#please send burritos

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Reflecting on my writing process. I definitely qualify as a gardener vs. an architect.

Step 1: Write 5-75,000 words of vibes

Step 2: Start posting the fic. You have a lot of chapters, so that gives you time to finish it while you write the rest.

Step 3: Realize this probably has to have an ending ? or something? Feel violently jealous of people who plan out their fics in advance and like, outline what's going to happen in them? Is this real? Are people really doing this? Why can't you be them? Read other people's stories because maybe that will inspire you to finish yours, but it just fills you with inadequacy because everyone else's stuff is better than yours and why are you even trying again?

Step 4: Spend 1-6 weeks imagining a meteor striking the world you have written and killing everyone, so that's the ending, and that will be easy enough to write.

Step 5: Well, actually, then you could turn into like a post-apocalyptic survival thing, or maybe a character study on what happens when they are waiting for the meteor to hit, which would take like another 75,000 words of vibes to talk about and then you'd still have to write an ending. So scratch the idea about killing off everyone in the fic.

Step 6: Regret being born. Regret not being hit by a meteor. Painstakingly back-create an outline from your 20 chapters of meandering vibes to see if that makes an ending to the plot appear. It does not, just underscores how bad you are at plot, which you already knew, but look! Proof of your inadequacy. Cool. Google to see if any meteors are coming soon, in which case, why are you doing this to yourself? You might only have a few weeks to live.

Step 7: Force yourself to work on the story, but then you just do micro-managing edits like adding 900,000 commas that aren't needed and then add a bunch more vibes to the chapters you already wrote, so now it's worse and full of filler it didn't need and you have to delete all the garbage you just wrote. Why does this story exist? What's even the point? Of this story or like, literally anything? Go on tumblr to scroll mindlessly. Write a long, self-indulgent post about how hard writing is.

Step 8: Go into a fugue state fueled by panic and fear of disappointing the people who have been reading along with the fic because like an idiot you already started posting it even though you had no idea what the point of the fic was or how and why it would end. You hate the fic, but you hate the idea of letting the bastard fic WIN more than you hate the fic, so you are going to murder the stupid fic if it kills you. Ignore all responsibilities and have a panic attack because you forgot to eat breakfast lunch and dinner and you can't figure out why your body is shutting down and you are waste deep in garbage because you forgot to clean the house and the children were running feral and subsisting solely off Nutella while you were thinking about the STORY.

Step 9: Wait, it looks like the fic is actually finished, but you can't remember how you finished it so unfortunately the process isn't not able to be replicated.

Step 10: Finish posting fic. Feel immensely sad that it's over. Oh, how you loved writing it, the darling, darling thing. The grief, the loss, that you will no longer have this lovely story as a companion to your days.

[lunapwrites]

.

[kalpasio]

I (Werewolf Kalpas Anon, who was dying from work) AM BACK FROM THE DEAD AND I TOO WOULD WISH FOR THE MOST WONDERFUL CUDDLES AND KISSES WITH OUR BEST ANGY BOI! I WANNA SMOOCH HIM, WRAP HIM IN A BURRITO (or be wrapped in a burrito by him) AND JUST SMOTHER HIM WITH ALL MY LOVE! Eventhoughsummeriskillingmerightnowandit'stoohottodoallofthatstuffbutthat'sirrelevant-

By either way, I am dying from Hoyoverse no longer doing stuff for our greatest angery boi and that's a huge crime imo. Like plz, there was something they did by making our angery boi an idol and dressed up in the most girliest dress with the cutest fking cat mask and I want to know more on that. I need the expansion on that idea, good gawd.

(But aside from that, how are y'all doing these days? I personally suffered for a bit from the construction workers but I'm fine now.)

I thought I responded to this a week ago and now I find it in my drafts I am so sorry 😭😭😭

BECOMING A SUSHI ROLL WITH KALPAS IS MY ONE GOAL IN LIFE AND I WILL NOT BE PERSUADED OTHERWISE 😭the absolute second he's not about to kill me he is getting so much love and then I took will die from heatstroke but it's fine

I KNOW ever since they started the new chapter I feel like they just want nothing to do with the flame chasers? which, fair, I love her but I'm a lil over Ely for the moment like where did the anime go???? ok we got the elf typewriter in ER but where is that Kalpas 👏 ass👏 I NEEEEEEED to see the magazine that he modeled for in the anime it is killing me

what did the construction workers do?!?!???? like just being loud or are they fucking up traffic and stuff??

[penascigarette]

Smooth Operator Ch 1. A New Client ➴ Joel Miller x f!phone sex operator

➴wc: 6.7k | summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.

➴warnings: mdni, phone sex, mxm phone sex, fxm phone sex, m&f masterbation lots of dirty talking, use of princess, shitty moodboard

➴an: hi! i hope you enjoy the first chapter of the first fic I have ever posted. if I have missed any warnings please let me know. feedback is super appreciated! now I will go run and hide lol. and a big tysm to @saradika-graphics for making such lovely dividers!

masterlist | series masterlist

You love sleeping, and just as passionately, you love your bed. Whenever you wake up in the morning, you spend at least ten minutes wrapped up in your duvet, savoring the warmth and comfort as you tease yourself with the idea of a nap.

This morning is no different. The sun shines outside, making your dark purple curtains look lighter than they actually are. If you open your eyes, you know you'll see dust particles floating through the air.

You take a deep breath through your nose and immediately wish you'd opened your windows to let in some fresh air. But you never do, even though you think about it every morning. It's too risky. Open windows are an open invitation to your worst fear—spiders.

Just the thought of their tiny, hairy bodies and long, wiggly legs sends a shiver down your spine. You pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders, practically imagining the creepy crawlies on your skin.

And of course, that's when your roommate, Elliot, decides it’s the perfect time to tickle your ear with one of his long, pink, kinky feathers—used for who-knows-what.

You scream, jump, and scramble off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. Your eyes—probably bloodshot with dark bags underneath—narrow at the grinning culprit, who is currently doubled over in a fit of laughter on the right side of your king-sized bed.

“What the fuck,” you huff, too tired to find any humor in this. You were so warm and cozy, and now that feeling is ruined for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

 “Y-your face!” he chokes out between giggles. He looks far too fresh-faced for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. Still in his pajamas, his messy hair—short on the sides with a wave on top—looks like it hasn’t seen a brush this morning.

“It's not funny!” you argue, your voice rising over the sound of his laughter. You’re this close to stomping your foot at him. “I thought you were a spider!” Standing there in nothing but pink pajama bottoms and a black strap top, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Yet again, you curse him for ruining your warm, safe burrito.

That only makes him laugh harder. It’s hard to believe this man-child is twenty-eight years old when he acts less than half his age most of the time.

At the sound of his snort, you feel your lips twitch against your will. No, you’re pissed at him—there’s no way he’s going to make you laugh. But very quickly, you’re losing the battle. Have you ever tried not laughing with someone who has an impossibly contagious laugh? It’s damn near impossible.

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes as a reluctant smile finally breaks across your face. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, but Elliot knows he’s won this round

“It’s getting late,” he says, still chuckling. His green eyes are watery from laughing, making them sparkle as he grins at you. Rolling onto his left side, he props his head up with one hand—the one holding the feather—while his other hand runs through his sandy-brown hair, slicking it back. “And you slept through your alarms again, so I thought I’d help you out.”

Damn, have you really? It wouldn’t be the first time. Waking you is like trying to wake the dead.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Fair enough, he had to wake you, but—“Did you have to use your kinky, sex feather...thing?” You shiver in disgust. “Who knows where that’s been.”

He shrugs innocently, twirling the offending object between his fingers. “Nowhere gross...” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles once more. “Only up Danny’s ass.”

Your eyes widen, and you splutter. “What? Oh, my god—Jesus, that’s just—” You gag in the back of your throat. “You said it hadn’t been anywhere gross!”

He laughs again, sitting up. “I was telling the truth. Danny’s ass was far from gross.” A faraway look crosses his face. “It was heaven,” he muses wistfully before frowning. “God, I miss him.”

“Oh, honey,” you soften immediately, making your way to the bed and crawling toward Elliot to offer some comfort.

You know Danny and Elliot’s breakup was hard on him. He’d been completely in love with that man and was about to ask him to move in—with you both—when Danny decided to end the year-and-a-half relationship. It just wasn’t working was his excuse, but Elliot later found out the truth when Danny updated his Facebook page: he’d left Elliot for someone else.

“He didn’t deserve you,” you say, trying to make him feel better as you drape an arm around his shoulders. Sitting back on your heels, you add, “He was a dick for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—”

“A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me, I know,” he cuts you off, reciting your usual line before you can finish. You’ve said it enough times in the past three months since the breakup that he knows it by heart. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know,” you respond quietly, your thoughts drifting to your own breakup. It’s been over a year now, but the pain still lingers. Your ex had been your first boyfriend—hell, your first everything. You’d met when you were seventeen, and you moved in with him before your next birthday. Everything happened so fast, and you didn’t see the cracks until it was too late. “But we have each other, right?” you say, giving Elliot a little shake.

He glances at you, his expression vulnerable. Big eyes, plucked thin eyebrows, a slight bump on his nose from when a bully broke it in his teens, full lips, high cheekbones, and when he smiles, dimples form on his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he replies, hopeful. “Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s ass?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away to thump him on the arm. “Fucker,” you mutter as he starts giggling all over again. “Remind me why I love you?”

Grinning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajama shorts and pulls out his phone. "Because I'm adorable," he answers distractedly as he stares at the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it's Simon," he whispers the last part to you as if Simon could hear. "He sounds like a whale when he comes, but boy, does he have a gorgeous sex voice," he informs you. You snort as he accepts the call. "Why hello there, lover."

While Elliot makes himself comfortable against your pillows, you climb off the bed and head toward your wardrobe. You already have your outfit in mind—a pair of leggings and a plain white shirt.

"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," you hear Elliot purr in the background, and you smile, shaking your head. You can’t imagine what people would think about you being in the same room as your guy roommate while he talks dirty to one of your clients, meanwhile, you're getting changed in the corner.

It’s a strange situation, to say the least.

As you remove your shirt with your back turned to Elliot, you can’t help but listen in to the conversation.

"I'd love to touch your nipples," Elliot hums behind you, getting into character. You know how much he loves talking dirty to guys. It’s a turn-on for him. Unlike you, who only really enjoys sex if it’s with someone you love. Elliot is way more adventurous and has had more one-night stands than you can count. "I'd love to stroke them, caress them, lick them. . .”

"Suck them," you add when you hear Elliot hesitate. You pull the straps of your bra up your arms and hook it at the back. 

“Oh, and suck them," Elliot says as you pull your top on.

Since Elliot is still fairly new to this, he needs help sometimes. His situation had been very similar to yours—a broken-up relationship, no job, and forced to move back in with his mum until someone came along and gave him hope. For Elliot, that person was you. For you, that person was your boss, Jane.

Elliot's voice lowers as he talks to his client. "Your body is so pretty, honey. I can't wait to trace my tongue up and down your belly, and then start going lower and lower until I reach your—”

You cough quietly to yourself, trying to hide your smile as you change into your leggings and slip on a pair of fluffy pink socks. You’ve heard Elliot talk dirty loads of times, and he’s heard you talk dirty just as many. Part of training him was him having to listen in on your conversations, and then you monitoring his. Neither of you gets embarrassed around it anymore. It’s more amusing, to be completely honest.

Deciding to leave Elliot to it, you grab your phone off your bedside cabinet and quietly tiptoe to the door. Before you leave, you look over to Elliot and mouth, Coffee?

He nods enthusiastically at you and mouths back, Yes, please!

You’re halfway down the steps when you rub your eye and feel the crumbly sensation of mascara under your fingertip. You’ve forgotten to take your makeup off the night before. You curse to yourself before heading back upstairs to fetch a makeup wipe.

When you reach your room once more, Elliot looks at you questioningly before he notices your face. His lips curl into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. You roll your eyes and put your middle finger up at him before heading over to your dresser, which sits directly opposite your bed. You open the top drawer and feel through the ridiculous amount of makeup and beauty products you’ve collected over time. As your fingers search, your eyes stare forward at your flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. You can see Elliot's reflection.

"God, you feel so tight around me," Elliot is telling his customer, and you bite your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Finally, your fingers grip the packet of wipes, and you pull them free. "I'm gonna come inside of your ass so damn hard—," Elliot is cut off by a muffled roar, and you turn to look at him questioningly.

He is still sitting on your bed, back against the pillows with one hand holding the phone far away from his ear. He has an uncomfortable look on his face, and it’s then you realize the noise has come from the phone. Or, more accurately, the noise is the loud, animal-like groans of a man coming hard.

Oh my god," you whisper to him quietly, now understanding what Elliot had meant by Simon sounding like a whale when he came.

Elliot uses his other hand to cover the bottom half of the phone, preventing Simon from hearing you speak. "Every. Damn. Time," he replies just as quietly, looking so serious it makes you giggle. He cracks his own smile before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Oh, that sounded like a good one, baby."

You’re glad Simon isn’t one of your callers because you’re not sure you’d be able to stay professional with that sound in your ear. You take care of your makeup before finally getting started on coffee.

Your living room and kitchen are all in one room. The only thing separating the rooms is the counter you eat at. Silver stools with black padded seats sit underneath, four of them for when you have guests over.

You walk past the L-shaped sofa and the counter. Once the coffee is on, you get started on breakfast. You decide on some cheesy, ham-scrambled eggs. Just as you start mixing the ingredients, your phone vibrates where you’ve placed it on the counter. You lean over far enough to see the screen. When no name appears, only a number, you figure it must be a new client since you save existing clients in your phone book.

You accept the call and bring it to your ear. "Hey there," you purr in your sexy voice. You never thought you had one until Elliot pointed it out to you. According to him, it’s a hot one too. "Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?"

"Josh." He’s breathing heavily, sounding as if he’s already started the party without you. "I-I'm new to all this…phone stuff," he informs you.

"That's fine, Josh," you say with a slight smile. "My name's Angel, and I’m going to take care of you, all right?" Your name isn’t Angel, but for safety reasons, you’re Angel as far as your customers know. And yes, you’re well aware of how clichéd it is.

"Yes," he tells you, his voice rougher than before. He’s probably getting more excited. Now, all you need to do is find out what he likes.

