0% beer as you stand and wait to see who makes the first move. You sit and look around, letting the sounds of other women’s pleasure fill your ears, looking at the other couples who are doing much the same as you and Joel are, apart from the fact that you can’t see any of them secretly trying to rub their thighs together for a little relief.

There’s a moment, a little while later, when one of the sets of curtains is pulled back, and a woman, hand-in-hand with a man, walk out, attached at the hip, looking sweaty and sated. You take hold of Joel’s hand, leaving your half finished drink on the bar, and drag him behind the curtain before anyone else has a chance to take it.

“Keen, are we?” He chuckles, watching closely as you close both curtains behind you for now, turning to him.

“Kiss me.”

He walks over to you, lips pressing gently to yours as his hands take hold of the belt keeping your coat together, hands pulling at the knot to undo it, his palms pushing it from your shoulders to leave you standing in just your underwear.

“You want me to open the curtain?” He asks softly against your mouth.

You nod, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls away a little.

“Words, baby,” He says, “Use them.”

You snake your hand around his neck, pulling him back down to your mouth, “Open it,” You demand, “Let them see.”

Letting him go, you walk slowly over to the couch near the back of the room, sitting down on it, crossing one leg over the other as Joel pulls back one side of the curtain. He turns, walking back toward you as he takes off his shirt, unbuckles his belt and leaves both on the floor with your coat. He gently takes hold of your hand, pulling a little to get you to stand up.

Joel settles on the couch, right where you had been sitting before, widening his legs, tapping the material between them for you to sit, which you do, facing the open curtain as you sit between his thighs.

He splays one hand across the naked skin of your tummy, pulling you closer into him, the bulge in the front of his jeans resting against your lower back, the other cradling the side of your face opposite where his lips are currently tracing down your neck and over your shoulder. You close your eyes, let out a soft sigh of pleasure, as your head tips back against his shoulder.

When you open your eyes, there's a jolt of surprise when you see a few people already standing near the open curtain, already watching you. They’re almost casual with it, stood with their arms crossed or leaning against the wall as Joel trails his hand from your tummy to your thigh, widening his own as he pulls yours further apart.

“They’re looking, Joel.” You whisper softly.

“I know, baby,” He coos into your ear, “Shall we give them a show?”

“Yes please.”

It’s all the encouragement he needs, both of his hands coming around your body to cup your tits through the material of your bra, squeezing gently as his teeth start nipping at the skin of your neck.

“Think we should show them how perfect your tits are?” He whispers, fingers dragging up to the straps to slip them off your shoulders, before he pulls the cups down, settling them under your tits to show them off.

Almost like he knows he’s showing you off, parading you in front of people, he brings his palms to the sides of your breasts, pushes them together as your nipples peak stiff in the cool air of the room.

“I think they like you, honey,” Joel’s voice is in your ear again, “Look how many people want to watch you.”

And he’s right, there are a few more bodies that have joined the small crowd that are watching you, as Joel’s hands cup the weight of your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples, drawing a gasp from your mouth as Joel’s hips rock into your back, hard cock digging into your skin, obviously just as affected by by people watching as you are.

“Joel,” You whine, “I need to you touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you, baby,” He chuckles, “You want my hands somewhere else?”

“Please.”

“Given them your tits, now you wanna show them your pussy?”

“Joel, please.”

His hand moves slowly down the bare skin of your tummy and over the lace of your panties, fingers hovering where he knows you’ll be wet, even you can feel the damp material sticking to you. He hooks one of his fingers into the side of your panties, running it over your slick folds a few times as your hands settle on his denim-clad thighs, fingers digging into them as he gently pulls your panties to the side, exposing your core to the people in front of you.

You can hear hums of approval, some people suck in their breath and it makes you preen. Yes, you think, fucking gasp at me, I'm a goddess and look at what this man does to me. Joel’s palm cups your pussy for a moment, his lips still working softly across your neck and shoulder, the roughness of his beard and the way his teeth nip at you sure to leave marks for days.

Then, he drags his palm up, using two of his fingers to spread the folds of your pussy, really showing you off to everyone in front of you. For the first time, you really look at the crowd, there’s not many, many seven or eight people, all stood with their eyes trained on the most intimate part of you, watching as your cunt glistens and flutters around nothing.

“You know what they’re thinking?” Joel asks, his other palm pulling your thighs apart even more, one finger dipping into your slick cunt, dragging the wetness up so he can circle your clit, “They’re thinking this is the prettiest pussy they’ve ever seen.”

He’s got one hand pressed to your belly, dragging you back against him, the other working those tight, precise circles over your clit. Normally, in the privacy of your own home, he’d take his time, but here, any ounce of patience he has is gone. He wants them to see you, wants to know the beauty he gets all to himself, the pussy he gets to do with as he pleases, and most of all, he wants them to know how he makes you cum, almost like he’s proving himself to these strangers. Look at me, look at the man I am, look how well I know this woman’s body and how quickly I can get her off.

It’s all an intoxicating cocktail that has you hurtling towards the finish line in no time. Your head is tipped back against his shoulder again, back arched and hips rocking in time to the movements of his hand, but your eyes are trained on the people in front of you, flitting from face to face as they watch the way your legs start to shake, the way you can clearly see from the front of their trousers how much this turns them on.

“You gonna show them how pretty you are when you come, baby?” Joel asks, hand abandoning your stomach in preference for wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze, just holds you there, anchors you to his body as his finger circles one, twice, three times more and throws you over the edge.

Fingers still gripping at his thighs, you cry out, moaning his name as his finger slows a little against you but never stops, “Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, “Let it all out for them.”

When you open your eyes, coming down from the high, body warm with pleasure, shaking as Joel’s fingers sink inside you, not to get you off again, but to make sure you’re ready for him, a few more people have joined the crowd now, clearly hearing your cries of pleasure and wanting to know exactly what the fuss was about. Well, you’ve joined just in time, you think, as Joel manipulates you onto your back, leaning back a little to undo his jeans, but not bothering to stand enough to completely take them off, just pushing them down enough to free his cock.

Whilst he fists himself, hand at the base of his cock, you tilt your head towards the people watching you. You’re not stupid enough to imagine they’re all here for you, there are three women dotted in the crowd, and whilst you can never be sure, much like you aren't sure about the men either, you’d like to think some of them are here for Joel, admiring the broadness of him, the thickness of his cock, wondering, imagining they get the opportunity to feel him doing exactly what he does next, which is to sink his cock slowly into your aching cunt.

You’ve spread your legs as wide as you can manage, palms on the underside of your thighs to hold yourself open to Joel as one of his hands props him up next to your head, the other pushing the leg closest to the crowd down, so your aren’t covering what they’re here to see the most.

He drags his cock out of you, almost fully, before he slams his hips back into yours. Your tits bounce with the force, a surprised yelp leaving your mouth, but God it feels good. You’re looking at each other, Joel’s intense brown eyes looking down at your face, your mouth dropped open in pleasure as he sets the pace, drawing gasps and whines from you each time he pushes his cock back into you.

Letting go of your leg once he’s sure you’re in a position where everyone can watch the way his cock is stretching your cunt, he takes hold of your face in his hand, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your cheeks which makes your lips purse a little. He drags your face away from looking at his own, one cheek laying against the material of the couch, looking at the crowd, you catch one man run a palm over the bulge in his jeans whilst he looks you dead in the eye, but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, it makes you feel powerful.

You can feel Joel’s nose nuzzling at your other cheek, lips pressed to the sweaty skin, “Look at them, baby,” He demands, “All of them watching you get fucked, you like that?”

All you can manage with his hand on your face is a ‘Mmmhmm’.

“I know you like it,” He breathes, “Know how I can tell?” It’s rhetorical, of course it is, “You’re squeezin’ me so fucking tight, baby, and you’re drippin’, so turned on by all these people who wanna fuck you, huh?”

It’s another ‘mmmhmm’ that he gets in response, but your hips are moving up to meet his now, letting the tip of his cock brush so deep inside of you that you see stars.

“What do you think they want to see most?” He asks, breathless in your ear, “Do you think they want to see me fill you up?” But you shake your head in his hand, “No, you’re right baby,” He agrees, “I think they want to see me cover you, paint my cum all over you.”

You know he’s not going to last much longer. You know him, and you know his signs. The way he gets more vocal in your ear, groaning and panting, and the way his thrusts get heavier, sloppier. You know it, he knows it, and the gaggle of eyes on you mean you’re both hanging on for dear life, Joel trying to hold himself back, wanting just one more from you.

Snaking a hand between your body, you circle your own clit, slick and wet and sensitive from earlier as he finally lets go of your face, holds himself up on both him palms planted on either side of your head, hips slamming into yours, lewd smacking of skin and your combined breathless pants the only thing people can hear over the sounds of whatever other people are doing outside of here.

“That’s it baby,” He encourages lightly, “God, you’re fuckin’ perfect around me, make yourself come and then I’ll give you what you want.”

Like magic, you do, body arching up into his, legs hooking around his lower back as you come for him, moaning his name, looking at only him now as he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth.

“Hold your legs open baby,” He asks, “Gonna give you what you want, okay?”

You’re boneless, palms pressing against your knees to keep you open as Joel slips his cock from your warmth, one hand furiously fisting at himself, the other keeping his body weight off you. You feel the first rope of warmth hit your stomach before he tosses his head back, calls your name out to the ceiling as he covers you in him. Pools of thick, white seed land across your skin as his hand milks every last drop from his cock, the two of you just watch each other for a moment, the only sounds you can hear are you own breath sucking into your lungs and the sounds of what other people are doing outside of your little oasis.

“You okay?” Joel asks softly, leaning forward to press his warm lips to your forehead.

“I’m good,” You smile, “Really good.”

“Yeah?” He asks, almost surprised as he sits back on his knees, tucking himself back into his jeans.

You run your fingernails over his lower belly, scratching gently as you look at him, “I really liked that.”

When you turn your head a little, the people who had been watching you are already gone, onto the next show, the curtain pulled together to give you both a little privacy. Joel stands, finds a box of tissues on the table next to the couch which he uses to clean you up.

“Did you like it?” You ask, as he readjusts the lace of your under, covering you up.

“Yeah, I did,” He smiles, face cupped in his hands to kiss you, “Liked that they could watch, see how perfect you are, but that you’re only mine.”

You snake your arms around his shoulders, kissing him again, “Can we do this again?” You ask, biting at your lip, almost shy to ask for it.

“Yeah baby,” He smiles, keeping you as close to him as he can as he reaches for his clothes, “You wanna come back here?”

You nod, letting Joel slip your coat back onto you, watching as he ties the knot tight, making sure no-one’s going to see you as you leave, as if some of them hadn’t just watch him rail you to within an inch of your life.

Joel presses a kiss to the tip of your nose as he takes your hand in his, “I’ll bring you back,” He promises, pulling the curtain out of the way so you can make your way on shaky legs out of the club, “But right now, I’m gonna take you home, and we’re going to get in the bath, okay?”

“Okay,” You nod, “Take me home, cowboy.”

[babiesdreams]

Advent Calendar

Day 21 : Kim Namjoon (RM) . +18

Content Warning: teasing, oral sex, unprotected, serious breeding kink, rough sex, creampie, sub! reader, possesive, degradation, body writing.

"You've asked for this a couple of times" You identify the sound of his voice coming from your right side, though you're not able to see anything with your eyes closed. It had become a habit, everytime you were about to start a heated session, you closed your eyes and breathe deeply. You've always liked to take in every little moment in life. A clicking sound startles you, it repeats when the handcuffs trap one of your wrists.

Though your mind had driven away for a second you convince yourself you need to focus on getting there. They call it the subspace. A place in your mind where you forget about pride and taboos. A place where you were only made for serving, obeying, pleasuring him. "So you can consider this a gift" His deep voice keeps talking. Another handcuff traps your other wrist.

You have no control over what happens next. That's what this is all about. When your eyes finally open, you realize he's already at your feet, looking at you, waiting for you to be ready. His fingers follow the lines of his lips, before getting licked by his tongue. "I'm gonna fuck life into you" He growls just before his fingertips travel through your, already wet, folds.

"Oh look. You're so wet and we haven't even done anything yet" Humilliation. It played an important role in your kinks. Pointing out how easy to turn on you were was just the beginning of it. In your mind, the images of your previous sessions play on repeat. Him writing all over your body degrading words, along with his name, marking you like a property. Or that one time you kissed his feet begging for permission to cum until he let you release yourself.

Shivers take over your body. His hand traps your face against the mattress. His face inches from yours. "What are you replaying in that mind of yours?" He could read your mind. He had to have some sort of power to do it. "I was just remembering times you humilliated me" He hums. "Which ones? It's happened more than a couple." You take a deep breath. His power made you feel weak to his every touch. "When you wrote on my body with a marker and when I kissed your feet asking for permission to cum"

He chuckles. "Do you know why I asked you?" His fingers had started to play with your hair. "No sir" You answer almost inmediately. "You got even more wet just thinking about it" You gulp, full of anticipation. "I'll have to do it to check just how wet you can get" He says while getting up. You follow his figure with your eyes. He searches everywhere, almost as if he was deliveretely trying to make you feel eager.

When he finds your lipstick inside your purse he shouts. "Voila!" His body climbs onto the bed with hunger. "What should I write?" He asks you, you simply look at him clueless. "How do you feel when I use you?" His question makes you twist your body a bit. "Like a slut" You whisper. His grin grows.

"I didn't hear you" Another deep breath. "Like a slut sir!" You shout this time. His fingers guide the lipstick against your skin, writing the word slut on your chest. "Give me more" This time you close your eyes, trying to reach out for your darkest thoughts. "Cunt. Cum dumpster. Toy. Whore. Needy. Bitch" You knew when to stop because he closed the lipstick. Your skin was almost fully covered in red words.

