#please this would be so good i need to see this stuff

[ackl3z]

DEAN W.

pairing: dean winchester x reader

content: smut, porn without plot, teasing, fingering, head (f recieving), soft dom dean, no use of y/n, car sex, use of "good girl", hair pulling... like js a lil, established relationship, fem!reader, one shot, not proof read

word count: 1.1k

authors note: hi hi! this is literally the first smut ive ever wrote, so like please be nice i tried ok. constructive criticism is appreciated!!! enjoy 🩶

you were laying down in the back of the impala while dean and sam read over some old news articles about the next demon their dad had assigned them to hunt. it was late, you were exhausted from todays hunt, it took all night after all and you just wanted to get back to the motel and get to sleep. "you alright sweetheart?" dean asks, looking into the backseat where your eyes were fluttering shut, his brown leather jacket draped over your shoulders. your eyes snapped open when you heard dean's voice, nodding and mumbling an almost incoherent, "yeah, jus' tired..." dean smiles, chuckling softly at your sleepy murmurs. "sam, go and get us a coffee would ya'?" dean says, not really as a question, more as a statement, he knew that you would all be up for hours longer, and he could see that you needed energy to fight off yet another creature. sam sighs, always being the one sent to collect stuff for them, but still complies, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him, walking to the nearest store.

dean turns around again, his eyes giving your body a once over, then locking his eyes on your lips, which you immediately notice, giggling softly. "you're real tired, huh baby?" he teases, in which you just nod in response to. dean climbs over the center console, rolling on top of you in the backseat to pepper your face with kisses before pulling you into a passionate, yet gentle kiss. his calloused hands travel down your body, down your waist, and finally settling with one hand on your inner thigh and the other holding himself up above you, his chain dangling in your face. you reciprocate the passion of the kiss, hands snaking up to his neck to pull him in deeper as he kisses you hungrily, his tongue sliding against your lips, silently asking for permission to be let in. you part your soft lips, his tongue dancing with yours inside your mouth as he moans softly into your mouth.

dean's hand makes his way further up your thigh as he starts trailing hot, open-mouth kisses down your jawline. you run your fingers thru his hair, the other hand sliding up his shirt and running over his abs and chest. he makes his way further down your body, sucking and gently biting your neck to leave big, purple bruises all over it, god he loved marking you up like that. you tug at his shirt as he kisses your neck so perfectly, which makes your back arch and lets a soft moan escape your lips. dean helps you to remove his shirt, and then immediately going to take off your tank top, beginning his kisses on your cleavage. you subconsciously start grinding against his clothed cock, which was already rock solid from just your moans alone. he pulls away from your neck to stare deeply into your eyes, his spare hand wraps around your back to unclip your pink lacy bra. "god, you're so beautiful..." he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your perfect tits, sucking on your nipple and using his hand to massage the other before giving equal attention to it aswell.

his kisses and bites travel further down your stomach, one hand working on your tits and the other unzipping your jeans and throwing them to the floor of the impala. you let out a desperate moan as he gets closer and closer to where you need him most, your pussy practically aching for him to touch you. he looks up at you, smirking as he hears your moans, "you need me, huh?" he teases, prompting you to let out a needy whimper along with a breathless, "fuck, yeah, please dean..." dean complies immediately, taking off your matching panties painfully slowly, just to prompt more desperate little whines, he loved seeing, hearing how badly you wanted him.

he starts softly kissing your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to your clit with every kiss. "god dean pleasee..." you beg him, soaking for his fingers, his tongue, anything. he laughs breathily into your thighs before finally starting to place soft kisses onto your clit, making you throw your head back and moan softly, both of your hands in dean's hair, pushing his head further into your pussy. he finally licks a stripe down your clit and towards your soaking wet entrance. sliding his tongue inside you. "fuck, fuck keep going." and he did, he sucks on your clit hungrily, his tongue swirling perfectly around your pussy, making you hold his hair tightly for support.

dean eats you out like a starving man, his tongue working perfectly from sucking on your clit to sliding his tongue in and out of your opening, licking up and down your pussy to gather all your slick. he spits on your clit before diving back in, eating you out better than anyone ever has before. you grind your hips against his face and he grips them with his hands, encouraging the movements as he sucks you harder and harder until you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach. "dean, i'm gonna-" you moan until he cuts you off. "good girl, you're gonna cum all over my face." he coos, using one of his hands to slide two thick fingers inside of you, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. you let out an incoherent string of moans, something along the lines of, "fuck, dean im gonna cum." you feel your orgasm approaching more and more every second as he continues pumping his fingers inside of you, leaving a ring of cum around the base of his fingers. "im gonna cum!" you scream one last time before you let it out all over his face and on his tongue. dean slows down, riding out your orgasm with gentle licks and slow fingering.

you breathe heavily as he pulls out, licking his fingers clean. dean crawls back up to your face, kissing your forehead softly and cradling your face in his hands. "you okay baby? you did so well for me, i love you so much." he whispers as he hands you the led zeppelin shirt that he had on before, putting it over your head just incase sam came back any moment now. and he did, your response was cut off by sam coming back with the coffee, not even wanting to look into the back seat. dean quickly gains his composure back, getting out of the backseat and back into the drivers seat. "what were you doing dean..?" he asks, almost as if he immediately regrets asking. dean scoffs, shutting the door behind him. "none of your buisness, sammy."

@sl4tforchris @fanofgunsnroses

[the-peak-legend-of-first-gen]

HELLOOOO okay so. I know this is a weird request, so feel free to decline at any time. But…

Can I request a break up scenario with Gun and reader? Like reader has known him since they were kids because family and they had to get married eventually and that stuff. But reader lived her own life after gunny went to korea and meets him only a handful of times since she studies abroad? And its like no secret that gun was involved w other women. I hope i explained that well enough. Sorry if it’s too much tho! You can always just ignore it :P

With much appreciation and Love

~T

Hi ♡ no its not a weird request but thank you for requesting and trusting me to write this. Hope you enjoy and if you feel there is somewhere I lack or need to work upon feel free to tell✨️

Laughter and giggles of small children echoed through the air. Shintaro kept a watchful eye, noticing how well the young master and you got along. How could he be wrong, after all? He had carefully arranged the match, and so far, everything seemed to be going just fine — or so he supposed.

"Gun, throw that ball toward me!" you commanded.He looked at you, then threw the ball with full force. You stumbled back a little but managed to catch it nonetheless.Your lady-in-waiting rushed over immediately, her face stern."Young miss, you shouldn’t be playing such rough games, especially with your future husband. It’s not good for the [Clan Name]'s reputation."

"Future what?" you giggled with a toothy grin before darting off."Let’s go!" you shouted to Gun, who, surprisingly, followed you.

But before you could get too far, Shintaro stepped between you two.His towering stature and menacing face frightened you a little, so you instinctively clung to Gun’s kimono sleeve. In response, Shintaro handed you something odd — a traditional toy, a ball attached to a string that had to land perfectly into a cup.

"Interesting..." you murmured.Just like that, the two of you spent hours playing, competing to see who could get the most wins, carefree and young.

That night, a loud slap shook the household — and you. You were only just beginning to understand the violent ways of the Yakuza world, but what shook you even more was what followed: Gun barely played with you after that, no matter how much you cried or threw tantrums.

Haruto would play with you sometimes, but no one wanted to be near Gun anymore.And little did you know — that was only the end of the beginning, the first step in how he would slowly but surely drift away from you.

🥀

You were starting to understand what it meant to be bonded with Gun — he wasn’t just the future hope of the Yamakazi clan, but regrettably, your would-be husband.

The thought made your stomach churn in the worst way possible.Come on, you were only in middle school! That actor you saw in the movies was way more handsome, and he definitely knew how to treat a lady right.

"Should we go for ice cream?" you asked him one day.

"No. I have work to do," he replied curtly.

Work this, work that. Mother said this, Mother said that. Father will be pleased, Father will decide.

That was all that ever went on inside his head.

"Just today, please!"

He observed you for a long moment, a sigh escaping his lips."Fine," he said at last.

You jumped with joy, your eyes sparkling.

Gun stared, confused. Why were you so happy? It was just ice cream. What had he done to make you react like this? Where were the grand efforts?

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt your small hand slipping into his.This isn’t so bad, he thought, strangely at peace

."Why are you so happy, dumbass?" he asked.

"Oh, because you finally agreed to go somewhere with me!" you said, grinning.

"That's it?"

"Yeah! And don’t forget — I’m getting free ice cream!"

"What free ice cream?"

"You’re paying, of course," you teased, sticking out your tongue.

Maybe this was what family was supposed to feel like.He tucked the thought away into a quiet, hidden corner of his heart.

Who cares, anyway?

But he did care — when he saw that tiny smile on your lips, when he noticed how his shoulders relaxed around you, when he realized he hadn’t clenched his fists in a long while.

Who cares? You did.

And you cared when that idiot — himself — left for another country.You cried not because of him, but because of what it meant for the future.Where had he gone? Would he be safe?

Who cared?Did you care?He wasn’t around anymore, but he hoped you were safe. He hoped your clan aligned with the right faction. He hoped you would marry —Who cared?---

🥀

"Idiot! You don’t know I’m allergic to these!" you yelled, throwing the chocolates at him. He dodged them casually."I’ll bring something else next time," he shrugged.

And true to his word, when he visited your university, he brought exactly what you liked — the right flavor, the right brand, the right packaging.You threw your arms around him, clinging like a koala, and he instinctively held you by the waist.

But something felt... off.

The scent clinging to him wasn’t his.You knew he slept around. It was normal in your world, accepted even — but still, the heart wants what the heart wants.

"So, what were you doing before you came here? Did you visit the places I told you about?"

"I wanted to explore them with you," he replied.

Your heart eased — but not entirely.

"Are you still sleeping around?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He was caught off guard for a second but regained his composure quickly.

"None of your business," he said flatly.

"It is my business," you retorted.

"We’re engaged, and we’ll marry soon. I do have a say."

His soulless eyes seemed to pierce right through you."And what is your say?"

"Stop it," you said firmly.Not a plea. Not a request. A command.

Whether he would listen or not, only time would tell.

When you got intimate, he wasn’t as rough as you had expected.There was a delicacy to the way he touched you, held you.But your mind wandered — was this how he treated others too?

Shouldn’t this tenderness be something only the two of you shared?

It wasn’t just that. His infrequent calls and texts had started gnawing at you.You felt like you were overthinking, but you weren't — and every time you tried to bring it up, Gun brushed you off.

"You have too much free time to think about nonsense," he said.

Instead of communicating like a mature couple, he would resort to what he knew best — showing his devotion in bed, claiming every inch of you as his.And even though he gave you his body, your doubts never truly went away.

His devotion was laser-focused elsewhere — on Charles Choi.

So you decided to do what was best — not just for yourself, but for him too.

🥀

"It’s not working," you said.

"We’ve hit a wall," you said.

For the first time, Gun truly saw you.

Not the cute, energetic girl from the playground — but a devastatingly beautiful woman.It wasn't your curves or your skin that he noticed — it was your spirit.

The same commanding, boisterous spirit, wanting what you wanted, even if it went against tradition.