"Tell me, honey, you like it hard or soft, hm?" you question just as Elliot’s footsteps sound on the stairs.

"God. Hard. I like it hard," Josh answers. "I like it when you take control, with a little pain. Yeah, I like that a lot." In the background, you can hear the sound of his hand working his dick. At least you know he’s enjoying himself.

"Okay, Josh," you nod to yourself, knowing exactly where to go from here. Elliot appears in front of you, his lips forming an 'o' shape when he sees you’re with a client. You nod your head toward the food you’ve been preparing, signaling him to take over as you move away from the counter and toward the living area. Elliot passes you on the way, his hand patting you on the shoulder.

You flop over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, landing with a bounce on your back. "The first thing I want you to do is to strip for me, now," you order him, reaching toward the coffee table when you spot a magazine there. You bring it over to you and open it. "Are you naked yet?"

"Almost," he practically gasps to you. You can hear some more shuffling, and then he's telling you, "Yes, mistress, I'm naked."

Mistress? You sigh internally. You seriously can't believe how many men are into the whole dominatrix kink. In the beginning, it was kind of fun, but by now, it’s getting pretty old.

Mentally awakening your inner dom, you relax further into the sofa and flip through the magazine. "Good boy," you coo, finding a 20 Sex Tips for Women article. Huh, how fitting. "Now, here's what I want you to do, and you better listen closely, pet."

The call ends up lasting 2 minutes and 28 seconds. Not bad for a newbie.

________

“I might have a date this weekend," Elliot mentions casually, making you glance over the top of your book at him, eyebrows raised.

A few hours have passed since breakfast, and you've had at least seven phone calls since. The two of you are relaxing in the living room, you on one side of your L-shaped sofa and Elliot on the other.

"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" you respond, feeling rather hurt. You tell each other everything. You know the penis size of every boyfriend he's had. How can he share that information so easily yet let something like a date stay secret?

He cringes, and you just know you're not going to like what's coming next. "Because..." he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and rushes out, "BecauseitswithDanny." He says it so fast it almost doesn't register, but the name Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

"What!?" you exclaim, book falling forgotten onto the floor as you sit up. You're completely shocked, and you imagine your expression says everything before you even open your mouth. "How can you—why would you want to after what he did?" You can't understand what's going through Elliot's head, but you seriously want to knock some sense into him.

"I tried hinting to you this morning!" Elliot tells you, sitting up. The magazine he'd been reading earlier falls onto his lap, his attention now completely on you. "I told you I missed him!"

You scoff at that. "A hint is, 'Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of going on a date with my ex.' Not, 'I'm going to tickle you with Danny's ass-feather, complain about missing him, and hope that you get the hint that I'm going out with him this weekend despite the fact he broke my heart!'" You take a deep breath, oxygen running low after that rant. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"

"Of course it's your business. You're my best friend."

"—I just don't want you to get hurt," you continue as you both stare at each other with similar expressions. You're both desperate for the other to understand how you're feeling without wanting to cause any upset. "I love you, honey...and it destroyed you when he left."

"He said he's sorry," Elliot tells you quietly, making you realize just how much they've been talking. A pang of hurt goes through your heart, knowing that Elliot felt like he couldn't talk to you about this. "He said it was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. But I don't want to jump back into things so...I told him we'll start slow."

"Well," you nod slightly. "That's something, I guess." It comforts you to know that he isn't rushing into the relationship again. Maybe, if they start from scratch, it could work this time. Unfortunately, your gut tells you different. "I'm going to be honest with you, okay?"

Elliot gives you a lopsided smile, causing a single dimple to form on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile back for a moment before turning serious again. "I think...you're thinking with your heart and not with your head," you tell him softly. "I think you're in love with him, and you miss him, and you're not thinking rationally about this. Which I totally understand, honey. You love him; I know you can't help that. I just worry that Danny knows how you feel about him, and he's going to use it to his advantage." You watch Elliot's expression closely; he's nodding, letting you know he's listening.

You give your lip a quick nibble before continuing. "But if this is something you feel like you need to do, then I'll support you, you know that."

"Thanks, babe," he responds sincerely, but his eyes are sad. "You're right. I know you're right, but...my heart wants this so damn badly."

"What's your gut telling you to do?" you ask him curiously. You’ve always believed in following your instincts.

"Run," he answers with a painful laugh. "Run and don't look back because he's only doing this as a rebound."

You frown at the information. "Rebound?"

Elliot nods, tears filling his eyes. He crosses his legs underneath him, which surprises you given how skinny his jeans are. One arm goes to the back of the sofa while the other runs through his slick-backed hair. He pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, a habit of his, before telling you, "Him and Voldemort broke up. Danny says he broke it off because he misses me, but I checked Voldemort's page, and it looks like he's gone and gotten himself a new guy."

You hold back a snort at his nickname for Gary. Voldemort. It suits him. From Elliot's information, you're guessing that Danny is only after a rebound, but Elliot doesn't want to admit it because he still wants to be with Danny.

"Honey..." you sigh, scooting across the sofa so you can give Elliot a cuddle. He immediately returns the gesture but stays seated, whereas you lean up on your knees, making you higher than him. You rest your head on top of his, your arms around his neck. You know you don't need to say anything. Elliot knows he's burying his head in the sand. You think he just needs to find out the hard way; otherwise, he'd always regret not trying.

"I'm here for you," you assure him. This is something he needs to do, and you can't protect him from it, no matter how much you want to.

"Thank you," he tells you tearfully. You can hear how upset he is, but he's trying to hold it back. You squeeze him tighter, wishing you could take away all his pain. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."

Your lips curve at that. "I know," you joke because really, you're not that big-headed. "Now," you say as you pull away but keep your arms around his neck. "What do you say we turn our phones off for a while, get a Chinese, and watch some crappy chick flicks?"

His eyes are bloodshot and wet with tears, but the smile he gives you is genuine happiness. And that you completely understand because food makes you feel the same way. "I love you so much."

--

The film you end up watching is beyond cheesy, but the humor is awesome, and you find yourself giggling along. Your Chinese food is now in your overly-stuffed belly, and the only things left are the containers sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You sit side-by-side with Elliot, shoulders touching, a leopard-print blanket draped over your laps. Both of you ordered a beer with the takeaway. It isn’t enough to get you drunk, but that wasn’t the plan since you need to turn your phones back on for work later.

By the time the film ends, Elliot seems to be in a much better mood. Hopefully, he’ll stay that way for the next few hours.

“Gosh,” Elliot starts, reaching behind the sofa to the side table where a lamp sits. He switches it on, making you both blink against the sudden brightness. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“Same,” you say, squinting as your eyes adjust. Your muscles feel cramped, so you throw off the blanket and stretch. As you straighten your body, you begin to slide off the sofa but don’t bother stopping it. You let yourself slip onto the floor.

With the coffee table in the way, you have to arrange yourself so you’re lying between the sofa and the table. The wooden flooring is cold against your right arm, while the left side of your body enjoys the comfort of the fur rug.

“Weirdo,” Elliot snorts from above.

“Don’t judge,” you respond, letting out a yawn. Watching films always makes you tired. Maybe it strains your eyes. The floor is oddly tempting right now—so cozy—or maybe Elliot is right, and you’re just a weirdo.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Elliot speaks again, his foot nudging your side. “Can’t sleep now. We’ve got horny customers waiting.”

It’s only then you realize you’ve closed your eyes. “I’m up,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit upright. The smell of Chinese food still lingers in the air. It was absolutely delicious, but your stomach protests now, begging you not to even inhale another whiff of it. You pat your belly proudly, knowing it did a good job handling the feast.

“Good,” Elliot says. “We gotta get to work.”

Neither of you moves.

“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot sighs after a moment, making you crack a smile. “It’s so much effort. I hate... effort,” he says, spitting the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

You tilt your head to look at him better. “Just think about all those handsome, horny men stroking their dicks, waiting for you to—”

“I’m up!” Elliot exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hands dive into his pockets as you laugh loudly. “Christ, where’s my phone? My customers need me!” He’s being overly dramatic on purpose, and it makes you giggle even harder.

“It’s not funny!” he tells you, though he’s trying his hardest not to smile. “Who’s going to give those guys their orgasms? This is a serious situation!”

You giggle again, but then you try to put on a straight face. “You’re right. There could be a riot!” you gasp dramatically. “I’ll get on the phone to the prime minister right away!”

“And the president!” Elliot chimes in, but then you make eye contact, and the two of you burst into laughter. Sure, you can act pretty silly sometimes, but it’s healthy. At this age, you feel more mature than most people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be childish once in a while.

Once you both calm down, you know playtime is over. It’s really time to get to work. Sighing, you take Elliot’s hand when he offers it to you, and he easily pulls you up from the floor.

“Thanks, kid,” you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. You know he hates when you do that.

He lets out a high-pitched squeak and backs away. “You know my rules!”

“No one touches the hair,” you recite dutifully.

“Yes!” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yet you always forget. And what do you mean ‘kid’? I’m older than you!”

“Yes, well, mentally you’re the age of ten, so…”

“Bitch,” he says, lightly punching your arm, and you laugh.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you tease.

He plants his hands on his hips, cocking a hip at you and raising an eyebrow. “Honey, you can’t handle what I’ve got.”

“I’m heading upstairs. Gonna talk dirty to some dudes, grab a shower, change into my pajamas, get some more horny people off, read a book, then go to bed.”

Elliot takes the phone and nods. “Sounds like a damn good plan,” he says, holding up his hand.

You smile and give him a high-five.

--

One of the hardest parts of your job is keeping things fresh and coming up with new ideas. That’s why you love working with Elliot. He’s a guy; he knows what men like, so whenever you feel like you need something different, he’s your go-to.

New customers are always the easiest to please. No matter what you say, it’s fresh to them. Exciting. It’s your recurring customers who require more effort. There are only so many ways to describe a blowjob before it starts feeling repetitive. When you get that feeling of déjà vu, you worry your client does too.

Oh, and trying to figure out what a guy likes? That’s another challenge. Sometimes, it feels like a seriously fucked-up game of I-Spy.

“I spy with my little eye…” Imaginary-you says in a hopeful voice. “A foot fetish? No? Fuck.” You’re rocking back and forth now, losing hope. “I spy with my little—oh, I know! Voyeurism?” you practically beg, thinking about pulling your brains out with a spoon if this doesn’t work. “…Golden showers?”

Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but you get the point. It’s frustrating, especially when the client is shy and doesn’t know what they like themselves.

Deciding you’re getting cranky—probably because you’re tired—you decide to finish half an hour early tonight. You shouldn’t, especially after already losing a few hours of work earlier, but you’ve made enough money to cover your half of rent and bills this month. You’ve still got a week to earn more for food and anything else you need.

So yeah, you’ll finish early.

Yawning, you pull the covers out from underneath your ass before throwing them over yourself. You’re already in your pajamas—a loose pair of pink shorts and a white strap top—and your book sits next to you, waiting to be read.

But just as you pick up your phone, ready to turn it off, a new number flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth leaving. The problem is, with it being a new customer, leaving a bad impression could mean they wouldn’t come back.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, knowing the professional businesswoman in you can’t risk losing what might end up being a recurring customer. As far as you know, this phone call could change your career. You snort at that. Highly unlikely, but it’s going to bring in extra money, which is a good enough reason. “Just this last one, then I’m going to bed,” you tell yourself.

You place the earphones back into your ears and press the green button on your touchscreen. “Hey there, handsome.” There’s a pause, and you briefly wonder if they’ve decided to hang up when he finally speaks.

“Hey,” he responds simply, sounding kind of awkward.

“You caught me just in time,” you say naughtily.

“Oh?” he sounds intrigued, though the awkwardness remains. He’s probably just shy or clueless about what to do. “Why is that?”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by how much you’re attracted to his voice. That’s never happened to you before, and he’s barely said five words. Masculine, educated, and gruff. Swoon.

“Um...” You try to get back into character while scolding yourself. The conversation has only just started; you can’t screw it up already. Get your head in the game, girl. “Because I’m wet and needing a man to help me out.” Internally, you wince. That’s pretty weak considering how good you usually are at this.

He doesn’t seem to think so because he releases a sexy, “Shit. I—” He’s breathing heavily, and you wait for him to finish, sensing he has something else he wants to say. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he admits after a moment.

Fuck, you’re losing him, and you’re losing him fast. You need to think quickly if you want to keep him on the line. You don’t want to admit it, but your interest in this man goes beyond the money you’re earning from him. He’s ignited something in you. “Wait! Please,” you breathe. “I—I’m so horny. I need you. Please? Just stroke your dick for me. I need it.” There you go; you knew you could do better.

“Damn it,” he hisses, and then there’s the sound of a belt buckle, and you know you’ve got him. “What’d you need, sweetie? Tell me,” he demands, and for the first time since doing this job, you feel a wave of lust hit you.

Swallowing in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dry mouth—it all seems to have headed south, if you know what you mean—you respond truthfully, “You.” Jesus, you shouldn’t be doing this, but before you can stop yourself, your left hand is slipping underneath your strap top and finding your breasts. “I need you, please—” You pause for a second. You don’t know if it will work, but if you’re right about him, this is going to go down a treat. For both him and for you. “—sir.”

And you’re right because he lets out a loud groan, making you squeeze your thighs together in response. Jesus, you haven’t wanted someone this badly in what feels like forever.

“Fuck, you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re already nodding before he finishes his sentence. “Yes, god, yes.” You move your right hand so it’s also caressing your breasts. In this moment, you completely love your headset, which allows you to talk and touch at the same time.

“Mm, you’re so obedient, baby,” he tells you, approval evident in his husky voice. “Tell me, Princess, tell me are your nipples hard?”

Your pussy clenches almost painfully, and you try to remind it to calm down because it’s only just started. “They’re hard. So hard they’re showing through my shirt.”

You’re getting so hazy with lust you’re not sure what to do with yourself, so you pinch your nipples roughly and almost cry out in frustration, knowing it would be so much better if he were doing it for you.

“Damn, that’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you, and your belly does a funny flip. “You touchin’ them? Want you to roll them between your fingers. Not too hard, just enough pressure to leave you needing more.”

It’s not easy to admit, but you think he’s better at this than you are, and it crosses your mind that you should probably be paying him. “I already am,” you confess with a guilty laugh. “Your voice... it’s, uh, fucking hot.” You hesitate because you’re not sure if you can say that to him. It’s not very professional, but then you remind yourself that you’re only second-guessing it because you’re actually getting off on it.