It was embarrassing to feel his fingers against your wetness, the threat linking the digits to your pussy. He spread it all over your folds, your thighs. If he wanted he could cover every inch of your body with it, and you'd still be so embarrassingly wet. His fingertips press against your clit. They make circles over it. Slowly. Peacefully. Every nerve of your body activates with his touch.

His tongue joins shortly after. You can already hear in your head all the times he's told you I wanna taste desperation. It truly was just that. He'd take a couple of seconds to taste you and then stop. "Fuck me" The words escape your mouth without permission, like a moan or a grunt does. "What?" He asks, stopping all his actions. Your eyes fix on his. He looks kind of pissed.

"I'm your cum dumpster tonight sir. I want you inside of me please" He seems to like that better. His fingers search on his pocket, coming out with a condom. You protest loudly. "Don't use it please" He chuckles. His mouth goes up to your ear. "You have to be more especific in your requests" Deep breath

"I want you to fuck me raw, and fill me up. Please" He sits over your waist, putting his weight on his legs to not smash you. His fingers wander down your body. Pinching your nipples when they get there. A groan is your reaction to the sudden stimulation. When his body moves you can clearly feel the bulge against your skin. His pants fly in the air. His tip touches your clit.

His first thrust feels like a rollercoaster filled with pleasure, anticipation, slight pain. You're full with him. In every sense possible. The second thrust though, feels like heaven. Your eyes roll all the way back. You've question to yourself before if it could be possible for you to cum just by listening to him. And with how fast you do now it becomes more and more real.

He ignores the fact that your body is spasming with release. He's only focused on using you. Filling you. There's hunger in every groan he lets out. His hand push against your mouth, keeping you quiet. You must've been really loud for him to do that. The moment you feel his hot cum painting your walls, your second orgasm brushes over your body, like a reharsed coreography.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hii, I wanted to inform you all that I'll be testing a new format with the advent calendar fics, so if you leave a comment, I'll reply portraying the characters of the fic. If you want someone specific to answer you write his name, if you don't I'll choose for you. Have a nice day and comment if you want to test this. If you prefer to test it anonimously you can leave it on my inbox. <3

Advent calendar masterlist

Masterlist

[writeyouin]

How would mtmte Miminus, Thunderclash and Swerve react to the liaison(who has a crush on the bots but the bots are oblivious but maybe like them back) dying their hair their color scheme?(kinda in the style of rainbow hair) Also, I adore you and sorry if I misread any of your rules! 💜 Stay safe!

MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons - Oblivious

A/N - I peeked at the vote results early by voting once myself. I have zero patience. So, since it's a mix of headcanons and fics, I'm gonna go through my inbox and do a few asks as headcanons and save the rest for fics. Oh, also I missed out Thunderclash, just 'cos I'm less familiar with him and I haven't read the comics in a while.

Warnings - None.

Rating - T

Minimus Ambus

You work with Minimus a lot, reporting to him on Megatron's behaviour.

He was used to your previous hair colour, red and blue with a few white streaks.

What a coincidence that you should dye it green, black, and blue just as he is becoming more comfortable going about his tasks without the Magnus armour.

"Do you like my new hairstyle?" You ask him, quietly hinting that it's him you really like.

"It's in line with regulation, so it's more than adequate."

Honestly, you didn't know there were hair regulations until Minimus said that. You should have guessed. He is meticulous after all.

You thought you were being direct, but you'll have to be more to the point if you want this boyyo to notice you.

"I thought it would be nice to match you."

You think you can hear Minimus' cooling fans click on.

"Yes, well," He clears his vocaliser. "I am proud to have been a positive influence on you."

He hastily finds an excuse to look away from you, staring pointedly at his beloved paperwork.

It's only when he sees you practising your handwriting to be more in line with his that he thinks he might be feeling something akin to love.

Nope, no, not love. Probably just a spark infection. He'll see Ratchet to make sure his systems are functioning optimally later.

Swerve

Swerve notices the change in your hair and clothes immediately. He always notices the things you do.

Oh wow... Do you even realise that you match his colour scheme now? Probably not. This was likely just a happy accident.

Oh, if Swerve could match you, he would.

He likes to imagine those happy couples on Earth with the same Christmas jumpers on, and you would send a card to everyone you knew. There would be a dog of course, and three children, all in the same outfits, and- did you say hi to him? Primus! He'd been so far off in his fantasy that he'd completely blanked you.

"Do you like dogs?" He asked point blank, forgetting himself momentarily. He's checking for accuracy. If not, he's going to change the fantasy pet to a cat.

"Sure," You grin. "Dogs are cute."

You've got up to the bar now.

"Your hair looks nice," He says after a minute, smiling softly. "I really love you- IT! THE HAIR! Not- Not you. I love your hair. It's nice that we match, 'cos like, orange is a good colour, which is why it's my paint job, so it's good to see you like it too, 'cos you match me- Wait, did that sound arrogant? It did, didn't it!"

Now he's spiralling. He's trying to wave off the embarrassment and he's knocked some energon on you.

"Shoot," You say, though you're not too upset, it's just a mild annoyance. "I don't have any other orange clothes. Guess we won't match any more."

You want to match him? Even when he was such a glitch. Swerve has hearts in his optics.

Okay, he's working up the nerve to ask you out. He's gonna do it. Just give him like a month to build up the courage.

[sissylittlefeather]

Suspicious Minds: Part 2

A/N: Here it is! The long-awaited part 2 of my Modern Spy!Elvis fic! Bad news, though. It's gonna need a part 3 😬. There's just so much story to tell!!! Anyway, hope you enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts in the comments. Y'all know I live for your comments.

Need to read part 1? Click here.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, gun violence, espionage, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (both receiving), 69, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of scars and knife violence

Word count: ~5.4k

"Ah, Agent Presley. You're awake."

******

Elvis breathes a sigh of relief.

"Agent West, you scared the shit out of me." He turns and pushes the door open for you. "You can come out. It's one of the good guys."

You walk tentatively from the room. The agent that sits on the couch is young and chiseled and looks hard, just the opposite of Elvis. Elvis is strong and masculine, but there's a softness to him that makes you feel at home. This man seems dangerous, but Elvis trusts him, so you suppose you should too.

"I see you've acted on your reputation, Presley." He looks between you and Elvis with a sly expression. You blush and look at the floor. Reputation?

"No, this is... it doesn't matter. What do you want, West?"

"The boss sent me to bring you both in. Apparently, you have a new assignment."

"I do?"

"You both do. She's working for us now." He gestures to you offhandedly and you can't help but scoff.

"I am not a spy."

"No, but you're an asset. They'll explain it all back at Headquarters. We need to go." Elvis turns to you and looks at you sadly. You can tell he was looking forward to spending more time in the safe house with you, but it doesn't look like that'll be happening.

"Go pack your things. Don't forget the extra special item." You blush again thinking about the flash drive tucked away in your vibrator. Nodding, you walk back into the room to collect your things. Elvis turns to the other agent.

"I need a shower. Can you watch her? I'll be quick."

"I'll bet you do. Yeah, I'll keep an eye on her." You listen as Elvis walks to the bathroom and closes the door. Once you're packed, you carry your small bag back into the living room where Agent West is sitting in the middle of the couch. You'd have to practically sit on his lap to sit down, so you walk to one of the dining room chairs and sit there instead. He smiles at you, but it's not comforting at all.

"So you fell for his tricks?" You look up at him suddenly, not really interested in discussing what happened between you and Elvis with this man.

"I wouldn't say that he used any. I just like him."

"Mhmm. That's what they all say." He snickers coldly and you could swear he's jealous. Still, something about what he says digs at you. Is this just something Elvis does? Do you really mean nothing to him? It certainly didn't feel that way when he made love to you last night. If you didn't know any better you'd think he was about to tell you that he loved you, as ridiculous as that would be after knowing him for all of 72 hours. Still, it certainly didn't feel like he was just trying to hook up with you. You're about to ask Agent West about Elvis's reputation when he walks out of the bathroom with his hair wet and a towel around his waist.

"I left my clothes in my bag." He walks to a duffel bag that you didn't even know was there and fetches some clothing. You can't take your eyes off of him as he stands there, naked and wet. The other agent watches you and laughs.

"She's hoping you'll drop your towel." Elvis looks at you with hunger in his eyes and you can tell he wishes the other agent wasn't there. West sighs loudly. "Alright, lovebirds, we really need to get out of here."

Elvis finishes dressing and the three of you make your way to Agent West's car. At first, Elvis protests leaving his Stutz behind, but West is insistent that you both ride with him. You slide into the backseat of the SUV with Elvis, but West cuts in.

"Nope. No sex in my backseat. You sit up here with me, girl."

"She has a name."

"It's not important to me." You roll your eyes and move up to the front seat. West pats your knee. "There, isn't this cozy."

You can feel Elvis bristle in the backseat when he touches you. Your whole body shivers and not in a good way. West backs out of the driveway and the three of you make your way to the undisclosed location that is Headquarters.

You're shocked when it's an old antebellum-style plantation home in the country with a crooked sign on the gate that reads "Graceland". It looks old and broken down, but there's a retina scanner at the door that both West and Elvis use. The door pops open and you walk inside a lavishly decorated living room. The two men head for a closet and you look at them suspiciously before stepping in with them.

It's an elevator. And it goes down deep into the earth before the doors slide open to a bustling office that's all white and silver and fluorescent lights. Your mouth pops open but you follow Elvis and West when they get off the elevator and head for an office in the corner. Inside is a very tall woman with fiery red hair cropped close to her head. She has on thick-framed black glasses and a charcoal grey suit that's obviously been tailored to fit her perfectly. She smiles when she sees you behind the two men.

"Hello. I'm Nine. Have a seat." She gestures for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Elvis sits in the other chair and she dismisses West, who grumbles and leaves the room. "That man needs to get laid."

Elvis smiles and you follow suit. You're not sure if she was joking, though.

"Can I get you a drink?" She asks, casually walking to a bar area on the side of her office.

"Oh, no, I'm fine."

"Presley?"

"You have my water?" She nods and picks up a green bottle, pouring some water into a glass and handing it to him. Then, she fixes herself some kind of brown liquor and sits behind her desk.

"I'm sure Agent West has informed you that you have a new assignment?" You both nod. "For an agent, he's shockingly bad at keeping his mouth shut."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But I don't work for you. I'm confused about how I have an assignment?" Without thinking, Elvis reaches out and takes your hand. You can't tell if it's a chastisement or him offering you support.

"It's okay, Presley. It's a valid question. The second you downloaded that information, you joined this conflict. We're assuming you want to be on our side."

"Oh, well, yeah, I guess so. I think?"

"Decide now. We have a jail cell waiting for you if you choose to work against us." Elvis squeezes your hand.

"I mean, yeah. I'll work with you." You nod fervently, hoping they really are the good guys.

"I'm sorry to be harsh, but this is a matter of national security. The company who contracted you works for an enemy government. I'm assuming you'd like to keep America secure."

"Of course."

"Then you work for us. Welcome to Guardian."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Agent Presley, take her and get her properly outfitted. Her code name will be Angel. The Colonel will have your assignment." She gestures for you both to leave her office. Elvis finishes his water and then puts his hand on the small of your back to usher you out of the room. His touch is electric and you long to be back in the safe house with him. This all feels too overwhelming.

He escorts you down again in the elevator to what feels like an armory. A short, fat man in glasses sits at a computer in the middle of the room. Elvis calls to him, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around your waist as he talks.

"Colonel! This is Angel. You have an assignment for us?"

"I do indeed, my boy. Come." You and Elvis make your way over to him. "You are going to take down the company that hired you."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you already know their tech. And you're one of the foremost hackers on the planet. He will be your guard, an escort of sorts, but you will do the heavy lifting to get to the main computer that has access to their database and network. Once there, you will implement this." He holds up a small device. "This wireless transmitter will allow me to infect their system with a virus that will destroy it. Then, you'll come back here and be celebrated as heroes."

"That's it?" You whip your head around to Elvis.

"That's it?! Do you have any idea what it's going to take for us to get to that computer?"

"Honey, I've managed so much worse. This'll be nothing. I've got you." He's desperate to take you in his arms and really comfort you, but he knows he can't while he's in this building. He settles for a hand on your cheek. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to you."

You nod and try not to cry. You're dying to snuggle into Elvis's chest and let him hold you, but you get the feeling that you shouldn't while you're here.

"Ahhhh, my boy, do you have the flash drive?" The Colonel interrupts before you give in to your impulses.

"We do." He takes the bag off of your shoulder and digs in it to retrieve your vibrator. Twisting it open, he slides the flash drive out. The Colonel laughs.

"Thats certainly a creative hiding place. Give it to me. I'll put it in the appropriate place." For the slightest second, Elvis hesitates. He trusts the Colonel, but something about his eager expression is off-putting. Still, he drops the flash drive into his hand and puts the pink vibrator back in your bag. "Now, you said she needs outfitting?"

"Yes! She needs clothes and weapons."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Honey, nothin', but where will you hide your gun?" You look down at your simple t-shirt and leggings. He's right. There's nowhere to tuck a firearm. Not that that's a thought you've ever had before.

"What am I going to do with a gun?! I don't even know how to shoot one."

"Well, I know where we're headed next. Colonel, can you help her out?"

"I'm on it, my boy." He disappears into the wall for a while and then returns with an outfit for you, complete with tall boots. He hands you the stack and sends you into the wall to change. When you come out, Elvis's mouth drops. Up until now, he's seen you in pajamas and your slummy jeans or leggings and baggy tee. Now, you have on tall black boots, tight black jeans, a low-cut black thermal that's basically painted on and a grey quilted vest. You've pulled your hair into a high ponytail to get it out of your face.

"I feel ridiculous."

"Why? You don't look ridiculous." You take your vest off to reveal a shoulder holster with two handguns and unzip your boot to show him the knife that's tucked there.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?" He walks over to you and tips your chin up to look into his face.