Despite everything, you were willing to do the unthinkable — to leave.

Maybe if he had been different, if he had given loyalty to you and not just Charles Choi, things could have been salvaged.

Maybe.

But it was too late."Well, if that’s what you want," he said. "It’s fine, I guess.

Who cares, right?

No more Goo ogling at you.

No more international trips.

No more stupid dates and boring occasions.

Your safety and well-being — none of his concern anymore.

So why did he feel like his chest was caving in?

When he finally said, "It’s fine. I understand," his tongue felt heavy like lead.

When you kissed him for the last time, tears burning your cheeks, he tasted the salt of your heartbreak.

When he saw your retreating figure disappearing from his life — he felt it.

He cared.In his own way.

Maybe not the way you wanted.

Maybe not enough.

You two were collapsing binary stars — once brilliant, now destined to destroy each other.

But he cared.

And he loved you and that's why he had to leave.

So maybe in another universe you two care openly, shamelessly without any burdens or doubts?

[eternitia]

❛ 𝒂 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒑 𝒐𝒇 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆

—during a daily patrol, hawks notices you, and who would've thought that with only a laugh, she would peak the birdie's interest.

—ft. my hero academia hawks x reader

author's note: THIS IS MY VERY FIRST FIC WHERE I ACTUALLY WRITE A PLOT🥲🥲🥲 HWHSWJJAJWK PLEASE DO BE PATIENT WITH THE GRAMMARS AND STUFF THAT DONT MAKE SENSE😭😭 IM DEBATING WHETHER I MAKE A CONTINUATION ABOUT THIS OR NOT LMAO + hawks is so "make you mine by public" coded i love him + HIHI A BIT OF TOUCHING TO MY LAYOUT ALSO ><

the sky above musutafu was melting into soft oranges and deep, lazy blues. the city buzzed below, heroes weaving through chaos, keeping it from spilling over. perched atop a half-finished skyscraper, keigo takami—hawks—leaned on the edge of a steel beam, his wings fanned wide to catch the last light of day.

he wasn’t supposed to be loitering, technically, he was on patrol and he was supposed to be looking for threats. but something, no, someone—catched the edge of his sharp vision.

down below, moving with a kind of effortless energy through the crowd, was a hero he didn’t recognize. you.

there was a bounce to your steps, confident, but not in a "look at me" kind of way, more like you knew exactly what you were doing and didn’t need anyone’s approval to do it. your hero costume caught the dying sunlight, colors flashing bright against the concrete.

hawks tilted his head, an easy smirk appearing across his lips.

"huh. and here i thought i had the whole roster memorized," he mused to himself, plucking a feather and twirling it between his fingers.

you stopped to debrief with some sidekicks, laughing about something—a rich, clear sound that drifted all the way up to him despite the city's noise.

for a second there, hawks forgot how to breathe properly.

"cute." the thought slipped in before he could swat it away.

without thinking much as usual, he flicked a feather down. it spiraled lazily in the air before landing just near your feet, not touching you—hawks wasn’t that rude—but just enough that you’d notice.

sure enough, you glanced down, brow quirking curiously, then followed the line of motion upward, unexpectedly locking eyes with him.

your expression was unreadable at first—maybe confused, maybe amused, but then you smiled—a slow, amused little thing that made his heart skip like a scrapped record.

hawks offered a lazy two-fingered salute and a wink. you shook your head slightly, laughing again before turning back to your work.

but you looked up at him one more time—quick but secretive—and hawks caught it.

and boy did his grin widened.

"looks like patrol just got a whole lot more interesting." he murmured, stretching his wings wide. and with a quick gust of wind, he launched himself into the sky, already plotting his next "accidental" meeting.

it didn’t take long.

hawks wasn’t exactly known for patience.

the next afternoon, the city angled under a thick, golden haze. you were stationed near downtown, handling crowd control after a minor villain incident. it wasn’t exactly exciting, but it was necessary—and you were good at it. calm, firm, reassuring, and people listened to you.

and from somewhere above, hawks observed.

and when the commotion settled—when you finally allowed yourself to take a breath, a shadow dipped across the sidewalk, followed by the soft whump of wings.

you turned just in time to see hawks himself, standing a few feet away, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, one brow cocked up in a way that could only be described as trouble waiting to happen.

"yo !" he said smoothly with a side of excitement to his tone. his voice was light, but his eyes were sharp, studying you.

you blinked, a little startled—not because you didn’t recognize him, i mean, how could you not?— but because of how casually he just appeared out of nowhere like that.

"hawks," you said, playing it cool, even as your heart gave a tiny defiant flutter. "to what do I owe the honor?", finally turning to him while putting your right hand on your chest as a gesture of having pure intentions towards him—a kind gesture that you're used to.

he grinned at the way you welcomed him, the sun catching his gold flecks in his eyes.

"honor, huh? mannn, you're setting the bar pretty high for me." he shifted a little closer, wings folding neatly behind him. "name's keigo takami, but you probably knew that."

you raised an eyebrow, arms crossing in amused challenge. "you are kind of hard to miss."

"ouch" he said, hand over his heart like you’d shot him, "but fair."

there was a beat—a warm, teasing silence before he tilted his head, studying you a little more seriously.

"you’re new, right? or.. new to this sector at least. i would’ve noticed you before." he said, voice dropping to a more sincere note.

you shrugged, smiling. "transferred in a few weeks ago. guess i've been flying under the radar."

you laughed despite yourself—and hawks felt something strange tugging at him, something he hadn’t expected—something that made him want to linger.

"flying, huh?" he chuckled at the pun, feigning an impressed look. "careful, you're gonna give me a run for my money."

"you busy right now?" he asked, voice dropping into something lower, almost conspiratorial.

you tilted your head, wary but curious. "depends. why?"

he flashed a dazzling, boyish grin.

"wanna join me on a special patrol?"

you squinted while looking above, pretending to consider it. "define 'special.' "

he winked. "you'll find out. c’mon, live a little."

and somehow, against your better judgment, against your careful plans—you found yourself smirking back. against all odds, you decided to take the leap.

"alright, hawks. lead the way."

he beamed, offering a hand like a dare.

and as your fingers brushed his, hawks thought—for just a second, that maybe he hadn’t been flying alone all this time after all.

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

i rread your hcs for dad Pete and Jerry and I don't know how I ever went without them (dad Jerry has been in my mind for days now). Can we get head canons for dad Pete and Jerry with daughter reader, maybe on how they deal with having fights or if daughter grows up and they kinda have a "my little girl is growing up" Moment (idk I feel like pete would absolutely break down if she went for college)

Please and thank you :3 💐

( ye-OMG IS THAT FUCKING STAR FROM SPROUT NIGHT TIME SHOW

Dad Pete DiNunzio Headcanons (with His Daughter): Fights and Growing Up

Pete hates fighting with her. His temper might flare up fast — he’s loud, he swears under his breath, he paces the kitchen like a caged animal — but the second he sees her upset, it guts him.

If she yells at him (especially if she says something like "I hate you!" during a bad fight), he gets weirdly quiet. It stings worse than anything. He’ll just mutter something like, "Yeah? Well... good to know," and walk off before she can see the look on his face. He's heartbroken

He’s really bad at staying mad, though. After a few hours (at most), he’s awkwardly hanging around her doorway, asking if she’s hungry or offering to watch a movie with her like nothing happened.

Apologizing isn’t easy for him. He usually mumbles something like, "I didn't mean to be an asshole, alright? I just... I worry about you."

If she apologizes first, he’s immediately pulling her into a hug, patting the back of her head, telling her "S'not your fault. You're a good kid." Even if she was wrong, he’ll say it — because he’s her dad, and she’s his whole damn world.

"My Little Girl is Growing Up" Moments

Pete is the most pathetic proud dad when she starts growing up. When she gets her first job, her driver's license, a serious hobby — he’s bragging about her to anyone who will listen, even people in line at Dunkin'.

He keeps every art project, every bad school essay, every birthday card she ever gave him. Half his dresser drawers are just full of that stuff.

When she starts talking about college or moving out, Pete acts super casual about it ("Yeah, hell yeah, you’re gonna crush it, kid.") — but inside he’s falling apart.

He keeps offering to teach her "basic life skills" even if she already knows them. ("You sure you know how to change a tire? What about guys? You call me if you need help, alright? I’ll be there in a minute.")

Packing for college is brutal for him. He keeps finding excuses to carry her stuff himself, just to feel like he’s still taking care of her.

On move-in day, he helps set up everything — the bed, the shelves, the posters — just so he can stay a little longer.

Saying goodbye is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He tries to make it a quick hug but ends up squeezing her way too tight, muttering something thick-voiced like clearly trying not to break, "You’ll always be mia bambina, y'know that? Always."

He cries in his van on the way home. Full-on sobs into the steering wheel. Probably calls Jerry afterward, pretending he’s "just checkin' in." (Jerry totally knows he's crying.)

After that, he calls or texts her every day at first. ("How's classes? You eat yet? You makin' friends? You need me to send you socks?")

Pete slowly learns to give her space, but part of him is always stuck seeing her as the little girl who used to fall asleep on his chest during late-night monster movies.

---

Jerry stokes girl dad headcannons his little girl is growing up

---

Dad Jerry Stokes Headcanons (with His Daughter): Fights and Growing Up

Fighting with His Daughter

Jerry hates conflict. He’s the type who’d rather talk things out than have a real yelling match. He doesn’t raise his voice unless he’s seriously pushed.

During fights, Jerry tries to keep it calm, but you can hear the hurt in his voice if she says anything mean. He’ll get very still, very quiet, and just say, "I didn’t raise you to talk to people like that." That alone makes her feel horrible.

If he says something wrong or unfair during a fight, he’ll actually sit with it, feel guilty for hours, and apologize first.

His apologies are very straightforward, no ego attached: "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry. You didn’t deserve that."

Jerry tries to turn every fight into a learning moment — for her and for him. He’ll say things like, "We're both figuring this out. It’s not easy. But I love you, and that’s never changing."

Afterwards, he usually softens everything with a quiet gesture: making her tea, sitting next to her on the couch without saying a word, just being there until she’s ready to talk again.

"My Little Girl is Growing Up" Moments

Jerry always knew she’d grow up — and he spent years preparing himself — but it still hits him like a truck when it starts happening.

He gets emotional about everything: her first school dance, her first car ride alone, the first time she stays out late without him worrying.

He takes so many pictures of her at milestones. He’s got albums stacked on albums. He captions them like he’s writing a scrapbook: "First job! So proud." "Last summer before college. She's all grown up and smarter than her old man."

When she starts talking about college, Jerry’s heart breaks a little — but he’s proud first. He’s the dad standing at college tours with his arms crossed and misty eyes, trying not to embarrass her.

Helping her pack is torture. He handles every item carefully, like it's sacred. He probably tears up folding her old T-shirts.

On move-in day, Jerry’s not the "hide it behind jokes" kind — he cries openly. Big, embarrassing, nose-sniffling tears. He hugs her and says, "You’re gonna do amazing things. I love you so much, sweetheart."

The second he gets home without her, he stands in her empty room for way too long. Doesn’t touch anything. Just stands there and lets himself miss her.

He texts her "good morning" and "good night" for weeks after she leaves, even if she doesn't always answer right away.

He never says it out loud, but when she comes home for the holidays? Jerry feels whole again.

---

[motthe]

daydreamer | morpheus/dream of the endless

ཐིཋྀ this has been sitting in my wips for a good bit and i want to stop fretting over it lol. Hope yall enjoy it!

warnings: she/her reader, nothing crazy, pre-nada and pre netflix series, I am no expert in the series nor the comics so some stuff might not make sense purely bc I made it up (huzzah), if this were to become a series I have no idea what would happen lol.

PLEASE COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED IT ❤️

Morpheus, who has seen the creation of humanity and their first steps, stumbling into ideas too big. But such things sparked life into their world.

Being an Endless does not permit distance from mortals, for they govern the very aspects they are, but there is Morpheus who finds truth in the deepest pits of sleep. Who only visits the mortal plane when forced by his siblings or to offer gifts when they lose sight of their wayward dreams.

He senses every soul that slips into his domain, has swept together creations to assist the influx. One of the earliest takes record of the coming and going. Lucienne, he calls her. Where he is dreams and nightmares, she is words and tomes. In need of answers, she is the best to provide wisdom, though he seldom asks.

Distant not only from mortals, this star-gazed Endless.

In such pristine times, there is you. At first a flickering, not quite here and not quite there. Denizens deem you a mirage—a glint on the horizon or movement in the corner of the eye, even a shape in the dark at times. Surprise you may bring but never fear.

Something of a decade whirls by before Morpheus pays you a glance. As always, you leave a golden trail easy to trace. It dances among the Dreaming, weaving from space to space before you tiptoe towards the clouds over his kingdom. He sees your dream, no more than a simple turn through the air, and still something is off. Your soul, it drifts as most do, but there is tension—a string.

His raven discovers you in the conscious lands, lying in a glistening meadow. You watch the sunset, eyes open and mind fleeting. You are awake, yet your soul lingers in the world of sleep.

An apparition to the world of imagination. You’re the first of your kind, walking a line many have failed to draw. Some try, regardless. He watches them falter into the arms of his sister, Insanity. She welcomes all, but you drift through her whims every single time. A butterfly through the gaps of seeking fingers. You breathe into the Dreaming just as easily you breathe out of it.

He is intrigued enough to follow that sparkling path to the wakeful, and there you have the gall to sense him. Your voice is soft to his ears. He refuses the call, sweeping himself back into his realm.

You, a mere human, beckoning an Endless. Its not nearly enough to tempt him. In his lands, however, he cannot ignore your entrance. The denizens speak of you too often.

This goes on for some time. Even with years of research from Lucienne, you remain a one of a kind visitor. You prefer to stay to the north—in the spring, the warmth, the sun. Fiddler’s Green welcomes you each time. You dance there, too, though not as much as in the clouds. Amongst the flowers and swaying grass you marvel at finer details that should blur in a deep stage of rest. You cling to your reality and the Dreaming warps to your steps, easing at the touch of your fingers.

This world—this piece of him—gifts you earnest acceptance. Morpheus cannot fathom it. You have done no harm but you have earned nothing. And yet, your habit of half-dreaming during the day pulls at him. Ideas spurring from the night has always been marvelous things to behold, rippling and shaking the waking. These moments of yours do none of that, but the focus you are able to give… He could almost call it a talent.

He doesn't. Still he must decide a title as one is needed for the books. For the memory if you should be the one and only.

His first word to you beyond the whispers of his realm is “daydreamer.” It calls to your hazy figure as you sweep across a swirling brune. The name curls around your ear, caressing the hair away from your face. Deep and baritone, it is enough to shock you, so used to his silence.

He sees how abruptly you snap into your reality, a streak of sparks left behind instead of that winding trail. The abysmal, velvet laughter is rare from him. The Dreaming echoes with such light Lucienne is abashed to see it from the depths of her library.

The second time he addresses you, you smile as if you already know who speaks. Morpheus has yet to reveal himself since taking notice, always careful to remain outside your perception, though it ceases to matter. You'll greet him whenever his presence wades close.

He is certain he shall never be seen until he wishes to be. Still irksome, though, that he cannot hide from you in his own domain.

“It might do well to look into this abnormality,” urges Lucienne. Her form is diminutive in the audience chamber, feet planted along marble floors that sit far below the throne where Morpheus sits, listening to his helpful creation but not as a ruler should.

You're dancing again, carefree and form strong enough that he can discern the color of your hair and eyes. He directs the nightmares away from you without the slightest rumble from the Dreaming.

Even half-asleep they have managed to overcome you from time to time. They can never get to you fast enough for him to study how they morph your imagination. Any darkness on the prowl and your golden trail fades into the waking, running from the fears of mankind.

It's better to dismiss them from you. To keep your energy here to watch over in case something changes. The depth of you is rare today and he can't have it vanishing, not when he can feel you for once instead of that feather-light graze of your soul. You're a rest away from being real to this world and the Dreaming clings to your weight, your visage.

He knows the answer but ascertains through his raven regardless. Jessamy responds that you're wide awake, cleaning a basketful of coverings in a stream.

You are as peculiar as ever, Daydreamer, he thinks and far too present here to be doing such an unremarkable thing there.

“I fear this could turn into a security problem, my Lord. Mortals are not meant to get this close to the castle.”

Lucienne is still here. Morpheus regards her for a moment, dark brow wrinkled with concern and eyes earnest. His own flash upwards, seeing your figure beyond the ceiling of this room as you leap effortlessly. You do so love the clouds.

“She has not elicited any trouble all these years,” Morpheus states, narrowing an eye as he senses it. The nightmare looms at the edge of your consciousness, hands at its side and never approaching per his orders. But it stares, observes in such a way it sends Morpheus’ hand waving.

The opuscule crumbles to dust.

Your head turns. He affirms colorful clouds are all you see, but the corner of your mouth caches a grin as your stare straight through his presence.

You don't see him, he knows you can't.

His fingers curl into fists on his throne. The sharp angle of his jaw works in a strange way—a human tick more than anything and one Lucienne balks at behind a steady expression.

“All this time, there has never been another soul that's reached the Dreaming in such a way,” she continues her tangent. “Your Daydreamer does not dream beyond these moments, My Lord. She should be like any other with such a mind.”

“We have paid enough regard to that,” he chastises, growing tired of the same conversation. “She is a Deep Sleeper.”

“Deep Sleepers do not visit us at all,” she reminds him, patiently. “This occurrence, be it human error or not, we must study it while we have the chance. If her lifespan were cut short we'd lose all information.”

An irritation picks at somewhere behind his eyes. Between calling a phenomenon a mere “error” and that such could come to an end so easily…

How long has it been? Two decades? No, a bit longer perhaps. Long enough to keep you waiting, he's sure. You haven't called to him but the once which leads him to believe you noticed his ire. You have yet to demand anything since.

The need to understand you for the sake of the realm has grown exponentially. He supposes he can forget the slight after so long.

“I will investigate,” he tells Lucienne. Its enough to send her back to the library.

The sun is setting when he breaches mortals' realm. Jessamy bows her head from a hidden tree branch as he passes by.

“Return and rest,” he tells her. She is gone before his next step hits the ground.

Fabrics hang on a line between two trees, fluttering in the wind ahead of a small hut. The rising technology of humanity has yet to reach this small corner of the world but you seem to be at peace on a cliff side overlooking your village. At a close glance, you wear peasant clothes, worn from dirt and labor. He prefers the off white gown you dance in at the height of his realm.

“Are you far?”

You are the same and yet you are different in this world. The edges are harder but your eyes remain soft, hazy. They clear as you smile, recognizing his voice over the gust that blows your hair away from him.

You turn. The tapt expression matches familiarity but far should it be. This is the first time you have met face to face.

“I believe I was quite close, actually,” you answer, bowing your head in greeting. He's heard you speak before, mostly to Fiddler's Green or in random thought, but there’s a new harmony between these words.

Something pinches within, sore but nothing like the sensation Lucienne brought on. It lies lower, forged in his chest.

He stares at your soul, still very much human.

“You go somewhere, staring off like that,” he hums, midnight cloak dancing in the golden rays of sun. You notice how the ends fade into the same hue. “Tell me where.”

You tilt your head, a line creasing the skin above the bridge of your nose. “You already know the answer. Is there meant to be another?”

You're sensing him. The veil over his existence should have muted anything to be wary of and you see straight through it.

“How so?” he whispers, staring down at you. From the moment he appeared you hadn't deigned to rise from your grassy knoll, perfectly comfortable craning your neck up to his likeness.

“You have the same,” you inhale and hum in the lull between words, “outline, I suppose. I'm not sure if that's the right word.”

Your hands edge the space between you and him, but it’s as if they’re trickling down the side of his face. “it’s like…when you know something is hot in the dead of winter because it’s giving off steam. The world wavers around you, and it feels like that far away place.” You blink away the fog that had begun to take over your eyes again. “Forgive me. It was the first thing to come to mind.”

“You have a strong intuition,” he praises, hair swaying over his forehead. “Most ignore what they can't comprehend.”

“I'm not sure how anything could ignore you,” you mumble, taking him in before turning back to the drowsy sun. The gold begins to leave your skin. “Night falls. The stars will begin smiling soon.”

“Do you not fear me? Knowing I do not belong?”

You shake your head slowly, exhaling your words. “Oh, I couldn't.”

“Why?” he questions, moved by your tender amusement. Life flows from you in waves and he understands, then, why radiance follows in your steps.

“I've known you too long,” you tell him. “Not enough to understand who or perhaps what you are, but if you wished me any ill will something would have occurred by now, surely.” Your eyes slide to his, twinkling like the first star that bleeds into the darkening sky. “Are you here to change that?”

Playful in the presence of such power. You are not mindless, but where you get such confidence, he cannot fathom.

“I'm here to seek the cause of your ‘abnormality,’ Daydreamer.” Your nose crinkles in a way that has him pressing his lips flat against one another. And expressive. He does not get to see this side of you in his realm.

“Abnormality?” you parrot. “I'll only bore you then. I'm commonplace.”

“And yet you drift so easily,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth curling the slightest hint.

“If you're to question me, may I ask the same of you?” You lean against your bent knees, eyelids lowering as if in exhaustion but your soul is far from it.

“I do not answer to mortals.” The oncoming dark crowds against his frame. The stars blink out for the shortest of seconds.

“Hmm, that's enough of an answer,,” you chuckle, accepting his sourness all too easily. “I wouldn't want to offend something so powerful.”

He shouldn't feel tricked, and yet you stand there, content.

“What will you ask of me?” you continue when he remains silent.

“Your life.”

“Not my name first?” His lack of an answer is enough to earn your attention once more, still there is no concern to be found. “You already know me. What else do you seek?”

“Simple things can be overlooked.”

“But that is all that I am,” you say, assured, “simple.”

“We shall see.”

His cloak shudders as he turns, the whip of it sending the last thread of gold from the horizon. You shiver as a chill blows through and stand to start for your abode. He follows only a few paces behind.

“Will you have something to drink? To eat?” You open the door as an invitation. The room beyond appears ordinary for human standards.

“I must return. Expect one of my own soon. They will investigate further.”

“One of your own?”

“Likely my raven.”

“Is that the black and white bird I see every so often?” you say, voice honeyed. “I offered some forest pickings, once. Pretty thing. Intelligent.”

He doesn't answer and prepares to leave. Something has him pausing when your voice calls after him again. The demand to wait does not sting as it should.

“Will you return?”

His gaze meets yours over his shoulder, the wind picking up. You reach something behind him—the clothesline. Before you can step towards the panicking covers, they appear in front of you, folded and offered by large, pale hands. Your eyes shine into his and how strange, he thinks, that this is the first time you seem shocked in his presence.

“Thank you,” you whisper, accepting the fabrics. Skin brushes and you marvel at something before he steps back into the darkness, eyes pinpricks of molten silver.

“You'll find me in the Dreaming,” he tells you. There is confusion dancing in your expression, though you work through it to nod in agreement. “Until then, Daydreamer.”

“Farewell,” you bid, smiling as you close the door. “It was nice to finally meet you, my stranger.”

He doesn't know why he hides within the night. Why he watches you light the fire and cook your dinner and move throughout the hut as normal as any other mortal.

He waits for someone to return, but there is only solitude in your actions. The only other living creature there is a cat as it slinks from a backroom coerced from the smell of food. You offer the animal its own portion, fingers trailing over dark fur. It purrs, melting into your touch.

Morpheus departs, annoyed by the stifling ache that has moved from his chest to something far too deep. Meeting you should have swept the lingering questions away for the time being and here is this tug—this urge to retrocede.

“My Lord?” comes Lucienne as his footsteps ascend the front steps of the castle. She waits for him by the open doors, clutching a sizable volume.

“She is utterly human.”

She blinks as he passes by with a flare of his cloak, pondering his weighed brow as she shadows his footsteps. “Does this disappoint you, My Lord?”

“Its neither here nor there. I've known such since her first daydream.”

Her mouth puckers. If what he's saying is true, why was he…brooding?

“I'll continue my research, then,” she murmurs. “Keep an eye out for any others who might share the same abnormality.”

He offers nothing as she branches off down a hall, staring forward with an expression that would make the darkest nightmare run for the hills.

The throne room welcomes him back along with a shape that cuts through the air. Pied feathers gleam in the light filtering through the window behind Morpheus as his raven lands on the arm of the throne with a flourish. She cocks her head at her master, beady eyes digging deeper than anything or anyone dared when it came to an Endless.

“Is she as common as she claims to be?” he asks, turning to sit.

Jessamy clicks her beak, raising it as she speaks in a soft voice, “Worse, really. She's lonesome. I've monitored her for years now and the only visitors she gets are the cat and I. The few times she left her home was to grab necessities from the nearby village, but it's rare. She's self sufficient.”

“What of the people?”

“Sorrow follows them when she walks by. I've heard whispers of her family dying long ago. I recall seeing them the first few trips to the waking. Kind souls.”

“An accident?”

The raven shakes her head. “They never mention it. They just watch her, words trailing off. Not much of a gossiping village. That or they respect her enough to not whisper behind her back.”

“Perhaps this talent of hers stemmed from such loss,” he wonders aloud. “Trauma can shape humans.”

“I would say the same, My Lord, if she hadn't been daydreaming before their deaths.”

He rests a pale chin over his knuckles. Another end with nary an answer. There is always his sister who could speak on their passing, but going to such trouble is beneath him.

Sinking back into his throne, Morpheus raises a brow at his loyal companion who has yet to move on. She cocks her head, this time in question.

“Yes?” he breathes, eyes widening as his head lulls from one side to the other.

“You're intrigued by her.”

“She is able to enter and leave my domain far too easily. Lucienne fears the worst—an instability. Something that could come to hurt the Dreaming.”

“And you?”

Sterling eyes narrow. He says naught a word, but in truth he can not find one to describe his Daydreamer. He's certain he does not agree with Lucienne. If you were something dangerous, the Dreaming would not take to you as it does. He would sense a trap, especially from the likes of humankind.

Jessamy hums at the lingering quiet, claws tapping against the marble of the armrest. “In all the time I've watched her, nothing has come from it. Perhaps you would have the answers you seek if you yourself take a closer approach, my Lord.”

“What are you implying?” Its a stern question, probing.

The raven croaks in frustration. “She speaks little on her own or to the village, but she is forthcoming with you, My Lord!”

He could have scoffed. “I haven't the need for familiarity.”

“Blink and your Daydreamer will be another book in the library. Decades, if that, are nothing in the grand scheme of things.” Jessamy gives him one last reaching look as she crouches to take flight. “She is not forever.”

The shifting of wings echoes into soft silence, light swelling and retreating like waves over the throne room. Morpheus reflects as the realm twists, weather dim outside the castle.

His Daydreamer, a mortal. The fact everyone is keen on reminding him of. He may not govern time but he isn't lost to it. It is the way of things, to come and to leave.

You will be no different.

[milla-frenchy]

"Feeling out of practice"? You almost killed me right from the start!! 🥵🥵🥵

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music.  You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

This whole paragraph was already so hot... oh Shutterbug, you lucky girl 😍😍😍

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

Holy COW. Noooo she didn't??? Did she? 👀

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

Oooooh this image 😍😍😍

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

FUCK. ME.

The dirty talk is talking dirty OMG 🥵🥵🥵

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from you grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug.  Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?” Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs.  His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning. Smack.

OH DEAR LORD

I love how he played with her, and then he FLIPPED HER AAAAAHH

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees. “Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

"Hunter like?"

"Hello again, beautiful?????"

At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt. A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

out of practice MY ASS§§§§ (affectionate, you're killing me right here, baby)

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.” “Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you?  Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…” You think you might pass out. “… to give you this cock.” “This what you wanted, baby?” You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread. “Yeah?  You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?” “Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

The fuck....

“I’m close, baby.  Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

Dead. Fucking dead 🥵🥵🥵

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug?  Was that okay?”

omg he's so cute, please 🥹🥹🥹

As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”. 

and so filthy 😌😌😌

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later.

👀👀👀

Aaaaaah thank you so much Emily!! This was so hot, so perfect, I loooooove possessive!Tim (especially when he eats it from the back 😌)

Wrong Number

3.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Tim Rockford receives an unexpected text after leaving for work.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), roleplay (sort of), possessive!Tim, bratty!reader (but not really, just loves to prank her man and gets exactly what she wants), PWP, oral (f receiving; Tim eats it from the back), unprotected PiV, spanking (ass and pussy), roughish sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns.

A/N: Been feeling out of practice with writing smut lately so... I practiced 😂😁😇 As with all instalments of The Rockford Portfolio, can be read standalone, takes place anytime after their relationship has been established. Inspired by this TikTok prank/trend (a reminder that Tim does not have TikTok - as confirmed in Macarons).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics - tysm 🥰 / Series Masterlist

You couldn’t.  It’s too mean.

Biting your lip to stifle your own giggles, you practically skip back to your and Tim’s bedroom - pretty pink sheer nightgown flouncing as you contemplate going through with your prank.

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music.  You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

Then there was this morning: Tim’s head between your legs as your thighs quaked, threatening to close over his ears as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your cunt with his talented tongue; only letting you repay the favour after you had thoroughly soaked his facial scruff and the front of his sleeping shirt with your nectar.  You can still taste the salt of him on your tongue and feel the rawness in your throat from the scape of Tim’s thick length, now much soothed having been coated with the creamy balm of his cum.

You should be contented, fulfilled - but you’re not; the greedy ache between your legs growing by the second and making its presence known like a horny little devil.

As a matter of personal principal, you never say “I wish you didn’t have to go” or “Please don’t leave” to your detective when duty calls.  Though these thoughts are not unfamiliar to your heart, you have no desire to ever ask your man to choose between you and his work, nor do you think it would sit well with either of you if Tim were to shirk his law enforcement responsibilities at your request.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Detective Rockford’s thick trunk a little tighter, chase his lips a little bit longer like you did only five minutes ago when he left for the precinct this Saturday morning.  You and Tim recited your usual ritual, simple and familiar words dressing feelings of worry and longing that run deeper than either of you can ever articulate in these moments:

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.

This morning, however, these soft declarations don’t calm your heart or abate your want for your handsome detective as they usually would.  Your little devil clenches on nothing, demanding and egging you on – it’s Saturday and he’s only going in for a few hours of paperwork, what’s the harm in reminding Tim of what he has waiting at home?

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

You press SEND and wait - the read receipt indicates it’s seen right away; chewing your bottom lip, you watch as three little dots pop up to show that Tim’s typing a response.  Eagerly, you wait for his text - but it never comes; the dots vanish, reappearing a moment later only to disappear again without any message coming through.

Then you hear it.

A siren. 

At first a faint wail, the sound quickly crescendos to a blaring horn as the source approaches at an impressive speed.  You bound to the window and watch as Tim’s Crown Vic, cherry light flashing on the hood, roars down your street and parallel parks back into the spot he only just vacated with a precision that makes your mouth go dry.  Tim climbs out and slams the driver’s side door closed, long legs already taking him halfway to your building.  He looks pissed.

For a second you panic, he does know it’s a prank, right?  He must – Tim’s a brilliant detective after all; there’s no way he would actually believe the text is real and that you’re cheating on him – just as Tim never gives you any reason to doubt his devotion and fidelity, you’re sure Detective Rockford knows that he’s your one and only.  The message has done its job: Tim’s back and he’s definitely riled up - you race back onto the bed, positively giddy with anticipation of your detective’s return.

Faking interest in your phone, you pretend to be unaware of your front door being flung open, then ceremoniously slammed shut with a forceful bang.  Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing in volume before coming to a stop in your bedroom’s open doorway.

“What have you been doing, Shutterbug?”

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

“Just scrolling through Instagram.  You’re back already, Detective?”

“Got a text I couldn’t ignore,” he stalks towards the bed and holds up his phone, the prank text you just sent displayed on the screen, “what’s this all about, baby?”

“I don’t have the foggiest clue, but you’re the detective, not me,” you goad him, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smirk.

Tim studies the dancing mischief in your big doe eyes – he’s seen through this type of feigned confusion from plenty of perps in the interrogation room, but on you, it’s cute.  He begins to crawl over your body, grinning to himself when your breath hitches at the obsidian of his eyes, “I think you wanted me to see this text, wanted me to go nuts.”

You flutter your eye lashes, “Why would I want that, Detective?”

Tim advances, predatory and dangerous – with nowhere to go, you fall back onto your soft bedding with a sharp exhale, “Maybe my pretty baby needs a reminder on who she belongs to?  Or perhaps, you’re just being a greedy girl?”

Still relishing your role as the bright-eyed innocent, you say nothing – Tim’s hulking frame hovers and you happily breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, clean soap, and authority.  He’s so, so close but has yet to touch you since returning; it takes all of your self restraint not to reach up and grab Tim by the leather holster straps bracketing his thick arms and pull him down for a kiss.

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

Fuck.  Your only answer is a pathetic whine.

“You need more, gorgeous?”

Your vigorous nod is almost comical - Tim chuckles darkly and leans in.  You arch up, eager to meet his lips - but the sweet connection you’ve been craving never comes; Tim is stilled above you, teasing eyes fixed on your growing frustration.

“Maybe I’m not the man for the job since I was the one who left you sooooo needy?”

You could cry, “You are! I want you, Detective!”

Tim pulls his handsome face away, escaping the reach of your clawing hands, “You sure you don’t need someone else, baby?  Maybe the lucky man who was supposed to receive this text?”

Fisting his crisp white dress shirt so hard it might rip, you beg, “I’m sure, Tim! You, I only need you!”

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from you grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug.  Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs.  His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning.

Smack.

You yelp, dizzy from the pleasure of the sting left behind on your ass cheek from Tim’s generous palm.

“Love the way this ass bounces for me.”  Smack, smack. “She dances like this for anyone else?”

Turning your head to press your cheek on the soft covers, you look back to admire the dominating stance Tim takes at the foot of the bed, whimpering, “No, Detective.”

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees.

“Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

Two thick fingers part your sticky folds and massage your slit, collecting and spreading the slick that continues to drip from you.  You curve the slope of your back further, pressing your chest into the mattress and wiggling your ass for more.  At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt.

A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

“Traitor,” you mutter into the sheets, but beam as Tim nuzzles and strokes his nose over your core, you feel rather than hear his barely audible purring:

Such a good, good girl.  So perfect.  You know who you belong to, don’t you?

“Timmmmmmmm…” you whine, reminding him that you’re the one who needs tending to, you’re the one who called him back.

Tim ignores you and continues to lay soft, sweet kisses to your pussy, singing her praises, “You know you don’t need anyone else - isn’t that right, beautiful?  Doesn’t matter who she texts; no boy is ever going to give it to you like I can.”

A completely irrational, hot surge of jealousy nearly snaps your head around when your body jumps and shudders, words of protest stuck in your throat as Tim dives face first into your blooming cunt and starts to devour you.

There’s no gentleness, no build-up, Detective Rockford simply feasts – guided by hunger, determination, instinct.  Every lick and slurp of Tim’s tongue substantiates the claims of his earlier words, there’s no inch of your pussy that’s safe from the resolve of his mouth.  He power strokes your wet folds and torments your hole with his tongue, his lips, his nose; every switch up, change in direction or pattern is purposeful, meant to disorient you – and it’s working: you think you’re going to lose you goddamn mind.  Arousal flooding down your inner thighs, there’s nowhere for you to find reprieve - Tim’s rough hands grip bruises into your ass cheeks, spreading them wide and keeping you at his mercy.  By now, you’re mewling and clawing at the sheets above your head, the only coherent sound that escapes your drooling mouth is the repetition of your detective’s name.  Tim’s own growls and the wet smacking of his continued raid on your cunt echo off the walls in your other otherwise silent and serene bedroom; impossibly, your detective doubles down with a snarl, sucking and gnawing a practiced path from your clit to your ass and back, over and over and over.  He’s barely breeched your opening and you’re already about to come.

“Fuck, fu- Tim, I’m so close, so close, I’m gon-, gonna… fuck, baby, please!!”

Detective Rockford comes off your cunt with the loudest pop you’ve ever heard, and continues to conspire against you in a playful yet domineering tone, “Should we let her come, beautiful?  Let her be a good girl, too?”

Throwing your head back in a howl, you tighten, empty and desperate – this answer apparently placating Tim enough for him dive back in, he latches directly onto your pulsing clit and starts sucking.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train and you scream and pound your fists into the mattress.  Tim’s soothing palm rubbing your ass as you ride out the aftershocks of one of the most explosive highs you’ve ever experienced distracts you enough that you don’t hear the clinking of his belt buckle and the undoing of his work trousers.

Jaw slack and eyes still partially unfocused, you remain faced down and ass up, unmoving, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim lift and press one of his knees on the bed for leverage.  He wicks his swollen head through the honey of your release and you shiver in anticipation; later, you would look back on the last thing you hear before Tim pushes in as a clear warning:

“I’m not going to make the same mistake of leaving you needy again, Shutterbug.”

He pounds into you.

Every one of Tim’s thrusts is unrelenting on your sopping hole; she does her best to hug and console his cock with her warm embrace, but Tim’s drive is unforgiving – he has a point to prove, after all.  Panting and grunting with the intensity of his exertion, Detective Rockford ruts into you animalistic, feral and with his vice grip on your waist, he bounces you to meet each punishing jab.  Bottoming out every push, Tim’s balls slap against your clit like the crop against a racehorse’s hind and you neigh and whinny in response - high and wild, trying to run.  He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, then lifts his knee to place his foot down in its place; with you pinned to the bed and trapped, the steepness of this new angle is delicious.

Tim repeatedly sheaths himself into your warmth, withdrawing wholly and waiting to witness the cry of your gushing cunt before slamming himself back in again.  You whine and plead, for what you don’t even know – the pleasure that Tim’s giving you is so intense, so merciless, you’re feeling like you might actually float away when your man’s dirty mouth brings you crashing back to Earth.

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.”

“Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you?  Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…”

You think you might pass out.

“… to give you this cock.”

“This what you wanted, baby?”

You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread.

“Yeah?  You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?”

“Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

“Omigod, Tim!!  Yes, yes!”  Lightheaded and unable to take a full breath with the way your chest is being driven into the mattress, your pussy throbs - pleasure blossoming from Tim’s possessive and dominant tone.

“Could the little boy toy you text make you feel this way?”

You shake your head into the wet sheets, the welcomed hurt from your arms being pulled back only amplifying just how good Tim is making the rest of your body feel.

“Who is it you need, Shutterbug?”

You want to reply that it’s him, only ever him, but your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head and your body is being jolted too violently by the force of Tim’s thrusts for you to collect your thoughts, nevermind form words.

Known for doggedly getting to the truth of any matter, Detective Rockford pulls you up and holds you flush against his chest, strong forearm banding below your tits while his other hand comes to a rest at the base of your neck.  You loll your head back against Tim’s shoulder, sighing at the coolness of his holster leather against the heat of your skin.  Tim fucks up into you from below and you both gasp from the electric shock of this new position, “Fuck, you’re so deep, Detective.”

Your detective bounces you on his cock and with every punch, reaching those part of you that only he’s ever explored and marked.  An alarmingly low growl ghosts the shell of your ear, “I asked, who is it you need, baby?”

 “You, oh god, only you, Tim!!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“That’s right.  You’re mine, gorgeous.”

“Gonna make you come so hard, your pretty head will never forget.”

“That you belong to me.”

“This pussy belongs to me.”

“The way it comes belongs to me.”

“You ONLY come for me.”

He’s ramming into you so hard, you can only attempt a pathetic nod against his shoulder, whispering against Tim’s lips, “Yours.”

“Fuck.”

Tim’s lips crash against yours in the first kiss you’ve shared since he left this morning; you both moan loudly at the much-missed contact, mouths unable to conceal the affection and love you hold for one another despite the way Tim continues to destroy your needy cunt.

He tastes of you and when your tang transfers from his tongue to yours, you shudder and clamp down on his cock; sinfully, you lick behind Tim’s teeth and suck on his lips, returning your essence back to its rightful owner - See?  Yours, all of me is yours. 

Grabbing fists full of your tits, Tim squeezes the soft flesh and pulls on your aching peaks, causing you to cry out and break the kiss; he gives it to you so rough and punishing everywhere, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  The stranglehold of your pussy is sucking him so tight and deep, Tim knows he won’t last much longer, he continues to twist and roll your diamond hard nipples while snipping at your earlobes, “I’m close, baby.  Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

It's the dirtiest, filthiest, hottest thing Tim has ever called you, and wailing something catastrophic, you come instantly at his words.  Tim follows soon after, painting your velvet walls with ropes of white as promised.

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug?  Was that okay?”

You nod, spent and pliant, “It was perfect, Detective.  Better than anything I could have imagined.”

He lays you down gently and you melt into the bed as Tim goes to fetch a cloth for cleanup.  As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”.  Sitting next to you on the bed, Tim brushes the hair out of your face and rubs your limp body with his now gentle hands until he’s comfortable with the condition he’s leaving you in.

Grabbing a blanket, he presses soft kisses down your exposed back and at your quiet exhale of contentment, smiles before covering you with the cozy fabric.  He sneaks one last loving kiss to your hair and stands, admiring the angelic serenity that’s taken over your dozing face.

“Tim?” you murmur into your pillow, barely audible.

“Shutterbug?”

“You know that text wasn’t real, right?  There isn’t anyone but you,” somewhere halfway between consciousness and dreamland, you crack open your sleepy eyes, voice vulnerable and small.

Tim kneels next to the bed so you can see the affection in his eyes, “I know, baby.  Just as there isn’t anyone but you for me.”  Lightly stroking your pretty face with the back of two of his thick fingers, Detective Rockford continues, good humour on display, “Besides, what kind of detective would I be if I believed that text at face value when I already have all the evidence in the world that the woman I love is beyond loyal and trustworthy?  She’s perfect and true.”

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later.  “Ok, good.  Just making sure,” your eyes close again, smile dopey, “come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.  I love you.”

“Love you,” you coo, already drifting off into a deep slumber.

Leaving you to your rest, Detective Rockford departs with a silent promise that he’ll return home as soon as he can - walking to his car for the second time this morning with a little extra spring in his step.

[voice-of-the-sexyman]

[Hey folks, mod mai here!

I would first like to say, like last time, thank you for your support and enthusiastic participation in the sexyman tournament. We hoped to give you a wonderful experience with this round and many to come.

Now, with that being said, I need some help. With some irl stuff going on, as well as just how fucking much stuff I have planned, I feel like I need some help. So if you wanna contribute to the first round of the skeptic tournament, now is your chance!

See this room? This is meant to be an escape room. "But where's the furniture?" I hear you say, and to answer!!

I haven't gotten started.

And I could have made a simple room backdrop for the first round then swap out the guys, like I did for the while of the Cold tournament...but then it'd be boring. It's Skeptic! He needs enrichment!

So, here's my proposal: you can customize this room. Furniture, paintings, other people, what have you. Anything to truly make this feel like an escape room that the Skeppies will love to tear apart!

(Disclaimer: this is purely for the background aesthetics and in-universe fun. The Tournament will still be decided via voting. You also do not need to think about logistics of the room, for the aforementioned reason)

So, want to contribute to the tournament? Couldn't submit your skep in time? Busy with stuff so you can't commit to a month long propaganda spree?(/jk)

Then here's a simple lil room to decorate as you please. We take everything from paper, digital, 3d and other such works of art (just NO AI GENERATION). And it will be featured when we officially start round 1 of the tournament!

My only rule is the Door remains. As that's the exit out of there. Obviously, there is one key. And that's for them to find. But only one can leave that room...;)

Thank you once again, I hoped you can help a girl out. There's a lot to do, and easing thr burden would be appreciated!

Have a good day!

[ysaefinn]

I saw your post about mean mommy sugu and I loved it so much!! You are literally one of my favorite writers and make me feel less weird about the stuff I like since i know its more niche (mommy sugu!!)

I wanted to ask how he would react with a darling who has a deadline and refuses to go to bed even though he's asking nicely. I know you said he only gets mean when you purposefully hurt yourself so would putting off your sleep so adamantly warrent mean mommy?!

He's all like "my little darling I told you it's time for bed we need to brush your teeth" and you're just like "No! Leave me alone i told you I have to get this done tonight"

Again I love your work!! Can I be 🦖 anon? 🫶🫶

OMG ANON HELLO HAIII!!!!! Im sooooo you found me YOU SHOULDN'T BE ASHAMED OF WHAT YOU'RE INTO!!!!! Not to sound self-centered but I think everyone should love and embrace him, if you haven't accepted him as your husband by now you're just in denial /j

AND OF YOUR FAVORITE WRITERS??? IM ABOUT TO EXPLODE LIKE?????? STOP IT RN ANON I LOVE U I LOVE U SO SO SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA TYSM FOR BEING HERE YOU ARE RIGHT WHERE YOU SHOULD BE 😭

Now...mommy sugu and overworked stubborn reader, i don't think he would be AS mean as he was on that post bcuz he understands!!! And he's so proud of you for all the work you're putting into succeeding, he really really only what's best for you, but when things get out of control is when he starts to pester you more.

It starts with gentle little reminds to "please come to bed, I can't sleep without my baby" Then he gets a little more stern each time you duck to avoid being scooped up, he realy does want to give you your space but eventually he snaps TOT he's already crashing out bcuz this is a burden he can't carry for you, and you're just making it worse by not listening. So one night when you're getting ready to take put ur notes he just grabs your books, puts them on top of the fridge, scoops you up into his arms and takes you to bed 😭😭 ANON HE WILL GET HIS WAY YOU ARE NOT WINNING!!!!!! suguru completely leaving you alone at times like these isn't ever going to happen, hus hands literally itch to hold you and touch you and cradle you to sleep, and mind you he's STILL being nice!! Still being gentle all smiles and coos petting your head and cooing that he understands but you still need to look after yourself!!!

Anon,,,, the switch up, the SWITCH UP WHEN HE CATCHES YOU TRYING TO SNEAK AWAY FROM HIM god that's when he gets mean. A cold menacing narrow-eyed death stare radiating PURE RAW UNFILTERED DISAPPOINTMENT he is not happy and you can't handle it no matter how tough you think you are </////3 he's towering over you and with his voice devoid of the usual warmth and softness asks "what do you think you're doing?" "Didn't i tell you that it was time for a break?" " Are you purposefully trying to hurt yourself?" "You said you'd be good" "do you realize how much it hurts me to see you like this?" HE DOESN'T EVEN MEAN TO SCARE YOU OR ANYTHING he is just being honest when you're clearly tired and it pains him to see you like this he wants to lock you up in a padded room. He does eventually realize that he shook you up with the way he confronted you and ends up apologizing and promising to be gentler next time, but you'll have to learn to listen to him too, keep him happy by keeping yourself safe and he won't have to be mean to you!!!!

AND ANON OFC!!!! 🦖emoji is all yours WELCOME ABOARD!!!!!

[atlas-ghoul-account]

Home Safe.

Warnings: swiss leaves, discussions of ocd, mentionings of touching wood, talk of food, food anxiety (whether it is safe to eat, intrusive thoughts surrounding food), intrusive thoughts about safety of others, hand washing, dry skin because of hand washing (idk i'm just saying everything just in case)

Notes: So this is a bit more of ocd phantom, credit of ocd phantom still lies with @littlemoon-beam lol, I just borrowed it to project some of the stuff I do. That being said, whilst this is my experience of ocd traits/tendencies, if you see anything that isn't quite written write please reach out!

Also also: I can't remember who said it, but I've borrowed the headcanon that Swiss goes back to the ministry to help Aether in the infirmary.

Phantom's ocd gets worse now that Swiss is gone. Now that he's no longer touring, Phantom can no longer make sure he's okay, he can't check on him. He usually knows he's okay, he can just look over and check. And there Swiss would be, looking at him like he was insane as the young quintessence ghoul pokes his head into his bunk to stare at him for a second before leaving. But now he can't do that, because Swiss has gone back to the ministry.

And Phantom knows he can't phone him every time he gets an intrusive thought about him. He knows that, but he wants to. Because then he knows he's safe. And he just wants to know that Swiss is safe.

The compulsions don't take long to start creeping in.

After the Birmingham ritual, when Swiss announces that Aether needs him in the infirmary, Phantom freezes. This can't be real, it can't because Swiss is his lifeline. He's the only thing that keeps him from spiralling out of control, the only sense of normalcy that he can latch onto whilst on tour.

They don't have long to say goodbye, because it isn't really a goodbye after all, but a see you later. Although, that doesn't mean it hurts any less. And almost everyone else has known Swiss longer than him, so Phantom thinks they deserve spending longer with him. So he holds back, no matter how much it hurts. It makes sense to Phantom at least, he probably didn't matter as much to Swiss as the others he had known for years.

"See you later, Ant," Swiss whispers, "Call me anytime." Phantom gives a small nod.

"See you later," He whispers, not able to stop himself from thinking that perhaps he should be going to help at the infirmary instead. He was a quintessence ghoul after all. A small part of his brain told him that actually, Swiss' quintessence, whilst not his main element, was stronger than his. That Phantom wasn't good enough with his quintessence to help.

That night, when he's alone in his bunk, listening to the world go past, his skin crawls. He can't sleep, too scared that if he does something might happen to Swiss. Or he wakes up and the other ghouls are gone too. Or Perpetua, human's are rather fragile after all.

'He won't make it home safe unless you touch wood.' His mind calls out to him. Phantom knows it's irrational, he knows. But why take that risk? Why risk Swiss? He doesn't have to question it before he's tapping wood in his sequence.

Three times, which he repeats another three times. Before repeating it one final time.

Although, it does little to resolve the anxiety, if he's being honest. Instead, he slides out of his bunk, creeping across the bus to Swiss' bunk. He slides in, pulling the curtain closed behind him. It was the closest thing he could get to Swiss. It would have to do.

The rest of the ghouls notice small differences in the coming days. The young quint ghoul looking unsure before doing certain things - things he hadn't questioned in a long time.

Hand washing became more frequent, worried that the germs on his hands would make the other ghouls, or Papa ill. Then they'd have to go back to the ministry, and that would be another friend he'd had to tour without. He didn't think he could do that. Naturally, it didn't take long for his hands to dry out, for his knuckles to start splitting. It made playing harder, more painful. But he couldn't stop himself from washing them, he couldn't risk them like that. Besides, the split skin didn't hurt too much.

The safety of food start cause anxiety in his chest. It wasn't that he didn't trust the other ghouls, they cooked for him all the time. But with the spike in anxiety and the small spiral downwards, he was finding it more and more difficult to ignore the doubt. What if a fly landed on it? What if they didn't wash their hands properly? Can food be left out of the fridge for that long? This is definitely cooked, right? Does this look pink?

The doubts were endless. He tried to ignore them, instead, combatting the thought with a small touch of the table wood. In the short term, it cleared his fears. He touched wood, so despite however irrational it was, it would still mean he would be okay if he ate it.

It doesn't take long for the ghouls to text Swiss, to ask for advice. They feel guilty, knowing that Aether, Omega, and now Swiss were absolutely swamped in the infirmary, but they really don't know how to help the quint.

[itwdoris]

nerd!yuuji is going to have so much wet/ruined paperwork /silly

imagine one of his and the reader’s classmates or something asking why they laminate all their homework.

nerd!yuuji and reader: nothing, no reason!!!

although i am loath to leave without keeping my streak of making good suggestions, so i give you:

humping nerd!yuuji’s leg to keep it in in the middle of the library

- 🍓 Anon

if i can go any further n a bit other way ( because i've already received two humping requests.... ) could i say that nerd!yuuji likes to get his stuff wet?

of course he's going to laminate all the important papers and documents, but who's to say that while he's doing that, he's thinking about your bladder gushing and wetting all that.

he can spends hours just looking at his pencil case, imagining how nice it would be if you were there wetting it, pissing on his pencil and hand while he writes in his notebook. how you could make the jet hit his glasses and get him wet, maybe piss for him on his desk on cleaning days.

like the time you two stayed to organize the library and suddenly you were rubbing up against each other between the shelves, him reading aloud from a book while you humped your wet panties against his aching bulge. oh you would have wet him right there, later he was so upset about having to wash the stain on his pants.

sometimes he thinks about how much he wants to see you pissing on everything he owns, without even warning, just having you pissing. he gets so hard imagining you pissing on some of his stuff because you was so desperate you couldn't hold it in, don't need to make sense, stupid, can be a book or even trying to aim the pointer.

he may or may not have spent a few moments imagining a lot, oh nerd!yuuji...

----------

ooh please don't slap me berry anon!! // ...anyway, pisskinker yuuji ( 03:12 im going to sleep lord i swear

[kathlare]

jealousy, jealousy

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie joins Lando and a few familiar faces for a dinner that starts off light and full of laughter but slowly unravels into something more complicated.

Wordcount: 2.7 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

September 1st, 2020 - Milan, Italy

The table was loud—messy, full of drinks clinking and laughter that spilled out into the warm Milan night through the open terrace doors. George was halfway through a dramatic retelling of a karting accident when Amelie finally let herself relax into the cushion of the restaurant booth. The boys—Lando, Charles, Alex, and George—had been in town for media stuff, and she had flown in a day early for fittings, so Lando had convinced her to come out for dinner.

Well. Convinced was generous. He’d sent one of those stupid photos of his pouty face and a caption that said, “If you don’t come, I’ll cry in front of everyone and blame you.”

Classic Norris emotional terrorism.

So now here she was, tucked between Charles and Lando, sipping on a Negroni that was way too strong and trying not to look like she’d been specifically placed beside him.

They were just friends. Friends. No matter how warm her skin felt when their knees touched. No matter how her heart hiccupped when he casually leaned in to whisper something only she would hear.

—...and then George, the dumbass, decides to celebrate the crash,— Alex was saying, over a round of cackles. —Takes off his helmet like he’s just won Monaco, not flipped into a tire wall.—

George raised his glass in mock salute. —Still my most iconic moment.—

—I literally had secondhand whiplash from watching it,— Amelie laughed, then turned to Lando. —Did you see that video of it edited to Taylor Swift?—

—I sent it to him,— Charles grinned.

—Of course you did,— Lando muttered, but he was smiling too.

The waitress came back then. Slim, blonde, very Italian—and apparently very interested in Lando.

—Would you like another drink?— she asked, eyes laser-focused on him like no one else at the table existed.

Amelie watched as Lando glanced up, polite as ever. —Uh... yeah, I’ll take another Coke, please.—

She leaned closer. Unnecessarily close. —You sure you don’t want something a little… stronger?—

His smile faltered, but only slightly. —No, I’m good. Thanks.—

The waitress turned with a wink and walked away, but not before her hand brushed his shoulder. Lingering.

Amelie blinked.

Charles snorted into his glass.

Alex leaned in, stage-whispering, —Well, someone wants to ride in the McLaren.—

Lando looked mortified. —Oh my God, shut up.—

Amelie didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Her jaw had tightened, but her expression stayed neutral. Calm. Only Lando could feel the slight shift in energy beside him, the way her fingers stopped playing with her napkin, the tension rolling off her like a quiet storm.

George glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. —You good?—

—Peachy,— Amelie said, smiling too brightly. —Why wouldn’t I be?—

Lando glanced sideways at her. He knew that smile. That wasn’t a real smile. That was a fuck you smile wrapped in lip gloss and fury.

And he knew exactly why.

The waitress returned with the Coke, setting it down in front of Lando like she was offering up a holy grail.

—If you need anything else… anything at all…— she purred.

Amelie didn’t even look at her. Just said, dryly, —Think he’s good, thanks.—

There was a tone there. Everyone at the table heard it.

The waitress didn’t.

Or maybe she did and didn’t care. Either way, she gave Lando another wink before disappearing.

—Damn,— Charles said under his breath. —She’s bold.—

—She’s annoying,— Amelie muttered.

It slipped out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take it back. She just took another sip of her drink, this time not even pretending to enjoy it.

Alex blinked, clearly amused. —Someone woke up and chose violence tonight.—

George stifled a laugh behind his hand. Charles looked like he was watching the best episode of a reality show.

Lando, on the other hand, was trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t sweating.

—Ames,— he said carefully, nudging her leg under the table. —Are you actually mad?—

—Why would I be mad?— she replied sweetly, eyes still on her glass, voice like honey-covered razor blades. —You’re single. And apparently very popular.—

He blinked. —I’m not popular. She was just being… nice.—

—That wasn’t nice,— she snapped, finally looking at him. —That was desperate. There’s a difference.—

The boys let out a collective "oooh," like middle schoolers watching a classroom roast unfold.

George leaned over to Alex, grinning. —I thought they were just friends.—

—So did I,— Alex whispered back, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Amelie heard them. She didn’t care.

Because the truth was she was pissed. And she didn’t even fully understand why. Maybe it was the way the waitress kept ignoring her like she was invisible. Maybe it was the way Lando laughed, soft and polite, like he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Or maybe it was the fact that no matter how many times she told herself they were just friends, no matter how many boundaries she pretended to put in place, she still wanted to grab that girl by the apron and tell her to back the fuck off.

And she couldn’t.

Because officially? She had no right.

So instead she turned back to the table, resting her chin on her hand and forcing herself to smile. —Anyway. Anyone want to bet on how long before she “accidentally” spills a drink on him? My guess is dessert.—

—You’re scary,— Charles muttered, looking vaguely impressed.

Lando was quiet. Too quiet.

Amelie didn’t look at him again. She couldn’t.

The food arrived a few minutes later, and the table shifted back into laughter and conversation, but something between her and Lando had frayed. Subtle. Tangled.

By the time dessert actually came, Amelie had barely touched her pasta. She poked at it for a while, forced down a few bites when Lando nudged her thigh under the table, but the appetite that had started fragile had vanished completely. Just like the little peace she’d had before Miss Ciao Bella sauntered in with her flirty smiles and wandering hands.

Lando didn’t talk to the waitress again.

Not really.

But he also didn’t say anything to her. Not after the little flare-up at the table. Not when she said she wasn’t mad, even though it was obvious she was. Not even when he caught her arms crossed during dessert, absently flicking her straw in her untouched drink like it had personally offended her.

He didn’t know what to say. And honestly? Neither did she.

So the dinner passed.

The group eventually wrapped up, paid, and made their way out onto the street. The night was cooler now, the kind of crisp September air that carried laughter and city sounds on the breeze. Lights glittered along the cobblestone alleyway outside the restaurant, the boys still chatting about whatever Charles had started yelling about inside—some bad sim race or something.

They all came in separate cars. George and Alex had both rented theirs from the airport, Charles took his own, and Lando had picked up Amelie at the hotel in his McLaren.

It should’ve been an easy ride home.

But as the valet started calling out names and keys were exchanged, Amelie quietly stepped back from the group.

George’s car was brought around first, and he waved a lazy goodbye before climbing in. Alex followed soon after, ducking into his black rental with a sleepy yawn and a —Text me when you get back, I don’t trust any of you idiots not to crash.—

Charles was still waiting with them when Lando’s car pulled up—the orange McLaren gleaming beneath the streetlights like it was built to be stared at.

Lando took a step forward to meet the valet, but paused when he noticed something. Or, more specifically, someone wasn’t beside him.

He turned back. —You coming?—

Amelie was still standing a few feet away, her arms crossed again, expression unreadable under her mask. Her eyes darted toward Charles, then back to Lando.

—Actually... I’m gonna go with Charles,— she said casually. Too casually. —He offered earlier. It’s on the way, so... yeah.—

Charles looked surprised. A little confused. But he didn’t contradict her.

Lando blinked. —You what?—

—Going with Charles,— she repeated, tugging her oversized blazer tighter around her. —You don’t have to wait.—

He stared at her. Hard.

Something about the way she said it. The coolness in her voice. The wall that had come up between them so fast it made his head spin.

Lando scoffed, shaking his head once, short and bitter. —Whatever.—

He didn’t argue. Didn’t push. Just turned without another word and climbed into the McLaren, slamming the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

The car peeled off into the night, tires humming against the stone street.

And Amelie stood there, heart thudding and throat tight.

Charles glanced sideways at her, hands in his pockets. —You lied. I didn’t offer.—

She exhaled through her nose. —I know.—

He paused. —You want to talk about it?—

—Nope.—

—Alright. But if you change your mind, I’m excellent at fake therapy. And I have snacks in the glovebox.—

She managed a smile, small and brief, before following him to his car.

But when she got back to the hotel—after Charles dropped her off with a kind squeeze to her shoulder and a “don’t let your overthinking win”—she didn’t go straight upstairs.

Instead, she sat in the hotel lobby for twenty minutes, scrolling aimlessly on her phone, biting the edge of her thumbnail and wondering how the hell she’d managed to sabotage herself again.

Because Lando wasn’t hers. Because she’d made it clear. Because she didn’t want to cross that line—right?

But somehow, watching that waitress practically salivate over him had flipped a switch. And she hated how easily jealousy made her unravel.

When she finally walked into her room, Björn hissed at her from the couch, then promptly knocked a glass off the table.

—Yeah, yeah, I know,— she muttered, tossing her shoes aside. —I’m a disaster. Thanks for the reminder.—

Her phone buzzed just as she was brushing her teeth.

Lan: Enjoy the ride with Charles?

She stared at the message for a full minute before typing back.

Ames: Thanks for dinner. Good night.

She didn’t press send.

She deleted it.

Typed something else.

Deleted that too.

In the end, she turned off her phone without replying and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over her head like it might block out the guilt brewing in her chest.

Because she could pretend all she wanted.

But lying to him about that ride?

That was the first time she realized she didn’t just want to be friends.

Not anymore.

And maybe she never did.

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

liked by quadgossipqueen, f1fangirldiaries, and others

f1teaofficial: 👀 SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman leaving dinner with Charles Leclerc in Milan last night… just friends or something more? 👁️🍝 The pair looked cozy as they exited the restaurant together — and let’s just say, the internet is spiraling.

View all 79,018 comments

lanlanfan69: i know lando just threw his phone across the room → mclarenfangirlies: @lanlanfan69 he’s 100% rage playing call of duty rn

f1wifelife: charles pls stop collecting brunettes with god complexes → softboilan: @f1wifelife he has a type and it’s terrifying → gridgirlenergy: @f1wifelife this man’s roster could win a BAFTA

daymanhoe: not charles entering the ring for the "friend" olympics too → quadgossipqueen: @daymanhoe it’s giving “who’s really her soulmate” energy → drunkonlando: @daymanhoe LANDO U BETTER WAKE UP BRO

pastaandpetty: they went out for dinner but now i’m the one who’s fed 😭 → lesleyformclaren: @pastaandpetty i’ve eaten nothing but their crumbs for YEARS

screaminginferrarired: charmelie? lecrayman? idk but i’m scared → bbyleclerk: @screaminginferrarired it’s the “maybe they kissed” delulu hours → landozbraincell: @screaminginferrarired this is just like when my sims start flirting out of nowhere

f1fangirldiaries: if i see them holding hands it’s over for me → pitlaneclown: @pitlaneclown catch me setting my phone on fire out of loyalty to lanmelie → heartbrokeninsector3: @pitlaneclown who do i even root for now 😭

formulaflirts: nah if i were lando i’d be SICK rn → landosexuals: @formulaflirts bro’s pacing in a hotel room somewhere whispering “charles? really?” → drsfordayman: @formulaflirts someone check if he unfollowed charles again 😭

wagscentral: i just KNOW lando opened this post and threw his phone

softieforamelie: she’s collecting drivers like infinity stones and i support her → f1girliesunite: @softieforamelie slay queen, break the grid → girlofgrid: @softieforamelie she’s literally the final boss of the paddock

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

The room was too quiet.

Too still.

Amelie lay in bed, staring at the hotel ceiling, heart pounding like it had something to say and no one to say it to. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Just drifted in and out of a shallow haze, haunted by the image of his face as she’d walked away. The click of the car door. The way his eyes hardened when she told him she’d go with Charles instead.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

And the more she replayed it—the sharpness in her voice, the way she couldn’t even look at him—the worse she felt.

She’d fucked up.

No, she was fucking up.

Silently, she kicked off the duvet, toes hitting cold floor as she crept across the hotel room. Björn let out an indignant meow from the couch, but she ignored him, grabbing the hoodie Lando had left in her suitcase weeks ago and slipping it over her tank top.

The hallway was dim and quiet, her bare feet silent against the carpet. Each step toward his room felt heavier than the last, her chest tight with the kind of panic she couldn’t rationalize away.

What if he didn’t open the door? What if he was still mad? What if she’d pushed too far this time—crossed a line they couldn’t un-cross?

But her knuckles rapped against the wood before she could talk herself out of it.

A pause. Then footsteps.

The door creaked open, and there he was—barefoot, hoodie slung over a t-shirt, hair a tousled mess like he’d been pulled straight out of sleep. His eyes were sleepy at first… then sharp as soon as he registered her.

He didn’t say anything.

Just stepped back and opened the door wider.

She slipped in silently.

The door shut behind her.

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. Just crossed his arms, jaw tight.

—You come to ignore me some more?—

Amelie stayed quiet. She could tell he wasn’t finished.

—Because if that’s the plan, let’s just skip it. Really saves us both time.—

Still, she didn’t speak.

He let out a dry laugh, but it didn’t sound amused. —You couldn’t even look at me tonight. Lied to me in front of everyone. And for what? Because some girl with fake lashes and a tray smiled at me? Seriously, Amelie?—

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

—You know what the worst part is?— he continued, voice rising just enough to sting. —I didn’t even do anything wrong. And you still looked at me like I betrayed you.—

Silence.

Her fingers twitched.

His voice softened—not kindly, but exhausted. —Say something. Come on. Say anything.—

She didn’t.

Instead, she took one step forward. Then another.

Lando’s expression didn’t change, not at first—still cold, still hurt.

Until she surged forward and kissed him.

Hard.

All of her frustration, guilt, jealousy—everything she couldn’t say with words poured out in that kiss.

He staggered back slightly, stunned. But his arms were already around her before he could think, lifting her up like it was instinct. Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he kissed her back just as fiercely, like he’d been waiting for this moment all night—hell, maybe all year.

They stumbled back toward the bed, mouths still locked, only breaking the kiss to breathe as they collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and apology.

Lando's chest rose and fell beneath her, his fingers brushing her cheek.

She whispered, voice small: —I’m sorry.—

He looked up at her, breathless but teasing now. —Not gonna forgive you until you admit you were jealous.—

She groaned, rolling off him just enough to glare. —Oh my God, fuck you.—

He grinned, triumphant. —There she is.—

She buried her face in his hoodie, muttering, —You’re such a little shit.—

But she didn’t move away.

And he didn’t let her go.

They lay like that for a while—tangled up, quiet, no longer pretending.

Because it wasn’t just jealousy.

It was care. And fear. And wanting him so badly it scared her.

And maybe tomorrow would be complicated. Maybe the world outside this room would press in again.

But right now?

She was his.

And he was hers.

Even if neither of them had said it out loud yet.

[rotzaprachim]

part of why andor season 1 worked as this kind of delicately constructed tapestry is that you had so many different people of this kind of parallel nature of being practical, nigh brutal, but not sw pew pew flashy that were fascinating to watch on screen - cassian (it’s his show!!!), his lesbian worstie most hated coworker future self parallel vel, cinta the terrifying, mon mothma, kleya, and then luthen and whatever the fuck is wrong with him. Balancing that many different and yet parallel kinds of conniving on screen was a trick, and part of why I thought season 1 was so brilliant, but part of what it understood is that you didn’t need to have everyone on screen all the time - in fact, with a cast this large, it’s a good idea when you don’t. and then season 2 just, blew that out of the water by putting every one of those guys apart from mon and cinta in still water to mostly just spin their wheels for three episodes? It did not feel like a slow build up to the greater punch or like the quiet desperation of time, it felt like seeing several forms of season 1’s human dynamite just sitting there in a way that denatures their impact. Like there’s no real reason for a random antiquities dealer AND his assistant to just be at a fairly small family wedding for days on end for someone who officially is just a client? Vel is There for days pretty much doing nothing - it would have been great to hear just a littttttle more about her through the incredible showing not telling opportunist the show had. I love the idea that chandrila IS her prison in a real way that she chose to leave, that living as a guerilla in the mountains is something she prefers to being in luxury at home - but if being in luxury at home is what the rebellion needs, she will suffer through. Incredibly opportunists to do subtle The Mirror Hurts stuff with her being trapped cassian trapped kleya with two trapped agents…. nothing happened. Let your characters stew by all means but have a purpose for it! Also please let’s explore the fact that imho aldhani was strongly implied to be an intentional failure in luthen’s accelerationaist worldview that actually threw shit out of orbit when they got the fucking money and three (3) agents survived - incredible stuff to be done with cinta cassian and vel as this trio of dead men walking the rebellion never knew they were going to have to fucking deal with, but now everyone is coworkers sharing a printer and a fax machine that only sort of works. These were the partnerships and energy I wanted to see in season 2!!!!

[pxper-cranes]

Something something what if for our return to arcavios during the *dragonstorm arc* the elder dragons of Tarkir try to invade other planes and the elder dragons of Arcavios are forced to fight against them? Based on colour combos, the strixhaven dragons would fight the tarkir lords based on the missing colours from the clans they took over

For example

- Ojutai (Jeskai) vs Beledros (Witherbloom)

- Silumgar (Sultai) vs Velomachus (Lorehold)

- Kolaghan (Mardu) vs Tazanir (Quandrix)

- Dromoka (Abzan) vs Galazeth (Prismari)

- Atarka (Temur) vs Shadrix (Silvarquill)

Honestly i wish it was a block formula to have one set on tarkir, one on arcavios and the final one being the end confrontation. Itd be funny if the strixhaven founders weaponised their students to fight to liberate Tarkir for extra credit or something and this could be a place to see Liliana again because im getting withdrawals

[egophiliac]

(looks at upcoming card releases)

I'm in danger :)

[themyscirah]

Complaining abt Suicide Squad yet again but the fact that they have Waller exposing the alien community to space racist attacks and talking abt how she got to her position through deceit and being a terrible person and stuff is just. Ahsfiwueh JUST SAY YOU DONT KNOW WALLER.

Anyways literally the 3rd mission of the Squad ever (and the first framed as smth Waller picked and not orders from above) was the Squad discrediting and stopping a rogue vigilante who was only arresting POC and funneling white people into white supremacy groups (of which he was the most prominent member) in SUICIDE SQUAD #4. and it's explicitly framed as this mission being personal for Waller that she's hiding from the government bc its illegal like. Guys. Please why are we having her incite (space bc comics) racist attacks now

Also the whole "Amanda got her position through deceit and being a terrible person" NO. she KEPT her position through being shitty and playing complicated political games!!! She wasn't always that way like there is a difference and it is IMPORTANT ppl PLEASEEEE. In Secret Origins #14 we learn Amanda's backstory and she used to be a normal, caring person! Like even after she entered into working in government and politics she wasn't automatically morally bankrupt like please people. She was originally given control of the Squad by Reagan (*sigh* 80s comics...) to distract and get rid of her because she was so successful at pushing progressive social policy in Congress. Acting like she's this static pillar of evil is such a waste of her character and so fucking uninteresting and disrespectful to her arc it drives me MAD.

Like I am NOT saying Waller is all sunshine and rainbows, she fucking SUCKS (said w love <3) but like there's a human being there. It's a progression, she has a character arc like please, DC, please!!! They've fucked up Waller so bad and made her so opaque and uninteresting she can't even be the protagonist of her own story for fucks sake!

Like I don't know how many times I have to scream it until DC hears me or remembers but WALLER IS THE MAIN CHARACTER OF SUICIDE SQUAD. ITS HER BOOK. yet right now she's a cutout to be used as the villain wherever the writers please. Even in her book we get none of her perspective really displayed, no exploration of her thoughts with any kind of understanding of the role she traditionally has played and was made to play in the story.

[reel-fear]

Genuinely so curious who Mike thinks is gonna be buying The Cage or the new DCTL GN bc with the way he tweets as far as he's concerned, it's not gonna be:

The queer people he has actively admitted he will never show any representation of in the games.

2. The POC he has actively fought against representing in his franchise. [Who he also mocked for thinking they would be represented in his franchise]

3. The Bendy fandom which has always been concerned with topics of diversity esp in the sense of queer people since its creation. Who he has responded to really poorly esp in regards to the GN.

4. The fans who critique him. [He blocked me for doing so lol]

5. His fans in general who he tweets about like this currently. [He's being vague about why people were mad at him or sent him 'nasty messages' because if you actually looked into why you'd see he was in the wrong. Either way, a very hateful way to speak abt ur own fanbase.]

Reminder while Mike is trash talking his fans he has always treated them rather poorly. The fans who won the fanart contest for Chapter 5 never got their posters actually in game due to it being rushed. Not only was chapter 5 a big slap to the face story wise, but it was literally so rushed he couldn't be bothered to add in the art his fans gave him for his game FOR FREE. [Meatly blames this on a crazy timeline, reminder him and Mike are the literal ceos of this company. The proposal of future updates here is also pretty cruel considering Mike nowadays happily admits he corrupted Chapter 5's source code and therefore literally can't update it At All currently. Because he is a moron]

At least they got to be in Boris and the dark survival, and by that I mean that was the Only game they got to be in so far, isn't that just treating your fans like you love them? Shoving their hard work into a spin off game almost nobody has played or addresses much. [Hell, who knows if with the Lone Wolf rebrand they'll even stay there. In which case they'll be in None of the games, only in the credits of BATIM]

6. The Bendy fans who just generally disagree with him on stuff. Like the new ink demon design where there is literally a public poll showing people generally prefer the old one.

7. The Bendy fans who can see he is actively lying to them. To their fucking faces.

He says this has always been the case, but screenshots and links to tweets regarding the books being canon prove it was not. Does he really think bendy fans are stupid or something? [Unless he's admitting here he lied to Kress when he told her the books were canon which sounds worse!]

8. Anyone who doesn't like the idea of giving money to a guy who laid off tons of employees then afterwards thought it was a great idea to express his anti-union views! Also brag about how good of an employer he was, according to his employees, he was not!

So in summary; Mike is an awful person who has not learned anything from the awful things he did. I will not be purchasing The Cage because, combined with this and his absolute refusal to take any kind of critique or see any differing interpretation of his franchise, I have no reason to think my problems with the franchise will ever be addressed or fixed. I probably will pirate The Cage along with any future Bendy Products [Including the movie] and will do my best to avoid giving it any kind of monetary support. Unless this changes any time soon, I can't see myself making anymore positive Bendy posts soon.

Mike has just managed to make it so hard to speak positively or optimistically of this franchise when he's so willing to broadcast how little he cares about it or its fans. I'm at the point where I refuse to pull any of my punches with my problems with it. What's the point of trying to play nice with my critique when either way the people creating it don't care?

So with this post, I want to invite anyone who feels similarly about the franchise to tell me, make a post or send an ask talking about how all of this makes you feel. It may not change how things are, but genuinely seeing other people share my feelings of anger makes me feel better. It feels nice to see when other people share our same concerns and worries. I'd also love to know if anyone else thinks they'll be avoiding purchasing Bendy products over this.

I'm not forcing anyone to participate in it nor trying to say anyone who doesn't supports mike but genuinely maybe if we can collectively decide to boycott things like the movie, graphic novel and The Cage... It might at least make the bendy devs acknowledge how much they have destroyed their own fandom's faith and trust in them.

The way Mike tweets about his actions like he had no control over why people were mad at him at least proves to me he takes NONE of it back nor regrets it. If you didn't know about his actions and only went off his tweets, you would be led to believe Mike has been needlessly picked apart by fans over things he couldn't control [or in his own words, had his words twisted and taken out of context]. That is not how you speak about your actions if you have actually learned better from them.

anyway, that has been my bendy dev callout post. This is an open invitation to anyone feeling similarly upset about the way the franchise is going to talk about it. It's genuinely nice to see how people feel about this and the more we talk about the more it's likely the bendy devs are forced to address our concerns. I don't think they will but hey, that's why I'm not gonna support them with my money anymore nor am I gonna be nice to them in any content I make critiquing Bendy. I mean I'm also basically making this post just in case anyone asks me Why I feel this way towards to bendy devs/as a way to respond to anyone who thinks I am too harsh in my critique in the future.

As always, it seems the best part of Bendy isn't actually anything about canon but about what the fan's are creating with the ideas Bendy failed to do anything interesting with.

Also the books, the books slap.