"You that eager for me, princess?" he sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. "Tell me how it feels. You know, I'm stroking my dick to this. Getting hard over the noises you're making, and the pretty picture you're giving me."

The image of this man, who you are undoubtedly attracted to, stroking his hard cock over the thought of you pleasuring yourself drives you crazy. He seems so generous, something rare nowadays.

"It feels..." you breathe, trying to find the right words. "Like it's not enough. I need more. Christ." You throw your head back against your pillows, frustrated with yourself and the way you're acting. Completely unprofessional.

"Shh," he coos softly. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. Okay, princess?" He's so freaking good at this. You're practically shivering in anticipation of what he might say next. "I want you to get naked for me. And tell me, baby, you got any toys?"

"Um," you think about his question as you pull your strap top over your head. It gets caught on the earphone wire. "Wait a second." You quickly untangle yourself before placing the earphones back into your ears. Moving on to your shorts, you push them eagerly down your legs. "Yes, I have one of those little bullet vibrators."

"Good. I want you to get it for me, princess."

You bite your lip for a moment, feeling extremely dirty about what you're about to do. "Yes, sir..." you say before reaching toward your side cabinet and opening the bottom drawer. In an old, tiny, purple purse with a single zip sits the bullet. You take it out before getting comfortable on the bed once more. "I've got it."

He hums in approval. "Now, I'm more than happy to go slow, make this last, but I'm sensing that my girl wants to come hard and fast, am I right?"

You suck in an unsteady breath. Being called his girl really shouldn't make you feel as giddy as it does. Why and how does a complete stranger have such an effect on you? You're never one of those girls who fall for a man's charm easily. Yet here you are, swooning over a guy because he's good at talking dirty and has a sexy voice.

Apparently you were easier to seduce than you originally thought.

"Yes," you choke out, wondering if you'd wake up if you pinched yourself hard enough. You wouldn't try it, though, just in case you were dreaming. You really aren't ready for it to end. "God, yes."

"All right then," he chuckles, the sound warm. "I'll do what you want this time. Next time, what I say goes, okay, princess?"

Before you have a chance to respond, he's giving you more orders, and in no way are you complaining.

"I want you to spread your pretty little thighs for me, baby." His voice, and the way he's breathing, gives you the impression that he's getting just as excited as you are.

"Okay," you squeak rather embarrassingly. Cool air hits your most sensitive area as you do what he orders, your hands resting against the inside of your thighs, fingers clutching your vibrator as you wait impatiently for his instructions.

You have yet to turn the bullet on, but it already feels like your insides are vibrating.

"Now, take your hand and spread your pussy lips for me."

And there you go, once again speechless—and breathless—because of this man and his words. Seriously, he could do this job better than you. You have to admit, you're storing parts of this conversation away for both personal and professional use later on.

Your hands automatically do as he says, your body desperate for some kind of release. You feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start or what to do in order to relieve it. Thank God you have him to guide you; otherwise, you might combust. Then again, if he wasn't here, you wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"Okay," you breathe, feeling more and more like a client than a sex line operator. But taking control is obviously something he enjoys, so who are you to put a stop to this? What’s the saying? ‘Customers are always right?’ Well, you absolutely, completely, one hundred percent agree!

"Stretch yourself out," he continues, his voice starting to strain. "Force your sexy little clit out of its hood. I don't want it hiding when you start fucking yourself. All right, princess?"

Fuckkk. Just when you think he can't possibly get any hotter, he goes and says that. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire; your clit is so swollen it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you came the second you put any pressure on your nub.

"Now," he continues. "Turn your bullet on and press it to your clit. You're not allowed to stop until your legs are shaking and you're calling out my name. Got it?" You can hear how hard he's pumping his dick now. For a moment, you feel guilty. Are you neglecting him? But then you remind yourself again that this is what he wants.

You know you're not going to last long. You're too excited. Not to mention, it’s been a while since you've spent some time with your right hand. You twist the top of your bullet, putting it on the highest speed. You know you're worked up enough to take it; usually, you start on low and build your way up because you're overly sensitive. Right now, you know it won’t be an issue.

The bullet starts to shake violently, but the noise is low, like a quiet buzzing. Your left hand holds yourself open, fingers forming a 'V' and spreading your lips as far as you can, just as he instructed.

You don’t need to tell him what you’re doing; the moment you press the bullet to yourself, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips. You’re right—you definitely won’t last long. The vibrations are intense, and you draw small circles on yourself, pushing yourself even closer to the edge.

“Damnit,” he hisses. You’re quickly learning it’s one of his favorite words. “You sound fucking sexy. Wish I could see you. Watch you,” he inhales sharply. He’s just as close as you are.

“What’s—” you attempt to speak but end up gasping instead. Wetness gathers below, soaking your entrance and trailing toward your clit. The added lubrication lets the bullet slide more freely around your nub, the sensation unbelievable. “What’s—”

“Princess?” he chokes, likely having the same problem as you.

So close now. So fucking close. You just need a little more. The rhythm is perfect, and you can hear him breathing in your ear, letting out the occasional groan. It’s too damn much, but you can’t let yourself go—not without— “What’s your name?”

"Joel."

"Fuck - Joel!"

You see stars, as cliché as it sounds. Your whole body breaks into spasms, your left hand falling to the sheets and gripping the fabric desperately. Your right hand forces the bullet between your slippery lips, and your thighs clamp around your hand. Incoherent words tumble from your mouth: “Oh god,” “Fuck,” and Joel’s name.

As you come back down to earth, you can hear that Joel barely followed two seconds behind.

“Damn it, Princess. You’re so fucking good. Sound so pretty. Done so well,” the words spill from his mouth like sweet wine. He probably isn’t even aware of them. The sound of him fisting his dick is irregular and off-beat. “Fuck. Damn. You’re such a good girl.”

You remove the bullet from yourself—if you leave it there any longer, it’s going to become painful—and let out a giggle. Your cheeks are flushed, your body buzzing with pleasure. Lightheaded and giddy, you think to yourself that this guy must be amazing in bed. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly. “You can say that again. I can’t believe I almost hung up.”

“That would have been bad,” you reply, wondering if your heart will slow down anytime soon. “Very, very bad.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then pauses before adding, “Let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” You hesitate for only a moment. It’s unusual for clients to stick around afterward, but you’ve quickly realized this guy isn’t a normal caller.

“What’s your real name?” he asks. “No way is it ‘Angel.’” He snorts, finding your alias hilarious.

Is Angel that bad of a name? You think it’s kind of cool. The company is called Angels and Demons, with you being the Angel. Elliot’s alias is Daemon because it’s close to “demon” but sounds way better. When a customer calls, they get an automated voice instructing them to press the number for their chosen operator, complete with a brief description.

You’re losing your train of thought; you can’t give him your real name, can you? It’s against the rules. If Jane found out, she’d be pissed. She wouldn’t fire you, but her anger is almost as bad. With the image of facing her wrath in mind, you tell Joel, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Your tone is regretful because you’d really like to tell him. “My boss would…it’s against the rules.”

“Ah,” he responds, masking the disappointment. “It’s all right. I understand.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again, hating the idea of letting him down, especially after how amazing he just made you feel.

"Seriously, Princess, it’s fine,” he reassures you, easing the guilt. “I had a really good time tonight. You can bet I’ll be expecting a repeat tomorrow.” You just know that if you could see him right now, his eyes would sparkle with mischief.

Your pussy throbs again just thinking about it. God, he makes you insatiable. “I’m really, really looking forward to it,” you tell him honestly.

“Me too.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” Hanging up the phone, you place it against your lips, letting everything sink in. Alone with your thoughts, you can’t believe you just had full-blown phone sex with a client. It’s so unlike you. It’s more like something Elliot would do. Speaking of…

“Elliot, you won’t believe what just happened!” you shout at the top of your lungs.

[giulscomix]

After a long art block, I finally managed to sketch something again with these two!

I want to show the Similarities that Father and Daughter share, I'll do more about this subject ^_^ Same questioning look, same way to eat, but Gabi prefers burritos!

MY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN! If interested, please send me an e-mail: gjulslalli@gmail.com

[anathemaspeaks]

Could you please do "is that my shirt?" with best friend Shinso?

it's well past two am. you're secured within the comfort of your blanket like a burrito, mindlessly scrolling through tiktoks as you feel a sudden craving for midnight ramen. you don't normally stay up so late, though; it's more of a habit you picked up from your best friend.

shinso.

the thought of him sends a warmth fluttering through your body. the constantly sleepy and moody man has been your best friend for long, long time now - the two of you have always been close. so close, in fact, that you're wearing his shirt right now.

but wasn't that normal for best friends?

your thoughts are interrupted by a rather unceremonious growl that fills up the once silent room. right. the ramen. you begrudgingly pull yourself out of the little cocoon you made for yourself as goosebumps rise across your body due to the sudden exposure to the cold temperature of the room.

you sit on the edge of the bed for a while before standing and then walking out of the dorm to the kitchen, gathering everything you need to make the ramen. as the water boils, you hear a deep, groggy voice speak.

"'s that my shirt?" he asks, tired eyes staring right at you, a playful smirk on his face. he caught you.

"would you believe me if i said it wasn't?" you smile nervously, your heart racing all of a sudden. shinso chuckled, his eyes softening. he hums.

"no, i wouldn't. you've been stealing my clothes since middle school," he smiled at the memory with a look you've never seen before in his eyes. one that mirrored your own when you thought about him.

"why are you up so late, anyway? my habits rubbin' off on ya?" he teased.

"was jus' craving some ramen" you shrugged, still a little embarrassed at being caught.

"ramen, huh? i could go for some ramen right now" he padded over to the counter, leaning against it and watching you work.

once you finished, both of you sat on the counter, a comfortable silence filling the room as you ate. and maybe it was because of the time, or how intoxicated he felt off of you, but suddenly, shinso reached out and gently brushed a speck of ramen from your lips.

he was unable to look away from you, and you were so flustered. gazing up at him with a sparkle in your eyes and fuck, he couldn't control himself any more.

but there was no way he liked you back. he was just doing what friends do, wiping off food from your mouth because it would just be embarrassing otherwise. he was only being polite, you both-

and then you felt something warm against your lips.

oh my god.

he was kissing you.

it felt like a dam burst right then. your eyes fluttered closed, and you leaned into his warmth, kissing him with the same passion as he did. your arms wrapped around his neck, deepening the kiss even more as his hands caressed your waist.

and then you finally broke away, the need for oxygen overwhelming your senses. the both of you were still catching your breath, matching stupid grins on your faces.

"maybe i should steal your shirts more often"

check out my prompt list and send in requests <3

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, brief mentions of sex, discussions of canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Party Twenty of Ink & Needle

You seek comfort in Simon’s arms. Johnny comes for a visit. Walsh’s plan starts to be revealed.

Chapter Nineteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Simon’s skin is sticky with sweat.

Last night, you ran to him with tears in your eyes and his name on your tongue. Simon took you into his arm and offered you his body without question.

 He had you up against the wall with your legs locked behind him, shaking the decorations on the wall with each thrust. Simon dragged you to the floor after he came inside you. Putting his mouth to your sex, he ate you senseless. When you were boneless and soft, Simon wrapped you up in his arms, bringing you to his bed. The rest of the night, Simon worshipped your body, and whatever was on your mind seemed forgotten after the third orgasm.

Now it’s morning, and Simon stares at the ceiling.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and sighs. Your scent is still on his skin, and you taste lingers on his lips. The very thought brings a smile forth, the pride in his chest swelling at how pliant and good you were for him last night. Simon turns his head, glancing at the woman beside him. You’re completely out, curled up in the bedding like a burrito. All he can see of you is a nest of hair.

Simon has no plan to wake you. You deserve rest, and whatever it is that sent you to him in the dark, you’ll tell him in time. Never have you pushed him, and Simon respects that by not pushing you back. He hasn’t always been good about it, but after Scotland, he wants to try. Desperately.

Slowly, Simon slips out of the bed, heading into the bathroom. He quickly brushes his teeth and splashes some cold water onto his face. Rubbing the back of his neck, Simon looks at himself in the mirror. Sometimes he sees his father looking back, but all Simon sees is a ghost.

He takes note of his body as he does every morning. The bad knee aches, and his usual pains are there, but there isn’t any flare up. Nothing is bothering him more than it usually is. That at least is something Simon can work with.

Returning to the bedroom, Simon finds you turned over in the bed, one arm outstretched over the space he previously occupied. You’ve unraveled from the sheets, exposing bare leg and a portion of your stomach. Even in sleep, you seek him. Knowing that you’re naked under there sends a burning need through his blood. It travels southward, hardening what was previously soft.

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches with a smile. You’re adorable, and fucking sexy. Simon saunters over to the side of the bed. Lifting the sheets, he slides back in, lifting your arm so he can settle in beside you. You groan in annoyance, eyelids fluttering, snuggling closer to Simon as he releases your arm. It drapes over his chest and stomach, your fingers curling in slightly, the tips of your nails scratching his skin.

“Good morning,” you murmur, the hand on Simon’s stomach descending slightly.

“Morning, love,” replies Simon, voice still gravelly from sleep.

Your hand travels further south. Simon notices but dismisses it. He drapes his arm over your back to drag you into a kiss. At the moment his lips find yours, your hand wraps around the base of him, stroking lazily.

“What are you doing?” asks Simon against your lips. Beneath the question is desire. Simon loves it when you touch him. When you seek him first, it drives his possessiveness higher. You’re all his, and you knowing this pleases him.

You return the smile and gently squeeze, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. It sends a bolt of pleasure through him, his dick swelling with need.

Fucking hell.

“Do you not like it?” you tease, giving him another pump.

“I like it very much,” growls Simon, as you slightly change pace.

A possessive wave roils up, seizing Simon’s control. He grabs hold of the front of your neck, the size of his hand against your throat a marvel to him. In this, Simon is the dangerous one—the one that can easily break if you he tried. You’ve put your trust in him. You seek him for safety and comfort. That undoes him, twisting between and around his ribs until it clenches his heart.

You whimper at Simon’s touch. Using his leverage on his throat, Simon pushes you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. He goes in for another sweet kiss, grinding his hardness against your sex. Your hips flex, meeting him, and Simon groans into your mouth.