"You protect yourself, honey. On the off chance that I can't, you'll have to. You can do it. I'll show you." You nod and will him to kiss you. You can tell he wants to, but he doesn't.

The Colonel finishes outfitting you with tech and weaponry and you start to wonder if this is how you'll die. Either way, you have no choice, so you follow Elvis out of the dungeon-like room, armed to the teeth.

The next place he takes you is a firing range. There's space for a good number of people to practice at once, but for some reason, you're the only ones in there. He walks you to a booth in the center and then turns towards you. You think he's going to run his arms around your waist, but instead, he reaches into your vest and pulls out the two handguns nestled there on either side of your breasts. His thumbs graze your soft flesh and you both shiver. But, he's all business.

"Come here, baby." He puts one gun on the counter and holds the other one up to you. "Hold it like this. Three fingers down here and your trigger finger up on the side like this. This is the safety. It's on now, but before you shoot it you'll need to turn it off."

He puts the gun in your hand and moves your fingers into the right position. The feeling of his fingers on yours makes you tingle.

"It's already loaded, so you just need to cock it before you pull the trigger. Like this." He puts his hand around yours again and shows you how to use your non-dominant hand to pull the slide back. "Alright, now..."

He presses up behind you and runs his hands down your arms while you hold the gun. You gasp a little when you feel his rock hard erection pushing against your ass.

"Ignore that."

"Oh, okay." You moan softly and lean your head back against his chest. He kisses your cheek and whispers in your ear. "Honey, I'm tryin' to work here, but you're drivin' me crazy."

"I'm driving you crazy?! What's that in your pocket, Agent Presley?" He laughs softly and then kisses your cheek again.

"I'm sorry; we really need to focus, though. You need to know this." You sigh deeply and try to hone in on the gun in your hands.

"Okay."

"Keep both eyes open and look at your target. Pull the trigger." You do and are shocked by how much the gun kicks back and how loud it is.

"Holy fuck!"

"Good. Okay, let's try it again." You tremble a little when it hits you that at some point you might be expected to fire this gun at someone. He has his hands on your hips keeping you steady. When you hold the gun up again, your knuckles are white and your shoulders are up by your ears. "Baby, no, you're too tense. You gotta relax."

"I can't! What if I have to shoot someone? I can't do that. This was a bad idea. I can't-"

"Just breathe, baby."

"I literally cannot relax. I'm so scared, Elvis, I-"

"Shhhh..." He moves his right hand down to your core and starts to make slow circles on your clit over your pants.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm relaxing you."

"Mmmm..." You moan softly as he lifts your shirt and slides his hand under your pants and panties. As tight as they are, he manages to find your clit and drag his finger over and around it. He runs his left hand up under the front of your shirt and bra and squeezes your breast lightly.

"I thought you said we had to work." You whisper.

"I am working. Are you feeling more relaxed, baby?" You nod and whimper. He pushes his middle finger into you and pumps it in and out before he goes back to making circles on your clit. You set the gun down on the counter and brace yourself as he continues to flick over and around your sensitive button.

"Fuck." You moan through gritted teeth as you feel the coil of your orgasm tighten in your hips.

"Come on, baby. Let go. Cum for me." He whispers in your ear as he works you with his hand. He nibbles your earlobe and swirls his tongue on your neck just below your ear.

"Oh, god, Elvis." His name drips off of your tongue as your climax slams into you, washing over and through you with the strength of a rip current. You tremble and pulse as he massages you through your high.

"You feel better, baby?" He whispers in your ear. You turn to face him and pull him into a deep and passionate kiss, tongues moving wildly, as your hands go immediately to his zipper. You've almost got his throbbing cock out of his pants when you hear the door open. "FUCK."

He zips his pants frantically and jumps back away from you. To your dismay, Agent West walks towards you slowly, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt again. Nine wants the two of you to adjourn to sleeping quarters. You leave for the mission at 0400." He winks and it makes your skin crawl. "Separate sleeping quarters."

You roll your eyes and he turns to walk away. Elvis looks at you and you can tell he plans to pick up where you left off as soon as West is gone. But just before he gets to the door he turns back to you.

"She wants you to come now." Elvis grumbles and gathers your guns, making sure the safeties are on and sliding them back into your shoulder holster. You follow West out of the shooting range and back to the elevator.

******

Later that night, you find yourself tucked under a quilt in one of the bedrooms of the mansion that sits on top of Guardian Headquarters. You know Elvis is in a bedroom somewhere in the house too and the knowledge that he's so close by is killing you. Not only are you desperate to pick up where you left off in the shooting range, but you've gotten used to sleeping in a bed with Elvis. Lying in this big bed by yourself feels lonely.

What you don't know is that Elvis is sitting on the side of his bed missing you desperately too. He gets up and walks to the door, but stops with his hand on the knob. Giving in now would be a significant violation of his duty to the agency. It was one thing when you were locked together in the safe house with nothing else to do. Here, he has responsibilities to uphold and he needs to let you rest up for the mission. Still, he opens the door and walks into the hallway. It seems like he's not in control of his body as he walks to the door of the room he knows you're in.

He stands outside the door with his hand posed to knock for a minute. Then, he turns abruptly and heads back towards his room. He opens the door and then turns back to the hallway. Before he knows it, he's back at your door.

"No." He shakes his head and paces up and down the hallway a few more times.

Inside your room, you sit up on the edge of the bed and consider trying to find him. You stand up and walk to the door, but you don't open it. Instead, you stand there and think hard about what you're about to do. You know you shouldn't, you can't really, this isn't the time or the place. Still, everything inside you longs to feel him pressed against you.

He paces the hallway, back and forth in front of your door trying to decide what to do. Walking over to your door, he leans with a hand on each side of the frame, head down staring at the floor. You finally decide that you should find him. It's not like you're going to get any sleep without him anyway. So, you open the door slowly.

"Hey, baby." He smiles softly down at you from where he stands in the doorframe.

"I missed you-" You barely get the sentence out before he wraps himself around you, lifting your feet off of the ground and slamming the door shut behind him.

"God, honey, I missed you too." He presses his lips to yours and kisses you passionately. His arms hold you tightly to him. There's a level desperation in the way he kisses you that surprises you, but you love it. His hands roam over your body and he moans into your mouth when he realizes you aren't wearing a bra. He squeezes your breast gently and then slides his hand up under your sweatshirt, letting his thumb drag over your nipple. You walk backwards to the bed, pulling him with you, both of you shedding clothing as you walk. He slides your panties down just as you make it to the edge of the bed, already naked himself. You pump him with your hand and he whimpers softly. As you go to get on your knees, you bump into him trying to do the same thing. You both laugh a little.

"There's a way to do this at the same time. C'mere, baby." He sits on the floor and leans back against the low bed. "Put your legs on either side of my head and then lean forward."

You nod, visualizing what he's describing and climb onto his face. You lean forward with your hands on the floor and he hooks his arms around your thighs to hold you in place. He buries his face in your pussy and starts to move his tongue on your clit. You shudder a bit and then take his cock into your mouth, moving up and down slowly. Trembling with pleasure, you try to focus on licking up and down his shaft, pulling him into your throat deeply and then moving back and forth.

"Goddamn, baby, that's so good." He moans into your clit as he licks over and around it. You groan as you continue to slide his dick in and out of your mouth, your orgasm fast approaching. He whispers again. "Cum baby. Let go and cum."

He licks you furiously with his whole mouth, sucking lightly on your sensitive button and then tightening his tongue to lick over it, hard. You have to stop what you're doing as your climax hits you, rushing from your fingertips to the ends of your toes and back again like a lightning bolt. He continues to tongue you through your release until your legs shake and you fear you might fall over off of him. Instead, he guides you into his lap, facing away from him as you straddle his cock. You sink down onto him, letting him fill you inch by inch. He holds your hips and lets you bounce on him fervently.

"Honey, this view... don't stop." He watches your ass as you slide up and down on him.

"Do you like it, baby?" You coo from your position on his lap.

"Goddamn, yes I do. But I wanna kiss you." You back off of him and turn around to face him. He pulls you into a deep kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue as he guides you back down onto his lap. You push his dick up into you and begin to grind on him, forcing him deeper and deeper. He groans loudly and leans his head back against the bed. You lean forward and kiss his neck and he grunts. "You sure know how to drive a man crazy, honey."

"Just you, baby." You mumble into his neck.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you move on him, leaning forward to pull your nipple into his mouth. He grunts again and you feel him tense underneath you.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me." You whisper in his ear and he groans as you nibble his earlobe.

"Fuck, I'm gonna-" His hips buck up into you as he explodes and you feel his warm release fill you up. He shudders and pumps into you weakly a couple more times, his head on your shoulder. Finally, he pulls back and cups your face in his hand. "You're incredible. Absolutely amazing. And I- well, I-I..."

You look up at him expectantly.

"You...?"

"Nothing. It's not important." You nod and lean your head on his shoulder.

"I'm so tired. It's been a wild few days."

"I'm sure it has. Come on." He moves from the floor to the center of the bed. "Lemme hold you? Please?"

You crawl into his arms and relax against him, your fingers playing in his chest hair.

"Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"I shouldn't." He looks away from you and loosens his arms around you. You start to pull away.

"I understand-"

"To hell with it." He cuddles closely against you again, letting your skin touch in a way that's both intimate and comforting. You drift off to sleep in this position, finally able to rest in his arms.

******

You've only been asleep for a few hours when the alarm on his watch goes off to tell you to get up and get ready. There's a bathroom in your room, so you make your way towards the shower. To your surprise, Elvis follows you.

"What are you doing?" You smile slyly up at him. You're both still naked from your late night activities.

"Figured we'd save some water and time and just shower together." He leans down and kisses your shoulder.

"It'll save water, but I'm not sure how much time." He laughs.

"Really, we don't have time for anything. I just want to stay with you as much as possible." He doesn't say it, but he knows the end of the mission will mean the end of his time with you and he's not ready for it. The way he feels about you is unlike anything he's ever felt for any woman he's ever encountered before. He's in love with you. There's no other way to describe it.

Your heart swells with his words and you turn and nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms around him as he starts the shower. You don't have sex, but pressing your bodies together as the warm water runs over you is as intimate as anything else you've done. And he kisses you all over: on your shoulders, your fingertips, your forehead, your lips, everywhere. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was trying to memorize you with his mouth. You run your hands up and down his body and feel the scars on his skin. Every time you reach a new one, he whispers the injury.

"Knife fight in Beirut. Knife fight in Ukraine. Gunshot in Afghanistan. Stabbing in Mali. Gunshot in Iraq."

"So much hurt." You whisper, kissing the last scar on his shoulder.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." He looks down into your eyes and his blue ones are soft and filled with something that makes your heart pound. It's only been a few days, yes, but you love him more than you've ever loved any man. Could it be that he loves you too?

He leans in and kisses you deeply and there's a pounding on your door.

"Ten minutes, you two." It's West again. You're getting very tired of hearing his voice. Elvis groans and turns the shower off. Once you're out, you get ready quickly, pulling on the outfit the Colonel gave you yesterday and braiding your hair tightly to keep it out of your face. Elvis has on a similar all-black outfit with weapons tucked in various places. The last thing he does is slide on some sunglasses and pull you into a kiss. He's never nervous before missions, but this time he is. He has too much to lose.

******

Before you know it, you have an earpiece with the Colonel's and Agent West's voices in it, telling how to execute the mission and you're being dropped on the roof of a building from a helicopter in the dark. Elvis skillfully guides you through the process and you find a hiding place to sit in while security comes to check out why there was a helicopter. As they file onto the roof, Elvis grabs the door and the two of you head into the building unseen.

"You need to go down two floors to the main computer." West is your navigator through the building and you are infinitely annoyed at his voice in your ear. Elvis nods to you. He has the same earpiece.

"Two floors, Angel, we can do this." You're not sure if he's using your code name or an endearment, but either way you follow him.

He gives you cover as you make your way through the building. Several times, you're stopped by security in the hallway, but Elvis puts them down with his hands or a single silenced gunshot. You hate to admit it, but you're getting used to watching people die.

Eventually, you find the room with the computer you've been looking for. There's not much to it and you're surprised that it just seems to be someone's office. Elvis stands at the door with his gun drawn.

"Do your thing, honey." You nod and walk to the computer. You begin the process of hacking into the system to access the mainframe and be able to plant the Colonel's virus. At one point you get stuck and ask the Colonel a question. He answers smoothly and something inside you sends up a red flag. How does he know the answer? It must be from research about their system. Still, it doesn't sit well with you. That should've confused him too. You look up at Elvis and he raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just... nothing." You go back to working on the computer. He hears West's voice in his ear.

"Agent Presley. We've cut off Angel's earpiece. New information has come to us about your partner. She's not working for us. She's a sleeper agent for the enemy. As soon as she gets to the mainframe, she will turn and kill you. You need to put her down first and then plant the virus." His heart stops and his blood runs cold. He turns to the door and whispers.

"What?! That doesn't make any sense! Why would she help us?"

"She's a spy, Elvis. Her mission was to infiltrate Guardian, which she has successfully done. She will pretend to plant the virus, turn and kill you, and then make up some excuse. She's probably already signaled security so that you'll be killed in a crossfire."

"She wouldn't. She's not... we..."

"You think any of that was real? She's been playing on your vulnerability since the beginning. Listen. Do you hear security coming?" He listens and hears boots outside the door. He looks up at you with a mixture of shock, betrayal, and pain. It can't be true. He thinks of that first night in your apartment, how you almost fainted at the sight of blood. But then you didn't. The crying at the safe house to get him to come to you. Was it a ploy to make yourself seem innocent? And in the shower when you touched yourself. That would be an effective seduction tactic. All of a sudden every moment you've had together is tinged with suspicion.

Has it all been part of your mission?

His hand shakes as he raises his gun to point at you. You're engrossed in what you're doing and don't even notice. He could kill you easily.

"Put her down, Agent Presley." He cocks the gun and the sound gets your attention.

"Elvis! What the fuck are you doing?" Your voice is frantic and you raise your hands. Has he been one of the bad guys all along? No, he's killed so many of them, there's no way. But maybe he's been trying to get you to this point the whole time: seducing you, making you trust him, making you love him, all for this moment. The tears slide down your face at the thought that it's all been a lie.

He sees you cry and his heart breaks. Surely, you can't be the enemy. But this could be a tactic too. He steadies his shaking hands and moves the gun to pointing at your forehead.

"Pull the trigger, Presley." It's West again.

"It's the only way, my boy. If you want to live." Now the Colonel is telling him to kill you and he trusts that man far more than Agent West.

"Elvis, please!" Your crying is becoming hysterical as you realize how cold he seems pointing the gun at your head.

"Do it. Now."

Elvis takes a deep breath and moves his finger to the trigger. He's never disobeyed an order before. You scream one last time as he takes a step towards you.

"Elvis!"

**bang**

******

Until Part 3!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb

[darylsdelts]

IT’S A LOT

This is an old Drabble I wrote on wattpad so I thought I’d post on here <3

Darylxfemale!reader

Warnings: anxiety/panic attacks (reader)

Kinda based off personal experience so it might not be relatable to everyone

Today was supposed to be your day off, the day you usually lay around in your home in Alexandria with your boyfriend, Daryl, although he never really lays around. He's one of those people who has to always be doing something or he'll get fidgety, not you though, you'll happily lie in and stay in your pyjamas all day.

That's what you were supposed to be doing today, but no. Rick had knocked on the front door of your and Daryl's shared house at 6am, he had wanted Daryl to go hunting since the group was running low on food.

You had wanted so badly to lay in bed with Daryl for at least two more hours but Daryl had obviously agreed... it was either that or starve so you guess it's fair enough.

However, you insist you go with him, you usually wouldn't since you're not much of a hunter but the night before was a tough one for Daryl, he was upset after opening up to you about something that is quite frankly nobody else's business but yours and his.

Anyway... now you're treading lightly behind Daryl whilst he leads the way through the forest. He's tired and you can tell by the way he's walking, the way he's talking, the way he's breathing, blinking, sighing, and the way he keeps checking you're right behind him. Nobody else would be able to notice though.

You start to think of all the things that nobody, except Daryl, would notice about you.

Back at the quarry, your anxiety was really hard to deal with but no one ever noticed, you never brought it up or hinted at anything. Daryl had clicked onto your habits from the get go though, things you didn't even notice yourself. For example, he said he could tell when you were thinking too much because you'd clench your jaw repeatedly.

Daryl wasn't really familiar with the term "anxiety" even though you reckon he suffers from it more than most people, he would never complain or say anything but you knew.

The last time you had a panic attack was after the prison, when you and Daryl had gotten away. Everything that happened was "a lot", that's the only way you've ever been able to describe the feeling of your anxiety. Daryl tried his best to help but he's never been around someone having a panic attack before and he didn't want to make it worse, he just gently rubbed your back whilst you had to breathe through it.

But that was a few years ago now and you've had a few since then which has allowed Daryl to understand you even better, and he's gotten to read your body language down to a T. There's no hiding anything from him.

As you walk carefully behind Daryl, you feel your body waver for a split second... you convince yourself it's nothing and keep walking.

After a few seconds, a wave of heat comes over you, starting from your head and travelling to your feet. You exhale sharply and rub your palms on your thighs, one of your habits that you didn't notice until Daryl said something.

A third wave comes over you and you start to feel nauseous and the ground feels like it's moving beneath your feet, your tread slows and Daryl notices immediately.

He turns to face you, he looks you up and down and then he slowly walks toward you.

"You good?" His voice is low and gentle, the voice he only uses for you.

"Yeah M'fine" you reply, there's been plenty of times you've managed to pull yourself together and carry on so that's what you're gonna do.

Daryl knows how you are and pushing you for the truth would only annoy you, so he nods and starts to walk more, straining his ears to listen to your breathing instead of animal movement.

You start to realise it's not going away, you get dizzy and faint, you should sit down.

You stop walking and Daryl turns around again, not wasting a second to get to your side, almost pulling you to sit on the ground, he already knows.

You're sat now, staring into space, blinking slow, trying to control your breathing but the nausea stays.

By now, Daryl knows you're fighting a panic attack, all the signs are there, he just doesn't know what triggered it but he also knows that sometimes it could be nothing for you.

From his experience of you, he also knows that it's a hit or miss whether or not physical touch will help or hinder, so he does the same thing he always does, just to check.

He presses the tip of his index finger to yours and when you don't pull away he holds his palm to your palm, you still don't pull away so he takes your wrist and presses your hand to his chest so you can feel his heart beat and his breathing rhythm.

"Breathe like me, sweetheart... you're okay" he keeps his gentle voice as he searches for eye contact which you won't grant him so he doesn't pry.

"Would pressure help you this time, darlin'?" He's assuming you'll say yes, if you're allowing physical affection then that usually means that the pressure will help. The pressure refers to Daryl applying a small amount of pressure to your chest to help ground you.

You don't make eye contact yet but you give a subtle nod, so he knows what to do. He lets go of your wrist so he can move behind you.

He sits so you're between his legs with your back against his chest, he wraps his arms around your chest and holds you to him, his hands putting a small amount of pressure on you.

He kisses the back of your head while whispering to you.

"Yer doin' so good baby, jus' keep on breath in' fer me... that's it, good girl"

His love for you is so evident and you feel it, it helps and your breathing becomes more regular. You whimper very quietly since now the initial panic is over, you feel exhausted. It may not look like much, to anyone else, you just look like you're sat, with your boyfriend hugging you from behind, but inside it feels like so much and Daryl knows that.

"Ya alrigh', sweet girl? Ya feeling a lil better now?"

"Mhm" you reply weakly and your exhaustion is clear.

"We'll stay here for a bit, Mkay?" He lets go from holding around your chest and strokes along your hair line as you start to shift your body so you're facing him.

"Hey beautiful..." he smiles at you and strokes his thumb over your cheek, your eyes are a lil misty and sleepy.

He places his big hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

You feel so grateful for your gentle man and the fact he knows you so well, you didn't have to say a single thing.

"I love you..." you mumble into his chest.

"I love you more, sweetheart... rest for a bit, I'll protect you" he reassures.

"Can keep going, I'm okay..." you don't want to be the reason you return empty handed.

"Ya ain't swayin' me darlin'... close yer eyes fer me, yeah?"

You groan but do as your told, you know he means it.

"That's it baby, it's all alright"

You feel him gently stroke your hair as you drift into relaxation.

[mins-fins]

bring it back

&&. you tell donghyuck all the time, but his fists are always so bruised he doesn't listen.

pairing: lee donghyuck x m!reader

genre: weird rejected hybrid thing

warnings: literally fighting, is this relationship safe? idk!!

word count: 1.3k

notes: this spawned while i was reading one of my old old things back from my wp era and i suddenly got inspired.. only reason i chose hyuck is bc hes the first member who came to mind when i thought about writing 😣 im also a little obsessed with him atm.. i sort of left you all with radio silence yesterday, was supposed to post a timestamp but didn't, my apologies isanator nation (like 2 ppl) anw! don't take this too seriously, i don't get into fights and don't know much about fighting, my google search history looks very concerning rn ☺️

"come on! is that really all you got? those hits were weak".

donghyuck sits up defeated, but he doesn't allow for such an expression to cross his face, the last thing he wants to do is look like a sore loser in front of you, though he clearly is with how he got knocked to the ground by a single punch.

he refuses to think about the fact.

you raise an eyebrow at the sight of him catching his breath on the floor, a taunting chuckle leaves your lips, a chuckle donghyuck narrows his eyes at. if you knew sparring meant you'd have to meet donghyuck's piercing glare more than once in the span of five minutes, you would've offered to be his sparring partner much earlier.

you think he looks adorable when he's mad.

"done verbally berating me now?"

"not sure i'll ever be done".

you extend your hand forward, and donghyuck takes it instantly. once you help him to his feet, he gives you a pout, one you press your finger to. "what the hell are you pouting about?" you inquire, and donghyuck's eyes roll.

"you beat me like— five times, y/n".

you scoff lightly, shoving your boyfriends shoulder. "and i'll continue beating you if you don't stop hesitating before every hit" you lean closer to press a kiss to his lips, trying to erase the pout with an act of affection, but he stays pouting.

you snicker as you pinch his cheek, turning on your heel and walking towards your duffel bag on the other side of the room. what can you say? throwing your boyfriend around the room makes a guy thirsty.

donghyuck stares at you for a moment, studying your figure, then groans. "y/n".

"hm?"

you turn back to look over at him, and donghyuck has to stifle his laugh. how is it that you look so harmless right now when you just spent up to almost an hour breaking every bone in his body? he finds it hilarious how quick you can switch tunes. "one more round".

shock gleams in your eyes. "you sure? i thought you were tired.."

donghyuck is quick to shake his head, suddenly filled with an abrupt surge of determination. "yeah, this'll be the last one".

you blink, but you don't seem to mind, because you shrug, dropping your bottle of water and beginning to stretch your arms. "i'm starting to think you like being thrown around, should i note this down as a kink of yours?"

your smile is tormenting,

the good kind though.

"do whatever you want y/n~" donghyuck muses, a sing songy tone of voice accompanying his words. you study his body language for a while, cracking your knuckles. "i'm not letting you win again".

"ah really? you think you're gonna beat me this time?"

"wanna bet?"

you seem to like the sound of that, if the way your eyes light up is any indication. donghyuck's got you, perfect. you scour your mind for ideas, tilting your head as you smile at your boyfriend. "fine then, if you manage to knock me to the ground i'm all yours next week".

donghyuck's eyes widen to a comically huge size. "you serious?"

"slow your roll, baby, i said if you manage to knock me to the ground".

donghyuck clicks his tongue, an acception of the bet you put down. "don't underestimate me so quickly".

"underestimating? i'm just saying what's true, how many times did the sim kid knock you out last week? ten? fifteen? if i didn't know any better, i would've assumed you were weak".

god you're so skilled at this, you know exactly how to hit donghyuck where it hurts, both literally and figuratively. you know exactly what to say, and know exactly how they'll affect him. trash talk is something your so good at, sometimes donghyuck forgets it's all an act.

you know donghyuck can fight better than he actually does, his attempts at punches right now are vastly different to the punches he throws during actual fights. you know he's much stronger than he thinks, but for some reason, he seems to.. soften around you.

it's cute in hindsight, but he's been slacking lately, and you have to get him back on track.

"weak huh?"

"yeah, you going easy on me?"

your posture is relaxed, you don't want to make the first move, your waiting for donghyuck to surge forward and try to hit you. he narrows his eyes, your feet tapping rhythmically onto the floor and your arms crossed. "not a chance".

you chuckle at donghyuck's statement, a chuckle that angers donghyuck. what the actual fuck are you being so cocky about? he wants to wipe that smirk off your face, no, scratch that, he wants to punch that smirk off your face, he's going to make you wish you never said anything.

without saying anything more, donghyuck surges forward, a move you weren't expecting, but one you knew how to deal with already. a right hook, simple, easy to dodge and easy to counteract.

"was that a punch? i bet renjun could throw a better one than that".

donghyuck grits his teeth.

"don't mention renjun".

"oh? am i striking a nerve?"

you are striking a nerve, and donghyuck is about to strike you in the face. he keeps throwing punches, a flurry of hooks left and right, he has to hit you, he will hit you.

you're completely unfazed, the hooks nothing you haven't seen before. you swing your right hand over to parry the hit donghyuck sends you, using your position to your advantage and delivering a punch to his side. it catches him off guard and he winces, reeling back in just the slightest.

you give him no time to adjust, taking his distraction into consideration and surging towards him, a left jab to the side of his stomach. he stumbles back, trying to gather himself as his head spins in dizziness from the hit you delivered.

you let out a small scoff. "come on, hyuck, you have to hit me".

donghyuck grunts, moving forward with a left hook this time. "i'm trying" he grits his teeth, an action that makes you smile. donghyuck gives a small tch at the sight of you smiling, he hates it (that's a lie, he loves it).

you don't even try to hit him back, just continue stepping backward as donghyuck sends hit after hit.

he narrows his eyes, but you just smile again, you're really starting to get annoying. it's then that donghyuck notices something, your legs, he can use that to an advantage of his.

so, without any prior warning, donghyuck punches your lower stomach, a punch you weren't expecting. when you reel back from the hit, he decides to take his chance. an uppercut, a right jab to your side, and a haymaker to the side of your face.

donghyuck doesn't know where all of that came from, but it seems to do the trick, because you have no more strength to continue fighting. you stumble for a moment before falling over, hitting the ground and rolling over as you clutch your stomach.

donghyuck immediately gasps as he sees your state. "holy shi— oh my god! are you okay!?"

you give a tired smile, sending a thumbs up to the air. "i'm alright, that was great, babe".

it's only then that it dawns on donghyuck. "i beat you".

you nod.

donghyuck breathes in and out, he truly can't believe this. "i beat you, holy shit i beat you!"

you chuckle at how excited he sounds, breathless from the blows he delivered to you. "yeah, you did, congrats champ".

donghyuck falls down beside you, flinging his arm over your stomach and moving closer to you. "i get to have you all to myself now".

you raise an eyebrow. "you've always had me all to yourself".

donghyuck giggles. "i know, but i knocked you to the ground this time".

"don't get used to it".

[cleighwrites]

Demon Blood Makes the Best Lube

SPN Fanfic

Characters - Jensen as Dean x Jared as Sam

Summary - Jared gets an itch only Jensen can help scratch.