For Simon, you are fucking sweet. A treasure.

Grasping your hips, Simon turns you onto your side, pressing your back against his front. Slipping a hand between your legs, Simon lifts the top one by the thigh, giving him access. There is no resistance. You’re soft in his hands. Perfect. Wanton.

With his other hand, Simon guides himself between, sliding in to the hilt. You moan loudly, head falling back against his shoulder.

“You feel so fucking good, love,” groans Simon into your ear.

Simon has no idea if you’ve heard him, because he is lost after the words leave his mouth, pumping ferociously. Your exhalations are sharp and breathy. They float outward and up to the ceiling. All Simon understands is your body, and the luscious sounds you make.

Simon nuzzles your neck, grunting with each thrust. His bad knee aches but he doesn’t give a bloody fuck about it. The only thing that matters is how you feel around him, and how much he adores this closeness. He wants you all the time, and when you are here, he wants to take every advantage.

When you clench and spasm, Simon’s lower back and groin tighten. With one hand pressed to your lower belly, Simon holds himself inside you, giving you every drop.

The two of you linger like this for a bit, and when Simon finally retreats, he guides two fingers between your legs, stopping his release from escaping. He presses it back in, leaving gentle kisses against the curve of your shoulder. Reaching behind you, your fingers finding the back of his neck.

You scratch there with the tips of your nails and Simon’s eye close, tiredness returning with every pass. He’d love to stay like this. But Simon has to open up shop today, and you might have things to do on your agenda.

As badly as he wants to say, Simon forces himself to say the words.

“Ready for a shower?” whispers Simon into your ear.

You hum contentedly. It’s answer enough.

Dragging you from bed and into his arms, Simon carries you into the shower with him. Even there, he does not stop touching you until your moans fill the steamy room. When the two of you dried off and dressed, Simon makes breakfast.

“Want to tell me what happened?” asks Simon, bringing his tea mug to his lips.

He leans against the counter, waiting for the toaster to spit out his bagel. Simon is going to load it up with eggs, bacon, cheese. He needs something greasy and filling.

Your hand briefly pauses above Bravo’s back. Simon notices this hesitation, but it’s a slight thing. You return to scratching him like nothing is wrong at all. Bravo’s tail thump thump thumps against the kitchen floor.

“You think something happened?” you sigh, moving to scratch between Bravo’s ears. The German Shepard leans into the scratches, tongue lolling out to the side with contentment.

Simon knows you’re hiding something, and while he isn’t interested in pushing, he does want you to talk to him.

“Showed up late,” replies Simon, shrugging. “Didn’t call.”

You had tears in your eyes.

But Simon doesn’t speak it. He doesn’t want to corner you.

“Sorry for that.”

Simon frowns and strolls over to you. Placing his hand on the back of your head, Simon leans down. You answer his touch, seeking him just as he seeks you. The kiss is slow and a bit chaste. Simon offers up another, and you take that one too.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs. “Want to make sure you’re okay.”

Your smile is a bit sad, and Simon goes in for another kiss, wanting to turn it into a genuine one. He makes sure each is deep and intimate, playfully teasing with a quick nip before pulling away. This time, your smile is broad and delicious.

“It’s just family drama,” you answer.

“Your family?” asks Simon.

You shrug. “Evie’s family. But she’s like my sister. So I suppose it’s the same.”

Simon sets his tea mug onto the table, sliding into the chair next to you. “Anything you want to tell me?” The toaster goes off but Simon ignores it.

Your lips part before you glance away. “I regret not calling you yesterday.”

Simon blinks. “You don’t ever have to call me before coming over. Gave you a key for a reason.”

“Not that,” you laugh. Your smile is brief. “Earlier in the day. I should have called you immediately.”

That doesn’t sit well with him. Leaning forward, Simon places a hand on your knee. “Tell me what happened.”

Your exhalation is laced with exhaustion. “Archie’s parents stopped by. They tried to convince Evie to hand over parental rights to them.”

Simon’s grip on your knee tightens. “They demanded Lillian.”

That’s fucking fresh, but Simon isn’t shocked at all. After nearly knocking Adam off his chair at the pub, it’s no surprise the rest of the family is fucking vile.

“They didn’t leave with her,” you amend, tone a bit softer.

“Good,” growls Simon.

You place your hand on Simon’s, fingers intertwining. “It was messy. Stressful. I just needed to get away.”

“How do you feel now?”

You glance up, and the smile you give him goes straight to his dick. “I’m much better.”

The morning continues to be better for you because Simon sees to it. He feeds you a filling breakfast, and then takes you to the couch for another round of sex before you reluctantly leave him. Simon insists on walking you home, but you want some time to yourself before returning to Amelia’s. The two of you compromise on the door that exits on the street.

Simon kisses you the entire way out the door and down the stairs, drawing you back to him with each one. No matter of much your squirm or try to avoid him, Simon manages to snag you back, peppering you with kisses.

But it’s Friday.

The day Johnny said to expect him.

And Simon has his fucking job to do.

141 Ink is sup and open in record time. There is a buzzing beneath Simon’s skin. Maybe it’s all the sex he’s had, but he feels fucking good. Everything is in order. Everything is as it should be. You are his. 141 Ink is thriving. Simon is growing. Changing.

Slipping the balaclava on, Simon welcomes the first client of the day. Most of today’s bookings are piercings. Piercings don’t take long, and Simon made sure to book his schedule tight to make up for the lack of ink work. Of all the bookings today, only two are tattoos, both of whom are wanting smaller pieces that won’t take him more than hour or so to complete.

Simon falls into focus. He keeps his attention tight, all worries slipping away. The clients have his attention, and the day passes quickly.

After the last client leaves, Simon starts closing up. Johnny didn’t tell Simon when to expect him, just that he’d show up today. It’s already late, and if Johnny doesn’t arrive soon, he won’t linger in the shop too much longer.

At his desk, Simon decides to tidy the area. He really needs to fucking check his email but that’s work for another day. Shifting the paperwork around, Simon discovers a reminder.

Simon stares down at the sketches. Sketches meant for you. You asked him to tattoo you, and Simon still plans on it, but he wants it to be special. He’s narrowed it down to five with plans on redesigning each to see which he might like best. But the final decision will be a gift.

Something special to give to you.

Taking extreme care, Simon places the sketches into a neat pile on his desk, and sets them atop his sketchbook. His fingers linger against the topmost sketch. The charcoal sticks to the tips of his fingers.

The soft chime of 141 Ink’s front door opening snags Simon’s attention.

A familiar face walks through the door, and Simon grins behind the balaclava, pushing off the desk to greet his friend.

“Johnny,” calls Simon, striding toward him. “Wondered when you—”

Johnny holds up a hand and Simon comes to an abrupt stop. The raised hand forms into just an extended index finger that Johnny brings to his lips, indicating silence. Simon remains frozen, his gaze focused in on Johnny.

From his pocket, Johnny retrieves his phone. He types something out and then holds the phone up, screen-side facing Simon.

Someone might be listening.

What the fuck does that mean? Someone might be listening?

Johnny pockets his phone and glances around 141 Ink, his gaze assessing. Simon knows that look. It’s that military training kicking in. Does Johnny think there’s a bug somewhere in Simon’s shop? The idea seems absurd, but he’s never doubted Johnny before.

Then, Simon recalls the rest of the text.

It’s Walsh.

Coldness seeps in to Simon’s blood.

Simon lightly punches Johnny’s arm, grabbing his attention. He frowns at Simon, one eyebrow slightly arched in question. Like a light switch being flicked on, Simon returns to his history of violence.

Simon indicates he’ll take the back area while Johnny conquers the front with a few hand signals. Johnny nods, understanding. The two of them have done shit like this before but in far more dangerous places.

They split up, working through everything. Every drawer is opened and checked for false bottoms, lights are disconnected and inspected, vent coverings are removed and piping is cleared.

Nothing turns up. 141 Ink is clear.

Johnny and Simon meet in the middle of the shop. There’s a tension in Johnny’s jaw that Simon doesn’t like. He needs to know what the fuck is going on.

“Why would someone be listening, Johnny?” asks Simon, swallowing down an angry growl.

The very idea of someone invading Simon’s personal space infuriates him. This is home, his fucking business. He might share this space with Bravo but he’s also been sharing this space with you. And your safety is fucking everything to Simon.

“We should check your flat,” replies Johnny, avoiding the question.

“My flat?” scoffs Simon. “What the bloody hell is going on, Johnny?”

Something is wrong, really fucking wrong. Johnny never avoids question. The two of them have always been close, and the respect runs deep. It almost hurts that Johnny isn’t being completely truthful yet.

Johnny’s sigh is heavy. “Let’s check your flat first, Lt.”

Upstairs, they tackle the space together, going room by room. The process is slow, but this is Simon’s personal space. Neither of them wants to break anything. If this were a different place, they wouldn’t care about breaking shit. But this is Simon’s home, and the possible intrusion is personal.

Simon expects to find nothing—that Johnny is overreacting.

But Johnny isn’t.

He’s completely fucking right.

Johnny finds a microphone in the overhead light in the living room. Simon finds another microphone in his bedroom, this one hidden in the bedside alarm clock he never uses.

The offending devices look like beetles on the living room floor. Simon stares down at them, wanting to know who the fuck has been listening in on him. It’s certainly not SAS. They have no reason to, and it’s not British Intelligence. Those retirement papers were signed and Simon wiped his hands of the whole fucking thing.

This is far more sinister.

Simon grabs a nearby notepad and scribbles across the page, holding it up to Johnny.

Can you trace the transmission?

Johnny shrugs.

Maybe. It’s not promising but it’s something. Johnny bends down on one knee. Simon watches as he starts taking the microphone apart. His fingers are steady, and once the transmitter is disconnected, Johnny drops the tiny microphones and smashes them under his boot.

The sound is satisfying.

“I’ll take these to Price,” says Johnny, presenting his open palm.

The transmitters are small—nearly pea size.

“What do you think the range is?” asks Simon, staring down at the transmitters.

Johnny shrugs. “Can’t be too far. These are bloody fucking tiny. Perhaps a block or two.”

“A block or two?”

“I’m only guessing, Lt. Better at blowing things up.”

Simon grunts in acknowledgement. “You better start fucking talking, Johnny.”

“Might need a bloody drink first, Lt.”

Simon strides over to his personal bar. Grabbing two tumblers, Simon brings them to the kitchen table along with a bottle of scotch. He pours Johnny a heft portion, and the man knocks it back, slamming it down. Simon tops him off.

The two of them sit, the silence stretching for a bit. Johnny sighs heavily and runs his hands over his face. The transmitters sit in the middle of the table like an ill omen.

Johnny takes a sip of his scotch. “We had a month-long mission. Lots of surveillance. Infiltration.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Bloody fucking right,” quips Johnny. He takes another sip, grimacing slightly. “We were watching some of Walsh’s compounds.”

Simon frowns. “Were they actually his?”

“A few,” shrugs Johnny. “We had to move quietly. You know how he works.”

Simon knows exactly how Walsh works. He purposefully makes friends with people in the government as a means to cover up his activities. When he’s not making nice with politicians, he makes nice with extremist groups and religious leaders. Kit Walsh is only after what he wants, and he will seek those goals out with anyone willing to give him some leverage.

“At first, the circle was pretty wide. Wasn’t just one-four-one handling things. But information was leaking from somewhere. Laswell and Price were furious. Walsh and his cronies kept slipping through our fucking fingers.”

Johnny finishes his scotch and he pours himself another. “Every time we went to raid a place it’d be fucking empty. Cleared out. Nothing.” Johnny makes a face before taking a sip. “Circle started to tighten after that.”

“You find the snitch?”

Johnny nods. “Sure did. But we couldn’t do anything. Our mission wasn’t ‘sanctioned’ or some other bullocks.”

Simon shakes his head. “Someone working behind the scenes then.”

“Yeah,” nods Johnny. “Government level and military. We know who Walsh likely paid off but sticking that accusation is going to be fucking difficult.”

“So everything is happening under the radar?”

“For now,” confirms Johnny. “We have to pretend like we’re not touching the guy but neither Price or Laswell plan on letting this bastard walk free. Not after everything.”

It explains a few things but not much. There are still so many unanswered questions.

“And what about me, Johnny?” asks Simon. “Why is someone listening in on me?”

Johnny grimaces and then finishes off more scotch. He reaches for the bottle and Simon snags it out from under him.

“Talk to me, Johnny,” says Simon.

“Pour me some scotch first,” he counters. Simon stares him down and Johnny laughs. “I fucking deserve it.”

Simon shoves the bottle toward him and Johnny snatches it up, filling his glass.

“Someone found out that it was you we talked to.”

“What?”

Johnny sighs. “Someone found out Price, Gaz, and I talked to you. They told Walsh. He knows, Simon.”

Fragments of memory return suddenly and violently. Simon is thrust back into that tiny parking lot in Edinburgh when he saw a shadow of a man leaning against Simon’s car. Simon recognized the stance and shape. He thought it was Walsh then, and with Johnny’s confession, it likely was.

And it’s not just that one moment. There were others—like the time you and Simon had breakfast at the little café down the street. How Simon had glanced across the street and saw a familiar yet burned face.

Simon dismissed all those moments, believing they meant absolutely nothing—that his old demons were simply awakening to bite as snarl at him.

Wrong. Completely wrong.

“You think Walsh had these planted?” nods Simon at the transmitters.

Johnny remains quiet but that’s answer enough. Scowling, Simon has to force down the rising anger. He wants to punch the fucking wall. To know that Walsh invaded his home and walked amongst his things, enrages Simon.

And it’s not only that.

Simon has no idea when these were planted. It certainly had to happen well before yesterday which means whoever is listening on the other end has not only heard Simon but heard you. With one of them planted in the bedroom, it’s likely that whoever is listening in heard every one of your moans.

That is vicious. A violation.

You are his. Your pleasure is only for Simon’s ears.

“What are the next steps?” asks Simon, clearing his throat.

The issue is that Simon isn’t part of the military anymore. He has no foot in this race. Whatever Price and Laswell have planned is out of his control. But know what might be coming can help him figure out what his next steps need to be. Protecting you is the most important thing to him.

“There are a few more compounds we’ve been looking at. Gaz has been on surveillance. Keeping tabs.”

“But you haven’t found him?” asks Simon.