Word Count - 1,812

A/N - This was written for the @spnkinkevents role-play weekend! The prompt was Jared playing demon blood!Sam manhandling Jensen as Dean from the always amazing @jld71, who also beta'd for me. If you're at all queasy about fake blood, this is your warning!! lol

Also, let's just pretend they knew what would happen in the next season for this one... I couldn't help the quote!

Warnings - NSFW, fake demon blood as lube, anal (fingering, sex, rimming), incest role-play

Read it Ao3 or click Keep Reading!

Jared had an itch under his skin that he just couldn’t scratch. He knew what it meant and how to get it gone. But he needed Jensen to play along. 

They shot Dean finding out about Sam drinking demon blood that day. It had been emotional for both brothers, but Jared was feeling amped up from the adrenalin that came with pretending to be hopped up on drugs gave him. He’d also shot a rather steamy scene with “Ruby” that day which got him a little riled up. He needed a way to get things out of his system, which gave him an idea. 

He grabbed his phone and shot Jensen a quick text. 

> Tell Cliff we’ll get a ride home

> Don’t change out of your costume

> Meet me on the seedy hotel set, 15 minutes

They’d been done filming for a little while and he and Jensen had just gotten back to their trailers after debriefing with Bob about their shots for the next day. Most of the crew should be finishing up everything now, so fifteen minutes should be plenty of time for them to be alone on set. 

Jared paced in his trailer as he watched the minutes tick by. By the time he was meant to meet Jensen, it felt like an hour had passed. He took his time walking to the specified set, stopping by the props trailer to get something necessary for what he had planned.

The set was dark and the door groaned when Jared opened it. His heart beat wildly in anticipation when he heard it click shut. 

“Hello? Jared?” Jensen called from the other side of the wall. 

“No ‘Jared’ here,” Jared called back, his voice cool and sure, just like Sam’s. 

There was a slight pause while Jared rounded the faux wall to find Jensen sitting at the foot of one of the beds still in Dean’s clothes. Jensen straightened up when he saw him. 

“Sammy?” he asked, concerned. “What’s with all the cloak and dagger? Did something happen?” He stood and walked toward him, reaching a hand out to touch Sam’s bloodstained face.

“I’m fine, it’s not mine,” Jared swiped his hand away. 

“You were with her, weren’t you?” Dean asked, full of anger, hurt, and accusation. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. And we were interrupted,” Sam retorted.  

“Oh, pity,” Dean rolled his eyes and turned to walk away.

“You’re the one that pulled that fire alarm, Dean. Why?”

“Because if you have to skulk around in seedy hotels, you shouldn’t be doin’ it!” Dean was right back in Sam’s face.

“Like this place is so much better?” Sam motioned to the room around them, peeling wallpaper and musty sheets and all. 

“Yeah, well, it ain’t the Ritz, but at least it’s not a crack den.” 

“I’m not on crack, Dean.”

“Might as well be,” he said sadly, looking at Sam’s bloody lips. 

“You’re just jealous because I can do things you can’t,” Sam smirked, knowing he was pushing Dean’s buttons. 

On cue, Dean’s jaw ticked. “I don’t need this from you,” he said, then shoved past Sam on his way toward the door. 

Sam was quick though, with a new dose of demon blood coursing through him. He reached out and grabbed Dean’s arm, turning him to face him. 

“Let go, Sam,” Dean growled. 

“You gonna make me?” Sam responded, voice pitched low; taunting. 

Dean tried to jerk away, but couldn’t shake off Sam’s hold. 

“Like I said, ‘we were interrupted’.”

“Sammy,” Dean warned before trying harder to shake off Sam’s grip. 

“Guess you’ll have to do,” Sam said, hauling Dean back to the bed Jensen had been sitting on before. 

“What are you thinking, Sam? Just cuz you’re all hopped up on demon blood, don’t mean you gotta take it out on me!” 

He was putting up a real struggle now, but Sam was stronger. He arranged them so that Dean’s knees were pressed against the mattress, then shoved him. Dean fell back with a thump and tried to roll to the side quickly, but Sam was quicker still and had him pinned before he could make it off the side of the bed. 

“Sammy, this isn’t you. Don’t do this, man,” Dean begged, already giving up his fight. 

“It was always going to end up this way, Dean.” Jared ran his nose along Jensen’s jaw and sniffed his neck. He smelled like Dean. “You, me, here.”

“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Sam,” Jensen said with a smirk. 

Jared chuckled. Of course, Jensen would call him out on a Lucifer quote from the next season they’d already talked to the producers about. It was just too good to not use in the moment. 

“Why else would you be so jealous of her, Dean?” Sam licked his way up Dean’s neck. 

Dean struggled again but to no avail. 

“You can’t escape this.” 

Sam sat upright, keeping a firm hand on Dean’s chest, rendering him immobile. He slipped a vile out from his back pocket and laid it on the bed next to them. Dean’s eyes went wide. 

“I ain’t drinking no demon blood, Sammy, you can forget it!” he yelled. 

“It’s not for you to drink, Dean, relax.” 

“Yeah, right, easy for you to say,” he snarked. 

“You’re going to enjoy this, trust me.”

“That demon has rotted your brain out, Sammy.” 

“On the contrary,” Sam started, rucking up Dean’s shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. “She’s made me so powerful.” His lip twitched into a brief smirk. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’m capable of now.” 

“Oh, I bet I could,” Dean grumbled, then let out a surprised yelp when Sam’s hand wrapped around his half-hard cock. 

“You want this, brother,” Sam said on an exhale.

“Don’t,” Dean’s voice broke over the word, making Sam’s pulse skyrocket. 

“‘Don’t’ what?” Sam asked just before kissing Dean’s mouth and stroking him at the same time. 

Dean went pliant underneath Sam, and Sam knew that he’d won. Dean was giving in to him; the one person he couldn’t say “no” to. It was all the permission Sam needed to stroke faster and kiss harder. He could feel the flakes of Ruby’s blood craking off of his lips and falling all over Dean’s face. Dean made a noise of protest but didn’t try to fight him off. 

Once Dean’s dick was hard in his hand, Sam let go and used the same hand to pull Dean’s jeans down his legs. 

“Kick your shoes off,” Sam commanded. 

Weak and under Sam’s spell, he obeyed. After he kicked off his shoes, Sam made quick work of removing his pants. Once Dean was bare from the waist down, Sam clicked open the bottle of blood Ruby had sent him home with and dribbled some across his fingers. 

Dean’s eyes went wide, knowing what Sam’s plan was. He tried to keep his legs together, but Sam pried them open and put himself between them so that Dean’s most private parts were available to him. The blood was singing in his veins. 

Dripping with blood, Sam’s fingers found Dean’s hole and began working him open. The demon blood always made him feel like he was about to explode and the only thing that helped was sex; and since he and Ruby were interrupted by Dean’s little fire drill, he’d have to make due. 

He slid one finger in easily and smiled to himself and Jensen was still loose from their morning workout. After a few strokes, he slid in another finger and then a third when he was ready. The demon blood was working surprisingly well. Jared still had the taste of it in his mouth, which gave him another idea. 

“Don’t even try to move,” Sam instructed, then dove down Dean’s body and hoisted his legs into the air. 

Dean grunted but didn’t budge as Sam’s mouth latched onto his bloodied hole. He sucked and licked and devoured Dean and the taste drove him mad with want. Once he’d had his fill, Sam undid his own pants and shoved them down to his knees as he crawled back up Dean’s body. 

Cutting off Dean’s protest, Sam kissed him with the fresh blood on his lips. This time, Dean kissed back, desperate and wanting, knowing what was to come. With no ado and very little fanfare, Sam lined himself up and shoved into Dean. He groaned into their kiss and Sam felt him clench and unclench around his length. 

Unable to hold himself back, he pulled out and shoved back in, over and over again. Uncaring for Dean’s pleasure, he railed into him, stroking himself on the tight velvet of his brother’s open hole. When the blood started to dry, he applied more. Dean’s ass was a wet, red mess, and Sam was enamored by it. Knowing that it wasn’t his brother’s blood, but a demon’s made it all the more illicit. 

Jared laughed to himself, taking Jensen out of the moment. 

“Something funny?” Jensen asked between groans of pleasure. 

“Just me thinking about how hot it is that you’re drenched in demon blood while I fuck you.”

Jensen made a face, but his ass clenched tight, betraying his true feelings. Jared kissed him and fucked into him harder and faster until they were both breathless. 

“Ung, I’m gonna come,” Jensen grunted. 

“Yeah, come on your brother’s cock,” Jared said. 

“Man, come on!” Jensen begged. 

They’d both read the fanfic; both knew what people saw between the two of them on and off screen. But Jensen had always protested a sexual relationship between the brothers; even when they were just playing around. He was much more moral than Jared.

Jared bit down on his ear lobe and whispered, “Come for me, big brother.”

Jensen’s entire body seized up and he came with a shout all over Dean and Sam’s shirts and jackets. They were going to get ripped a new one by wardrobe… again. But Jared couldn’t care about that when Jensen’s ass was milking him dry. He grunted and bit down on Jensen’s neck as he came. 

When he was too sensitive to keep thrusting into Jensen, he pulled out. The sight of his dick and Jensen’s ass covered in blood was shocking. It looked like Jared had literally fucked Jensen a new one. But as gruesome as the sight was, Jared was mostly turned on by it. 

“You look like a werewolf,” Jensen said, once Jared lay down beside him.

“I look like I just ate your bloody ass,” Jared corrected. 

Jensen made another face. “I don’t even wanna look down, do I?”

Jared took a look at his dick and between Jensen’s legs. “Nope. But I gotta admit…”

“That was fun?” Jensen supplied.

“Demon blood makes the best lube,” he finished with a wide smile across his face. 

Thanks for reading!!! Please comment and share if you liked it!!

[metaphorfordeath]

Watch Where You're Going

Two trans people talk about life while one of them finishes her shift at the local video store. 2k words. Originally published in Olit Magazine. Content warning for discussion and depiction of transphobia.

“I’m not necessarily saying it’s a bad movie, I just think it’s in poor taste.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lake flipped the hatch shut on top of the lightbox and took a step back. Lit from behind, the new poster depicted an image of a shimmering red wave the height of a skyscraper looming over a seaside metropolis. The title, printed in screaming orange block letters, read “HEATWAVE.” Then, in smaller letters near the top: “It’s too late to run.”

“I dunno, doesn't it feel a bit tone-deaf to you? Like, people are dying, dude.”

A few steps back, Freddie picked idly at some flaking plastic on one of the DVD cases. “Or is it timely? It's basically commentary on climate change."

“Climate change commentary should probably have fewer explosions and CGI of people being vaporized.”

“Yeah, I guess. I do think the Rock was really good in it, though. Did you watch any of his marketing interviews? He’s basically an activist at this point.”

“Okay, now you’re antagonizing me on purpose.”

“Am I antagonizing you, or am I winning this argument?”

Lake shot them a look as she rolled up the former occupant of the poster display. “If the Rock wants to be a climate activist, then he can get an environmental science degree like the rest of us. Go pick a movie or I’m gonna make you salt the sidewalks.”

“I literally don’t even work here.”

“All the more reason to go pick the movie.”

The store, as usual, was empty. Muted screens flickered movie trailers over the vast expanse of green low-pile carpet, the rows upon rows of gray shelves packed with plastic anti-theft DVD cases. Plate glass windows at the front of the store looked out onto a desolate parking lot, wet pavement glittering in the light of the towering marquee sign. 

Stowing the rolled-up poster under the front counter, Lake looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. Still an hour and a half before she could close, and no one besides Freddie had walked in the door since eight. Standard traffic for a weeknight—on nights like these, the cash deposits she took to the bank after closing were sometimes less than she got paid to be there. Oh well, she thought. At least my homework gets done.

“How about this,” called Freddie from across the store. Unseen between the high shelves, a hand shot up above them holding a DVD. Lake squinted to make it out.

“No, not that. Don’t pick something that someone would conceivably try to rent while we’re watching it,” said Lake. “I hate when people do that.”

“Okay, something else then. What about…” There was a long pause.

“Hurry up or I’m unmuting the ad reel.” Lake opened the cabinet that housed the DVD player and grabbed the remote. “I’m gonna do it!”

“ALRIGHT, Jesus, I’ll just pick one.” A second later Freddie emerged from the aisles, strode to the front and slapped a movie down on the counter. “Free her.”

With a click, Lake picked the magnetic pin out of the center of the case and removed the disc. “Priscilla,” she said. “Good choice.”

“I’m in the mood for some gay shit. Put it in.”

The movie blinked onto the screens simultaneously, spaced twenty feet apart around the perimeter of the store. While opening credits rolled, Freddie dragged two decorative chairs no one was supposed to sit in up to the registers, and the pair of them sat down.

“You brought snacks?”

“Sure did,” said Freddie, scooting a plastic bag across the carpet with their foot. “It sat in my car overnight so the candy might be a little stiff, but it’s still good. Nothing perishable.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Lake reached inside and fished out a pack of gummy worms. “Want a Code Red or something? We had a bunch that just expired.”

“I’m good, I got coffee before I came. Probably gonna have more when I get to work.”

“When’s your shift start?”

“Eleven, I know that’s when you close so I’ll bounce before you have to lock up.”

“Didn’t you just work earlier?”

Freddie shrugged. “Yeah, noon to eight. Such is the grind.” They plucked a worm from Lake’s lap and chewed thoughtfully. “Days like this are such a bummer. Too short of a break between jobs to go home and sleep, but too long of a break to sit in my car.”

“That’s what I’m for,” said Lake. “I’m like the truck stop of people. Rest your bones, take a shower.”

Freddie just laughed. On the screens, a man in the crowd whips his beer can at Hugo Weaving. He tumbles to the floor, laughter filling the room as he rights himself and staggers away. Backstage, he pulls off his wig and cradles his head in his hand, makeup settling into the somber creases of his face. 

“Did I tell you some guy flicked his cigarette butt at my face the other day,” said Lake, staring up at the screen. “While I was getting gas.”

“Jesus, really? That’s horrible.”

“It’s fine. It’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever done to me. The look on his face hurt more.” She gestured to her own face, drew up her lip to show what she meant. It made her feel ugly to even approximate. “The sneer, you know. You get the sneer.”

“Yeah. My boss at the call center does it to me sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking.” Freddie folded their arms over their chest. “Haven’t told anyone. They’d probably just fire me to save HR the trouble.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They fell silent as the movie filled in the gaps. Headlights flashed at their backs as cars on the road drove past, less and less frequent by the minute. Someone shoved a handful of DVDs through the drop slot with a metallic rattle but didn’t come inside. The gummy worms were depleted, and Freddie started in on a bag of spicy chips. On-screen friendships develop even as homophobic graffiti defaces the film’s titular bus between stops through the outback.

“Do you ever want more?” said Lake after a while.

“I’m good on snacks I think.”

“No, I mean—more from life.” She turned in her seat. Freddie was still looking up at the screen, a film of peach fuzz visible on their face in profile, whiskers turning gold in the light. “Do you ever feel like… I dunno. Like it’s all over?”

“You’re in college. Everyone feels that way in college.”

“Did you feel that way in college?”

Freddie shrugged, wiped red powder from their fingers onto their jeans. “Sure I did.”

“And now?”

“Now I don’t really care.”

“Okay. Elaborate on that.”

“Alright.” Freddie licked their fingers and turned to face her. “Here’s the thing: in college, everyone wants something from you. And they expect something from you. And they expect you to want something, and to put effort into going for it. But once you’re out of college, the number of people around you who give a shit about that stuff drops pretty dramatically. Right now you feel like it’s all over, but you haven’t even gone anywhere. Nothing has even started.”

“What if I don’t even know what I want?” Lake thumbed a buttonhole in her cardigan. “I’m getting this degree, but now that I’m almost done, I don’t even know if I want to do anything with it.”

“You see me using my degree? I work nights at a gas station, babe.”

“But do you like that?”

“I like it enough,” said Freddie. “I like that my boss doesn’t care if I sit and draw as long as customers get helped and checklists get done. I like that when I’m done with work I get to go home and make art and play with the cat and no one can tell me what to do. Granted, I don’t like the call center,” they added, “but the money’s fine for now. It’s just a job. As long as I get to make my art and be the most authentic version of myself, then I don’t care what other people think.”

“That doesn’t feel like giving up to you?”

“Not really.” They hesitated. “You know what would feel like giving up? If I stopped making art so I could like, go into marketing. Or if I detransitioned so I could be more hireable. I’m not interested in compromising what I care about so I can want what other people think I should want.” Freddie paused again, rubbed their eye with the heel of their hand. “Or, you know, maybe I’m just a burnout, and I’m only saying that to make myself feel better. I don’t really know.” 

The two of them fell silent for a while. The movie played on. The door alarm dinged and Lake jumped to her feet, Pavlovian customer service response in action. He didn’t need any help, said the customer, and he returned to the register after a few minutes with a copy of some action blockbuster from last year and a porno. She felt his eyes on her as she pulled up his account and rang him up; a long, curious stare, like he was trying to figure something out. 

            Once he’d left, Lake glanced at the time. “You can hang out up here while I do the rest of these returns,” she said, “but you’ll probably want to head out soon. Almost closing time.”

“Already? Damn, I should have picked a shorter movie.”

“It’s cool. We can always watch the ending another time.”

“Definitely.”

Movies were scanned, then re-pinned and restored to their usual locations around the store. While she made the rounds, Lake watched out of the corner of her eye as Freddie tidied up the registers without being asked, even tying off the trash and leaving it by the door for her. When she came back to get Priscilla, she hesitated over the “eject” button, watching as the climax of the movie played out. The heroines climb up the cliffside, sweating and squinting in the sun, red dust coating their boots. At the top, they catch their breath. They are beautiful and tiny against the backdrop of the canyon, drag regalia resplendent in the setting sun. The camera pulls back, and back. 

Click. The screen went black, and the player spat out the disc.

Ten minutes before close, Lake walked Freddie to the door.

“Thanks for hanging out with me.”

“My pleasure. Just doing my part to keep you from dying of boredom.”

“Much appreciated.” Then: “Um, I wanted to say—I don’t think you’re a burnout. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I did.”

“It’s cool. I know you didn’t mean it that way.” They took a deep breath. “Anyway, let me get out of here before I make myself late. Have a good rest of your night, Lake.”

“You too, text me later.”

“Will do. See ya.”

Eleven o’clock came and went. A flurry of snow began to fall outside, downy flakes disappearing on contact with the asphalt. Lights off, alarm set, door locked, and then Lake took the drive to the bank. The cash envelope for the day contained less than forty dollars, snapped up into the overnight drop box with a clank. 

A mile down the road, Lake turned into a different lot, parked near a pump and turned off the engine. Then, in the silent car, she gazed through her windshield at the warm-lit interior of the gas station. Freddie was inside, alone at the register, staring down at the counter. A pencil moved in their hand, cutting broad strokes across a sketchbook page. They didn’t look up, focus falling completely on their work even as Lake watched them through the window. 

The sky was dark and close, snow falling fast like hyperspace stars. There probably isn’t a right answer to anything, she thought, and then it was late, and there was nothing to say. Lake drove home and went to bed, and dreamed she was climbing a mountain.

[templeofvengeance]

☽ Welcome to the Temple of Vengeance! Greatest of the Great Gods, Khonshu, presiding. ☾

☽ Inbox: Open ☾

[Indie RP/Ask blog for Khonshu from the MCU's Moon Knight. Set after the show ends by default, but also open to other verses. Open for questions or threads! More info on the blog, or under the cut for mobile users.]

Updated: 2/8/25

Laws of the Temple

☽ BASICS ☾

- MUN STUFF: My name's Kew! She/they, well over 21. No triggers. I don't have DID, any attempt to portray it is based on the show/comics. I only speak English fluently and any other language will be google translate. Please forgive any mistakes.

- If you want to interact, my DMs are open! Probably the easiest way to get things started ooc, but asks are also fine. They should be open to non-mutuals.

- MINORS BE WARNED: I'm not going to be super strict about weeding out minors since things aren't going to get smutty around here, but NSFW topics could still come up, and the show Khonshu is from does explore some darker themes. I dunno. You've been warned.

- GENERAL CONTENT WARNING FOR: Descriptions of violence, religious stuff, swearing, emotional manipulation, a.bleism (especially surrounding mental health stuff.) I’ll try to tag other things as they come up.

- GENERAL RP ETIQUETTE APPLIES: Don't make actions for my character without asking, don't assume past relationships/deep history without asking, don't read my character's mind (unless your character is a telepath, and even then I don't know if that works on gods), etc. - FEEL FREE TO REBLOG MEMES FROM ME. It actually helps me remember to send stuff out. You can also reblog art/headcanons, pretty much anything except RP threads if you're not the other party!

- NOT PRIVATE, BUT SELECTIVE: I sometimes don't follow big multimuses back since I have pretty strict tastes in fandoms, and I don't want to clog my dash with characters I don't know. That doesn't mean I don't want to roleplay with you though! As for selectivity, I reserve the right to say no if things just don't click writing-wise.

- SPOILERS FOR MOON KNIGHT EVERYWHERE. There will be untagged spoilers for both the comics and especially the show.

- KHONSHU IS AN ASSHOLE. Nothing he says reflects my real views about anything. If he’s mean to you, it doesn’t mean I don’t like you or you’ve done something wrong.

- FOR OTHER MARC/STEVEN/JAKE MUSES: By default, I'll play Khonshu like he's connected to your Marc/Steven/Jake. If you want it to be dimension-hopping shenanigans (which I'm super down to do, especially for ones more heavily based on the comics) you'll have to let me know! All these interactions will be on different verses, and I don't plan to have Khonshu be 'mains' with any muses.

- FIGHTS: With extremely rare exceptions, I'm just gonna say no to fight threads with Khonshu. Partly because he's incorporeal and really can't be hurt or hurt anyone else directly. Mostly because fighting other muses has always stressed me out. If it's something you really want to do, we can talk about it. (This doesn't mean your character can't attack Khonshu ever, it just means it probably won't work.)

☽ MUSE INFO ☾

NAME: Khonshu OTHER NAMES: Chons, Bloody pigeon, Silly old bird (He accepts none of those) PRONOUNS: He/him HEIGHT: Varies, usually around 8-10 feet tall. WEIGHT: N/A (Incorporeal, like a ghost) AGE: Has existed since the dawn of time, so who knows.

- KHONSHU is the Egyptian god of the moon, vengeance, healing and time, among other smaller things. While he is enormously powerful in theory, he’s mostly unable to affect the physical world without use of a mortal AVATAR, dubbed his MOON KNIGHT. Those who agree to be his Avatar are granted superpowers and near-invulnerability, in exchange for agreeing to carry out his mission: Bringing vengeance against those who harm his travelers of the night.

- Khonshu is also somehow a billions-year-old grumpy baby who flips over trash cans when he doesn’t get his way.

- By default, Khonshu's current Avatar is JAKE LOCKLEY, only. But, he can also be played before the events of the show, when he (technically) has the triple threat of Jake Lockley, MARC SPECTOR, and STEVEN GRANT.

- Jake will make occasional cameos on this blog, but I wouldn't call this a dual muse. (You can request him in asks if you want.)

- Normally, only his Avatar (or Avatars of other gods) are capable of seeing/hearing Khonshu, but let’s say this blog is a holy space where he can answer your prayers questions. (In threads, we can always bullshit a reason your character can see Khonshu.)

- This Khonshu is HEAVILY BASED ON THE TV SHOW, which means he lacks a lot of the harsher history his comic book counterpart has. You can ask about comic stuff, he just might have a different opinion.

- Some comic lore has been added/built upon, namely his fraught history with his father, AMON-RA.

[tuliptired]

He’s Good People

Chapter 1: Ask me, I Won't Say No (How Could I?)

Pairing(s) Reader/Ray, Reader/Egon Reader/Winston

Summary: Janine's always told you that you had a strong "line of fate". Whatever that meant. When you lose your job and apartment, however, you're offered a (temporary) fix with her ever-generous employers.

Hopefully part of a series! A little Ray-centric- Check Ao3 for more tags and warnings.

read it on Ao3!

Today was the big day. You’d be working at your job at a major TV station for just about forever now, and it was about due time for a promotion. The pay was decent, enough to clothe and feed you and have the slightest amount left over, and you got to specialize in what you loved all day, everyday, while contributing to American television. The varieties of the entertainment industry. 

But you were starting to come to the realization that maybe your skills were a little underappreciated. You worked quickly, feverishly, and passionately, after all. You’d be damned if you said you hadn’t been dreading turning up everyday for a little while now. You put off asking, figuring that you should be grateful to be employed at all, but coaxing from your very opinionated best friend you gained while interning in Brooklyn proved fruitful, as she sat on the phone with you.

“You’re worthy. You’re deserving, they’re lucky to have you, you’re doing them a favor by showing up,” she repeated the affirmation to you, undoubtedly breaking a rule or two as she used her work phone from her receptionist job for a personal call. She'd been your biggest supporter, from every new hairstyle or investment, and she knew you were more than capable of whatever a higher position could offer you. You, on the other hand, stared at your reflection in the mirror. You don't really know what you'd do if turned down. You need this, your heart clenches a bit.  

You steeled your nerves, taking a deep breath in and a light breath out. “I am worthy, I am deserving, they’re lucky to have me, I’m doing them a favor by showing up,’ you chanted. The chord of the landline strained against the stretch you put it through from the kitchen to the bathroom. 

“That’s the spirit,” she praised you on the other end. Before you could respond, a sharp beep interrupted you, and she groaned lightly.

“Other line. Listen, I gotta go, but I want details. You know where to call me- and call me as soon as you get word,” she ordered you, causing the fear in your stomach to reemerge, the moment coming closer. But, her voice did make you feel better, in a way.

“Thanks, Janine, pray for me,” you half-begged, desperation unashamedly showing in your tone.

“Mazel.” The phone clicked.

You took what felt like the hundredth calming breath, and it was only 9 am. As you exited your apartment, the world woke up around you, the walk to the bus a little more packed as you made your way down town. On the bus, there was an ad for the Ghostbusters across from you. You laughed to yourself at its presence, a square poster of the 4 men simply standing in a line. The only other design is a little tagline- ¨who you gonna call?¨

You´d always wanted to ask Janine about her place of employment, naturally. She only ever brushed it off as a day job that took up too much of her free time, but you were a bit more curious than that. Believing in ghosts and spirits and monsters wasn't something you were necessarily taken with, but if there's a ghost up somewhere in Albany, it's not your problem. Leave it to the professionals, if they wanted a call so bad. Their pseudo-celebrity statuses were admirable, though- their ads for drinks and toys and services took up 70% of your network’s commercial breaks.

You were practically dripping with a mix of assuredness, sweat from your walk, and a tinge of fear as you clocked in when inside the giant, bustling company. The walk to your workspace felt like you were walking into war, going over every point you wanted to make the moment you saw your supervisor. He was a little hard to get to, really. He was even able to convince you that the due date he had given you in writing was much, much earlier- and you believed him, until you were working overtime with your entire department for the 3rd night in a row for something you had a month to finish.

You were intercepted halfway to your desk, and your confidence dropped to your toes as his smile wasn’t the half-there, busy and distracted one he often held. It was deliberate. He wanted something from you.