Johnny shakes his head. “No. But we’ve taken out a few of his contacts. Intercepted a few weapons shipments.” Johnny shrugs. “We seized a forty-foot shipping container full of drugs out from under him. Walsh was trading it for weapons.”

“Bet he hated that,” snorts Simon.

“Oh, I’m sure,” replies Johnny with a smile. It’s a brief grin, one that disappears quickly. “It’s not enough though. We’ve made ground but it’s small. No one is happy.”

It’s not surprising. It took Simon nearly a year before he was able to get close enough to Walsh to kill him. But he didn’t kill him. He might have shoved a blade into his chest and watched him fall into flames, but even that couldn’t take the man out. This time, it better happen with a bullet. One that strikes true and between the eyes.

“You have any idea where he might be?” asks Simon.

“He’s back in Europe. We know that for certain. Whatever he did in the States is over. Laswell believes he was schmoozing. Looking for donors to his cause.”

“Yeah, well, Walsh enjoys spending other peoples’ cash. It’s why we had such a hard time tracking him.”

Johnny lifts the bottle of scotch and inspects the liquid within. “And I enjoy other peoples’ liquor.”

“You drive here, Johnny?”

“Nope.” He brings the bottle to his lips, drinking deep.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, snagging the bottle out from Johnny’s grasp.

Johnny chuckles, cheeks a bit flushed from the alcohol. He leans forward and places his arms on the kitchen table. “I’m real sorry, Lt. We never wanted you to get messed up in this.”

“It’s not your fault, Johnny. You didn’t plant these. You didn’t tell Walsh I helped you.”

“I know.”

Simon pushes up from his chair and takes the now empty bottle to the sink. Setting it down, he comes back to the table, arms crossed over his chest. “Stay here for the night. Take the couch.”

“Do I get a blanket?” teases Johnny.

Simon glances at the couch where there’s a throw blanket and pillow already waiting for him.

“How’d you know?”

“I fucking didn’t.”

Johnny laughs. Simon removes the tumblers from the table, adding them to the dishwasher. When Simon turns around, Johnny stares out in the living room, a crease in his brow.

“Price doesn’t believe Walsh is coming after you.”

Simon frowns. “It wasn’t really on my mind. But I did run him through.”

“Aye. Lt. You did.” Johnny strides over to the sofa, grabbing the blanket off the back. He shakes it out and holds it up. It won’t cover him completely. If anything, it looks fucking small compared to Johnny’s broadness.

“Is this for a fucking child?” asks Johnny.

Simon rolls his eyes and pulls out a sheet from the closet. “Here, you wanker.”

Johnny does a pretend bow and before he fluffs the pillow. Simon knows Johnny is only trying to lift his spirits. This situation with Walsh is fucked—a complete mess. But Simon has confidence in Price and Laswell. If they don’t believe Walsh is coming after Simon, he’ll take their word. But that doesn’t mean he won’t keep an eye out.

“You should take her away for a bit,” says Johnny.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your woman. Take her somewhere. Get away.”

“We were just at the cottage, Johnny.”

He shrugs. “I know, but—” He pauses. “Might be good.”

“Could I bring her for Christmas?”

Johnny turns in Simon’s direction. “Of course you can. Mum would love that.”

Simon nods. “I’ll handle it, Johnny.”

“I know you will, Lt.”

taglist:

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

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36

@miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @creamwhxre @sageyxbabey

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @theshrikeandcanary

@yawning-grave81 @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @corvusmorte @darling006

@azkza @nishim @carma-fanficaddict @haven-1307 @voids-universe

@itsberrydreemurstuff @i-feel-violated @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep

@statixx-x @umno-yeah @webmvie @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @aykxz98 @kadeeesworld @xxkay15xx @iloveslasher

@sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky @suhmie @cinnabeanz @rogerrhqpsody

[babyleostuff]

it's been... a week 😭

this is my first time actually sending any request to anyone- thank you for all of your amazing work and for bringing joy to the community 🫶 !

could i request little drabble of a few members (of your choice!) and different ways they'd comfort their bestfriend (or s/o)?

thank u sm for your consideration, the soft hours are hitting 🥹🥹🥹

i'm so happy you enjoy my work, and i'm more than happy to write some comfort drabbles for you 🫶

svt comforting their s/o

➼ includes: seungcheol, jeonghan, jihoon, seokmin, chan

seungcheol

the cold wind brushed your hair away from your face, as you wrapped the blanket more securely around your body. “here, take this one too,” seungcheol said, as he came up from behind carrying a third blanket. if it was up to him, he’d most likely bundle you up in ten of them. 

“honey, i’ve already got two, i promise i’m not cold anymore,” he pouted at your words, kissing the top of your head. “just want you to be comfortable.” you pulled one of your arms out of your blanket burrito, making grabby hands at him. if not, seungcheol would probably keep running between the kitchen, your bedroom, and the balcony where you were sitting to make sure that you had everything you needed. 

“do you want to talk about it?” he asked, wrapping the third blanket around himself and you, pulling your body securely to his side.

with one arm around your shoulders, and the other holding your hand under the blanket, he placed gentle kisses on your cheek, nudging it with his nose. 

you just shook your head, and scooted closer to him, enjoying the warmth coming from his body. or was it just those three blankets?

jeonghan

“pink or purple?” jeonghan raised up two ribbons in your favourite colours. you thought for a second, before grabbing the purple one. “at the last concert you had pink hair pins, now let's do something with purple.” you sat more comfortably on the sofa, tilting jeonghan’s head as he sat between your legs, so you had better access to his hair. 

when you came home looking like you were about to cry, jeonghan knew exactly what he should do to put a smile back on your face again. he quickly pecked you cheek, before telling you to sit on the couch, and disappearing in your bedroom, just to reappear a few seconds later with your bag of hair accessories that you sometimes used on him too. 

“tell me if i pull too hard,” you said, running your fingers through his hair. “you never pull too hard, ” jeonghan said gently, matching the quietness of your apartment.

“i’m not sure if i’ve told you this before, but i love it when you play with my hair,” you giggled, remembering all of the times he made sure you knew just how much he liked getting his hair done by you.

jihoon

“come here,” jihoon scooted to the outer side of his piano stool and patted the space, making room for you. he stopped playing some time ago, his fingers lingering on the keys, probably having a hard time figuring the next note for the song. you were too deep into your thoughts to notice that though, your body present, but mind not so much. 

to say that this had been a hard week would be an understatement, and so you ran away to one of the few places you knew you’d find some comfort - the universe factory. the second you stepped through the door, jihoon pulled a blanket around your shoulders, ushering you to the sofa. he didn’t ask what had happened - he knew that if you wanted to talk about it you would, so he just settled for sitting by the piano, giving you some space he knew you needed. 

“hm?” you raised your head from that one spot you had been looking at the whole time. “come here,” jihoon repeated. “i don’t want to distract you,” you said, not noticing that he had been distracted for a very long time now. how could he focus on anything when he knew you were sad and there was nothing he could do about it? “just… come here, please,” he pleaded. 

you wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, and took the place next to jihoon. he put his hand on your cheek, guiding your head to his shoulder, so you could rest there, as one of your arms found its way around his waist, pressing your body closer to his. his fingers glided gently over the piano keys. 

“hug or don’t wanna cry?” “hug,” you whispered. 

seokmin

“popcorn?” check.

“drinks?” check.

“wearing comfy clothes?” check 

earlier that day, when you came home teary eyed, seokmin swore his heart broke a little seeing you so upset, and he promised himself he’d do everything in his power to cheer you up a bit. and what could be better than a movie night?

you get to eat all of the yummy food, and he gets to cuddle you. a win-win situation. 

“baby, can you just bring a hoodie for me?” you asked. “i think it’s getting a bit chilly.” your boyfriend nodded, and quickly disappeared in the hallway leading to your bedroom. you made yourself comfortable on the couch, amongst the pillows and blankets that seokmin place there. “it’ll be more cosy, then,” he insisted. 

“here you go, love,” he said, handing you the hoodie. and not just any hoodie - it was the one seokmin would always leave behind when he was away for work, or overseas for concerts.

you smiled up at him, and pulled it over your head, getting welcomed by the familiar warmth and smell of his cologne.

chan

you knew baking with chan would be a very bad idea, but it seemed so perfect when he proposed to make your favourite chocolate cake two hours ago - now your kitchen was covered in flour and cocoa. 

“do you think i’ve added the right amount, baby?” chan asked, clearly confused by the recipe. “i think we stopped adding the right amount of stuff like an hour ago,” you shrugged, looking over his shoulder into the bowl.

you had a shitty day that day, and it didn’t help that you were supposed to meet with your boyfriend for a date you had planned a long time ago, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to come. so, instead chan showed up at your doorstep with a bunch of ingredients, and your favourite hoodie of his. 

was your boyfriend a bad cook? yes. was he an even worse baker? definitely - but that didn’t stop you from trying. and it definitely took your mind off of your bad day. 

“wait, you’ve got butter on your nose channie,” you held his jaw gently between your fingers, cleaning the mess on his face, his eyes staying on you for the whole time.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @dkswife @marisblogg @whatsgyud @aaniag

[owlcomics101]

Bug hybrid!Task force 141 x Human!reader

Bug hybrid AU LETS GOOOOO-

Warning: Bugs/insects/arachnids, sfw (I am a minor), fluff, bug shenanigans,

Let’s bug out y’all (I’m sorry please stay-)

Moth Hybrid Price:

-One of his moth antenna‘s are damaged leaving him unable to fly (He can glide though)

-Sometimes he eats your sweaters if you accidentally leave them in his office or quarters (He immediately apologizes repeatedly and tries to buy you a new one)

-During mating season he gets all fluffy like a moth (he’s gonna need help with shaving…)

-And yes, he can’t resist any form of light but only at night (Price is obsessed with Reader because their eyes shine bright from any light’s reflection)

Funfact: Moths are actually pollinators and feed off of nectar just like their cousin the butterfly.

Tarantula hybrid Gaz:

-Has the lower half of a Tarantula (Like a centaur but spider)

-Large Tarantula pinchers that can poke out of his mouth (Eating is messy for him. Poor Gaz)

-His bunk is completely covered in webs

-Has the urge to constantly make small webs to impress the reader

-During mating season he fluffs up like Price and also does a little mating dance (He’s only done it once on accident in front of the reader)

-Has Venom but it is weak when inflicted on humans (Some can have serious reactions depending)

-Likes to wrap the Reader in webs like a burrito (Blink twice if your endanger reader)

Funfact: Tarantulas can get severely injured if they fall from great heights (Be careful with your eight-legged friends)

(Centipedes honestly terrify me-)

Centipede Hybrid Ghost:

-Cury antennas (They twitch and move around)

-Lower half of a centipede (Like a centaur but centipede)

-His legs make little click sounds when he walks (Sends shivers down the spines of anyone who hears it)

-Disgusted of himself. Ever since the team’s transformation he’s honest to god disgusted and horrified of his appearance (Reader sees through that and helps him through it)

-Coils his lower half around the reader. Being the only remaining human of the task force he’s very protective of them like the others are.

-During mating season he gives off a foul Oder and makes webs to impress the Reader like Gaz does (They get very competitive with each other)

Funfact: Centipedes are not harmful to humans. In fact they help keep the pests away like cockroaches, moths, flies, silverfish and termites. They also do not make webs or nests indoors. (As much as they terrify me they do take care of the pests)

Praying Mantis Hybrid Soap:

-Has the mantis arms under his normal arms at his sides and cute antennas on his head. (And he has the Mantis tail. I believe it’s called a Metathorax?)

-Hunts like crazy (His urges constantly puts him in hunting mode)

-He’s always bringing back everything he hunts to the Reader (Makes him even happier if you eat what he gives you in front or him-or pretend to)

-Able to fly/glide for a short distance

-For mating season….uh….lets just say mantises are very horny

Funfact: Mantises can turn their heads a Full 180 Degrees. They have very flexible a joint between the head and prothorax that allows them to swivel their heads.

Bonus:

(Roach is Roach)

Cockroach Hybrid Roach:

-He has the Roach antennas, and roach arms/legs under his normal arms (He has the roach tail as well)

-Fucking indestructible. (Can literally survive radiation)

-Can literally eat anything (that’s from a living organism

-Cuddles. He’s clingy and always wants a cuddle from the reader after a long mission. (I honestly don’t blame him with the shit the task force goes through on a daily basis)

-Reader is very worried about Roach despite his indestructibility and always panics if he gets hurt during a mission. (He enjoys the attention)

Funfact: Cockroaches like to cuddle. Cockroaches like feeling something solid against their bodies. That’s why they hide in cracks and crevices or even your stacked towels and linens.

[tsukimara]

Death the Kid x Sick fem!reader, please.

જ⁀➴ Sick Day

✰ Pairing: Death The Kid x fem!sick!reader

✰ Summary: Kid takes care of sick!reader

✰ Warning: Umm one swear?

✰ Thank you for the request dear anon! I love that there is a new tik tok trend related to Soul Eater (I hope it won't be just a temporary thing and that people won't forget about Soul Eater again please)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

• What are you doing in class???

• Kid immediately noticed that something was wrong with you and took you out before you even entered.

• He will definitely take you home (There's no way he's taking you to Dr. Stein) and on the way he will scold you for coming to school sick, endangering yourself and others.

• "What if you fainted from exhaustion?" "Next, send your meister/weapon to me to tell me you're not feeling well." "You have a fever?!"

• But then he will apologize to you for scolding you, but he was just worried about you and didn't want anything to happen to you.

• I think Kid is even good at taking care of sick people, for example when Patty and Liz were sick (but has a softer spot for you and will be with you 24/7).

• If you have a fever you are dead. Kid will personally make sure you take your medications and eat well.

• Doesn't take no for an answer.

• Kid hates germs and diseases but for you he will try to help you.

• You'll end up wrapped like a burrito in a blanket.

• You try to get up to get something? No way! Just tell him what you need and he will bring it to you.

• "What are you doing out of bed? Go back there." "Kid, I just want to go to the bathroom."

• He'll make you food, or at least try to.

• Expect the most symmetrical food you've ever seen.

• Unfortunately, he won't give you any kisses or cuddle with you because he doesn't want to get ill too, but when you get better, he will make up for it.