“Y/N! Goodmorning, goodmorning. I need a quick word with you.” God damnit. 

His sudden appearance derailed your ability to form respectable sentences, your fingers fumbling with the lapels of your shirt cuffs. “Actually, I was looking for you too,” your tone betraying you.

He led you into his office suite, a brown set of rooms that got less presentable as they went from reception to official-one-desk-two-chairs territory. He stopped you in the hall, where ambient lights illuminated pictures of happy talent, tv producers, and writers who struck it big under his guidance smiling big with awards in hand. “Spare a minute?” He put his hand on your shoulder. Asshole, you can’t refuse. You were already there.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s been a real busy season, huh? Lots of work. Lots of talented stars. SNL’s really jumping off, isn’t it?” You smiled with a bit of pride, knowing the time you and your colleagues put into the success of an experimental show like it, albeit behind the scenes.

“I’m gonna tell it to you like it is, ‘cause you’re a smart kid. You went to Columbia, right?”

Flattery. You answered anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, I was gonna put some time aside for my masters,” you try and broach the conversation back into your favor. Tell him about your ambitions, your qualifications, and the job will fall into your lap.

He had an unreadable expression, his manufactured appearance unwavering. His mid length brown hair and brown suit nearly blended in with his decor. A blank slate was important in entertainment, he told you one day, you want to be what boys and girls want to see, he said. “You’re gonna have a hell of a lot of time then, kid.”

You blinked, words tumbling out your mouth before you could measure them. “I beg your pardon?” You asked earnestly. 

“Lots of work. Lots of talented stars,” he repeats. “It costs a lot to keep the boys and girls happy. Too much to keep certain departments as big as they are.” He swallows, picking up where he left off. “I figured, you’d feel better hearing it from a friendly face then some corporate robot, huh?”

You don’t remember how you got to the payphone, but you did, and you shakily entered Janine’s work number as tears and snot threatened to spill over the dam that was your face.

So there you were, her by your side, sitting under a tree in a nearby park, leaving work for a “personal emergency”, ignoring the voice of her boss as she made her way downtown. You felt bad, coating her shoulder in your sadness, but you couldn’t help it.

“He sounds like a total jackass,” she insisted. “I would’ve put my foot up his…¨ She looked down at you, your cries resigned to snotty sniffles. “You okay?” She asked softly.

You looked at her weakly. “Am I a loser?” You choked out, feeling absolutely miserable. This was rock bottom if you’ve ever been there. Jobless and bawling in a public park.

Janine grabbed your hands. “Don’t ever say something like that again. I’m telling you, your fate is something bigger.” Your eyes got glossy again, and she shook you around forcefully.

“No more crying! C’mon,” she hoisted you to your feet, head spinning and tears dried out of whiplash. Silently, you let her drag you to a grocery without protest, watching numbly as she stopped at a candy counter with you clinging to her arm. 

“10 Crunch bars. And as many of those red things that can fit in the bag.” The man behind the counter obliged, not without looking at the pair of you like a mother and her overgrown child. She took the paper bag, and loaded up another basket with the supplies to make your favorite dinners from the grocer, not forgetting a large tub of speciality ice cream.

“I can’t ask you to buy all of this,” you said softly, but your voice broke into a quiver as you realized what buying something entailed. “Now that I have no-no money,” your voice, wet and weak, about to break out into another session of hot tears.

“If you start crying again I’m leaving you at customer service,” She threatened as she opened her wallet, making her way to the cashier. 

“D’you think the corner takes applications?” You walked in tandem to the bus that’d take you home. 

“We can find out together. I’ve been telling you, there are men at Playboy who’d pay good money for-”

“WOW, Janine, your voice is a little loud, no?”

Her attempt at making you smile worked, and you felt a little better at her side on the bus. Stuffing the sack of candy in your bag, the bus rocked gently as Janine rested the large grocery haul on her lap. 

You were ready to just fall into bed, with or without Janine there, but your droopy eyes were snapped open upon seeing a white envelope taped to your front door. With further inspection, Janine watched sadly as you read that it was a water bill due ridiculously soon. The best you could do was knock your head against the plaster of the wall and hand her your keys.

You had a whole feast of food to be prepared laid out on your counter as you lay on the couch, weak and unwilling to do anything as you pressed your face into the cushions. “Is your oven always this…not on?” Janine’s voice came confused from the kitchen, a bundt pan full of box-mix-cake batter in her left hand.

“You’re joking,” you peeled yourself from the couch, crouching in front of the oven. One spark, nothing. Two, nothing. Three, four, five…not even a match could lit the stovetop nor the burners in the oven. You slid to the ground, defeated. “Kill me, Janine.”

You could hear her click her tongue, before a tiny bleeping filled the room. She apologetically moved her way to your phone, explaining that her boss(es?) were paging her. While you wallow on the kitchen floor, she dials in a number and waits, a little frazzled.

“I told you, it was an emergency.” Her eyes look to yours, silently asking for permission to spill the worst day of your life to some guy you don’t know. You close them, surrendering as you melt into the ground. Maybe this was rock bottom?

“I'm by the theater, it’s a bus and a brisk walk…you can manage without me for a night…4 grown men can’t problem-solve?...Peter- friend of mine got laid off, and they’re pretty upset, ok?...Yes. No, not that one…yes, that one. Ask them yourself, Peter.” She glances at you, annoyed as she holds the receiver out. Not having a speck of pride left, you trudge over, taking the phone limply. 

The line is silent for a bit, except for distant, deep voices you can’t hone in on, expect for the fact that they were arguing.

“Hello?” A voice starts.

“Hello.”

“Real sorry about your job, dear. Tell Janine to bring you around and we can show you a good-” Whoever the hell is on the other end is interrupted by a frantic voice, interrupting as they take hold of the call.

“Hello? This is Dr. Stantz. Uh, Ray is better. Janine told my friend Peter here about your work situation, we wanted to let you know we’re real sorry. Let Janine know she’s not in trouble, but she needs to get here soon, ok?” Dr. Stantz sounds genuinely sympathetic, and you can’t help but be comforted by his words.

“Thanks,” is all you can manage, if not rudely then a little flat.

“If you ever need anywhere to go, our headquarters are open! We have food, hot water, Janine,”’ he laughs on the other end, a little awkward. And a little on the nose for comfort. You react freely in the safety of the private nature of a phone call.

“Thank you?” You answer honestly. He clears his throat.

“If I could hear from Janine, please?”

You wordlessly pass it back to your unamused friend, and she listens to the other end.

A loud, low rumbling in your laundry closet cuts through the calm. You glance at each other, assuming the worst as you swing the door open.

Bubbles spill out onto the floor, your washer unit shaking and leaking onto the worn out wood. All things, this is what gets you the hardest. Your washer can´t break now. Out of all the horrible, awful things, your washer can not break now. You can't even cry, it's so ridiculous. Standing incredulously in ankle deep suds, all you can do is stare at the appliance spit and sputter liquid onto the floor. Janine breaks your bout of shock, pressing the phone into her shoulder so she can reach you. Her voice urges you to unplug it, and before you could break down again, you´re leaning against the lid, with the sudden realization that all the water and soap could start an electrical fire.

You have to lean your entire torso against the top, arms fumbling for the chord buried somewhere in the dark space against the wall. Soon, your legs are dangling over the edge. It would be a funny sight, if the machine wasn't shaking so monstrously underneath you.

Suddenly, there's a large hand on the back of your thigh. It was a cold, unnerving touch, sharp points digging into the flesh of your leg. As you could look back, to tell Janine to let go, your receiver drops to the ground. Her face is ghastly pale, and she´s suspended in a scream. As you look down towards the front of the washer, the large, reptilian claws try to grab you, to pull you into the washer with it. Your eyes widen, and you scream as you clamor to get out of its reach, to no avail.

Janine’s at your side, prying the digits off of your skin, the claws no doubt leaving marks in their wake. You climb to the top of the machine, legs to your chest, and she slams the door on the arms enough times to force it shut. 

Catching her breath, she backs up to the phone slowly, her eyes on you as if you yourself were whatever beast residing in your washer.

¨Ray.¨ She says his name as if there’s a 3rd party in your little apartment listening. ¨You´re coming to us.¨

4 men in brown jumpsuits are at your door. They look much more frazzled than they do in their ads. There´s…a crocodile? A monster? Living in your house? Your brain can´t form cohort thoughts as you blink, eyes drying out. One of them tries to console you as you sit in your armchair, breaths shallow and skin cold. You can’t even freak over the local legends standing in your home. 

 You only recognized one of them personally, from Janine´s birthday a few months ago. You couldn't stay the whole night, only dropping by to give her well wishes and leave her gift behind, but you can remember a brief conversation. You arrived around the same time, and he had opened the entrance to the building for you with ease, the handle notoriously always needing a bit of extra effort to haul the door open after being buzzed up. He walked you, explaining that her boyfriend forgot to pick up the cake, pointing to the box in his hand, which you shared a laugh over. In the time it took to get into her apartment, he explained that he was Dr. Ray Stantz, and he worked with her. You ingenuously told him he was the splitting image of a young comedian on the show you work for, to which he smiled, wide and a little embarrassed. Your conversation was cut short- Janine emerged from another room and dragged you over to some corner to see a mutual friend. 

One of the men flipped between the paper on a notepad, fixing the arms of his glasses. ¨If you don´t mind, we'd like to see the markings the ghost left on you.¨ He requests in a baritone voice, dark and monotone.

¨Egon!¨ Janine scolded him, rubbing your shoulders as you sat. 

¨Only if you´re okay with that,¨ another mediated, as ¨Egon¨ opened his mouth. He cleared his throat. ¨For research. Their research. Not mine. I’m not really a science guy-¨

¨Unbelievable,¨ Janine mumbled, ushering you up and out the chair. Before she could take you out the apartment, Ray grabs the doorknob- not to keep you inside, but to catch her attention. He looked at you both gently, if not a little urgently.

¨We´ll get rid of it no problem, promise. Real exciting thing you got living in your apartment.” He gives you both a soft smile, before opening the door and letting you out. Before you cross the threshold, she turns her head to address them as you grab your bag.

¨There better not be a hair out of place!¨ She shoots eaaaach and every one of them a look, the targets stiffening in the process. The man with the voice you recognize as Peter over the phone bids her farewell with a mock salute.

¨Yes ma´am, Janine!¨

¨I´m sorry about those guys. They´re,¨ she pauses, hand on her chin as you sit on the stoop, ¨the best in their field.¨ A little hard to believe, Peter had almost knocked down one of your trinkets on the way in and put it back a little too haphazardly for taste.

“They seem like interesting people,¨ is all you can manage. ¨Egon-¨

¨Don´t mind him. His brain´s big, but a little empty. He’s a peach.”

¨I was gonna say he was Columbia´s resident myth. I just couldn´t remember his name for the life of me.¨ 

Janine perks up a bit. ¨Oh? What was he like?¨ She pries, always in the mood for a little gossip.

You roll your eyes, albeit not really annoyed. ¨Well, I remember every girl in my major wanted to be the one to ¨break¨ him. Lots of turned down dates, lots of time wasted pretending to care about mushrooms,” you laughed at the memory. ¨He's still, just, not like that, huh?¨

Before she could answer, the entrance from the stoop is swung open, and said man is barrelling down the steps to the white van they tote around, hastily opening the backdoors and pulling something out.

¨What's wrong?” You and Janine say simultaneously. 

He turns to you, pausing mid-action. ¨Nothing,¨ he shuts the van door, making his way back up the steps at a much more measured pace. ¨Everything is fine.¨ Your apartment window slides open, impossibly quick.

¨EGON! Hurry up and get back here, it's got Winston!¨ Peter´s head is half out the window, face dirty and shaken up. Egon blinks once, and then resumes his pace back up to your apartment.

After what felt like half an hour, the 4 men stagger down the steps, worn and beat as you lift your head off Janine´s shoulder to asses the damages.

¨We got him,¨ Ray manages a weak smile, holding a machine billowing sickly chemical smoke.

¨He got us, ¨ Peter says flatly as he leans against Winston, who´s jaw is sporting a deep bruise. Hair disheveled, faces dark, and clothes stained, the men breathe heavily as they can finally relax, dragging themselves to the van. Janine stops Egon, taking his glasses off and saving a lens from popping out.

¨He was real mean,¨ Ray explains, ¨but a Class III of that size! Insane! I´d love to find out where he came from. Amphibious, malevolent ghost living in my washer- I´d pay to be you!¨ He´s excitable, even when his hands have light cuts littering them, his palms raw and pink.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t expect you all to get,” you pause to address their injuries. All things that will manifest after a hard-night’s rest. “So banged up.” You cringed.

“It’s nothing.” Peter started. “Eges, gimme your calculator, I need to run the bill.”

“No way!” Winston protested, hitting Peter on his tender arm, making the man recoil in pain.

“Don’t worry about the pay,” Egon cut in as he examined the trap in Ray’s hands. “We should be paying you , this particular ghost opens avenues for more experimentation. And I don’t mean that lightly.” His inflection remained the same throughout his entire sentence.

“More?” Peter complained.

“The workbench is getting crowded, Egon. Not everything can be a breakthrough.”

“You can never be too sure,” Ray insisted, opening the van door for the men to haul in. “If this thing’s connected to that beast back in Coney Island that we’re makin’ big strides.” He turned to you and Janine. 

You couldn’t help but ask, noting the deep scuff marks on the workboots each man wore. “Can I count on getting my deposit back?” Ray couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

He chuckled weakly. “Sure-”

“We blasted a chemical-leaking electrical machine inside an enclosed space with unregulated units of atomic energy. If you don’t want a malignant disease, I suggest finding a hotel,” Egon said from the front, the door still open. You could hear the thump of a boot against a car seat immediately after.

Janine bit her lip, thinking, suddenly unphased about how they didn’t heed her warning. “I’ve got my sister and her kids staying over,” she apologized. You weren’t mad, you knew how cramped her place could get, but also how much she cared for her family. Plus, Louis’ spring allergies would drive you up the wall. Ray’s frown deepened, before his face lit up. He got modestly close to you, lowering his voice.

“Tell you what, I wasn’t joking when I said we have space at the firehouse. Spend the night, it’s the least we can do.” He smiled softly in your little aside. His words reminisced of the one’s exchanged between dozens of young men and women during late nights at the TV station when they think no one’s around, and one of them is leaning against the wall. It was always sweet, and a little awkward knowing you’d have to make coffee across from them the next morning, but you couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Lord knows it’s been a long time before anyone’s even thought of you that way.

You don’t have any other options, really. At least not on short notice. You eventually nod, apologizing for impeding on their space.

“Don’t worry about it! My grandma used to tell me- be a fine fellow if you want faithful friends at your funeral.” What a boyscout. You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

“There’s that smile. C’mon, we’ll take you and Janine.” That definitely made you feel something, somewhere. 

In the front, Ray drove while Egon sat next to him, and in the back, Peter sat on your right, Winston on your left, and Janine ending up having to sit herself on your lap. Ray blushed and apologized as he turned down the radio once the car’s engine turned on, speakers playing 70s rock directly into your ears.

“We never formally introduced ourselves. Not me, at least,” Winston spoke up at your side, Janine leaning forward so he could see you properly. “That’s Dr. Peter Venkman, Dr. Egon Spengler, you know that guy,” he pointed to Ray who looked at him in the rearview mirror with mock-anger, “and I’m Winston Zeddemore.” What a friendly man. 

“You don’t like the sound of  ‘doctor Zeddemore’?” You asked quietly, noting how he was a little out of place with the group of scientists.

He shook his head, not offended. “Not me. I would be- my dad wanted me to go the minister route, but I’m former air force,” he explains. 

“He’s still smart,” Peter adds at his friend’s defense.

“I know I am,” Winston sits back in his seat.

“Hey, you two,” Ray starts as he gets closer to the firehouse, “we have a bust in a few minutes. We’ll be gone for most of the evening. You can sleep, eat something. Ask Janine to read your palm!” He adds enthusiastically. 

You laugh at that as the car pulls into the large garage. “She told me I had a strong “line of career”. Funny how that worked out?” She pushed your head back with her hand. 

“Fate! It’s also the line of fate, ” she reiterated as Winston scoots back to allow you both out. 

“Is it fate that you’ll find a bill for $1000 under our pillows?” Peter mumbles, as Winston slides the door shut again. You can see the guys bickering through the windshield as Ray pulls out, honking the horn twice and flicking on the siren.

Inside, Janine slumps into her chair behind the front desk as you look around in awe. As soon as you open your mouth to ask if you can help with anything, she’s herding you up the stairs.

“You’ve had a horrible day,” she states, “sleep.” Opening the door to a repurposed fireman’s quarter’s, you swallow thickly.

“I can’t sleep in their beds,” you protest.

She surveys the room, examining each bed. “Winston, Egon, that one’s definitely Peter’s..Ray.” She stops in front of his bed. “He won’t mind.” 

You can’t even retaliate before she’s out the door, shutting it behind her. Sighing, you gave in, unbuttoning the top few bottoms of your oh-so-professional promotion-guaranteed outfit. You were pretty spent. But to sleep in this nice man’s bed? Maybe you were overstaying your welcome. A yawn disturbs your thoughts. Okay, you were exhausted, and he offered…

You had the most melancholy nap of your life, the kind you can only achieve after crying all day. You tossed and turned a little, walking up in the weird not-sleeping-falling-back-asleep state a few times. You hugged the thick comforter around you, lulling yourself back to sleep as the natural smell of the bed made its way into your dreams. 

You dreamt of being in highschool again, crushing and writing diary entries about a boy who smelt nice and made you laugh. It all felt so cathartic, that when you eventually dragged yourself awake you realized where the nostalgic scent was coming from- Ray’s bed. Your face got a little warm as you were broken out of sleepiness, remembering where you were. As you slowly sat up, your back pressed against something behind the pillow. On impulse, you reached backwards, pulling out a worn, soft Smokey the Bear plushie. You smiled to yourself at the sight, forgetting your embarrassment.

You crept out the room, praying to whoever was watching over that the men hadn’t returned and seen you slobbering all over their pillows. To your relief, it was only Janine, nursing many papers spilled over her narrow desk.

“What’s this?” You read the documents, what seem to be job reports that get more and more detailed the more unorganized the desk looks. Janine has different colored stamps balanced on her lap, as she juggles with the stability of a thick, 3 ringed diary against her computer screen.

“Notarizing,” is all she says, trying to bite back her frustration. Moving behind her, you can see that her thick tome his open to a double page spread of the different ghost classifications. You found her problem- the hand writing in the journal was abysmal, notes were scratched out, rewritten, written over.

“Do you need any help?” You ask, picking up a paper that fluttered to the floor.

She sighs, pushing her desk chair out and rubbing her eyes. “I need a nap myself.”

She disappears up the staircase, and you hear a door unlike the one with the beds fall shut. Glancing at her desk- and at the clock, you lower yourself into the chair. It’d be a while until they were back, right? And you really couldn’t leave this mess for Janine. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a hand. Plus, stamps were always a funtime.

You’d been stamping for an hour. Your eyes bulged at the clock, and then back at the neat, orderly piles of reports organized by date and class. Suddenly, the garage opens, and the men file out. Ray smiles upon seeing you, holding pizza boxes in his hands.

“I’m sorry! Janine just needed a break and..” your voice falters as Peter whistles at your work.

“You look nice behind a desk. Maybe we should get an extra chair and keep you with Janine full time. And you could understand my handwriting,” he raises his eyebrows, zipping down the front of his jumpsuit.

“Thanks for helping her out,” Ray takes a look, pleased at the sight, passing the boxes to Peter who takes them upstairs. “You’ve got a knack for clerical work!” Odd compliment, but you’re willing to take it.

Egon’s curiosity gets the better of him, peering at the documents as he takes the stairs up. You swear you can hear him hum contently as he looks down over the railing, Winston behind him.

“Wanna eat with us? We didn’t know what you’d like, and we figured everyone likes pizza,” Ray starts to shrug his own suit off.

“I’m sorry, again. I take your secretary, your money, your room, now your food.” Ray shakes his head hard, closing his locker. He waves his hands dismissively. 

“I’m telling you, it’s nothing at all. You’re good people.” His colloquialism makes you smile, stubbornly. You cave, following him towards the stairs as he walks backwards toward it. As you reach the second floor, the other 3 men were already seated at a table, distributing the food amongst themselves. You freeze beside Ray, nerves picking back up for whatever reason.

He leaned over and whispered in your ear. “We’re not freaks, you know. Just, 200-something-pound men who walk around in onesies and share a bedroom.” You laugh yet again, feeling a little dumb whenever you’re next to him, giggling every few seconds like a teenaged girl. 

Upon seeing you smile, Winston smiled in turn and pulled a chair out for you, putting the ice he held to his jaw down for a second. Gosh, you’d have to apologize for that again. Sitting down, he even passed you a plate of food, the two biggest slices out of all the others.

“You live near the Benjamin Fairhooke theater?” He asks, knowing it’ll spark interest in Egon.

“Old spooky haunted Abraham Lincoln theater, Winston.” Peter takes a sip from a beer can.

“Lincoln was shot in D.C.”

“Never seen it.”

You wipe your hands. “Abandoned for years. Some kids got in trouble for sneaking in. They were pretty spooked- they say they saw a headless body walking around.” Egon perks up at that. “They’ve got some strict security there now.” Your brain pings for a second, remembering a not so legal secret you had been holding.

“I had a friend who used to do city maintenance there, before they abandoned the refurbishing project. He moved to the west, and left me with the masterkey.” 

Egon’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. “I’ve been trying to get a reading on that place, but Ray’s not willing to come with me.”

“Ray’s not willing to break in with you, Spenges,” he cuts in.

“Do you want the key?” You offer, before you could think about what you said.

Peter groaned, slumping back in his chair. “You’re encouraging him.”

“Very much so,” Egon nodded. 

After the food was finished, mostly by the 200-something-pound men not realizing how much food they really took. You didn’t mind- you were the guest, after all. Ray suddenly realized that it was fairly late, and you still didn’t have an official place to stay. As the guys stood up to get ready for the night, he spoke up quickly.

He looked hopeful. “You don’t mind staying the night, do you?” Before you could answer, he starts to speak again. “Our extra bed hasn’t been broken in yet, you can take mine if you’d like!” Neither of you realize it, but Peter’s watching with more intent than the other 2 men. 

“Where would you’d sleep, Raymond?” Peter’s suddenly interested in the paint chipping on the doorframe.

“The extra bed, I suppose”

“That’s no good, you’ll mess up your back”

Something was unspoken between the two of them, their eyes having a conversation of their own. Ray’s big brain slowed a bit. “The…loveseat?” He offered, as if asking for permission. 

Peter made a buzzer noise. “I’ve already tried- it’s too small. And ocupado. Janine. She’s tiny. We’ll wake her up, send her home- you two figure it out.” Peter corales the other two, confused men out the room and down the hall.

Ray looked stumped, and a blush was slowly creeping from his ears. He seemed to be battling something in his head, before he refused the force tempting him as he shook his head. “I can take the floor,” he decides.

“What! I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.” He wouldn’t budge. He started to clean up the mess his friends ever so gracefully left behind, before you moved to help him. 

“Just let me,” you responded to his face. Ever the host. You cleaned together quietly, but comfortably.

“I want you to know,” he bent over to put a spray back under the sink, “that we know what it’s like. To lose our jobs.” He stood to face you. You had a flash a shame hit your features, which you really couldn’t help. To the Ghostbusters’ credit, they had a good way of making you forget things.

His face was understanding. “Really, we do. We started this whole thing ‘cause we lost our jobs. It was a dumpy feeling.” You purse your lips, turning your gaze down. His head followed your eyes, and your stomach felt a little woozy as he physically commanded your attention.

“I wouldn’t say it so much if I didn’t think you deserved it.”

You let out a soft puff of air out your nose at the potential to make a joke. “You’re ready to believe me?”

His serious face melted into that of pride, his mouth splitting into a full-toothed grin.

“You’re something else. Hell yeah, I am!” He squeezed your shoulder, before having you follow him down the steps and into a basement. He stuck his head into a door and said goodnight to Egon before entering what looked like a laundry room. 

He swiped a few articles of clothing on hangers, hanging over most of the room’s perimeter. There were t shirts, longjohn’s, plain sweatshirts, smocks, of varying sizes, though they look like they’d seldom been used. He settled on gray sweat pants and a gray sweatshirt, holding them up to you from a respectable distance to measure.

“The firemen before us left all this. Joke’s on them, right?” He folds them loosely, handing them to you before rummaging through a cabinet for a toothbrush.

Your face unintentionally twitches as he holds the plastic wrapped brush out to you, wondering if it’s been here as long as the clothes you had in your arms.

He glances down at it once, before waving your fears away. “Janine bought new one’s last week, I promise.” 

After muttering an apology and leaving for you to change, he leads you back to the sleeping quarters, opening the door slowly. Winston was fast asleep, always the first to be out when the day’s work took a particular toll on him. Ray listened to the silence for a second, piecing together Peter’s absence and the sudden running of the shower down the hall. He leans over, excusing himself to get ready for the night and letting you know there was a bathroom connected to the room, albeit very small. 

After a quick brushing of your teeth, you emerge at almost the same time as him. He nearly jumps out of his skin noticing his stuffed animal still on his bed, stuttering how’d that get there’ s and it’s for memorie’ s. 

“Don’t be mean to him,” you mock-scold him in a whisper. His cheeks are still pink. He’s wearing a matching pajama set- which was enough to make you shake your head and giggle to yourself.

He looks down, noticing his pink pajamas. “It’s light red . And you should be disappointed I passed on my Dr. Thirteen robe.” He remembers the bear still in his hands.

“You want him?” He holds the little toy out to you, Smokey’s been very clearly well loved, as his fur and outfit are fading slightly. “Take good care of him,” he looks as if he’s parting with a child.

“Promise.”

He makes his way to a wardrobe as quietly as possible, pulling out a pillow and blanket for his sleep on the floor. “You want new ones? Sheets, pillowcase? I’m not sure how nice mine are.”

Your mind flashes to the nice smell his bed had, and you promptly shook your head. 

He sets up on the floor, unconsciously choosing to sleep at your technical-side. You set Smokey up next to you, tucking him in, watching Ray lay out the bedding, before he sits back and sighs up at you.

“I know it’s not the Marriott. Sorry you hafta share a room with us.” Sure, he could’ve set his den up next to Winston, or taken Egon’s currently unoccupied bed, but neither of you were gonna complain. He refused to even entertain the idea of you sleeping on the floor of whatever the room the loveseat was in, so this was how it would play out. “I can imagine you don’t often bunk with people you just met before.”

“It’s just a night,” saying it was a little useless- you had no idea how long you’d need to stay with them. You had no idea about anything at all anymore.

He fell silent. “A night?” You couldn’t decipher why his voice had a despondent tone.

“However long you’ll have me.”

A pause. “As long as you wanted.”

The clock on the opposite wall was ticking softly. It was getting late, 11:30.

“Goodnight, Ray. And thank you, really. Thank you.” 

“Goodnight. I can…wake you up before the guys do, if that’s more comfortable for you. We’ll figure something out, ok?”

You nod, and he turns off the lamp on the side table above his head.

12:05. A freshly showered Peter opening the door to two bodies out of the three, softly breathing.

“Raymond Stantz. You were supposed to get into the bed, too.”

“Go to bed, Peter.” He pulled the covers over his eyes.