• Once you're feeling better, Kid will give you his class notes to help you catch up.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Kid sat down in his seat and waited for class to start until he saw his girlfriend enter the classroom not looking too good. She had bags under her eyes, her hair was a mess and same her clothes. Kid quickly packed his things, knowing that he wouldn't come back to class after seeing your condition and moved towards you.

"Oh! Good morning-" You couldn't finish your sentence as Kid led you out of the classroom, the confusion visible on your face.

"You're sick, I'm taking you home." Kid took your bag so you wouldn't have to carry a heavy bag like this.

"But-" "No buts. What if something happened to you?"

"Then-" "Please, next time tell your meister/weapon to inform me about such things." Kid kept interrupting you, you wanted to punch him lightly so you could finally say something, but then he placed his hand on your forehead.

"You have a fever?!" Ah fuck.

It ended up that when you got to your house, you were sent to bed and he wrapped a blanket around you, making you a burrito. You thought that after he took you home he would go back to school, but surprisingly he stayed and went to the kitchen to make you food.

Later, he entered your room, in his left hand he held a plate with triangle-shaped sandwiches and in his right he held water and some pills.

"It's nothing special but at least you will have a full stomach, then take the pills, they should help you." Kid set the plate and water aside to help you sit up, even though you could have done it yourself. After eating, he went to take your plate to the kitchen, you felt like going to the bathroom so you got up and headed towards the bathroom but suddenly Kid appeared and scared you a little.

"What are you doing out of bed? Go back." He said as he tried to take you back to your room. You swear your little illness made this boy so soft but you didn't mind.

"I just wanted to go to the bathroom."

When you came back from the bathroom, you immediately lay down on the bed, wrapping yourself in a blanket for warmth. Kid was sitting in your chair, reading a book.

"You know, since you're so worried about me, maybe a little kiss and a hug will heal me a bit?" You teased him, when he smiled you thought he would agree but then he shook his head, closing the book and looking at you.

"Why nottttt???"

"Because you're sick and I don't want to be sick too." You leaned back on your pillows and crossed your arms, pouting slightly. For a moment you forgot that your boyfriend hated germs, but that's okay because he ended up staying anyway and he didn't even have to, it made you smile, knowing you meant a lot to him.

"And don't worry about your lessons, you'll catch up on them thanks to me."

"Thanks, Kid. I love you." You could see a little redness on his cheeks, but he smiled slightly and nodded.

"I love you too, [Name]."

➥ Soul Eater Masterlist ➥ Masterlist

➥ Rules request

[haveihitanerve]

Steph and Bruce things-

Bruce once said- “when I die I want you to be the one who lowers me into the grave so you can let me down one last time” and dick gaped at him in horror, jason exploded into laughter, and steph glared at him before giving him a high five

Steph ends every argument with him with “i won this argument” even if she- especially if she very clearly did not

When she gets injured Bruce forces her to stay at the manor. Its the only time he is permitted to actually parent her because she is injured and needs to recover, but thats not to say she doesn't break into the cave and annoy him during work and force him to take her with him everywhere

Steph has all the codes and keys for everything in Wayne Manor/Batcave, but still breaks in everytime she comes over. It drives Bruce insane

When bruce gets injured shes one of the kids who sits at his side the whole time, especially if its because of her or its a big injury(dick is usually the other one)

When he gets sick she forces him to sit on the couch with her all day and folds him into a burrito blanket and eat junk food and slightly burnt soup with bread and watch trashy tv

When she gets sick bruce wraps her in a blanket burrito that she actually cannot escape from and takes her everywhere with him, just carting around his technically not daughter who is forced to be there and take the medicine he gives her and food and everything because shes wrapped in a straight jacket blanket

He picks her up from school and will have the most embarrassing songs ever playing, or will call out something awful like “is that the boy you have a shrine of in your room?”

Will lecture her in front of her friends

Steph changes all his contacts frequently so he always has to spend some time deciphering who it is based on what she called them, or he just starts every conversation with “who is this?”

She once forced him to come to a concert with her and buy matching t-shirts and merch and whenever shes feeling down he wears the shirt as like.. Solidarity and it makes her feel better

Every year for her birthday or christmas or something he sends her a bat symbol, either in purple or black or some other color and every year on his birthday she actually wears it for one day and lets him “claim” her as a bat

She was the first one to visit the League and gave everyone whiplash and made Batman actually break composure

Bruce will actively go on the patrol route she goes on and throw water or like snacks at her while screaming “Hydrate or diedrate!!!” and it is common to see a screaming Spoiler sprint away from Batman across rooftops

They have a snowball fight every year and she recruits every batkid to help

When shes on her period bruce “grounds her” from patrol and forces her to accept his mother henning just once a month. Steph doesn't actually mind. 

Steph gives him actually useful dating advice

Since shes not actually his daughter she lacks the baggage of being his child and tells him when hes messed up and he and Babs have like meetings with him to explain what hes done wrong with his kids and how to fix it/be better. Dick is also sometimes involved in these meetings when he is not the offended party

thats all i could think of rn but please feel free to add more 💗

[intimidating-fettuccine]

hi aubrie ^^

hope you're doing good today. as per my mistake in saturday I'm just feeling something hungry for crumbs about Jeff and little habits he does that are unique to him or a day to day with him as a s/o please.

i apologize again for sending the request on saturday. I hope you have a good morning and THANKS A LOT :))

att. number one aubrie fan

I'm glad you got it back in, and I hope you enjoy :) I decided to sort of combine your ideas.

Also to be fair, since I did this specifically for him and his s/o, if you just wanted to send in a question asking about a few habits of just his I'd be fine not considering that a request since it's just about him and not involving a s/o :p I think I've accepted questions for habits the creeps do and not counted them as requests

Living day-to-day with Jeff is probably more normal than one might expect. He tends to try and take things easy with you when he's spending time alone with you because the rest of his life tends to be a bit hectic and chaotic, so you're his nice, wonderful slice of domestic bliss that he can't help but constantly crave. He's developed a few habits with you over time in your relationship living side by side like this with you, some of them so subconscious he won't realize he has them unless you point them out to him directly, and some of which you can definitely tease him for.

One of those said habits is that every single time he has a rough or tiring day and he's on his way home to you he always texts you, "Snuggles? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻" every single time without fail. It doesn't matter what caused him to send it, it's just his codeword for saying he had a bad day and he wants you to cuddle the fuck out of him when he gets home because he's sad and you always make him feel better. If you're both at home and he's feeling a little sad, rather than texting you, he'll wait for you to walk into the room and pout at you with his arms stretched toward you while making grabby hands to get you to snuggle him. Jeff is handsy in general, and so one of his other habits, this one subconscious, is that if you're next to him he's going to fidget with you in some way. If you're sitting next to him, he's gonna be squeezing your thighs or wrapping his arm around you. If you're walking side by side, that arm is back around you or he's holding your hand and squeezing it in random patterns. If he's sitting next to you and bored he tends to pull your hand into his lap and play with it with both of his, rotating your hand around and playing with your fingers, just absentmindedly fidgeting with it, which is quite amusing to watch. The other creeps have also started teasing him for that one, as they always say they know when Jeff wants to leave and is done socializing because he's playing with your hand.

As I've said before, he makes it a habit to make you breakfast as often as he can, and he makes the best fucken pancakes. Another thing he does is that if he's starting to space out if he's standing behind you he'll spread out his legs and sort of bounce back and forth and start poking your back in random places while he does so. When he's spending time with you if the two of you see something even remotely cute he always points at it and very quickly says "That's you!" and if you try to counter him and say it's him instead he'll have a mini sassy argument with you over how it's obviously you, going back and forth with you. Also, absolutely randomly tickles you to try and catch you off guard, although he stops when you ask him to. He also encourages you to randomly tickle him as well to see if you can catch him off guard. When you're going to sleep together sometimes I think he likes to burrito you in the blankets, wrapping you up really tightly, and he'll just pull you between his legs so you're laying on his chest and he'll hold you and nuzzle into the top of your head or your neck and call you his little burrito or his little worm. He's also made it a habit whenever you're both going to bed to every night watch an episode or two of something with you so the two of you can watch new things together and just settle down together. He enjoys doing domestic things like that with you the most because it gives him some sort of semblance of normalcy amidst his very non-normal life, and that's one of the reasons he's so grateful to have you because you do that for him. He loves you so, so incredibly much, and he's so thankful to have you with him.

[weepingwillowwonder]

My daaaaaaarling Willow 🥹💕

I can’t remember if this is my first request because I send so many random thoughts to you IT’S HARD TO RECALL.

Please could I request ANYTHING Fizzarozzie x Reader :3c whatever your heart desires~ smut, not smut, random drabbles anything! 🩵

Heheheheh, why yes this is your first request and BOY do I have one for you Anything my heart desires you say? >///>

This is sorta kinda a drabble but uh also not? I apologize in advance for jumping around

Asmodeus x GN!Reader x Fizzarolli 

What happens when their partner is in heat?

[Yes this is explicit content, no Minors are not allowed 🔞]

CW: A bit of plot, Reader in heat, Dirty Talk, Sub/dom dynamics, Daddy dom (it's Ozzie, it's always Ozzie), Overstimulation, Fizz passes out, Penetration, Crying

~~

¤ As experienced as these two are, specifically Ozzie, would quickly pick up the fact that something was going on after you spent the day acting strangely. The longing touches, the need to be in the closest proximity, feeling overheated... At first you deny their comments, brushing it off as just ‘feeling odd’. But you only seemed to become needier…

¤ Early in the day, you find Asmodeus quietly spending time by himself, reading a newspaper with the latest happenings in the city. "Can I sit with you..?” you initially ask sweetly, while actively crawling into his lap. “...'m just gonna…squeeze in here." Not thinking much of it, he makes room for you and welcomes you happily, patiently rubbing your hip as you settle. “Comfy?” he chuckles softly, and all you can do is nod and give a small ‘mhm’ as you release a sigh and snuggle into the warmth of his chest. Somehow, you can feel the restlessness you felt slowly drifting away.

¤ When Fizzarolli comes home after being out all day, you don't hesitate to greet him at the door. Barely giving him time to fully come into the house, your arms come around to envelop him,  inhaling his scent as you bury your face into his neck. Your fingers tightly gripping his shirt, catches him by surprise. "Whoa babes, ya miss me or something?" He asks harmlessly poking fun at your eagerness to see him. And while you knew he was joking, you couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming comfort to be back in his presence. A soft sniff from you has him yanking away to look at you with his hands on his shoulders, “Wait hun, are you crying?” You only pull away to re-attach yourself to him. “Just missed you is all...” You miss the strange look he gives as he drags you along further into the house, hesitant to leave your side.

¤ A bit later on, you find yourself preventing your partners from doing laundry, claiming that the sheets were just in the wash not that long ago. You wrapped yourself in a burrito of blankets as Asmodeus started pulling up the fitted sheet. “Babydoll, I’m gonna need that blanket from you, it needs to go in the wash.” His eyebrows raise in amusement as he watches you tuck yourself in even more. “The blankets smell fine!” You announce after making a show of sniffing them. “You really don’t have to change them…” He crawls onto the bed and hovers over you, “Baby, I don’t know what you’re smelling, but these blankets? They got to go.” He grabs the corner of the blanket, but you only hold on tighter. When Asmodeus says your name, you hear the warning in his voice. “But Ozzie, it smells fineee!” You whine as your grip loosens. He gently unrolls you from the blanket, and you curl up, clinging to a nearby pillow instead. Asmodeus sighs, throwing the comforter on the floor. “You know I’m gonna need that too right?” You only continue your complaining, muffled by your face shoved into the pillow. When Fizzarolli comes in to take the sheets to the washer, he eyes you both on the bed suspiciously. “Are you guys having fun without me?” He fake gasps with a hand to his mouth. Asmodeus rolls his eyes and explains the situation, while coaxing the pillow from your grasp. Curiously, FIzzarolli lifts the blanket from the floor to his nose and immediately cringes as the musky scent hits his nose. “Erm...babe. Haaate to break it to you, but I’m gonna have to agree with Ozzie on this one. The sheets, they smell like…” He pauses trying to find a nice way to put it but both you and Asmodeus beat him to it. Asmodeus pries the pillow from your hands.  “You both…” you answer to yourself in a whisper at the same time Asmodeus says matter of factly, “Last night.” 

¤ Throughout the day, you recall needing to change clothes on multiple occasions due to being overly warm and sweating through just about everything you had put on. “Sweetheart, what happened to your outfit from earlier? I mean this is cute too, don’t get me wrong, but isn’t this like the fourth time you’ve changed today…?”  Asmoseus’ hands trail underneath your shirt and along your back. You insisted on laying on top of him as you cuddled, wanting to be as close to him as physically possible. Once again, Asmodeus, as patient as ever, sat still as you climbed your way on top of him and curled up against his chest. “...Was too hot. Got all sweaty.” you mumble, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling into his shoulder. As he strokes the back of your head affectionately, he swears he hears the softest whimper from you in that moment. His hand pauses, “Sweetheart…have you been feeling alright today? Fizz mentioned you seemed kinda off earlier.” It takes you a second to answer, distracted by the growing foggy feeling in your head.”I dunno what he’s talking about. I told him I was fine, ‘ts just hot today and I was happy when he came home.” Asmodeus hums to himself, taking note of your slightly agitated tone. He decides not to ask about it further. 

¤ When it’s time for bed, you find yourself still feeling overheated, despite a cold shower only moments ago. It's almost like you hadn’t showered at all when you slip on only a thin t-shirt and a pair of underwear, feeling a thin layer of sweat creeping along your skin. “Babydoll, are you sure you’re feelin’ alright? You’ve been acting really strange today… ” Fizzoralli questions you with a worried expression as he sits up in bed. Your lips part as your breathing begins to get a little heavier, “H-huh?” you say as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. He asks the question again more firmly, the concern now clearly evident in his voice, “I asked if you were okay? You don’t look so hot…” You nod, swaying slightly, but you catch yourself at the edge of the bed. “Think ‘m okay, ‘s just hot…” You respond, speech slurred together. “Whoa babe,” Fizzarolli jumps up in an attempt to catch you as you stumble unbalanced, but ends up kneeling next to you instead as you sit on the edge of the bed. “Oz?” He calls out to your shared partner as he reaches up to set a hand on your cheek. The contact has you whimpering and leaning into his hand. “F-fizzy…” Fizzarolli yells for your other partner again, this time louder.

¤ Asmodeus hurries into the room when he hears his name, eyebrows knit together in concern. “Froggy, what’s going on?” He sets a hand on Fizzarolli’s back and kneels to get a better look at you. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asks, taking in your appearance. At this point, your face is now buried in your hands, rubbing at your eyes as stray tears begin to fall. Fizzarolli shrugs in panic as the other wordlessly looks to him. “They’ve been acting weird all day, super clingy, talking about how warm it's been?” he shakes his head. “And just now, broke into a sweat and almost fell over right after a shower…” 

¤  Asmodeus calls out to you, making you raise your head with a sob, your hands flexing open and closed as you try to endure the overwhelming feelings. “Shh, you’re okay. Take a deep breath for me...” He offers. You try to focus on him by blinking away your tears and taking in shaky breaths. “Can you tell us how you feel right now? Tell us what’s going on?” He sets a hand on your knee and takes note of how your legs immediately spread for him. Fizzarolli, who also seems to notice, sets a gentle hand on the back of your neck in an attempt to comfort you. It’s hard to focus on anything with their hands on you and suddenly you start to feel dizzy again. “...’m not sure. Think I should lay down…” You whisper, leaning forward into Asmodeus’ chest. He moves forward to scoop you up in his arms and your body instinctively wraps around him, feeling more secure in his embrace. 

¤ When he lays you down in bed, you don’t let go of him, holding on tightly as he tries to pull away. He places a gentle hand on your lower back and you arch against his chest with a soft moan. ‘Strange.’ Asmodeus thinks to himself and he asks Fizzarolli to grab a cool washcloth. The other hurriedly does what he’s asked and then watches as the washcloth is draped over your forehead. Your eyes slip close as the cool wetness hits your face, sighing as it helps to slightly decrease your body temperature. Exhaustion begins to take over and you slip into unconsciousness, you briefly hear bits of the conversation of the other two. “..have to work…really important meeting…stay with them the entire time, Froggy…I’m afraid they might be going into…”

¤  When you wake up in the middle of the night, the seemingly sudden heat feels insufferable. You kick the blankets off of your body and tug off the sweat-soaked shirt you had on. Still groggy you reach down to take off your underwear as well to find them also wet, but not just with sweat. As you remove the item, you hiss as you feel each inch of the fabric peel away from the area between your legs, leaving you throbbing. A moan slips from your lips as your legs press together and your hand quickly reaches down to try to relieve the pressure , gasping in surprise at exactly how much you were leaking. Although you couldn’t see yourself in the dark, you felt every bit of the slickness of your arousal as you touched yourself. Quickly forgetting about your sleeping partner, your own fingers stroke earnestly now, reaching lower and lower to find your sensitive hole. You don’t even realize you’ve rolled over until you find yourself on your belly, trying to use your own slick to finger your hole. Your face falls further into the pillows as you attempt to use another hand to spread yourself open. Lost in the feeling of your current actions, you fail to feel the bed shift under you as your partner stirs. “Oh baby…” Fizzarolli says pitifully as he wakes up to seeing you desperately trying to stretch yourself open. Your hole clenches tightly around your fingers after hearing his voice and you start to beg openly for his assistance. “Fizzy, hah..! Please, need you so bad...h-hurts Froggy…”

¤ “Fuuuck baby, wish you woulda woke me up earlier…” Fizzarolli grunts out as his hips slam into yours from behind, dragging out another orgasm from you. “Thought you were gonna hurt yourself, bein’ so rough on your cute little hole. Oh shit, juuust like that...doin’ so good. So well for me…” You’re not sure if it’s because of how compliant you were for him or maybe how eagerly you begged him to take you, but Fizzarolli’s mouth was particularly filthy at the moment, each comment shooting straight to your core. “Oz t-thought you might wake up like this…fuckin’ needy and-Oh!” his head tosses back as you start fucking yourself back against him. “Mmm, you’re so tight for me sweetheart. Gonna milk me fuckin’ dry...” he grits out as he fights the urge to cum yet again. He suddenly pulls out, fist enclosed around himself at the base as he tries to calm himself down. 

 ¤ Fizzarolli remembers briefly what Asmodeus said before he had to leave; ‘if what I suspect is happening, is happening, you're either gonna have to fuck them to sleep, or hold off until I get home. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself, Froggy?...’ At the time, he had giggled at the presented options. He felt more than positive he could wear you out after a couple of rounds, afterall, between the three of them, you normally were the one to tap out first. But. ‘..call me if you need me…’  In that moment, his earlier confidence had dwindled little by little as he listened to you sob out his name the second he pulled away from you. “I know baby, I know, just-...” He tries to even his breath and lowers his chest against your back to try to keep you settled. “Hold on for me…” Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, he makes the call. 

¤ “Hello?” a smooth voice answers from the phone lying next to you on speaker. Fizzarolli’s fingers tighten on your hip as he presses himself deeper into you, his own whimpers echoing through the phone speaker. “Oz…” He pants out under his breath, watching your hips slam back against his. “..Froggy?” the voice calls out again.  Fizzarolli chokes back a moan as a particularly hard thrust from you catches him off guard, falling into a seated position behind you. His cock slips right out of you, but you scramble backwards on shaky legs to sit right back down on it . “Shit babe..!” He cries out in surprise as you start riding him, giving him no time to rest. “You gotta slow down baby, you gotta-, please…!” Fizzarolli whines and grips onto your thighs Despite his cries you can’t seem to stop yourself from fucking yourself on his cock, head completely lost from desire and frustration. You barely seem to feel his nails digging into your skin or hear his voice as he whines for you to let up. You do, however, feel his cock throbbing inside of you and the heat of his cum filling you up. You moan as your fingers shakily reach down to feel the overflow of his cum spilling from your hole. “Fizzy…” You whine as you use his release to rub yourself. “..so sorry, ‘m sorry..!” You can’t help but continue to rock your hips on him, forcing him past the edge of overstimulation. 

¤ Fizzarolli isn’t a stranger to being overstimulated, as he’s experimented with the feeling before. Feeling helpless to the sensations being given to him as his body burns to be set free. He simultaneously tries to push you away and clings to you as you continue to ride him. He barely remembers his partner on the phone as his voice rings through the sound of your pleasure. “...I’m coming home right now. Hold on for me. .” As he’s hurled into another orgasm, he feels his consciousness slipping, barely able to release any noise as his eyes roll back in pleasure. You desperately hump into your hand as you realize the sound over the phone is your other partner. “Sweetheart…Honey, can you hear me?” You can hear him but you can hardly respond, frustrated as Fizzaroli lays limp underneath you. Once you realized he had passed out, you willed yourself to dismount from him and opted to use your own hands to pleasure yourself instead. Asmosdeus calls out again, this time he says your name demandingly. Well that catches your attention. “Daddy…” You bite your lip trying to keep in the sob that threatens to escape. He hears it in your voice that you’re trying to keep it together and responds to you evenly, “Hi baby, daddy��s right here. Where’s Fizzy, sweetheart?” The air seems to be squeezed from your lungs as you catch the way he speaks to you oh so softly over the phone. You don’t respond right away and at first he thinks the call has ended but you answer after a moment, “...he’s, sleepin’..” You hear him sigh, then shuffling around, “Honey, I want you to do something for me…” 

¤ ‘Find the biggest toy in the middle drawer and use that to work yourself open for me until I get home. Make sure to use plenty of lube, okay? Can you do that for me?’ You followed Asmodeus’ directions so well, he even told you so himself when he finally got home. He had barely dropped his stuff and immediately shed his clothes to bring himself close to you. The room smelled strongly of your arousal and you laid in bed with an unconscious Fizzarolli next to you, fucking yourself on the largest dildo they had in the room. He immediately came to your side, pulling the toy away from you and tossing it elsewhere. “I’m right here baby, I’m right here…” He rolls you onto your back and marvels at the way you spread yourself for him. “Daddy please..” Your weak voice calls to him. 

¤ Asmodeus sees the exhaustion in your eyes and leans forward to claim your lips in a sweet kiss, which you respond by opening your mouth submissively for him to claim you. He takes the lead, pressing his tongue into your mouth and against yours in the kiss, allowing you to messily moan against him. He deepens the kiss as his hands find the backs of your knees, pressing them to your chest as he leans over you. You can’t help the noises that escape you as he lines his cock up against your hole and slowly fills you up inch by inch. When he’s finally completely buried inside of you, he immediately starts moving at an even pace, holding you tightly as you begin pleading with him. “Honey,” he coos, hips unfaltering. “Have you ever been in heat before?” Your eyes roll back, and you weakly press against his chest, barely coherent, “H-hah! Yesss…one time!” His fingers grab your wrist to restrain you as he moves faster.  “Don’t run from me baby, daddy knows exactly what you need, let him give it to you.” He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and uses that hand to wrap around your throat, tilting your head up to look at him. “Poor froggy did such a good job wearing you down. Got you nice and tired for me…” His hand tightens slightly around your neck, pleased at the way you hold his gaze. “Now…I’m gonna fuck you straight to sleep, just like Fizz. How does that sound?” You can barely nod at his words. “Sounds good, right? Don’t worry, I’ve got you..”

[heavyhitterheaux]

“Jackman don’t you dare get me sick!”

You heard Jack moaning and groaning as he was laying down on the couch that was across from you in your living room. Currently you were looking down at your phone and trying to respond to the group text you have with Diamonte, Solana, Normani, and Megan when he peeked his eye open and noticed you weren’t paying him any attention and immediately began to groan again.

“Baby…”

Silence.

“Babyyy…..”

Silence.

This had been the running theme for the past twelve hours and you were trying to do your best in order to not knock him upside his head or send him back to Maggie and Brian so that they could deal with him.

“Y/N!!!!! Baby stop ignoring meeee.” He whined and you instantly looked up and made eye contact with him.

“What do you need, smush?” You asked him as you looked at how adorable he was bundled up in a burrito blanket with his nose bright red from blowing it all times of the night. 

“Cuddles.” He said through a series of sniffles, but you immediately shook your head no.

“No, bubs. You’re sick.”

“What?!?! That’s all the more reason for me to get them! You haven’t kissed me in over 16 hours. I’m surprised my lips haven’t fallen off.”

“Why is your ass so damn dramatic?” You asked as you busted out laughing and got up to go near him.

“Am not. I just want my wife.” He told you as you reached down to kiss the top of his head before placing your hand on his forehead noticing how he was burning up again.

“Hmm, you’re getting warm again. Let me go get you some more medicine.” You said to him and turned to walk away before he grabbed your wrist.

“Are you coming right back? I don’t mean to whine, but I really do feel like shit and want you near me.”

“Aww, baby. I promise I’m coming right back, I’ll be two minutes.”

As promised when you got back to the living room, you made him sit up so he could take the medicine and made him take a few sips of water after. You set his water bottle on the coffee table and was caught off guard as Jack wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up so that you were now laying on top of him as you let out a yelp and he trapped you into a bear hug.

“Jackman! Don’t you dare get me sick!”

“I won’t! I just want a few cuddles! I promise! Maybe even a kiss if you’re feeling generous?”

You sighed as you picked up your head to look up at him.

“One kiss. That’s it.”

“Three and a bowl of soup.”

“Two and a bowl of soup while not calling Maggie to come and get you. Because I will tell her that you’re misbehaving.”

“I.. fine. Deal.”

You placed two small pecks on his lips and he immediately turned up his nose.

“Those were not kisses.”

“It is when you’re sick. Complain again and I’m going to return you to Maggie.”

“Can I just get one more? PLEASE?”

You sighed before finally giving in and leaning in towards him.

“Oooh, that’s better. A little tongue action.” Jack said as he smiled while you rolled your eyes.

You were then caught off guard as you let out a sneeze and turned to glare at Jack who immediately held up his hands in defense.

"I'm innocent, but it looks like now you could use some soup too."

"I... JACKMAN!"

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Fourteen: We Burn It SS: 13 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.3K Content Warnings: Discussion of rape, discussion of intentional drugging, discussion of nonconsensual filming Previous Next Masterlist

Hayun wakes up slowly, her mind feeling thick with fog, her body heavy and sluggish. She blinks against the dim light filtering in through unfamiliar curtains, her surroundings not immediately registering. The bed beneath her is soft, but it isn’t hers, and the events of the last day swirl in her head in bits and pieces, fragmented and out of order.

Her first instinct is to check herself—patting her arms, her chest, and her legs. To her relief, she’s still fully dressed. The tension in her chest eases slightly, but the pounding in her head remains, sharp and relentless.

"Don’t worry, princess," Minho’s voice cuts through the haze, startling her. He’s sitting nearby, casually spinning in his desk chair, a slight smirk on his face. "As pretty as you are, I’m not interested in sleeping with you when you’re so fucked up you barely remember your own name."

Hayun groans, pulling the blanket up over her head in a weak attempt to shut him—and the world—out. "Please stop talking," she mutters, her voice muffled by the fabric. "I feel like death."

Minho, however, is far from sympathetic. He stands up from his chair and yanks the blanket off her with no hesitation, leaving her exposed to the morning light. "Nope, not happening. You’ve slept for nearly twenty-four hours. You need to get up, eat something, and then you’re going to tell me about that flash drive you gave to Seungmin. We’ve been patient, but your avoidance stops now."

Hayun groans louder, throwing an arm over her face as she tries to burrow deeper into the pillows. "Minho, please. Not now. I can’t feel my face."

But Minho isn’t having it. With little effort, he grabs her by the blanket and rolls her into it like a human burrito, effortlessly lifting her over his shoulder. Hayun dangles there, limp and defeated, her body swaying with his movements as he marches toward the stairs.

"This is so unnecessary," she mumbles, her voice tinged with mild amusement despite her discomfort. "I’m not going anywhere."

Minho carries her into the living room and dumps her unceremoniously onto the couch. The impact sends a jolt through her, and she groans again, her head pounding even more now. As she tries to sit up, she notices Hyunjin lounging on the other couch, scrolling lazily through his phone.

"Morning, sunshine," Hyunjin says, tossing a pair of oversized sunglasses onto her lap. "Thought you might need these. Though, honestly, I usually know a girl more than just a quick hello months ago before I end up in the shower with her."

Hayun rolls her eyes beneath her hand, too tired to respond properly. "You two are the worst," she mutters, reluctantly sliding the sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the light.

Minho walks back into the room, this time with a tray in hand. He sets it down on the coffee table in front of her, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting up and waking her senses a little more. The tray is piled with fruit, pastries, and a steaming cup of coffee. He crosses his arms and fixes her with a no-nonsense look.

"Eat," he orders, his tone firm. "Then talk."

Hayun sits up slowly, her body still sluggish as she reaches for the coffee first. She takes a long sip, savoring the warmth, though the caffeine only just starts to cut through the fog in her head. She hesitates for a moment before grabbing a piece of fruit and nibbling at it.

Minho watches her closely, his gaze sharp. "The envelope," he says after a moment. "You gave it to Seungmin a few weeks ago. What was on the flash drive? And don’t even think about lying."

Hayun sighs, the weight of his question pressing down on her. She takes another sip of coffee, her fingers trembling slightly as she sets the cup down. "The envelope had a flash drive in it," she begins quietly. "Proof of a setup that Mingi, Yuna, and Lia had going at those calamity parties. That’s why I had Seungmin hide it. Mingi would kill for that drive."

Minho’s expression sharpens, his posture going rigid. "What kind of setup?"

Hayun hesitates, her gaze flickering to the window for a brief second, as if contemplating whether to continue. She exhales slowly, her voice quieter now. "Mingi is... a rapist. Yuna drugged girls for him, and Lia... Lia covered for them. She distracted people, diverted attention whenever necessary. They had a whole operation going at those parties."

Minho’s jaw tightens, the anger in his eyes growing more intense with every word she speaks. "You’ve known this the whole time?"

Hayun nods, her voice shaking slightly. "That’s why I sent the drive to Seungmin. Mingi has too much power. He had blackmail on everyone—tapes, proof of everything. No one ever reported him because they were scared of what he’d do with the tapes. That’s why I’ve been trying to figure out who sent me the flash drive. It wasn’t just some random person."

Hyunjin, who had been listening quietly, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Why am I hearing all of this?" he asks, his voice filled with unease. "I’m not part of this whole investigation. This is... intense."

Minho doesn’t even glance at him. "Because now you know. Doesn’t mean you’re officially part of it, but you’ve heard too much to walk away."

He turns back to Hayun, his voice firm. "What about the fakes you made? What was that about?"

Hayun takes another deep breath, setting the coffee cup down in her lap. "I sent fake drives to Lia and Mingi, labeled ‘Three can’t keep a secret even if one of them is dead—XOXO, Yuna.’ I was hoping it would spook them into moving the tapes so I could track them, but clearly, one of them figured out it was me. That’s when the threatening messages started."

Minho’s frown deepens, his mind racing. "What do they think is on those drives?"

Hayun’s voice trembles slightly, though she tries to keep her expression neutral. "Mingi- He taped what he did. Every assault, every victim. He kept the tapes because they gave him control. No one would ever talk because they were terrified of what he’d do with the footage."

Minho’s fists clench at his sides, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "And he has a tape of you. From when he was twenty, and you were fourteen."

Hayun’s grip on the coffee cup tightens, her knuckles turning white. She nods slowly, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Yeah."

There’s a long, heavy silence in the room, tension thick in the air. Minho’s gaze softens, but only for a brief second, before he straightens, his resolve hardening.

"Where does he keep the tapes?" he asks, his voice steady but filled with barely-contained fury. "Do you know?"

Hayun shakes her head, frustration evident in her expression. "I’ve been trying to figure that out. That’s why I sent him those fakes. To see if he’d panic and move them."

Hyunjin runs a hand through his hair, his expression growing more anxious. "Do you think Lia or Mingi had anything to do with Yuna’s murder? Or Chaeryeong’s?"

Hayun thinks for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I don’t know. I think there are two different killers, but they’re all connected. Someone in Yuna’s web was pushed too far, and they snapped. But it’s hard to say if it was Mingi or Lia."

Minho nods, his eyes narrowing as he processes everything. "We need to talk to Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin. They need to know what we’re dealing with."

Hayun nods slowly, though her voice is hesitant. "We’ll tell them an anonymous woman came forward with all this information. But when we find my tape—"

Minho cuts her off, his voice firm and resolute. "We burn it. And we bury it somewhere it’ll never be found."

Hayun finally meets his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and determination. She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. We burn it."

Hyunjin breaks the heavy silence with a humourless laugh. “This whole situation is more stressful than when we dyed your hair blonde, Min.”

Hayun, sipping her coffee slowly, raises an eyebrow and turns her gaze to Minho, who’s sitting on the edge of the couch. His black hair, slightly tousled, gives him a brooding look that matches his mood. “You were blonde?” she asks, genuine surprise coloring her voice.

Minho shoots Hyunjin a look, a mixture of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “Yeah,” he admits with a sigh. “I played Jack in the university’s production of Titanic last year. Long before we met.”

Hayun’s eyes widen, and she nearly spills her coffee in shock. “Oh my god!” she exclaims. “You’re the guy all those girls were obsessing over! I remember hearing them talk about trying to get into some guy’s car after the show!”

Minho’s shoulders slump, and he groans as if the memory physically pains him. “Yes, that was me,” he says, rubbing his temple. “They weren’t kidding, either. I actually had girls trying to get into my car after every show.”

Hyunjin chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than Minho is. “What Minho would do is he’d wait in his car with the doors locked, and then watch them try the handle over and over again until they realized it was locked. Some of them even pounded on the windows before giving up.”

Hayun bursts out laughing, the mental image too hilarious to resist. “You just sat there watching them?”

Minho shrugs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “What was I supposed to do? Open the door and invite them in?”

Hayun giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s too good. Now I have to see those pictures.”

Hyunjin grins wickedly. “I’ll send them to you later. I have a whole folder of blonde Minho in my phone. Some of the backstage ones are... classic.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Hayun looks at Minho’s current dark hair and smirks. “Honestly, I can't imagine you as a blonde. You look like you belong in some vampire movie with that black hair.”

Minho shrugs noncommittally. “I look good in any color, princess.”

“Sure you do,” Hayun teases, winking at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

Hyunjin’s gaze shifts to Hayun, a more thoughtful look crossing his face. “By the way, your hair’s getting a bit brassy,” he comments, eyeing the silver-lavender strands that fall over her shoulders.

“Tell me about it,” Hayun groans, running her fingers through her long hair. “This silver-lavender shade is fantastic, but the maintenance is a nightmare. I’ve had it like this for almost a year—long before I met you guys.”

Hyunjin nods, tilting his head as he studies her hair. “Have you thought about going platinum? It’d look good on you.”

Hayun considers it, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, Felix is blonde, Jisung’s a natural brunette, and I’m stuck here trying to make silver work. I’ve been toying with the idea of booking an appointment with my hairdresser for a touch-up before we do another podcast recording.” She pauses, glancing down at the coffee in her hands. “I first dyed my hair not long after—" She cuts herself off abruptly, brushing the thought away like it never existed. "Anyway, I like the unnatural colours.”

Hyunjin nods, understanding flickering across his face, though he wisely chooses not to comment. Instead, he leans back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “I get it. Unnatural colours are... different. They make a statement.”

Minho catches the unspoken understanding in Hayun’s tone, the way her words trailed off, and he nods in agreement, though he doesn’t press for more. “Well, if you decide to go platinum, I can recommend some good products,” he offers casually.

Hayun chuckles. “Oh, really? What happened to brooding Minho who doesn’t care about hair?”

“He died when I got cast as Jack,” Minho deadpans, but there’s a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “I know more about hair products than I’d like to admit. It comes with the territory when you’ve bleached your hair to hell and back.”

“Minho was obsessed with his hair when he went blonde,” Hyunjin teases, grinning. “It was like living with a male Rapunzel for a few months.”

Minho shoots him a half-hearted glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Says the guy who has a whole cabinet dedicated to his styling products. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re hiding under the sink.”

Hayun laughs, feeling some of the heaviness from the earlier conversation lift a little. It’s strange, sharing these light-hearted moments with Minho and Hyunjin, two people she never would have pictured herself getting close to when she first got tangled up in this investigation.

She leans back on the couch, taking another sip of her coffee, and looks at Minho with a soft smile. “I think I’d like to see blonde Minho. Just for the comedy factor.”

Hyunjin’s eyes light up with mischief. “Oh, I’ll make sure you see all the pictures. The ones where he tried to go for the windswept Titanic look but ended up looking like a golden retriever—those are my personal favorites.”

Minho groans, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,”

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 4

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn friends to lovers

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list 💕 thank you so much for the love on this series so far I’m really grateful !

Part 3

——————————————————————

‘You should see him after a few games, it’s a lot.’

With a mouth full of burrito, you still managed to laugh at the image Liam and Art were conjuring of Patrick’s sunburn turning him beetroot. The three of you were sat at a cute little place you’d somehow never seen before, probably because you didn’t know the area that well. Art’s choice.

‘So how’s living with this one?’ Liam asked, spitting hummus everywhere as he spoke. Neither you or Art had known who his question was for so you both yelped

‘Good!’

A little too enthusiastically for Liam.

Art’s hair had dried perfectly in the piercing sun rays and the smell of his mint shampoo kept wafting in your direction whenever the breeze turned. Shit. You were supposed to be listening to Liam. What was he saying?’

‘Fridays good.’ Art nodded at his friend, not looking at you for conformation. Clearly someone had been listening. You waited until Liam was texting his girlfriend to hiss at Art what he’d just agreed to - the answer ? - a party at Liam’s.

‘Are you sure it’s okay … if I come?’ Neither boy missed the slight sadness in your question. Your search for validation and fear of the wrong outcome. As Liam beamed at you, reassuring your brain that you were indeed very much wanted at his party and that ‘it won’t be the same without you’ Art’s eyes were locked on your face. You failed to notice.

‘So don’t worry about it okay? It’s not a tennis people thing, just a Liam friends thing.’ He smiled, very genuinely, and you smiled back. When Liam went to the bathroom he noticed Art was picking aggressively at the table, something he’d never seen him do before.

Without looking up from his task of picking through wood one mm at a time, Art asked coldly. ‘When did Patrick say he’d be back?’ Oh fuck it was Sunday! Better check your phone.

2 missed messages.

12:03pm - Text from Patrick

It’s not going well at all. She keeps starting shit with me for no reason she’s a lot to deal with if I’m being honest. Hope your day is better than mine so far

1:26pm - Text from Patrick

You’ve gotta pick me up Y/N I can’t stay here with these people until 9 I’ll catch arsehole disease

Just as you thought of a reply that was both supportive and concerned your phone lit up. Patrick was calling.

‘Pat hey! I didn’t expect to hear fro-‘

‘Pick me up.’

‘Jesus okay-‘

‘Pretty please Y/N I’ll send you my location right now just get here.’

He had a tendency to overreact to uncomfortable situations but you could hear the genuine panic and defeat in his voice. You had to help him.

‘Okay okay but … what’s wrong with Uber?’

‘I can’t afford it.’

You took a deep breath, gesturing to Art to stop mouthing ‘what’s happening?’ so you could concentrate.

‘Okay let me just tell Art-‘

‘Art’s there? Get him to come, he knows the way.’

‘Okay.’

Whilst you explained to Liam the rough situation, Art ran to your flat to fetch his car. With how little time it took him to return you wondered why he hadn’t become a runner instead? He must have done track, at-least.

——————————————————————

It was an hour drive to Patrick’s girls place. 45 minutes on Sundays. You waited until Art had gotten to the motorway before you asked the million dollar question.

‘So… Patrick said you knew the way. How? This is nowhere near anyone’s house that we know.’

Art chuckled, his delicate hand barely touching the wheel when he casually changed lanes at 70mph. His car smelt like him, you tried not to breathe heavier to encase yourself in his scent more intensely. It was growing difficult.

‘Well, I actually … dated Hannah before he did.’

He adjusted his mirror to watch the arsehole behind drive up his ass, for a moment you noticed him looking at the window. If Art ‘his mother could have knitted him’ Donaldson was about to roll the window down to flip someone off you were in for a treat.

‘How long for? Did Patrick even ask bef-‘

‘Does Patrick ever ask you for permission to do something?’

No. Not once.

‘It doesn’t bother me. We weren’t serious and it was a few years before he asked her out.’

You both envied and pitied this Hannah girl who Art seemed to care so little for.

‘Is it not a bit weird though? I wouldn’t want my exes fucking my friends.’

Art glanced over to you, he was driving at 60 again so you weren’t as inclined to grasp the door handle. He looked a little puzzled at your remarks or maybe it was amusement. ‘You thought we’d have different types?’

‘Yes, one hundred percent.’

‘We usually do. Hannah is probably more Patrick’s type.’

Your pity for Hannah grew once again.

‘But clearly, not more compatible.’

When you looked at Art he was frowning. He might have been looking at the road but you knew he was remembering something, something bitter.

You reread Patrick’s text: ‘She’s a lot to deal with.’ but that could mean anything from she takes too long getting ready to she needs to be kept away from others. Once Art said you were close you felt a little uneasy, like you needed to mentally prepare to deal with this girl. If she’d frightened Patrick she had to have something very wrong with her.

‘Art?’

He looked out of it.

‘Is there anything I should know, anything I should maybe avoid saying or doing with this… Hannah? Patrick sounded - I don’t wanna say scared bu-‘

‘Oh he’ll be scared,’ you felt genuine dread for a moment until you saw Art looked solemn not worried. He hid it behind a forced chuckle, as if what he was about to say was a funny anecdote he whipped out at parties to break the ice. ‘She can be a lot.’ There goes that word again. ‘She’s probably the only person I’ve ever met who puts tennis above - well - breathing and she thinks if you’re not playing tennis twelve hours a day everyday you’re letting yourself and her down.’

‘Sounds obsessive.’

‘I did warn him.’

As you pulled up to Hannah’s house you felt a twinge, or an aggressive increase, of guilt for your comment the night before. You should have saved your judgement for Hannah, clearly tennis was her entire life and Art had disagreed with her. Patrick certainly would.

He was sat on her doorstep, like a lost puppy waiting for its owner, but he still gave a quick wave before walking over.

‘Thank you!’ Patrick exclaimed once he was in the car. ‘You two just saved me, I was about to let her coach me just so she’d stop fucking yelling.’ He was sweating and slightly out of breath, poor thing.

‘Art, don’t you wanna go say hi?’

‘Funny…’

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn