#Expanded Metal Solutions

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[cherry-leclerc]

million dollar man ☆ toto wolff

genre: age gap, porn with plot, angst, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature, mentions of homicide, bits of humor, child neglection, divorced!toto

word count: 16.5k

Toto Wolff, self-made billionaire, is on cloud nine; he has all he’s ever wanted. A beautiful wife, family, a great team. But when that starts slipping from his fingers, he desperately tries to keep hold of what is not his anymore. As a possible solution to cure his blues, Lewis kindly invites him to a place he runs off to when times get tough; to relieve some stress. But he just never expected a cosplaying angel, dancing around a metal pole, to be his salvation. And also, his cruelest life lesson. 

nsfw warning under the cut! 

18+…dry humping/ thigh riding, sexual tension, penetrative sex, oral sex (m!receiving f!receiving), size kink, breeding kink, praise, foreplay, riding

inspired by million dollar man, lana del rey , yayo, lana del rey !

STOP AND READ:

Typically, we keep it light here: occasional minor angst fics, but light, nonetheless. That will not be the case this time around. Because of that, I firmly believe that it is necessary to give a few warnings. There will be mentions of drug-use and homicide and if that is not something you are comfortable with then that is totally okay! I have more options for you to read over at my masterlist! This is purely fictional. With that, this story is based and inspired by Million Dollar Man and Yayo by Lana Del Rey (*run*)—what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. 

cherry here!…toto is like—a special appearance, here in this blog. probably won’t write for him all the time, but hey! we love him!originally this was going to be named yayo but have since changed my mind to million dollar man. IT WILL MAKE SENSE AND I’M SORRY, ANONS. please don’t hate the villain in me. consider yourself warned. 

There was no room for love when it came to the world of motorsport. Toto’s first marriage was a transparent reminder, given its falling out. The Austrian didn’t seem to care, almost; Mercedes was at their prime, but by then, when Susie came along, he felt a gist of hope. She must’ve known the sacrifices that would be made—the expectations. 

And yet, he sat there, signing the divorce papers once again. What had he done wrong this time? He had given her everything she could have ever wanted—spent time he didn’t even have—with her. 

Neither of us were happy anymore, she would whisper apologetically, eyes trained downwards. But I’ll always love you, Toto. You must remember that. 

Suddenly, he was fifty-two and with no true purpose in life other than to stabilize his broken team. If it wasn’t false accusations from other team principals, then it was trouble with the hydraulics, and if it wasn’t that, then it was losing his World Champion. Mercedes was already dwindling down to a mess, but with Lewis leaving—it felt like he was losing his mind. 

“You understand where I’m coming from, right, Toto?” 

Looking up at Lewis and Penni, his manager, the Austrian sighs, forcing a tired smile. No. He didn’t understand—did not want to understand. But he had no right to prevent the Brit from expanding one final time before retirement. I just feel like I need to do this for myself, but thank you for the infinite support. Mercedes will always be home to me. 

Promises. Fuck them, they meant nothing at the end of the day, so why bother? 

“Do what you need to do. I’ll always be here for you; no matter what.”

It was a bittersweet feeling to have. On one hand, the brunette felt optimistic. Maybe this was a chance to start over, perhaps offer up the golden seat to Carlos or Kimi. They had proven themselves in their own way and maybe that could bring better opportunities towards the team.

On the other, he felt like this was it. Maybe it was time to move on, retire with a sorrowful smile and live out the rest of his years. He could try fixing things with Susie. The thing was, he just re-signed as team principal, so none of that would work out even if he wanted to. 

Running a large hand through his brown hair, he groans and takes a sip of whiskey. Wincing at the taste, he jumps up in alert from his seat when there’s a knock on the glass door. May I? He nods.

Entering with an easy smile, Lewis raises his dark brows in a teasing manner. “Drinking ain’t gonna help, I promise you that.”

The brown eyed man grins. “You have something else in mind, cause if so, I’d like to hear it.”

The Brit hums, tilts his head to the side. Lewis had been with Toto for as long as he can remember; he was there when Toto and Susie met, and long after when they tied the knot. He swore they were happy, and that may have been once true, but he also knows sometimes even that can’t be enough. So, when news came out to their inner circle that the two were getting divorced, he felt sorry for him. He knows what it feels like to have it all, to suddenly go to sleep alone every night. But there was always one place that always helped— even people like him.

“You up for Vegas?”

-

He should have said no. He was too old for any of this nonsense. Too mature. Only, one thing led to another, and before he knew it, he was entering one of the top-tier stripclubs in all of Las Vegas. He knows that while there is nothing wrong with the profession, he can’t help but feel sinisterly dirty. He blames it on the fact that Lewis was beaming right besides him. Maybe if he hadn’t once been his boss, then the feeling would be different.

“Oh, c’mon. Ease up. No one will even know that you were in here.”

It’s true. While the club was a part of the infamous Vegas strip, it was also exclusively exclusive. No one could get in if there was no form of proving to be millionaires, and even that was ridiculously low. NDA’s would be signed as if it were something normal. Made him wonder what kind of things occurred between these four walls. 

Toto chuckles deeply, dark eyes roaming the entire room, loud music blaring. “How did you even know this place exists?”

Lewis winks, lousy arm waving at the bouncers. “You know how everyone thinks Formula One drivers are players and are up to no good?”

“Yeah?”

He smirks. “Well…they’re fucking right.”

After a couple of drinks, a few new friends—who would make great potential business partners—and a bit of gambling, the fifty-two year old found himself having a decent time. The atmosphere was a tad bit suffocating, but one time won’t kill him. He deserved it. 

“Oh, oh, you might want to take a seat,” Lewis chants excitedly. “People get pissed if you block their view.”

Abruptly, the stage lights up. It was a bit alarming, the sudden speed these men took to claim their seats, trampling over each other to get front row. Carefully, he crouches down onto the couch of giddy men. This wasn’t a normal setting; girls were caged behind glass as if to protect them from these males and their slithering actions. A red head professionally swings around the steel pole, black skirt flowing, adding to the illusion men love to taste. 

Whoops and hollers echo the red room as the Brit nudges Toto’s broad shoulder with a wicked grin. “Good, no? She’s my favorite.”

The Austrian scrunches his nose, half joking, half not. “Is this why you were always dozing off during our meetings?”

“Exactly why.”

It was an impressive art, he’ll give credit where credits due, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, but that’s about it. When he stood up to go and order a new drink, a string of boos were thrown at him. Even Lewis shook his head with disapproval. Man, you’re missing the show! He sends a sly grin. “I’m tough to win over, but they’re great, don’t get me wrong.”

The bartender shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s what they all say. Until they lay eyes… on her.”

“On who?” He’s quickly hushed as soon as the room changes gears. The once red club enhances into a soft yellow glow, the fast paced music slows down to an angelic piano intro. 

A round of applause for everyone’s favorite girl—Peaches!

If the fifty-two year old ever thought he’s heard it all; loud cheers from fans, loud cheers for the other dancers; then he must have been mistaken, and awfully foolish. His ears ring with the sudden howls from everyone in the room. Turning around, he’s found with a girl, standing with golden angel wings. A shiny reflection colors her hair as she delicately bows, shy smile sewn onto her pouty lips. White dress wrapped around her figure as if it was tailored for her, and only her. 

Yayo.

The way she pranced inside the glass box like a butterfly makes the men grow wild as they pant feverishly. She’s barely doing anything—hasn't even done half as much as what the other girls had done—and somehow, all eyes are drawn on her like a sticky potion. Toto’s heartbeat gets stuck in his throat as he tries his best to swallow it down. Sad eyes flicker throughout the club as she spins, dress fluttering like a flower in the summer breeze. 

You’re someone desirable in all senses, and it appears as if you know it as well. 

Let me put on a show for you, daddy. 

Dropping down to your knees, you crawl towards the glass as you draw your soft brows together, as if pleading to be let out. Hot breath paints the glass before you press a kiss. 

Then, you’re looking at him, and it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he’s ever done. His heart speeds up as you tie your shiny legs along the pole, sensually spinning as you throw your head back. Like a signal, water sprinkles inside the box as it lubricates you down, dark mascara trickling your features. 

Arms toss your hair back before sharing a quick wave as you step out, red lights turning back on. And just like that, Toto is left empty and alone once again.

“That shit was insane,” the Brits voice shakes him away from your spell as he flops down on the stool right next to him. “She must be new because I for sure wouldn’t have forgotten a pretty face like hers. What’d you think?”

Toto blinks. “She might be my favorite.”

-

Thank you, Ro, you say as you sign on the bottom x, waving him off as he tilts his head in agreement. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be outside, like always. 

Even after all this time, you still got trepidatious. There came times where the connection was completely off, that you just wanted to bolt away, screaming like a baby. But you needed this job to survive, plus, it paid a pretty penny. 

“Where do you want me?”

Once you spot the massive businessman, manspreading on the couch that he made out to look like a toy, you gulp. You had caught a glimpse of him already, basically performed for him, but you didn’t think he was the one who called for you.

He’s strikingly handsome in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend. Dark, untamed hair covers his face. Long nose catches your attention as you squirm. His hands are practically the size of your face and you could only imagine what his thick fingers must feel like. Curiously, your eyes dwindle down to his lap as you picture what rests between his legs.

“Oh, right. Um…”

You grin. “First time?”

He winces. “It was a friend's idea.”

“Hmph. Heard that one before.” Inching closer, you pour a glass of water. “Here. It’ll help.”

His hand swallows you whole as you gape down at the difference. Electricity zaps you as you flinch and he catches on. Bringing the cup towards his pink lips, he closes his eyes, lashes fanning his tan skin. Being taken care of by a beautiful, young lady, made him cringe in all kinds of ways. He felt like a child, then like an old man. To be fair, he sort of was.

“I’m not here for…you know.” You quirk a neat brow. You don’t want to fuck me? Your question has him choking on the ice as he raises his hand up. “N-no, I just th—”

“I’m afraid you’re just wasting my time, and time is money. Have a good day, Mr. Wolff.”

Gaining his composure, Toto storms over to you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll still pay you. Triple what you make, but please don’t go.”

Your cheeks are dusted light pink when you turn around, wings brushing against him. If you’re lucky, you reach his toned chest, but the height difference was scary. Enticing. You almost wish he would fuck you like a pornstar. 

“You know what a girl wants to hear. I’m in.”

Turns out, he just wanted a companion. Someone who wouldn’t pity him. Didn’t hurt that you were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, either. Narrowing your eyes, you click your tongue. “She said that?”

He sighs. “Maybe I was changing.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what a marriage is for. You change, sure, but you change together. Things can’t possibly stay that same, that’s just stupid.” Tucking your legs beneath your butt, you continue. “And what? Your number one driver decides to leave out of the blue? Even after it was mutually decided that he would stick around at least until 2026?”

That was something no one knew, but who were you going to tell? Toto grimaces. “It sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking sucks.”

The Austrian chuckles deeply at your outburst. You blush at the cunning sound. “You’re a terrific listener. I’m glad you stuck around to talk.”

“I’m glad I did, too.” You play with the hem of your dress. “You’re a kind man, Toto. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

-

He slips away that night with a tranquility he hasn’t felt in quite a while. On the way back to Monaco, he wonders if you were some kind of guardian that he had to meet in order to move on from his bittersweet feelings. Because it sure did feel like it since he felt he now knew what it is that he had to do in the upcoming season. All thanks to you. 

“…Toto….Hello?” Bono smacks his hand against the table and the Austrian flinches. They were in the talks of what position he would stay in now that Lewis was departing from his life-long engineer. “Do you want me to continue or?”

The brunette clears his throat, awkwardly. “We have a few weeks of break before the new season begins, correct?”

“Correct.”

He stands up to his full height. “Then let’s talk later. Enjoy your break, Bono. See you soon.” Then he’s walking out the sliding doors, with a dumbfounded engineer piercing his eyes at his large back.

Elizabeth, Toto’s rough voice speaks to his personal assistant. Clear my schedule for the next few weeks. Oh, and also; get me the first flight out to Las Vegas. 

-

Cursing at the dusty wind, you huddle your way into your beat up car, fingers sliding your Dior glasses down the bridge of your nose. They were a gift from a recent client, and you never shamed them away. Taking a sip of your sparkling water, you sigh in relief at the refreshing taste. Screw Nevada for being annoyingly hot. 

Tap tap. 

Squinting your eyes at your window, you only catch a glimpse of a man’s clothed crotch as you yelp. Swinging the door open, you take out your pepper spray. “Go away creep, I will use this if necessary!”

"Warten! Warten!"

“Huh?”

“I said wait,” a thick accent clarifies. You bite back a smile. “Hello.”

Bringing your hands up to your hips, you giggle. “Hello, Mr. Wolff. Back for more?”

He can try and pretend that he was better than crawling back to you, even if all you both did was have a meaningful conversation, but he doesn’t have time for lies. 

“I just wanted to thank you.” Your lips separate, slowly. “For everything. You helped me figure out lots of things.”

“Oh, wow… I, umm… You’re welcome?”

Intaking your soft aura, he closes his right eye due to the bright sun. “Can I take you out for coffee?”

-

You didn’t go out for coffee at a local cafe, but rather at his mansion he just blew his money on without batting an eye. Inhaling the yummy scent, you swoon. “This smells amazing.” 

He smiles. “It’s from Germany.”

“Authentic. How’d you get it?”

“Don’t underestimate power.” Your eyes grow wide at his cold tone and the Austrian laughs. “Relax. I’m from Germany. It’s my favorite, so I always carry one with me. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Let’s just leave it at old.”

He flashes a devious grin, lines tracing his face. “Ha-ha. But seriously, thank you for helping me out of my little…crisis.” Midlife crisis, you correct him as he glares. You snicker. 

“I’m glad I was able to help.”

“Can I ask you something?” Sure, you cheer as you sip on the hot drink. He fixes his glasses. “How did you end up working at Machiavellian Nights?” Your stomach drops. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No.” He nods. “I’ll tell you, because oddly enough, I trust you.” Okay, he whispers. “Are you close to your parents?” 

“What?” Are you? He nods again. You smile sadly. 

“That’s lovely, Toto. Appreciate that.” You release a shaky breath. “My father passed away when I was fifteen and my mother pretends to not know me.”

He gulps and you continue. “It was not always like that, though. We had a close relationship. She would braid my hair every night before bed. I would curl hers before every date. She was an amazing woman. One I could admire.”

“What happened?”

You lower your head, lips wobbling. Letting out a wet laugh, you brush a hand up against your nose. “Men are deceiving. Men are shit. Men are a complete waste of time and— I miss who my mom used to be.”

Handing you a napkin, you silently thank him. “She met him when I was only seventeen. It was fine at first; I was so happy for her. I would be moving out for college eventually, so I felt relieved that she had someone to rely on. Connor was great.”

The fifty-two year old is momentarily lost. Nothing sounds as bad as it seems, but he refrains from telling you so. “Then she got pregnant. Oh, Toto, I was so excited. A baby sister. Could you imagine? I bought everything my first job could afford. Onesies, blankies, pampers, I bought it all. And I never once expected anything in return.”

“That’s where things began to change. Connor swore I was trying to win my mom over and leave Rosie with nothing. Kicked me out before I even had a chance to defend myself. I thought —okay, I’ll just talk to her and explain that it was never my intention to do any of that. But she wouldn’t listen. She gave birth six months ago.”

“And you ended up...” You hum, bringing the mug up to your lips. 

“It was either that or fast food. Salary is shit in that industry. And the customers aren’t bad. I could say yes or no at any given time.”

The brunette fiddled with his watch. “So, you could have turned me away?” Laughing, you nod. He fakes a smug look. “And why didn’t you?”

Tapping a lazy finger onto your chin, you close your eyes before fluttering them open. “I had a feeling you had shit locked away. Just like me.”

-

He bids you farewell, claiming he was glad to have met you, even with such circumstances. The way he hugs you goodbye makes the pit of your stomach fuel with fire as you brush away the urge to climb onto him and kiss his pain away, even if he promises to not feel any. 

Take care of yourself, you beg, head resting beneath his heart. His breath hitches. You need to look after yourself, above all. Oh. And good luck with the new season. 

He wonders why such a pretty plea makes his heart break. Perhaps it was because even though your life was at rock bottom, you still looked out for others. Or maybe it was him, but he couldn’t pinpoint it at all. He wouldn’t try either because as stated before, he was leaving for good. He could make room to visit you the next time he was here for the Las Vegas GP. Even then, he wouldn’t risk you like that.

But like a kid at a candy shop, he finds himself signing the NDA once again. Welcome back, Mr. Wolff. The usual? “That sounds great, thank you.” Taking a seat, he watches the vivid room, hoping to spot you. Set after set, he’s torn when you don’t show up. Others seem to notice you missing as they violently spit slurs of; Bring out the pretty one! 

“Would you be kind enough to treat me to a sweet drink? Paloma’s are my favorite.”

Your sultry voice salutes him like a perfect hug as he looks down to where you bite down onto the inside of your cheek. Your eyes crinkle as you beam up at him. “You’re here…”

“I always am.”

He cringes, desperation humbling him as you take a seat. “Your act…you didn’t go on and I just thought you were out sick or something?” Leaning over to take a sip of his dark drink, loopy eyes train on him before sighing.

“Ugh, I wish. I’m on my period. I asked for the night off, but I’m still up to no good. Make a little bit of money, eh.” He clenches his jaw. “What are you doing here anyways, Toto? Oh shit—Mr. Wolff.” Smiling warmly at the bartender, you hug your red lips around the glass.

“I wanted to see you.”

Choking on the fruity drink, you clutch onto his thigh. He stiffens, but still pats your exposed back. You wore a silky red dress, just like the rest of the girls strutting through the busy club, but somehow, it looked better on you. Enhancing your soft features, tugging against your curves like an envelope. Perky tits begging to be licked— sucked on. 

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.” You frown. “I have no idea, but you’ve lingered on my mind from the moment I saw you, dancing sadly. Why was that?” 

You purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs. “Think a little bit harder, then.” His firm tone makes you sit up straight, drawing circles on his lap, as a tactic to not pull your strong gaze away. You don’t even notice his hard cock pushing up against the denim. 

“I had just received a restraining order against Rosie.” He deflates. “I’ve never even met my newborn sister and they got a fucking restraining order.” You scoff. “Unbelievable.”

Toto was lucky enough to be a part of his kids' lives, but simply picturing the idea of Stephanie or Susie getting a restraining order against him, crushed him. Seeing you so upset about it makes him want to track down your mother and Connor and yell at them for how they’ve treated you. But then he would probably find himself with a similar piece of paper.

“Just when I think they’ve done it all, there always seems to be more.” You laugh, taking another sip of your cold drink. “They’re getting clever.”

“How are you so okay with any of this?”

You narrow your eyes, offended by his question. “You think I am? Toto, I feel like the odd one out. My own mother makes me feel like a culprit for simply wanting to give my baby sister a pair of shoes.” The brunette furrows his brows. You giggle. “I got Rosie a pair of ballet shoes. They’re the cutest thing you’ll ever see.” 

His lips quirk upwards. “So, you’ve tried to meet her?” You shake your head, hair whiplashing. I called my mom, brought up the idea. I guess she didn’t like it because next thing I knew, hello, restraining order. It’s sick. “They don’t deserve you.”

Your mouth stays agape as you blink back at him, doe eyes ringing him in. “I’m done trying. I get tired too, y’know?” Edging closer to your seat, you cup your hands against his ear, getting a whiff of his musky, expensive scent. You almost let out a moan. “You have kids, right? Were they cute when they were babies?” 

He nods, enthusiastically. “They’re heaven sent.” Your eyes twinkle, and he feels bad for a split second. “Want to see?” He dangles his phone towards you as you beam. Do you mind? “Not at all. As a father, you must know, I like to brag about them.” Rolling your eyes, you swipe through his gallery as you coo.

“Oh my goodness! She looks just like you,” you point out when you spot a blond girl. He grins. That’s Rosa. Flickering your eyes up to him, you gasp. “Rosie.” 

“Huh? Similar…that’s funny.”

Your grin widens. “Oh, handsome. Just like his father.” Benedict, he informs you as he blushes at the comment. Swiping once more, you tilt your head. “Very cute—like insanely adorable—but he doesn’t resemble you at all.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

“That’s my youngest, Jack. He looks just like his mother.” He retrieves the phone from you before handing it back. Squinting, you analyze the older blond. “Identical. It’s almost as if you didn’t partake in the game, Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, trust me, I did.”

Burning up, you rip your gaze away from the device, trying to erase your filthy thoughts. Especially of him and his ex-wife. “She seems nice. Beautiful, too.” He hums, slipping his phone back into his pocket. 

“I can tell you have a soft spot for kids.”

“I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s an obsession. I can’t wait to be a mommy.” He swallows a groan at your innocent wish. “I would try to be the best; I just know I would.” 

The Austrian rubs his arm. “It’s getting late. Are you still going to be around?” 

You yawn. “I think I’m out of here, too.” 

“Can I take you home?”

The sexual tension is as thick as thieves. It suffocates you whole as you stare out the window of his Mercedes Benz. His digits taps against the leather wheel, legs barely fitting from how massive he is. Head almost touching the roof of his car. I swear I’ll go back to school, God, but please help me keep the last bits of my dignity. 

“How tall are you?” Come again? You gulp. “What’s your height? Curious, that’s all.”

His head rolls back, Adam’s Apple jumping up and down. “Meters or in feet?” You bite down on your tongue. Smart-ass. 

“Feet, if it’s okay with you,” you reply sarcastically. He clicks his tongue in amusement.

“6’5.” 

“Oh my God.” You smile sheepishly when he frowns. “You’re huge.”

“They normally say that after I have sex with them, but thank you.”

Heat rushes to your cheekbones and the tip of your ears. “You know what I meant.”

“Oh, of course, my mistake.” Pulling into your small driveway, he blinks slowly. “You live here?”

“Yes, don’t drool over it, please,” you growl at his rude tone. His brown eyes spin towards you when you hurriedly grab your things. He grabs the back of your dress quickly and you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s lovely, but I just thought…you said you made good money?”

High heels crunch against small pebbles as you scowl at the fifty-two year old. “I want to go back to Uni and I’m saving up, is that so wrong?” He’s embarrassed now, fixated on the empty passenger seat. You scoff. “Glad we agree. Good night, dickhead.”

Toto lets out a quiet laugh. Your eye twitches at the sound. Marching over to his window, you click your fingers as he rolls it down. This is funny to you? “Not at all. You acting like a child is.” 

“I am not acting like a child—”

“Oh, you’re not? Fuck. Again, my mistake.” Grinding your molars, you glare at the brunette. He aims for a soft smile. “I wasn’t making fun of your living arrangements, please, do you really think that low of me?” You look away, wiggling your neat brows. “Come and live with me.”

“Excuse me?”

He climbs out of the car, making you stumble back. “In the meantime, while I’m here, which is not for long. When I leave, you can keep the house.”

You grow light headed from his delirious offer. “Are you asking me to have sex with you in return for a new home?” His jaw drops.

“No, I’m being a good friend. You’re a sweet girl who has dealt with some shitty people and I want to help. Please, accept.” His voice is soft but somehow demanding. As if he already knows you’re going to agree. 

Inching closer, you poke his chest. He raises his arms. “Are you real?” Super real, he states, rolling his chocolate eyes. What do you say? 

“But my things—”

“I’ll send for them.”

“My downpayment—”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Cool!” you cheer. “Let me just go grab my boyfriend.” His smile falls. Letting out an evil laugh, you clutch onto your stomach. “Ha! You should have seen your face.”

He pinches your forearm and you yelp in surprise. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Too late,” you yodel as you skip around, back into the black Mercedes. “You’re going to regret it anyways.”

-

We still have to talk about the preparations required for the unveiling of the W15. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten? 

Massaging his temples, Toto grimaces. “I haven't, but also, we don’t have to. It’s all ready to go; George and Lewis just need to show up.”

Elizabeth gasps. “And you.”

“Elizabeth, that was implied.” The assistant hums sheepishly as she continues talking his ear off. He groans. “I’ll be there, don’t worry. You’re doing a great job, keep it up. And please, enjoy your break. You’re going to wish you had when the season starts.”

“Of course. Take care, Toto.”

Once they hang up, he picks up on reading through articles about everything and anything people have been saying about Lewis’ new contract with Ferrari. He was happy for his driver, but it still stung. 

“You look tired.”

Chocolate eyes direct over to you where you stand with an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties. At least he hopes. “Oh, y’know. Catching up on work. Can’t be gone for too long, if not things get out of control.”

Rolling your eyes sarcastically, you slide your way closer to him. “Can I see?”

“See what?”

Squinting at the screen, your eyes glimmer brightly. “I love all things gossip. It’s my guilty pleasure.” Taking a seat on his thick lap, your delicate fingers start playing with the keypad. He grunts, placing both hands behind his head as his jaw ticks. “Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton: The Unstoppable Duo.” You giggle. “He’s cute. Take it back, they both are.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “You’re evil.” 

Tossing your hair over your shoulder, you shrug. It looks so soft, he’s itching to run his fingers through it. “I see why you’re upset about this whole—‘I want Lewis! No, I want Lewis!—thing.” His smile falters. “It’s brutal.”

Hauling you off of his lap, he places you on the chair next to him, hoping you wouldn’t notice his hard print. “Is it?”

“Mhmm,” you chirp, chin propped onto your knees. “You must not mind people talking about you.”

“I do mind. I mind a lot.”

Perplexed, you take in his exhausted state. You never wanted to be famous, and seeing him live like this made you realize you had made the right choice. With slight hesitance, you brush his hair back; he sighs in relief. “It’s good to take breaks in between. That way you don’t have a stroke, old man.” His eyes fly open.

“Just because you’re younger, that doesn't mean I’m about to drop dead, sweetheart.” You squirm, forcing his orbs back closed as he squirms at the clumsy action. 

“Wanna feel something nice?”

Toto’s mind wanders to a steamy place once you leap off your chair. His chest heaves up and down from nervousness, hearing your soft steps. Straddling him, you press a soft kiss onto his cheek. Relax, Toto. He nods, grips onto the sides of the wooden chair, knuckles turning ghost white. Digging your hands into his broad shoulder, you begin to massage him at a steady pace. He moans. “How are you so good at this?” Your lips curl.

“I like to think I was a masseuse in my past life, now shhh.” 

The brunette’s main focus was between two things; actually letting loose and enjoying the much needed massage and the urge to slide your panties to the side and fuck you senselessly. Both were pretty good ideas in his book.

“Stop grunting,” you whisper in the nook of his ear as he shudders. You bite down on your pouty lip, leaning all the way back, and his hands instinctively reach out to catch you. His brown eyes flutter open as he admires the way you tower over him, even as you lay back, but also the way your fingers push adamantly against the knots in his shoulders. He growls animalistically. “What did I say, Mr. Wolff?”

Cold stare. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Grabbing his large hands, you place them over your hips, an inviting smile dancing across your pink lips. Squeeze if you have to. He almost comes inside his pants as you lick your lips once more before continuing your actions. And it almost seems like you want to get a rise out of him. To make him groan, moan, grunt, cry out— for you. 

Purposefully, you dig your knuckles extra hard before pinching down with your nails. He hisses, grasping your sides hard as he throws his head back, floppy hair hitting the chair. You force a whimper away as you feverishly grind against his crotch. That kind of hurt, Toto.

“Fuck…I’m sorry,” he spills out as he starts a massage of his own. You smirk, repeating the same painful actions, pushing him to do the same as before. This was no longer a peaceful massage, you both knew that. It really hurts, you whine as you place a small hand against his chest, hips moving feverishly against his rough pants. The burning sensation makes you let out a pathetic wail as you rest your head against his shoulder. “A-are you okay?”

Then, you press your forehead against his; lustful gaze challenging him while tears cover up your pretty eyes, making them shimmer even more than before. “Never been better.” With one last rub against his slacks, you’re climaxing as you plow your red nails onto him.

Gasping for air, you return to tracing soft circles against his wide shoulders as he’s left dazed and confused. His cock still hurts from how hard he is, but you don’t seem to notice. Or you ignore it. It doesn't matter, because you’re already jumping off him, lips bruised from how hard you had bit down.

“I thought your hands would hurt a lot less, Toto. You ought to be nice to me.” 

Then, you’re skipping away, back into your room like a shy rabbit.

-

After the encounter in the dining room, you pranced around as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. Toto’s mind was probably playing tricks on him because there was no way you could act so nonchalant, hallowing your lips around the cherry popsicle. Is it red? You stick your salivating tongue towards him.

“That’s a dumb question.”

You frown. “Grump.” A beat. “Can I take the Mercedes on a spin?”

“No.”

The frown grows deeper. “Why not? I swear I won’t scratch it. In fact, I won’t let anything happen.”

“Tempting, but still no.”

“Fine,” you grumble, munching down on the icy treat. He smiles, fingers typing against his computer. Can I ride you? His digits freeze midair as he flickers his brown eyes over at you. Holding the car keys directly to your face, you hum playfully. Yeah. Why not, Peaches? Just take care of me! “Of course, my sweet Benz. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You are worse than my four year old.” He inhales sharply, rolling up his sleeves as he tries to ease his crazy heartbeat with water. You giggle.

“He said yes.”

“The car talks now?”

You blush. “That’s what I’m sayinggg…”

Analyzing the strand of hair that hits your chin, he folds his hands. “How did you choose Peaches as your stage name?”

You swallow the last piece of your popsicle. “It’s not an interesting story. I have a co-worker who goes by Foxy because she once fucked a fucking grandpa in the woods and he died of a heart attack once he saw a fox. Pretty cool, huh?”

His jaw drops. “You’re crazy.” Shrugging, you kick your legs up on the armrest. He swallows. “But I still want to know. No matter how boring it may seem. I can guarantee you I won’t think the same, pessimist.” 

Gingerly squinting your round eyes, your lips for a thin line. “When I was younger, my mom would bring me a peach everyday after work. That way, when she would pick me up from school, she would have it ready. The sweetest ones were during summer, of course, but the ones out of season were still pretty good. Up to this day, I still don’t know how she got her hands on those.” He nods. “Simple as that.”

“I think it’s sweet.” His long legs stretch out to kick your chair away. You squeal. “Makes you seem a tiny bit human.”

“Hey!”

He smirks. “Way better than Foxy. That story is just a murder case waiting to be taken to trial.”

“She did receive a handsome inheritance,” you whistle and his eyes grow wide. You snicker. “I’m kidding.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you enjoy your job? Is this what you want to do for the rest of your life?” You shake your head.

“Wait, let me rephrase. I do enjoy pole dancing. So many outsiders assume we’re sluts, but it’s not like that. It’s an art, whether you believe it or not.” I agree. You grin. “I have fun, but no, I don’t want to do this forever. I want to be an elementary school teacher.”

“Really?”

You wince. “Seems inappropriate, I know, but I think I could be really good at it. I would cut them slices of sweet peaches any chance I get. I’ll even figure out where to buy some more once the season ends.” Scooting closer to the table, you flick your wooden stick onto his lap. He aims for a deadpan expression. “And I just want to make it clear that I do not sleep around. But when I do, it’s because I want to. I have needs too, Toto.”

The fifty-two year old grinds his teeth together. “I’m sure you do.”

-

Wobbling against the shiny tiles, you gasp before a warm hand saves you. You let out a breath of relief, turning to see Toto shaking his head in disapproval. 

“This is why you should leave to work on time. Now you’re just a mess.” Glaring at him, you fix your rollers as you walk out onto the private driveway. You were excluded from the rest of society, but part of you liked that. “How are you even going to get there?”

Spinning around, you almost crash into his chest before you regain your composure, close proximity making you struggle to find the words. “Toto, I never told you this, but…I can fly.”

“I’m being serious.”

You shrug. “I’m going to take the bus. Go back to your precious emails.” As soon as you twiddle your finger, he scoffs. 

“I would take you—”

“But you’re busy— it’s fine.”

“Can you stop talking?” Beady eyes narrow up at him as he continues. “But I can’t because I’m drowning with work…You can take the Mercedes.” Your eyes light up. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He wishes he was fucking you, but no. “You better treat it like your own.” You click your tongue. See, you shouldn’t have said that because now my alter ego just grew. He points accusingly and you scrunch your nose. I promise. Handing you his keys, he watches carefully as you pull away, blowing him a kiss. 

A few hours pass by before he feels the need to check up on you. He tries texting first. Busy night? Nothing. He tries calling. Nothing. He starts thinking you might've crashed on your way there, so he hurries out the door. 

Paying the taxi driver, he marches past the doors as he is handed a piece of paper. He smiles back politely. “Don’t you guys think we’re past this?” The men take a quick glance at each other before nodding. Have a lovely night, Mr. Wolff. 

Loud music makes the brunette wince, face twisting uncomfortably. Brown eyes study the club as he tries to decipher where you could possibly be. Maybe you didn’t make it and he was right after all. Jogging over to the bartender, Toto pants. “Peaches? Have you seen her?” 

The young man points to the glass box, where you start your set. He sighs in relief as he takes a seat, rolling up his sleeves as he admires. Everyone cheers as you smile erotically. The Austrian can’t help but be one of them too. 

Spotting him, you freeze. You narrow your eyes for a split second before you snap out of it, continuing your desirable movements. The music ends and just like that, you’re done. Hollering echoes the room when you brush past by. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A cheesy grin plays out. “I came to see you.” Weren’t you busy with work? He shakes his head. “Well, yes actually, but I thought you were dead in a ditch when you didn’t reply to my message or answer any of my calls.”

“Why could that be? Oh. Maybe because I’m working,” you hiss. “Listen, if you’re here as a client— fine. But if you’re here as Toto— leave.”

He narrows his eyes sharply and your breath hitches. “It’s Mr. Wolff, darling.”

You purse your lips. “Very well, Mr. Wolff.” Strutting away, you make sure you sway your hips. The brunette groans, falling back against his chair. 

The night flies by as usual, until they book you. “Mr. Straforx, sitting in the back booth,” Ro informs you as you suck on your bottom lip, listening attentively. “Interested?” 

“Very.”

“Actually, I am too.”

The rich accent makes your stomach flip as you muster up a stern glare. Toto’s lips form a firm line as he stands as tall as a sequoia. Fuming, you shake your head, perfectly done hair slapping your face. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wolff, but I already agreed to somebody else. But rest assured, if I have time left, then I will get to you.”

“Is money the issue here?”

Your jaw ticks, temples grinding together harshly. “You think that’s all I care about?”

He shrugs. “I could lie and say no, but who am I kidding? We all care about money.”

Flustered, you scoot closer to Ro, who stands amused with the entire interaction. “Ro, tell Mr. Straforx that I’ll be there in a minute, and make sure to apologize on my behalf.” The older man nods, tipping his head towards the Austrian as he strolls away. “What are you trying to do, Toto?”

His lips flip to a teasing smile. “Mr. Wolff.”

“Oh, don’t you dare pull that card on me.” Your face pinches up. “This is an important client, I can’t say no.”

“How much do you want in order for you to come with me instead of him?” Your berry lips separate. “Name a price. I’m a self-made billionaire, sweetheart—a couple of millions are nothing to me.”

“I could never ask for you to do that,” you whisper, timidly fiddling with your necklace. “Deal with it. You’re not my boyfriend.”

His nose flares at the cruel reminder. “I never claimed to be. I’m a client.” Pause. “Two million.”

You gasp. “Are you insane?”

“You’re right, that’s childsplay. How about five?” When you still don’t say anything, he grins devilishly as he places a large hand on the lower part of your back. “Ro! Yeah, tell Me. Straforx that she’s coming with me. I’ll give you a bonus, don’t worry.” Your friend nodded happily. Press the button if you need anything. 

You roll your eyes, sourly. “Thank you, Ro. Thank you so much.” Pushing you into the private room, you yelp. “Let go of me!”

The brunette scoffs. “Calm down, I was barely even touching you.”

Shivering, you focus your attention on the luxurious drinking options. Half of these were probably worth what you make in a year, but the rich fed off of that. The brown eyed man hums. “Is that something you’re interested in?” You quirk a brow. A drink? He shakes his head. “Do you want me to touch you?”

You blink up at him swiftly, rubbing your thighs together. “You’re reading into it. I don’t.” Digging his large hands into his pockets, he clicks his tongue. Okay. Then ask me to leave. We can pretend none of this ever happened. A sad whine bubbles up your throat as you fear that he might actually walk out if you even dared to imply. “Just don’t be a jerk.”

A threatening chuckles booms past his lips as he serves himself a drink you can’t even pronounce. He takes a slow sip before he raises his glass up towards you. “You’re getting to me a  bit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, you must know that, right?” Demented, you play with your dress. 

Tonight, you were cosplaying a wide-eyed devil. There was nothing threatening about your appearance, not if you didn’t count your crimson red lips. Plump, round, tempting. Your black gartner drives him to complete insanity as you bite down on your bottom lip, nervously. Your red dress is too short for his liking, but only because others get to enjoy the sight of your heavenly legs. The ones he was drooling over to nuzzle his face in between. Then your horns tussle your hair messily as you pant. He hasn’t even touched you and you were already dripping.

“That’s not true, Mr. Wolff.” The grin widens.. 

“You can call me Toto when we’re alone, sweetheart.” You shiver, lowering your gaze. No, you were right. It has to stay professional in this setting. The brunette rolls his tongue before squinting his eyes at you, fine lines forming. The sight alone makes you melt. “You should have thought about that before you came all over my thigh.”

Shocked at his vulgar words, you bat your eyes, flustered by the reminder. You had done that. But you had the upper hand that day and that was long gone as he towered over you. Inching closer, he drops down to his knees, him still appearing taller even with the action. You squirm. 

“You were not playing fair that day. How come you only got to finish, and I didn’t?” You were hurting me, you cry out like a child as he scoffs at your weak attempt. Tugging you closer to him by your smooth legs, he droops them over his wide shoulders. Oh God. Turning his head to the side, he presses warm kisses. Your skin burns with every single one. “You know that’s not true.” Then, he’s hiking your tiny dress up.

Toto is hit with instant lust as he spots the wet patch of arousal. You whine, legs shutting around him. Do something—anything—but please, touch me. The corner of his lips lift up as he bites onto your red undergarment, pulling it down. Oh, you sigh at the intimate vision. Once you’re on full display, he groans. Your pussy glistens back at him, begging to be stretched out. “You’re…”

Humming, you place your soft palm against his cheek. “Toto…”

Like a starved man, he dives in, lips sucking on your clit as you fly forward, eyes screwed shut. He eats you out as if this was his true calling in life, the way he pinches your hips when you rock yourself against his face. He’s enjoying every second, every drop, as you find pleasure with the way his tongue swirls inside of you, finding new places you didn't know existed. The brunette nips quickly as you gasp, then he strikes his tongue. Warm sensation settles inside of your stomach. T-toto, holy fuck, oh my God. 

You can feel the way he grins against your pussy as he continues his handy work. Slurping your juices, his dark eyes find yours as you pant, light sweat fanning your face. His large hand presses your dress down, further adding to the friction as your tummy is pushed down as well. Wailing, you writher an embarrassing amount that would normally have you pouring out apologies if it weren’t for his strong gaze. 

“Taste so sweet,” he chants, kitten licks taking place. Your head rolls back against the couch, hand clutching onto his hair as he grunts. “Open your eyes for me, schatzi.” But you’re too busy trying to make this moment last, ignoring his command. Pressing his nose against your small hole, you squeal and look down. A coy expression takes over as he pulls away and rubs his fingers against your puffy clit. 

“You s-so fucking good at this,” you pant, chest rises up and down, horns sliding down a bit before he extends his long arm, pushing it back. Your chest tightens. “I know what you’re going to do…Go easy, please.”

Taunting circles edge you further as he bites the squishy part of his cheek. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to try and make your fingers fit.”

Your words come out menacing as you scrunch your eyebrows together, a worried look clear to the Austrian. Kissing the inside of your thigh, he nods. “You’re an extremely smart girl.” Another kiss. “I’ll go slow. You won’t even feel any discomfort, just pleasure.”

“Wait!”

Panic strikes his face as you disconnect his left hand from your breast. Bringing his hand up, you inspect the wedding band. Why are you still wearing this? He groans. “Publicity. No one knows yet. They won’t know for a while, so I can’t take it off until then.” You hum, then slide his ring finger into your mouth. You can taste yourself, long digits immediately hitting the back of your throat as you gag. “What are you—”

Then he feels it. Your soft tongue and the way it lubricated the steel before you gently bit down and started pulling his hand back. His cock grows more pained from how hard he’s become. With a pop you smile, eyes crinkling as you show off the metal. “Better.”

“You’re…” I know, you seductively whisper as you return his hand to where it laid. Is that not what you like about me? The man practically growls as he slams two thick fingers inside of you. Your body jolts as you cry out. So good, Toto. His cock twitches at you ragged praises. His fingers barely even fit inside your tiny hole, but it sure as hell reaches your g-spot. White splotches burn your eyes as you dig your nails onto the side of his thick neck. 

“Just like that. Oh, Toto.” He adds a third finger, and you hiss at the burning sensation. “That’s too much! Fuck.” He makes up for it, drawing figure 8’s between your velvety walls as you open up to him. Your legs start to slip down his shoulders as he spits. Keep them in place. You whimper, but obey, nonetheless.

The pad of his fingers continue assaulting your sweet spot, curling at a perfect angle. Your moans grow louder. Chocolate eyes flicker up to face your fucked up state. “Close?” You nod, vigorously. A warm strip teases your slippery lips. “Good. You’re doing so good, Peaches.”

Your hips buck suddenly as you suffocate him with your body, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Picking up on your candy nectar, he groans like a madman, greedy tongue swiping to lick every last drop. Shuddering at the feeling, you push his head away from in between your legs and grab him by the collar. For a second, he thinks you might kiss him, but when you don’t he realizes he’s disappointed. Instead, you plant a kiss on his cheek, hot breaths wrapping around his skin.

“Guess that makes us even, Mr. Wolff.”

-

“And then I rode a pony! I begged mama to let me get on a horse instead, but I just got a good scolding. But you would’ve let me, right papa?” Toto theatrically grins at Jack. 

“Don’t tell her, but yes. I would have let you because you're a big boy now, aren't you?” The four year old nods, blond hair covering his eyes as he brushes it away with powdered hands from his donut. I miss you. When are you coming back?

Pressure tugs at the Austrians chest as he sighs. Jack was too young—he wouldn’t understand that he and Susie would no longer be living together. It was a mutual decision to tell him when the time was right, but it still killed him to lie to his son. Especially when he beams back with bright eyes. Toto winces. “Soon.” A pin drops. “Have you eaten your vegetables for the day?” Jack sprints away.

A soft laugh is heard from the other side of the screen as Susie comes to view. “He has not, by the way. Hi, Toto.” The brunette waves. “Are you actually busy with work or are you trying to forget about all your fatherly duties?” 

“Is it that obvious?”

The blond chuckles. “Whatever it is, it’s great that you’ve taken time to yourself. Just don’t take too long.” Signing off, the fifty-two year old is left staring at his own reflection. 

“He’s cuter than the pictures.” Toto flinches with surprise. Standing in a summer dress, you lick your lollipop. “His voice is super squeaky; it’s adorable.”

“Do you need something?”

His question may seem rude, but it’s not meant to come off as so. His voice is filled with genuine concern as he furrows his brows. You shake your head. “I’m bored, that's all.”

The brunette scoffs. “And by all means, you came to bother me.” A giggle dances out of you as you brush your hair back. Your sweet scent reaches him, even though you stand far enough away to make a run for the hills. “But I do have time. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to talk to my mom.” Your words shock him but he listens attentively, watching you as you sit on top of the table, legs swinging with rigidness. “I want to try and fix things.” He frowns. But you’ve done nothing wrong. You shift in an uncomfortable manner. “Well…”

“What did you do?”

“Remember how I got a restraining order, but I’ve never stepped close to Rosie?” He nods. You nibble on your thumb. “I s-sort of lied.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve met her, kind of…” You pout, hazed expression carving out through your doll features. “But I can explain.”

He sighs. “Please do.”

Your cheeks flush. “A few weeks before I met you, Connor called me. And I picked up. He told me he was willing to let me meet my sister, but only if I let him borrow fifty grand. To be honest, I don’t care if I never get my money back— I just wanted to be able to recognize Rosie’s face. Of course I said yes.” The Austrian listens carefully, loopy eyes dedicated to you. “I bought her ballet shoes, the one’s I told you about.”

“She was perfect. She giggled like the most angelic thing and her eyes crinkled in a way that made me love her instantly. I asked why Connor needed the money and if they were in trouble, but he only ignored me. Then he tried to kiss me.”

“He what?”

A timid smile plays out. “It’s okay, he does that sometimes, but I’m always able to push him off because most of the time he’s drunk out of his mind. I don’t normally care, but he had Rosie… What if because of some stupid mistake he put her in danger? I gave Rosie her gift and paid an Uber to take them back home.”

“My mom found out about the meet-up and marched right to my work. Don’t ask me how she got in. She yelled at me with such anger that I almost wanted to cry. She said I wanted to steal both Rosie and Connor from her. I promised that wasn’t true, but she didn’t care. Then I got my restraining order.”

The brunette’s words get stuck as he gapes at you. Clearing his throat, he drums his fingers against the table. “You should have told me the truth,” he begins. Hurt slashes your face—you thought he would understand. He offers a friendly smile. “But still…you’ve done nothing wrong.” A beat. “I can help you. Well, my lawyers can.”

Tears form inside your jello eyes. “Are you serious?”

He nods. “Your sister can’t grow up in a household that doesn’t want her, but keeps her just to twist the knife. Connor will pay for what he’s done to you.” Leaping off the table, you cross your arms. No. You can’t bring that up. He sends a sharp glare. “What he did was wrong, can’t you see?” Your bottom lip wobbles. She’s going to hate me even more. Tenderly, he sighs as he strolls over, cupping your face. “She shouldn’t, but if she does, at least you’ll be free from him. Has he only tried to kiss you?”

Closing your eyes, you release a wet breath. “He’s touched me a couple of times.” The Austrains eyes darken. Pushing his hands down, you quickly take a step back. “But by then I was due to move out, so it doesn’t really matter!”

“It matters a little,” he growls. “None of this is normal.” You flinch at his strong tone. “Sweetheart, tell me one thing; what would you do if God forbid, he did the same thing to Rosie?” 

You gasp. “I would murder him.”

“So, you agree that we have to do something about this?” Hesitantly, you nod. “I’ll reach out to my attorney as soon as possible. I promise you that all of this will get taken care of.” Muscular arms drape over your shoulders as he hugs you. Bewildered, you blink as you stiffen. “You don’t hug much?”

“Nope.” 

He booms with laughter, chest vibrating as you smile at the feeling. Everything about this feels right, so then why does that scare you?

-

He vows to be back as soon as he’s done with the car reveal. I don’t care, you reply as you pop a mint into your mouth, getting ready for work. 

You’re going to miss me, watch.

And damn him, the fucker was right—you did. A part of you wishes he would rush past the doors, yapping about he thought you were dead and didn’t ask for permission to take the Benz. But he was across the world, smiling wide at media duties as you watched behind a tiny screen. It’s good that he’s taking time to see Jack, too.

“Why are you sighing so sad?” Roxy asks, fixing her combat boots. “Not getting any clients? Though I doubt it. They love you.”

You let out a forced laugh. “I’m not sad—tired.”

The red head furrows her brows suspiciously before hugging you. Your arms dangle lazily as you scrunch your nose. She giggles. “Does this have to do with Mr. Toto Wolff? He’s hot—crazy hot.” She untangles herself from you. “He must be the devil himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh yeah,” she cheers happily. “But also, you’re totally in love.” Your stomach drops. No, I am not. Roxy rolls her eyes. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. I’ve noticed the way you look at him. Like you want to eat him alive as you kiss him until your lips snap.”

You wince at the image. “You have a way with words…”

She beams, thin brows raising up. “I’ve also noticed that you haven’t gone into the private room since he walked in through those doors. So what, you’re just going to keep pretending?”

“You’re such a creep!” you squeal, delicate hand slapping her thigh. She squeals lightheartedly. You’re missing out on a shit ton of money. We’re talking dough. And yet you don't bat an eye because you don’t want anyone but him. Did I nail it?

You pinch your fingers together as you huff. “You’re crazy. Crazy. There is no way I could be in lo—” Hey! The ringing sound makes your blood run cold as you fear to turn around. Look at me. Foxy stares back at you with anxious eyes. Do you know her? Looking down onto your lap, you nod. “That’s my mother.”

“Oh shit.”

A dry hand yanks you by the arm as she spins you around. “I’m talking to you. Why won’t you look at me?” 

You flinch. “I’m working, you can’t be doing this—”

“I don’t give two shits if you’re working or not, if I say we need to talk, then we need to talk.” Ro shakes his head, distressed as he apologizes. I’m so sorry, Peaches. She said she was your mom and I…I didn't know what to do. You smile back softly. 

“Don’t worry. Can you get me a room?”

As soon as your mother enters the dark area, she whistles. “Fancy, but really? Bending over for any man willing to pay you a couple cents? That’s disgusting.”

Your cheeks burn up as you fight back tears. “What do you want? Is Rosie okay?” Panic rushes through your veins as you grab her by the shoulders, shaking her violently. She’s so thin, you think you might break her. “Is she okay, I said?”

“She’s fine,” she yawns. “So…this is what you’re up to? It always…catches me by surprise. Not really.”

“I had no choice,” you whisper meekly. “You gave me no choice.”

The older woman smirks. “Don’t you dare blame me. No one makes you do anything— this was your decision.” 

You let out a tired sigh. “Just tell me what you want…”

Her eye twitches, as if she remembers why she was so angry to begin with. “I got your complaint; you’re suing me for being a bad mother and Connor for…assaulting you? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

“I’m not lying—”

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” you yell back, acid sliding down your cheeks. “I would never make up such a thing. He assaulted me countless times as you never did a single thing.”

“I never saw anything.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “You walked in on it! You called me a slut! I was seventeen for fuck sakes. But no—you blamed me for sleeping with your husband instead.” You take a good look at her; dark undereyes, frail figure, needles imprints everywhere. “You can’t keep doing this. You need to think about Rosie—”

“Rosie, Rosie, Rosie—I could not care any less about her! She just bugs with all her crying. It’s exhausting.”

“She’s just a baby.” Grabbing her hands, you soften your gaze. “If you don’t want her, fine, let me raise her…I swear I can do it.”

Your mother perks up. “You would do that?” Yes. Of course I would, you respond instantly. You’ll never hear about us ever again. Her thin hand cradles your cheek warmly, and for a moment, you let yourself lean against it. Then she pulls away and strikes you harshly, causing you to stumble back. “Why would I ever please you like that?”

Bring your hand up to your stinging flesh, you sob. “I-I…what?”

“Here’s what you’re going to do; you're going to drop the charges against me and Connor.”

“No.” 

She clicks her tongue. “Are you sure?”

Rising up with shaky legs, you keep a firm face even though it begs to howl in pain. “I said no. You’re not going to hand her over willingly, okay…Then I’m taking you to court.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” Tugging your arm, she presses her face insanely close to yours. You wince at the smell of intoxication; you can’t even tell what kind. “I will fucking kill you, do you hear me?”

You let out a wet laugh, ripping your arm away from her tight grip. “I don’t care. I don’t care anymore, but I am saving my sister from you two—no matter what.” Her nostrils flare as she heaves. You let out a sad whimper. “When did you become so inhuman? You used to be kind, beautiful, ha—”

“Heartbreak does that to a person,” she simply states before walking out, leaving you to yourself as you finally come crashing down.

-

He didn’t expect for there to be a racket, but the house felt awfully quiet. He knows you weren't at work—he had checked. He thought maybe you could have been out with friends, so he sighs before resting on the couch. He sits there for an hour or so before heading upstairs to take a shower. 

As soon as he enters the bedroom, he finds you covered with thick blankets as you cry. Alarmed, he rushed to your side of the bed. Oh my God, you shriek at the anonymous person before squirting. “When did you get here?”

“That doesn’t matter—what’s wrong?”

You hope brushing your tears away would stop him from asking questions. “What makes you think something is wrong?”

A pinched up expression maps out. Your chin forms a peach seed as you let out a weak sob and stand on the bed, making you the same height as him, throwing your arms around his neck. He’s stunned, but snaps out of it as he hugs you back, calloused fingers playing with your soft hair. “What’s wrong?”

“My mom visited me at work. She said some nasty things, but that doesn’t matter to me, what does is that she won’t let me adopt Rosie,” you muffle against his neck, salty tears wetting his collared shirt. “She’d rather raise her out of spite. She’s not made for this, she's malicious.”

“What else did she say?”

You pause, sniffling before pulling back with a reindeer nose. “That’s it.”

The Austrian lowered his gaze with subtle threat. “No, tell me everything she told you.”

“I swear that’s all.”

His brown eyes scan your face, but you remain still, only shaky breaths being released. He clenches his jaw. “Where does she live?” Your face drops. Why do you want to know? “Where does she live?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Stop being so stubborn and let yourself be helped—”

“I don’t need your help anymore, Toto!” You purse your lips, trembling hands brushing your hair back. Anger rushes over him as he inspects the purple bruise.

“Who did this to you?”

Sitting back down on the bed, your nose twitches. “I’m moving out.”

“Who fucking did this to you?” His voice is lethal. Thank you for trying to fix things, but I’m sure I can do it myself from now on. “What you don’t seem to understand is that you don’t have to. It was your mother, correct?” Forlorn, you agree with your silence. “What have they done to you?” he whispers, pain lacing his raw voice.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” you whisper, salty tears sliding down. “I’m going to kill your image—they’re going to hate you because of me.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” the brunette ricochets back. “All I care about is that you’re okay. That you find the happiness you deserve to have.”

Grimacing, you sniffle, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist. Or at least I’m so unlucky that I won’t get a piece,” you joke. “The closest thing I’ve felt to that is when I met you.” His heart melts as he stares back, adoringly. “You’ve helped me in so many ways, Toto. Thank you for that.”

“But—”

“I know.” Rising up on the fluffy bed, you tower over him a bit, pressing kisses on his temples, cheeks, nose, neck. “You’re the only man who's ever made me feel something real. I can’t explain it, but I hope it makes sense.” 

He gulps. “It does. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve made me feel the exact same way from the moment you stepped into my life.” He closes the gap between you two as you stumble back against the mattress, but his large hands prevent you from getting away. “You’re not perfect—you’re flawed. You don’t have your life together—but you’re trying to. You’re not the tough girl you make yourself out to be—but that’s because you feel the need to build up walls to protect yourself from others.” Your stomach churns with every word he speaks. “And somehow…you have me wrapped around your finger.”

It happens so quickly, the way he presses his lips against yours. He can taste the saltiness but doesn’t dare to pull away. Like an animal, you move your mouth against his, whimpers flowing to his ears like symphonies. Toto knows why you never made the first move; you were scared to admit your feelings. But he was too.

Almost as if you read his mind, you run your fingers against his scalp as he breathes out, against your open mouth. “You won’t do the same, right Toto?” 

“What, sweetheart?”

Gloomy eyes reflect against his own. “Leave?”

“Unless you ask me to, then no.” He pecks your temple. “I can’t even imagine living without you anymore.”

That’s all it takes as you jump on him, silky legs wrapping around his torso like a piece of ribbon. He grunts loudly when you bite down on his bottom lip before letting go. “God, Toto, you’re—” As soon as he sucks on your throat, your sentence dies. Writhing against him, you try pushing him off as he chuckles, then he sets you down against the white sheets.

Immediately, you crawl back to the edge of the bed to where he still stands. Frisky hands tremble as you aim for his belt. Such a pretty girl, he thinks as you slip it off. You don’t have to do this. “I owe you, remember?” Then eager hands push his pants down, along with his boxers.

You knew he would be big, but that was an understatement. Toto was huge. Being 6’5 should have been a warning itself, but still. Drooling over his cock, you lick your lips, doe eyes fixating back to him. “I might not be able to take it all in my mouth,” you sheepishly state, red faced. The fifty-two year old has probably had a much better encounter; you were just making a fool out of yourself. Running his thumb against your cheekbone, the corners of his lips fly up. 

“I’ll walk you through it.”

Humming, you delicately wrap your hand around his length. Even just feeling it makes the heat in your belly grow. He clenches his jaw. Jerking him off, you wrap your lips around the pink tip. The Austrian releases a dirty groan, hips bucking as you smile around him. Pulling back, you stare up expecting the next step. Start off how you normally would. 

Pouty lips welcome him down your throat as you whine, the vibrations sending him into an orbit. When your palm slithers to what you can’t reach, he tsks. “You haven’t even tried.” Soft brows pinch together as if to say; Probably because I know I can’t either way. His nostrils flare. “Relax your jaw.”

Doing as you’re told, you gag as you squeeze your eyes shut and curl your toes. Your back arches, ass flying up as you struggle. A large hand reaches out to smack it. Yelping, you ease your mouth, thick member sliding down furthermore than you could have even imagined. There you go. 

Swallowing around him, you bob your head at a steady pace, reliving the steps, too scared to mess up. The Austrian throws his head back, sharp jaw in clear display as he pants. “Just like t-that, fuck. You’re doing so…shit.” While he’s enjoying himself, tears burst out as you clench your eyes, lashes becoming darker. The feeling is definitely getting him off, but he wanted to make things easier for you. 

Brushing your untamed hair back, he traces the bridge of your nose. Your orbs remain closed, and he finds himself missing them. “Breathe through your nose.” Ragged breaths fly out as your fingers dig against his thighs. He hisses. But gradually, it gets better. Glossy eyes stare up at him, lips stretch around his cock as you continue your filthy movements. 

As if to prove yourself to him, you deepthroat him even more as his head rolls back, floppy hair following along. Soft fingers brush against his legs as he shudders, face twisted with pleasure. Pulling away, you swirl your wet lips against his tip, feeding off of his precum before forcing yourself back down. 

Thick ropes of cum slide down your throat as you moan loudly. The brunette grunts, shaky breaths flying past his lips. With a teasing pop, you kneel up as you open wide. He moans at the sight of his release swimming inside your sinister mouth, then you swallow. Even though your throat is extremely sore, you still beam at him.

“Where have you been all my life?.” Climbing over you, he lays you flat, slipping your dress off. He’s stunned to find out you’re completely naked. Cherry red feathers on your cheeks. “Are you sure you didn’t know I was going to be back?”

Your lips curl. “No idea.”

He wraps his mouth against your bud as you whimper, hand massaging his head as he repeats his actions to the other. You could definitely fall asleep to this. When you open your eyes, you’re impressed to find out he’s completely stripped down, toned body exposed. The sight makes you grow excited, nervous.

“Are you on birth control?”

You curse softly. “I’m not. Crap.” Disappointed, you’re expecting him to climb off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he let out a raw chuckle. “I t-told you I don’t fuck men on the regular—”

“I don’t need the reminder,” he grunts. His brown eyes soften. “What’s your wish in life?”

Confusion paints your face. “To have you?”

“Cute.” Flustered, you focus on his contracting abs. Foaming at the mouth, you try to picture rubbing your core against them. “The other one,” he demands.

“Oh…” No. He can’t possibly mean… Your heart stops beating. “To be a mom.”

“There it is.” 

Briskly, he pushes into you as you wince in pain. I know, I know, he coos. But it’s better this way. It won’t feel so bad in a few minutes. Crying against his humid chest, your jaw hangs open. “It really hurts, Toto. Oh…it burns.” Hot tears reestablish themselves inside your orbs. “You’re too big.”

“Breath, sweetheart, breath.” His voice calms you down as your mewls lessen. “See?” You hum. “I’m going to move, alright?”

“O-okay,” you respond, dizzy. The feeling returns—less painful—but returns, nonetheless. Panic expands through your chest as you begin to think he might split you in half. His cock was just so thick and veiny. But it felt delicious between your velvety walls. “Fuck, baby,” you pant.

“I knew you could do it.” A warm peck lingers on your shoulder. “You feel so tight, schatz. So warm.” He sighs in relief as your tiny cunt compresses against his length, easing the pain from being as hard as a rock. Worse. Strong arms pick your legs up over his bare shoulders, making him travel deeper. 

“Toto, Toto, Toto—”

Eyes entertained against your slippery hole, he raises his brows. Yeah, baby? Getting a hold of his hand, you bring it over your stomach. His jaw clenches. “I can feel you.” Writhing in ecstasy, you toss your head to the side, small whines echoing between the vaporized walls. Pouding into you at a faster pace, he growls, bite marks being left behind on your legs. You hiss, clamping your eyes even harder, which makes you clench around his cock even more.

“Do that again,” he begs. “Do it—” You oblige, attention set on how he moans feverishly, hands adding pressure to your legs. For sure his imprints would be left behind. Taking advantage of the little power you have, you untangle yourself, greedily climbing onto his thick lap. 

“Looking good, Mr. Wolff.” 

He looked more than good—he looked eternal. The way his chest heaves, his soft pants, sweaty hair framing his handsome face, dark eyes praising you as if you were Athena herself. A confession finds into your brain as you halt. Beads of sweat cover his long nose as he appears concerned by the sudden break. Is everything okay? Rubbing your eyes as if you just had the worst nightmare, you blink hastily. 

Roxy couldn't have been right—she never was. Except, she is this time. It's as if a warm glow towers over him, your chest feels awfully vacant, but you’re not scared because you know your heart has found its home in the palm of his hand. You laugh in amusement as you touch his face all over. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “What’s so funny?”

“I love you, Toto Wolff.”

A lump forms inside his throat as he tilts his head. “You do?”

You shrug sheepishly. “I do.” Kissing his lips, you sigh with content. “I love you, I love you, I love you; I adore you.” He can hear the clock ticking as he stares back with his lips slightly parted. “You don’t have to feel the same, you dont have to say it back—I don’t care, but I can’t keep living a life of regret…”

“I love you, too.” Cartoon eyes blink back at him as he chuckles. “Do you believe me?”

“Uh…” Your lips stretch out. “Yes.”

Shifting on top of the Austrian, you make sure to slip him back inside as you moan in unison. Riding someone has never felt so addicting. Gasping at the raw feeling, you dig your nails onto his shoulders. When you look down at him, you are pleased to find him struggling to catch his breath. His fingers pinch your hips harshly as you bounce harder and faster, as if he would regret his words and leave you. “So big.” You drool, hair flourishing around you. “Stretching me out so good, Mr. Wolff.” He growls at you captivating words. “Making it so easy to ride you, huh? Cock brushing against the perfect sp—oh my God.”

Your face twists up with pleasure when the tip of his cock brushes against the mushy part that makes you almost black out. Movements slow down but it’s not long before he lifts you up and slamming you back down. “Toto!” you squeal, flimsy arms reaching out to balance yourself on his wide shoulders. Everytime he hauls you up and you look back at him, he represents like a giant. Your eyes roll back, mouth hanging wide open. “I-I’m close-e-e.”

“Me too,” he grunts. Like a devilicious man on a mission, he slaps your face carefully, forcing you to connect your glossy orbs with his loopy ones. “Gonna let me cum inside? Carry my baby, just like you’ve always wanted?”

“Yes,” you chant. “Yes—all of it—yes.” Cradling his cheek against your sweaty palm, you smile. “Cum inside of me, Wolff.”

With one final push, you both release loud moans, a strong wave of orgasms crashing violently against one another. Huffing, he makes a ponytail with your messy hair before letting go. “You think it worked?” You giggle.

“We’ll have to wait and see.” Leaning towards him, you kiss him gingerly. His mind grows blurry with how meaningful you make it seem. I’m yours—my heart is all yours—but please don’t break it, it seems to tell him as his enormous hands squish you closer to him, as if that were possible. 

“I know of a few ways we can make sure.”

-

Though you had mutually admitted your feelings to one another, there still didn’t appear to be a proper label to it all. Time was slipping, he would soon have no other choice but to leave and face all his responsibilities. 

But you can come back with me, he would desperately bring up as he fucked you against the wall. Tits would be bouncing at a hasty speed as you look back with your mouth in an O. I want you to. You won’t ever have to worry about anything, I promise. You can go back to Uni. You’ll get custody over Rosie, and Jack will be over the moon. We could have a family of our own, just you and I, Peaches. Huh? How does that sound, baby?

It sounded perfect; like a dream. You could taste it already. Early morning calls that you wouldn’t mind because he’d be laying down next to you. Quiet time as you jot down notes and he stresses over the next big decision for the team. And at the end, you would be glad you made the choice to choose him. Just like he chose you.

With shaky hands, you brush his messy hair back as he dotes on your bambi eyes. The way they glimmered extra bright that night; like starlight. The brunette’s face would soften up when you trace his nose, the curve of pink lips, his lines. Everything about him was breathtakingly dominant. 

You’d be a fool to deny. 

So, you accept. 

-

If Toto were to be told that he had died and ascended to heaven; he wouldn’t second guess the possibility. Because being with you felt exactly like that. Every passing second only adds to the amount of love he bottles up for you. It would overflow and he’d be okay; bring out the next. Oh, that one’s full, too? Okay, next. 

All of it made sense. You matched perfectly in sync with him like a cozy glove and he wouldn’t have it any other way. There’d be whispers from others, but he doesn’t care. He’d deal with just about anything for you. 

“You’re leaving so soon.” A click. “Have you thought about quitting?”

He can see you grow as stiff as a tree. Your back faces him, but he can still spot your reflection. Of course you looked absolutely lovely, but there was something different about…God. He doesn’t even know what to call it. 

“I’m not quitting.”

The Austrians' lips form a thin line; shoes clicking against the floor even more. A boom of lighting fills the room as you flinch. He smiles slowly. “Right—not yet, at least. Not until you move to Monaco.”

More heavy silence. “Sure.”

Now he’s worried. Strolling closer to you, he brushes his warm hand against your shoulder, kissing your exposed skin. “What is it?”

His heart stops when he notices you blinking back tears; bloodshot eyes tracing his tall figure. His first assumption is the most obvious; your mother and Connor. They had probably done something, said something, and now they’ve got you—

“I’m taking the car. See you later.”

He blinks. The cold demeanor was something unusual on your behalf, but leaving without a goodbye kiss was alarming. Toto tries to suppress his feelings with a bottle of scotch, but nothing seems to work. He has to see you. 

Gathering his wallet and house keys, he strides out the door before he spots his laptop wide open. As soon as he returned, he would have to answer endless emails, but for now, that wasn’t his priority. Inching closer, he reaches down to slap it shut when his pulse runs cold.

We should think about Jack.

He’s too young to understand anything of what’s going on, Suse.

Let’s just try one last time. I swear I’ll change. 

I love you. 

He knew instantly; you had read the messages. He had sent them, there's no doubt, but that was so long ago. The date was right there; all before he met you. Before opening up to you. But he doubts you spared enough time to spot the tiny detail. You saw his texts and that’s all; the rest was blocked.

Toto’s palms get sweaty, ears burning red, and heart racing faster than a fucking F1 car. How must you feel? You had made him promise that he wouldn’t hurt you and now this? The confusion was completely explainable, but he had to get to you fast.

It’s as if he owns the place, marching fiercely past the open doors that swing once they spot the Austrian. NDA’s were rather foolish when it comes to him now because he just held that much power. That much respect. But he can’t think of why something feels off.  You were hurt, and he felt awful, but no…there’s something else. As if there were an actual wolf lurking deep in the woods; ready to pounce. The hair in the back of his neck stands up, goosebumps forming, and eyes flickering all over the rich club, hoping to find you.

“Hey,” he pants when he spots the familiar redhead. Foxy lives up to her name because her laser glare has him scared for his life. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance before strutting away, a row of men following. The Austrian pushes past them all, pleading just like any other, but for a completely different reason. “Have you seen, Peaches?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Where is she?”

“Around.” 

The dancer beams at the group of businessmen who relax against their seat, hunting down without shame. They wore wedding bands, but who cared, right? Toto’s large hand grasps her wrist, tugging her away as she gasps, causing a commotion. He doesn’t care, he just has to find you.

Brown eyes glimmer threateningly but also soft because they’re both aware he needs her, for she only knows where to find you. “Listen, I know she told you what happened, but it was all some misunderstanding! The messages..they were sent to my ex-wife a long time ago. Before any of this, I swear…you have to believe me.”

Foxy narrows her thin brows, digging a sharp nail against his toned chest. “No, you listen—Peaches is one of the sweetest girls I have ever met; she's my other half, so when you hurt her…” A beat. “That’s it. She doesn’t forgive.”

His shoulders drop like an avalanche. “B-but it was a...you don’t mean that.”

The redhead struts away, long legs prancing like a vixen. “Believe me; don’t believe me—I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”

But he can’t do that anymore, he's in too deep. No matter how many times Foxy cursed him to leave, he just wouldn't. He would explain. Even if it were that last thing he did. All's fair after that. 

“Mr. Wolff?” A red drink is extended out towards him kindly, to which he shakes his head with a forced smile. If you can even call it that. He’s sure he looks awful, dressed in all black, but it perfectly represented him for who he is and how he was feeling. It’s almost as if he were ready to show up to a funeral. 

As time ticks at a snail's pace, he grows more nauseous. There’d be a moment where you see him and he doesn’t know how you would react. Fuck—he doesn’t know how he would, either. To some it may be embarrassing to weep in front of a group of worldly men, but if you looked at him a certain way where he knew it was over? He’d be the first, and without hesitation or shame. 

He’s come to recognize your set as fast as a racing strategy. The stage would light up a soft yellow; swallow the room like the early sun. The piano keys would start off slow, taunting, and almost sinister—Yayo. And of course, you’d prance around like a broken angel, wings brushing your hair like his long fingers would.

But this is strange.

He’s too busy analyzing the colorful club when the lights burn black, only the glass box raining a bright red. He doesn’t even recognize it’s you. 

The intro isn’t the notorious piano lullabies, but rather scratchy violins. Million Dollar Man slithers across the crowded room like a venomous snake, waiting to strike anyone who doesn’t lay their attention on them. 

And this time, you’re no angel, you’re no devil. You’re both. It’s confusing and alarming, but also beautiful and breathtaking. While your dress is cotton white, your makeup is dark and tempting, lips dark red. Your knee socks are tied with a simple ribbon, making men drool like some type of fuckery. You look miserably broken. If anyone were to guess, then they’d say that you’re high off drugs, but that’s not the case. You're high off heartbreak. 

And the simple necklace you wear, with his marriage ring attached to it, is a pelluid indication. Even if it was new level petty.

Toto is in such a trance that he doesn’t even feel when a group of hands push him to sit down, eager to have a clear view of their own. They all secretly envy the Austrian when they notice that he had landed himself the best seat in the house without even trying. 

So, was it fate to be sitting here, in front of you? Was it fate to have met, then hurt you without the means? The music is almost terrifying, along with your black wings and white halo. All of this is utterly puzzling; was he supposed to be into this, or fear it? Was he supposed to feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach, drumming against his ribcage, or was he supposed to be at ease? But most important; would you spare him this time to apologize, or would you kick him out of your life? The last notion scared him the most as he sat like a tired soldier, brown eyes blinking to where you start to seductively twirl.

I don’t know how you convince them and get them. Shiny legs drag behind your delicate figure as your eyes roam the room, sighing with every lustful stare. This is purely pathetic, it didn’t make you feel the way you intended for it to do, but shit. All you wanted to do was flee the state and never look back. But there were too many things tying you back; Foxy, Ro, Rosie…A stinging sensation begins to form behind your orbs and you fiercely blink them away, refusing for the thought of Toto to be what brings you down. 

But in a moment like this, what were you supposed to think about? Toto was many things; devilishly, cunningly handsome, tempting, brilliant, intoxicating; but he was also a fucking no-good, professional heartbreaker, a screwed up man who roamed earth without a sense of direction, who truly never deserved to fall in love again, especially with someone was tainted and loyal as you—

But the eyes don't lie. He’s become known by you; someone in your favorite book whom you look for in every page, despite it all. His orbs remind you of your favorite kind of dark chocolate, swirly and dreamy; enough to make you swoon, but they’re filled with more than just that. They’re desperate, as if ready to run endless miles if that's what it took for you to speak to him. They’re loopy, blazing nervously when you spot him, brows knitted with concern.

And he deserves it…you think.

Still, that doesn’t stop your stomach from churning, causing you to panic at the thought of spilling your lunch in front of everyone eyeing the glass box you're hidden behind; it could only ever do so much. Everyone can see your usually tantalizing persona fly out the window, a frail—shattered—girl taking your place. 

He’s tricked you. He made you let your guard down, let him in, and then ramshackled you whole; and he hadn’t been nice about it either. How could you have ever thought he would choose you over someone who actually held his kid for nine months? You had seen the messages that sunny morning; birds chirped, flowers bloomed. He had been busy doing God knows what, and when his bright laptop dinged, you couldn’t help but peek. As you once told him; you loved gossip.

Jack is asking if you remember where he last left his stuffed bear? You know, the one with the white spots? 

Susie. You had heard a lot about her—you’ve read, a lot, too— she was someone to admire. Helped create a path of perseverance for young girls; it was astonishing. The thought of Jack made you smile, then the bear, then her. Which is why you aimlessly scrolled once, playfully, and then you came to a rude halt. 

If someone were to grovel that way for you, you would helplessly fall for it. Fuck, he pratically begged for a second chance. Heat weaved through your body, anger rising, and then falling cruelly with a sense of undeniable ache. You had cried; sobbed. Then you got ready for work.

When he had asked what was wrong, you wanted to stab him with the nearby knife, and the thought scared you half to death. You could tell he was deeply wounded by the cold shoulder, but why the fuck should you care? 

Here—in Machiavellian Nights—trapped behind a transparent case, with disgusting men eyefucking you, you realize; there’s no place to run. An attraction is what you are; tourists are what they all represent. Toto’s massive figure swallowed his seat whole, long legs spread open naturally. And you hate it how handsome he looks, dark clouds painting his usually happy eyes. His chest dances up and down, wrestling to catch a breath. The hollers make him flinch in the slightest, grimacing.

The Austrian is apologizing, cryptically. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry. His lips aren't moving, but you can hear his pleads as the music continues. 

C’mon! Dance, someone demands from afar, rough hand smacking the glass. Gasping, you purse your lips, continuing. Ignorance is horrible; especially coming from you. The idea of going on without you feel like a nightmare—torture. He tries standing up, and he doesn’t really know what his game plan is exactly in order to get to you, but heads turn and harsh arms force him back down. 

It isn’t that hard, boy. To like you, or love you. It was as if you got yanked back into what is truly your reality. You can’t have good things in life. Your father hadn’t died—he had abandoned you. Your mother did too. And Toto…

Toto Wolff was just the same.

You’re glad no one can hear you choking back on tears, you wouldn't dare to fall. But emotions were running high, your throat felt raw, your eyes stung, knees felt wobbly, and it was too much. But aside from your hurt, an eerie feeling hugged your chest, forcing your rib cage to poke you as a warning. You allow yourself to look back up, rapidly scanning the unlit room. Everything was blurry—which didn’t help—but what was it?

You’re no longer focused; your legs sway, your gartner slides down, your nose is starting to get runny, and it was all a mess. Connecting your gaze back to his, you narrow them down like deathly blades. This is all your fault, they scream at him, enraged. If you hadn’t walked into my life, then I wouldn’t be this way. 

You’re screwed up and brilliant. 

“You fucking ruined me!” Running towards the glass, you violently slap and punch, over and over until you no longer feel any pain. Red bruises form rather quickly and everyone begins to murmur.

Look like a million dollar man.

“I hate you, Toto Wolff!” Muffled whimpers flow like a waterfall as everyone turns to face the fifty-two year old who sits with a hurt expression. 

“I can explain,” he pleads, instantly rising up to his scary height and rushing over to where you’re caged. His large hand pathetically grasps it, fingerprints painting the shiny protection between you and him. “Sweetheart…”

So why is my heart broke?

“I’ll regret you for the rest of my—”

Chaos ensues; the volcano erupts. It’s suffocating, the way everyone tramples over one another, scattering like lab rats. The yells of terror make his blood run ice cold, swiftly turning around to face the open room. Foxy lets out a scream filled with agony as she crawls over to the stage. Acid slides down her face, makeup running. The other dancers run to hide where the bartender stands with his mouth wide open, orbs flickering with urgency. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to get you out of here.

“Open it!” Foxy cries, hands hitting the clear box so forcefully that her nails begin to chip, light gore beginning to slide down. “Open the fucking stage right now!” She lets out a string of pleas, but no one is listening—they can’t even try to with all the loud noise. The alarms go off and that’s what snaps him out of his spot of confusion and what makes her cry and fall back against her arms.

The glass isn’t shattered like in the movies, all over the floor, no. There’s just a singular hole, scratches circling around it—and spikes of blood coloring the crystal clear mirror. 

Even with eyes closed, face sticky with tears, and blood spurting out of your mouth and chest, pooling around your angelic body, you were still beautiful. The ring lays flat atop your unbeating heart, shining one last time against the cherry lights. You were gone as soon as the bullet hit, but Toto was the last person you had seen. And you wish you had time to tell him you never meant any of it. You could never hate him; you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

“I…no. No. No.” Fists punch urgently, cuts finding a place in his pale skin. “Open it!” More pounds. “Let her out! Why is no one letting her out?” Trepidation sleeks over him as he stops his actions, taking a second to look at you. Your dark wings had somehow turned darker, your white dress is now drowned in crimson red, your halo is no longer on your head, and your lively skin is now ghostly pale, almost gray. “Peaches…” His voice quivers so much, he almost doesn't realize it's coming from him. “Get up, sweetheart—come on, just stand.”

His chest tightens when you go unresponding. “T-think about Rosie! She loves you; she needs you. I need you,” he declares, voice cracking. “The text messages are a mishap! I only love you, Peaches, that’s all! I swear I do, I swear it’s you…”

He dreads to turn around and face what was now his life. The music cuts, but the frightful screams continue. Toto blinks back the stingy feeling as he flickers up to make eye contact with who’s responsible for ripping you away from him.

You share the same eyes, but hers are sullen now. Her hair looks as if it could have once been glossy, but is now as dry as the desert. Her lips are nastily chapped, but an uncanny curl slips through as she ticks anxiously when Ro and the rest of the guards hold her without an ounce of remorse, cuffing skinny, needled wrists.

Your mother looks down at the gun, at her daughter, then at Toto. An unhinged stare strikes her impentent face.

“I brought her into this world…I can also take her out.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[miimo96]

So the official logo for Sonic 4 was released along side some concept art from Sonic 3 and Well well well, it looks like I might've been right about Sonic 4 being possibly a Time travel story, because judging from what I'm seeing it looks that's what might actually happen, which begs the question: What's next for Sonic 4? Like it's obvious that after Sonic 4 they wanna continue the franchise, however that's basically impossible Because there's only so much you can do before eventually things start to get stale especially when you have it take place in a "realistic" setting, (after all this world isn't like the games) so in a series that is basically structured like this what is the next step after Sonic 4, And I tell ya after taking some time to think on this, I think I might have come up with the Ultimate solution on how to continue this franchise, and that's instead of just ending the story right here, why not just start a new trilogy, let me explain.

Now this may sound crazy to a lot of people but What If Sonic's 4 5 and 6, is basically the start of a Time travel trilogy, with Sonic 4 being the film that introduces that concept with having Amy traveling back in time to save Sonic and possibly prevent the future Terminator style, and then with Sonic's 5 and 6 introducing the next big characters like SILVER! Like what if at the end of Sonic 4 after defeating metal Sonic they end up basically thinking that things are ok, only for Silver to show up and basically attack or accuse Sonic for destroying the future, explaining to him on how not only did he mess things up even more, but that metal sonic isn't even probably gone, and then in the next film you can probably have Silver, Sonic and maybe even Shadow, go up against someone like either NEO metal Sonic or maybe even Mephiles, with the 3rd film setting up the endgame by introducing Blaze (Silver's partner in crime) and having her explain to them how not only are things still broken, but that something bigger is coming, something or SOMEONE like Black Doom?

This will basically give them the chance to expand Shadow's origins a bit more and maybe even pave the way for his spin off by introducing the concept of the Sol emeralds. Omg i don't know about you, but that sounds absolutely effing COOL >_< but lemme know what you guys think, do ya agree with my idea's or do you basically think that Sonic 4 might not even go this route let alone set up a new trilogy, and that they should basically end things right here?

[lyjen]

Just a minute

Summary: Evan and (Y/n) are due to get married, but when an accident happens on scene during a thunderstorm, the lives of the two are completely flipped upside down.

A request by: @shauna-carsley

9-1-1 Masterlist

Taglist: ( @oliviah-25 @shauna-carsley

______

“I still can’t believe you’re actually getting married, Buck” Hen said as she bumped her shoulder against Evan’s who was sitting next to her. “Yeah who would’ve thought that..” Evan mumbled as he gave Hen a small smile as he looked down at his hands.

Their big day was coming closer with every second, minute and hour. They will get married next week. They weren’t the kind of people to throw a massive wedding, they would just invite their loved ones and some friends, and have an intimate wedding.

“Well I certainly didn’t expect it to happen for at least what, ten more years?” Chimney sounded through the headset while the truck hit another puthole on their way towards the location of their call.

Laughs sounded through the headphones as Evan was still with his head on cloud nine, even though he popped the question months ago. He still couldn’t believe he was engaged with the girl he loved desperately for these past years. They went through hell and back, from Evan getting crushed by a firetruck, to being targeted on duty by a sniper.

(Y/n) was sitting on Evan’s right side, and noticed his absent look. She placed her hand down onto his right hand, which was resting on his right thigh. When her skin touched his, he looked up and glanced at (y/n).

“Well, believe it because the proof is right here” (Y/n) said as she pulled the collar of her navy blue LAFD t-shirt forward and showed her engagement ring between her thumb and index finger of her right hand.

Her engagement ring was hanging on a small chain so she could wear it as a necklace.That was the solution if she was working, she couldn’t wear her ring around her finger if she was on shift. But she was determined to wear it, even if she was on duty. Tucked underneath her shirt so it wouldn’t get in her way as she would perform her tasks.

The truck pulled to a stop as (Y/n) placed her necklace safe and sound underneath the fabric of her shirt. She yanked off her headphones as grabbed her helmet off the floor and placed it underneath her arm, so she could easily jump out of the rig after everyone else.

She placed her helmet onto her head as soon as her feet met the wet ground.

It had been raining all day long. You’d think after a whole day with only rain, the clouds wouldn’t have any water left to send down to the ground.

But no, here they were.. in the middle of the night, getting called out to a warehouse fire, not exactly the kind of night she was hoping for, not when you haven’t slept at all in twenty four hours.

Hatches of compartments were pulled open, as she followed her captain. “Okay, Miller, Stafford, Mckenzie! Start evacuating the building!” Bobby ordered one half of his team. The three were preparing to collect everything they needed out of the truck. Such as oxygen tanks and halligans were getting snatched out of the compartment.

“Buck, Eddie and (Y/n) you are on ladder duty” he said as he pointed at the other three persons walking right beside and behind him. “(Y/n) I want you to raise the aerial, Buck and Eddie get up to that window and hit it. Let’s go!” Bobby called out as he clapped his hands together.

(Y/n) fastened towards the compartment where they stored the metal plates that go underneath the two arms on the side of the truck. She quickly grabbed two metal plates out and handed them over to Evan, as she grasped the two other metal plates and placed them on the right spot on the asphalt.

While Eddie gathered whatever Evan and Eddie needed for going up that ladder. (Y/n) and Evan expanded the side arms of the ladder truck.

As soon as she grabbed the metal side of the small ladder on the side of the truck to get on top of it and raise the aerial.

She flinched at the feeling of a hand pushed down onto her lower back. She was so focussed, she didn’t realize her fiancé - and soon to be husband - was behind her.

“I’ve got to harness up” he said as his hand remained on her lower back. His wet curls were flattened by his helmet and sticking to the skin of his face.

He softly patted his hand against her lower back, “See you in a minute” he said as he tried to make himself intelligible over the pouring rain. She sent him a small smile, which made him smile as he retrieved his hand and turned away from her.

She watched Evan walk away for a second, as she looked down to the ground. Still smiling. Making her realize that she has found the love of her life and she was really going to marry him.

This has been the happiest and blessed she has felt in years. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

A small and soft laugh left her lips, as she placed her hands onto the soaking wet metal pipe and pulled herself step by step up the ladder on the side of the truck.

When she reached the top of the fire truck, she directly turned to the left where the control panel of the aerial was placed. Her hand found the lever to raise the aerial while the other hand found the lever to extend the ladder.

A slight color change in the skies above her caught her attention as her hands were still pushing the levers.

It was like the sound of the rain was being muted and some kind of soft static sound filled her ears. She turned her face towards the still pouring clouds above her.

“What the hell…” she stumbled as she saw the bright blue colors through the dark night sky and dark clouds. She stopped pushing the levers as she took a step back.

Her stomach turned. This wasn’t good. It felt like some kind of demon could enter their would any second. But demons did not exist in this universe.

The sound was growing louder and louder, basically screaming into her ears.

Within a blink of an eye she felt a roaring pain through her body and her body tumbled backwards. Down to the ground.

The electricity entered her body through the hands, making its way up to her shoulders and made its way down her torso, down to her legs.

She wanted to scream, cry, do anything to make some sort of sound as a call for help. Even if it was just a little yelp, what would’ve given her hope. But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t make a sound. It was almost like her lips were sealed, stitched together, glued together with super glue.

Evan was just securing the red webbing around his waist, but the dreadful noise of the thunder and lightning made him stop his movements.

Evan jumped back and ducked as he heard a loud thunder sound roaring through the air.

“What the-“ he cursed as the truck he was standing next to started to smoke and move back and forth like it was possessed.

His eyes were locked on the firetruck. This never happened before. The rain did of course, but lightning that struck so close to him and his team didn't. Evan’s eyes grew wide as he realized who was standing on top of the truck before it got struck.

Adrenaline entered his veins as his heart started to beat faster and faster, pumping blood through his veins along with the adrenaline. His eyes searched for his fiance, standing on top of that truck. But it was hard to see with the rain drops dripping into his face. “(Y/n)” he stumbled, as the thought of her being in danger or being hurt entered his thoughts.

“(Y/n)!” he called out louder as his eyes couldn’t find his girlfriend on top of the truck. His legs were moving faster than his mind, which made him almost trip over his own body. Almost falling to the ground, Evan used one hand to push himself back up as he quickly made his way to the otherside of the truck where the small ladder was, to get on top of the roof of the truck.

When he rounded that corner, he saw her lifeless body lying on the ground. Arms spread wide across the asphalt, eyes closed and her helmet a few feet further than where it’s supposed to be.

Her name fell multiple times off his lips as he screamed like he was being tortured. He may be not being tortured physically, but mentally this was a whole other story. He dropped onto his knees next to her body as he cried out her name.

“(Y/n) can you hear me?” he tried to say through his sobs as his loud voice became softer with every sentence he spoke as he saw the raindrops falling from the sky onto her skin. “Please” he cried, he wanted to hold her in his arms, but he was scared.

“Coming through!” Chimney’s voice said, he kneeled down on the other side of (Y/n) and placed down the medic bag he was carrying with the strap over his shoulder.

Evan felt how a shadow of Chimney’s partner was in the corner of his eyes. But Evan refused to leave. He wasn’t going to leave (Y/n)’s side, not voluntarily.

Evan placed his index and middle finger against her neck to see if he could feel a pulse. But before he could sense a pulse, he felt two hands landing on both his shoulders.

“Buck, let Chim and Hen do their jobs” Bobby’s voice said. “No” he said, determined to stay, while the tears were welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t leave her, he wanted to do everything in his power to help her. But he wasn’t a paramedic.

Hen placed her hand on Evan’s upper arm. “Hey.. it’s okay.” she reassured him. “We got her” she continued as she locked her eyes with his. Evan’s eyes softened as Hen’s hand gently rubbed up and down over his upper arm and she gave him a small nod.

Evan glanced once more at his fiancé, as he squeezed his eyes closed to make some kind of quick wish, and moved out of Hen’s way to make room for her. His legs straightened as he felt two hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close.

He didn’t know who pulled him close, probably Bobby but that didn’t matter right now. His eyes remained on his girlfriend, his heart was beating so quick it almost felt like it could break through his chest and pop out of his body.

Evan let his fingers intertwine with his hair. He had so many emotions going through his body now, and didn’t know how to deal with it. He was sure he was about to pull some strands of hair out of his skull while he watched Hen and Chimney work.

Her eyes slowly opened as the ammonia from the little bag Hen had put right under her nose, entered her nose and triggered her brain to wake up. A groan left her lips as she turned her head and squeezed her eyes closed.

“(Y/n)? Are you in any pain?” Hen asked as she hovered over her, trying to get her attention. “Everything-” she said as a groan took over her sentence. “hurts” she cried as she opened her eyes again. “(Y/n), can you try to wiggle your toes for me?” Chimney asked as he focussed onto her feet.

With every small piece of energy she had left, she tried to wiggle her toes as she tried to catch Chimney’s reaction. She saw his eyes turn to Hen as he gave her a worried look. “It’s bad isn’t it?” (Y/n) said as she looked up into the dark night sky which still poured the rain into her face. “Hey, let’s not lose hope okay?” Hen tried to reassure her. But how could you not lose hope when there was as possible spinal injury?

“Pushing morphine” Chimney said as he already installed the IV in an artery in her hand. “Get a backboard and a gurney over here!” Hen yelled over to some of the other 118 team members, no one in particular.

“Evan?” she cried out, she knew he was there. How couldn’t he be? “Yes? I’m here baby” Evan said as he pulled himself free from the still resting hands onto his shoulder to keep him under control. Evan fastened towards (Y/n) as he let himself fall down onto his knees again as he took place above her head, still giving Hen and Chim the space they needed.

“I’m here” he repeated softly as he placed his hand down onto her collarbone and rubbed reassuringly his thumb up and down over her turnout jacket. “I’m sorry” she cried out the second she looked him in the eye.

“For what?” he asked her while a confused look was written all over his face. “Ruining our wedding” she sobbed. Evan sighed in awe, how could she be thinking of her wedding when the number one priority right now was herself?

Just a minute.. that was all that it took for the weather to turn and throw her in some kind of bad film or her worst nightmare.

______

“That went well, right?” Evan said as he closed the door of the car and locked it with the car keys. (Y/n) didn’t answer him and took the break of her wheelchair off and rolled herself over the threshold of their home. Evan just watched her rolling away from him as he slowly followed behind her.

They had just come home from one of the appointments of physiotherapy (Y/n) has twice a week. To treat her injuries, and train her muscles, but most importantly: to attempt to walk again.

The lightning strike had electrocuted her entire body, and touched her nervous system. While the fall off the top of the truck had damaged her spine. She could move her upper body, but from her waist down to the legs she was suffering from paralysis.

He went with her to almost all her appointments, if he could and wasn’t on shift. He wanted to be the shoulder to lean on or to cry on if she had to. He wanted to be a part of this journey, even if this was going to be hell on earth.

“Hey you okay?” Evan asks when he steps inside the house and closes the front door behind him. His eyes fell onto his fiance who was taking off her special gloves, which she got to protect her wounds and blisters, but also to give her more grip to push the wheels herself. Having everyone pushing you everywhere wasn’t going to make her happy.

She stayed silent as she put the gloves onto her lap, with her back still turned towards him. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Not after the news she received.

Evan didn’t like the silent treatment, he never did. She only did this when they were fighting, or when she was upset. (Y/n) looked at the healing wounds on the palm of both her hands, as she softly let her fingers glide over the palm of her right hand, tracing the electrocution wound.

A sigh left his lips as he slowly came closer to his girlfriend. He stood in front of her as he kneeled down so he was on the same level as her. “What’s wrong?” He softly asked, his voice sounded almost broken.

Her eyes remained onto her wounds, as she emotionless kept tracing the same wound over and over again. He could sense that with every touch over those wounds, the spark in her eyes became less and less. As if she was losing herself.

Evan tries to make eye contact with her as he places his right and left hand onto her knee, folding both his hands over one another. “Please…” he sighed, knowing damn well what was going on. “Talk to me?” he begged her.

Her eyes kept being locked onto her hands. “What if.. all of the effort I put in to be able to walk again, won’t work..” she spoke silently, with a broken voice. Evan let out another soft sigh as he let both his hands wander and placed them carefully on both her thighs.

“All this work, and there still aren’t any results..” she said as he could hear her voice break, she was on the verge of breaking down. Evan went silent for a bit as the words she spoke broke little pieces off his heart. He wanted to react to it so badly, he wanted to tell her it was all going to be okay. But he didn’t want to give her false hope either.

“You just have to be patient.. and give it time, your ability to walk will come back. Im sure of it.” Evan tries to motivate her as he still keeps on trying to make her look at him, by using only his eyes. (Y/n) scoffed at Evan’s motivational speech. “Well, you may be the only one who thinks it will return.” she mumbled as she tried to look away from Evan.

Evan’s eyes narrowed at her reaction. “Okay, did something happen today? During your appointment?” he asks as he still tries to get her to look at him. Evan went with her, but wasn’t allowed to actually be in the room during the appointment. So he went and read some awful magazines -which probably didn’t get renewed much- they had in the waiting area.

“(Y/n).. look at me.” he said one more time. It took her a second, but then she found the courage to look her soon to be husband in the eyes. “And don’t even think about lying to me” he continued in a strict tone, as if he was talking to a child.

(Y/n) swallowed as she mentally prepared herself to tell Evan what happened. “We ran some tests. And he told me he wasn’t happy with the results.” her voice was trembling as if she was nervous to tell him the truth. ”He said he was doubting if I could walk ever again or hell even go back to work.” a tear slipped over her cheek as she quickly wiped it away with the side of her hand. She didn’t want to cry over it, but it was devastating news. How could she not cry over it?

“Oh baby…” the words fell off his lips like a whisper. He wanted to encourage her, but right now she needed to vent so it was best to just give her a shoulder to cry on. His thumbs gently rubbed up and down her thigh. “And.. I’m starting to think that he’s right.” she said as a voice crack took over her sound. “Maybe I’ll be stuck in this wheelchair forever, and we’ll never be able to do our first dance. Not the way I dreamed of all these years.” she cried as tears were running down her face.

Before Evan could think of what he was doing, he pulled her closer and locked his arms around her back. (Y/n) put her arms around his neck as she desperately sobbed with her face buried into his neck. She cried until there weren’t any tears left to cry. Evan could feel the fabric of his shirt sticking to his shoulder as a wet spot was created by her tears. “I’ll never be a firefighter ever again” she sobbed.

As soon as Evan heard her say that, he broke free from the state he has been in for the last few minutes, just letting his girlfriend cry onto his shoulder. His right hand wandered from her back towards her shoulder as he placed his left hand onto her cheek. “No.. You can’t think like that!” Evan said as he let his thumb cleared the wet strokes of tears from her cheek.

“I can’t do this..” she cried as she closed her eyes and shook her head. “But I’m tired Buck, it’s like i'm running towards the light at the end of a tunnel, but whenever I take a step, the light moves with it. It goes further away. ” she continued as she tried to help Evan imagine what it felt like, being stuck to that chair. (Y/n) placed her hand around Evan’s wrist of the hand that was connected to her cheek.

“Hey..I know it’s hard but we have to stay positive” Evan said. “Being a firefighter is my life! But I can’t do that while I’m stuck in this wheelchair! I want to do our first dance at our wedding, but not like this Buck!” she started to speak up louder. “And I know that, but that's why I said we have to stay pos-” Evan couldn’t even finish his sentence as he felt his hand being pulled down by hers, which was resting around his wrist. “Ugh! Would you stop saying that!” her loud voice echoed through the space of their home. She held her hands up as some kind of stop sign for Evan. ”You’re not the one who’s stuck to this wheelchair twenty four seven!” she said loud and clear as she tried to keep Evan on a distance from her.

She rolled herself backwards as she turned away from him. Arguing and being mad at him was easier if she wasn’t looking at him. “You are not the one who needs to constantly ask for help or the one who has been electrocuted or fell off a ladder truck!” she said, trying to calm herself down.

A silence filled the room as Evan got off his knees and stood up straight again. He has been where she is now. He knows for a part how much it sucks to not be able to do what you love the most, and being stuck at home. But she was right, he didn’t know what it felt like to be stuck to that chair, or not being able to walk no matter how hard you try and how much you want it.

Evan swallow was audible through the house, that’s how silent it was in the house. You could even hear a pin drop. “No, you’re right. I’m not that person..” he sighed as he leaned with his hands down onto the kitchen island in their house. ”But I am the one who almost lost my fiance when she was in the OR” he said as he looked her way, trying to get her attention.

He could see her head tilting to the side a little bit. She was still listening, even though she wasn’t looking. “You coded on the table.” he said as she could hear his voice practically breaking. A silence filled the room. “I was in that waiting room for hours, you were in the OR for hours. And when I saw that face of your doctor when he came through the doors, I almost thought I lost you.. again.” (Y/n) could only sense by the tone of his voice that he was struggling.

“And I didn’t tell you that, because I didn’t want to upset you. But I wanted you to have hope, because if you survived that.. I’m sure you can survive this too.” Evan tried to explain as he pushed his body from the kitchen counter.

Another silence.

Evan was ready to stop this conversation, to just.. walk away from it. But he didn’t have the heart to do it. He was sorry for her, that she has to go through all of this. Sorry for mother nature choosing the ladder truck as its target, with (Y/n) on top of it. It was just bad luck.

He could hear her breathing and hear her arms move, followed by a click of (y/n) taking the brakes off her wheels. (Y/n) turned the wheelchair so she was facing her fiance again. “You should’ve stopped me before I went up that ladder” she said, blood cold as she looked him in the eye.

Did she really still blame him for something he didn’t do? He understood she was angry, with herself, mother nature, physics, and Evan. A scoff left his lips as he let his hand run through his short curls.

He was thinking of what he should say next. He had so many words to say, and yet.. there weren’t any words popping up in his head. So he decided to go with the words he had already written.

A soft sigh left his mouth as he dropped his arm next to his body. “You want to know one thing that was written in my vows?” he asked carefully as he felt the tears trying to push their way out of the tear ducts.

(Y/n) looked him in the eye, an expression filled with confusion. She just blamed him for everything and he wants to talk about the wedding? About his vows?

“That no matter how hard life would get, I’d still be here.“ he said as his eyes connected once more with his, something that didn’t happen a lot during this conversation. Evan slowly moved forward, towards (Y/n). ”Whether you like it or not, I’ll be here in the good times and the bad ones.” he continued as he reached her wheelchair, and kneeled down in front of it.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached her level and took a breath. “You can try to push me away. But I’m not going anywhere. Because that’s what you do for someone you love so desperately.”

______

(Y/n) felt the sunshine kissing her skin as she leaned with her head against the window of Evan’s Jeep while she was sitting in the passenger's seat.

“Where are we going again?” (Y/n) asked with an annoyed tone as she glanced at her fiance. Evan could feel her eyes burning into his skin, his eyes remained on the road as he quickly glanced at her in the corner of his eye. He just smirked, as a reaction and continued his focus on the road.

She rolled her eyes as she let her head fall against the window again, just to see the sidewalks and buildings around her flash by. She hated surprises, and not knowing what was planned. Evan didn’t ask her to come with him, he commanded it.

_

“Hey I’m back! How was your doctor's appointment?” Evan said loudly as he closed the front door behind him. He shrugs off his jacket as he places his jacket onto the backrest of one of the chairs, which were placed by the dining table. When he doesn’t receive an answer, he calls out her name again. “(Y/n)?” he repeated as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

No answer, again.

Once more, he called out her name and slowly entered the living room. She couldn’t have left the house, right? That was something she hated to do these past few months, especially now because of the wheelchair. When his eyes fell onto the wheelchair being parked next to the couch, his eyes wandered back to the couch which was in use by his girlfriend.

She looked like a corpse, lying completely silent.

Step by step Evan came closer to the back of the couch, his eyes burning into her back as he was trying to see if she was asleep or just staring into the deepness of their home.

“(Y/n)?” His soft voice called out her name, trying to see if she would react to him. The only sound running through his eardrums were her breathing sounds.

Evan reached the back of the sofa as he stood on his toes, trying to get a look of her eyes. Only to realize that they were wide open. She was zoned out. Her arms crossed over one another, looking like she was hugging or comforting herself.

“Baby?” his soft yet concerned voice sounded through the living room as he placed a hand down onto her arm. “Are you alright?” he continued. He knows she isn’t fine. She hasn’t been in weeks. Since she lashed out at him, it’s like some kind of switch has been flicked.

She hasn’t been to any of her physiotherapy sessions as she did before. Normally, she would’ve had appointments twice in the week. On Tuesday and Thursday. But at some point, she just stopped going. She wouldn’t answer the calls and texts of her friends and colleagues, and people were getting concerned. Buck was getting concerned.

It was like she was falling into a well and he was trying to keep her up with his strength, but he wasn’t strong enough. He never let go of her, but she did let go of him. Instead of holding on and locking her hands onto his wrists, she just suddenly let go. As if she was sick and tired, and was fine with everything.

Evan walked around the couch, gently placed her legs closer to the back of the couch and sat down on the sofa. “What’s going on (Y/n)?” he asked as he placed his hand onto the side of her thigh.

He waited patiently for an answer. “Have you ever thought about how life would’ve been if we did get married months ago?” she sighed. Part of him wanted to smile, he could already imagine seeing her walking down the aisle, reading their vows and saying their “I do’s”. “Everyday” he whispered as he slowly rubbed his hand over a small piece of her thigh.

“I just… wish my legs would start working with me instead of against me.” she said as she kept on looking into the deepness of their home. A sigh leaves his mouth, as an idea crosses his mind.

"Okay, that's it. Get up.” Evan says as he shoots up and points at her to get up. “What?” she says as she only moves her head to look up at her boyfriend. “Get up.” he commands her, but he gets nothing but an annoyed scoff back from her.

Evan places his hands on his hips as he waits for his fiancé to push herself up from the couch and move herself into her wheelchair. But she just goes back to the position she has been in for the last few minutes, maybe even hours.

A small okay fell from his lips as he placed his left arm on her lower back and his right arm under her knees, carrying her into her wheelchair. “Buck! No, no, no!” she groaned as she felt his arms underneath her body and before she knew it, she was being placed into her wheelchair and he was pushing her towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” she sighed annoyed, like a child that doesn’t get what she wants.

“We’re going for a ride.”

_

“Keep your eyes closed” Evan’s voice sounded through her ears as she was being pushed in her wheelchair. “Buck I really don’t-” she says as she gets cut off mid sentence. “Just wait for my sign” is the only thing Evan says as he keeps on pushing her wheelchair, maybe even going over a few thresholds. She could hear one of their favorite songs playing softly in the background.

“Okay and… open your eyes.” he says. (Y/n) uncovers her eyes and lets her eyes adjust to the lights that finally make their way into her eyes again. Evan smiles as he moves towards the middle of the space they were in.

They were in the ballroom where they were supposed to have their first dance in, filled with light strings, lighting up the room.

“Buck, what are we doing here?” she asks him, not amused.

He decides not to answer her question, at least not yet. He walks towards (Y/n) as he simply holds out his hand in front of her. “Take my hand” he softly says as his eyes connect with hers. “What?” she stumbles, unsure what to say.

Was he out of his mind? He was actually asking her to stand? After all these weeks of no sessions, and practice? “Am I speaking spanish? Take my hand.” he tells her again. He wanted her to try so bad. But he could see in her eyes that she was afraid. Afraid to fall.

She shook her head, “I…can’t” she says as she looks down to the ground. Evan squatted down so he could look her straight in the eyes. “Come on, I’ve seen you standing during the sessions. You can do this.” he tries to motivate her.

She shakes her head again as she starts looking around in the room they were in. There was no one else. “Hey, hey, hey… I’m here” he reassures her. Evan places his hand down onto hers as he softly squeezes her hand.

Her heart was beating like crazy, “Im scared” she whispers softly. “I’ve got you” he reacts as he pushes a lost strand of hair behind her ear again. Evan places his hand down onto her cheek. ”I won’t let you fall, I promise.” he continued.

Evan stayed at eye height, crouched in front of her. Hesitantly she looked at his hand which he was holding out to her again. A sigh rolled off her lips as she closed her eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden nerves.

She placed her left hand into his right hand, as a jitter made its way up her arm. Evan quickly got her feet off the little steps her legs and feet were resting on. Her feet were on the ground now, as he gently assisted her to stand straight upon her feet.

Her face was completely focussed onto her feet as soon as she was standing up straight. She couldn’t trust her legs, that’s why she keeps on looking at her legs. Evan smiles bright as he looks down and carries the weight she pushed down onto his hands.

Evan brings her hands towards his shoulder, as a sign for her to put her arms there and lean on him, like a real dance. When she gets the hint and places her hands onto his shoulders, his hands wander down her body to her lower back.

This whole time, they didn’t say a thing. (Y/n) places her head down onto Evan’s chest as she clung onto him like she could fall any moment. He places his warm red lips onto the top of her head and leaves a warm comforting kiss. “I’m so proud of you.” he whispers as he reeled her in. “I know it’s not the first dance you imagined..” he sighed.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you..” she said as she kept her head tight against his chest. “I’m not the best dancer, so maybe it’s for the better that we do it this way” Evan said as a grin was spread across his face. He could feel her body shaking because of the laughs she was letting out.

Evan pressed his lips into a thin line to suppress his laugh and swayed both their bodies from side to side to the rhythm of the music.

They were going to get through this, together.

[badguyswin]

New Travis

Charlie adjusted his glasses, his lean frame perched on the edge of the metal chair in the Kansas City Chiefs’ training facility. The sterile office smelled faintly of sweat and cleaning solution, a stark contrast to the cozy psychology lecture halls at his liberal arts college. At 21, Charlie was sharp, empathetic, and fiercely dedicated to his senior project: understanding the psyche of professional athletes. His neatly combed brown hair and button-up shirt screamed “earnest academic,” and his soft-spoken demeanor only amplified it. He’d spent weeks securing this interview with Greg, a Chiefs staffer who promised rare insight into the team’s mental conditioning.

Greg, a wiry man in his late 40s with a buzzcut and a MAGA-red tie loosened at the collar, barely looked up from his phone. His thumbs danced across the screen, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Charlie cleared his throat, glancing at his notebook filled with carefully crafted questions.

“So, Greg,” Charlie began, his voice measured, “how do the Chiefs’ coaches foster resilience in high-pressure games?”

Greg grunted, eyes glued to his phone. “Uh, yeah, mental toughness. Drills, pep talks, usual stuff.” His fingers tapped faster.

Charlie’s brow furrowed. He leaned forward, trying to regain control. “Right, but could you elaborate on specific psychological techniques? Maybe visualization or—”

“Hold on,” Greg muttered, not even pretending to listen. His smirk widened as he swiped something on his screen.

Charlie’s annoyance flared. He’d driven six hours for this, burned through his gas budget, and this guy couldn’t even put his phone down? “Look, if you’re too busy, we can reschedule,” he said, voice tight.

“Nah, we’re good,” Greg replied, finally glancing up. His eyes glinted with something predatory. “Just wrapping up something… important.”

Unbeknownst to Charlie, Greg wasn’t scrolling social media. His phone ran a clandestine program, a digital alchemy of code and intent, designed by a rogue tech contractor with ties to the Chiefs’ inner circle. The program’s purpose: to reshape reality itself, rewriting a person’s body and mind to fit a new mold. Greg had been tasked with a delicate mission. The real Travis Kelce, the Chiefs’ star tight end, wanted to retire at 35 to spend more time with his girlfriend. The team’s owners, desperate to keep their cash cow on the field, decided Travis needed a replacement—a new Travis, one who wouldn’t dream of leaving. 

Greg, a diehard MAGA republican with a chip on his shoulder about “woke” celebrities, saw an opportunity to twist the plan to his liking. Charlie, with his youthful vigor and pliable mind, was the perfect canvas.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably as a sudden heat bloomed in his chest. He tugged at his collar, assuming the room’s AC was on the fritz. “Okay, let’s try this again,” he said, forcing a smile. “What about team dynamics? How do players like Travis Kelce maintain—”

His words caught in his throat. A sharp tingle raced down his spine, like static electricity but deeper, burrowing into his muscles. His hands, resting on his notebook, twitched. They looked… wrong. His fingers, usually slender and nimble, thickened before his eyes, knuckles bulging, palms widening. He blinked, heart racing. “What the—”

“Relax, kid,” Greg said, leaning back in his chair, phone still in hand. “Just go with it.”

Charlie’s vision blurred, then sharpened. His glasses felt tight, pinching his nose. He yanked them off, and the room snapped into focus—too clear, like he’d upgraded to HD vision. His jaw clenched involuntarily, and he felt his face shift, bones grinding subtly beneath the skin. His cheekbones sharpened, his jawline squared, his lips thickened into a cocky smirk he didn’t intend. He touched his face, gasping as stubble prickled his fingertips, rough and unfamiliar.

Charlie’s body convulsed, his skinny frame expanding like dough in an oven. His shoulders broadened, tearing the seams of his button-up. His chest barreled out, pecs swelling into hard, sculpted slabs that strained against the fabric. His arms ballooned, biceps and triceps rippling with power, veins popping under taut skin. His thighs thickened, shredding his khakis, while his calves hardened into diamonds. He gripped the chair, its metal creaking under his newfound strength. His height shot up, legs stretching until he towered at 6’5”. His abs carved themselves into an eight-pack, each ridge glistening with sweat that hadn’t been there moments ago.

He stared at his hands—massive, calloused, the hands of a man who’d spent years gripping footballs and barbells. His reflection in the office’s glass door confirmed the impossible: he was Travis Kelce. Not just a lookalike, but an exact replica—down to the chiseled jaw, the mischievous grin, the fade haircut. But something was off. His skin had a polished sheen, like he’d just stepped out of a gym photoshoot, and his posture screamed arrogance, chest puffed out, shoulders rolled back. In fact his muscles were even larger and more defined than the real Travis' were; they bulged with every little movement in an almost hypnotic fashion.

“What did you do to me?” Charlie growled, but the words felt foreign, laced with a confidence he didn’t own.

Greg pocketed his phone, satisfied, but said nothing.

Charlie’s mind became a battlefield. His original self—a compassionate, introspective psychology major with a deep commitment to social justice and a loving relationship with his boyfriend, Eli—was left clinging desperately to existence as Greg’s program rewrote his psyche. The mental transformation was slower than the physical, a deliberate unraveling and reconstruction, like code overwriting a hard drive. It wasn’t just about making Charlie into Travis Kelce; it was about erasing every trace of his former identity and replacing it with a hyper-masculine, conservative, heterosexual persona tailored to Greg’s MAGA-fueled vision.

As Charlie sat in the Chiefs’ office, his body already bulging with Travis’s musculature, the first wave of mental change hit like a subtle vibration in his skull. His thoughts, usually clear and analytical, grew fuzzy at the edges. He tried to focus on his interview questions, but they felt distant, like words written in a language he was forgetting. His passion for understanding the athlete’s mindset, rooted in empathy and curiosity, began to dissolve. In its place, a new framework emerged—simpler, brasher, centered on competition and dominance.

The program targeted Charlie’s core identity first: his sexuality. His memories of Eli—soft kisses in their dorm, late-night talks about queer rights, the warmth of holding hands at pride rallies—began to blur, as if someone were smudging charcoal sketches. He saw Eli’s face, but it felt wrong, like a photo from someone else’s life. A visceral discomfort surged, not his own but imposed, a programmed rejection of his gay identity. The program injected a flood of new desires, raw and aggressive. Images of women—curvy, dolled-up, submissive—flashed in his mind, each one sparking a primal hunger. The face of Travis’ celebrity girlfriend appeared most vividly: her blonde hair, red lips, the way her dresses hugged her hips. Charlie’s heart raced, not with love but with a possessive, almost predatory lust. He tried to resist, to cling to Eli, but the program was relentless, rewiring his neural pathways to crave women, to see them as objects of conquest.

“Stop,” Charlie whispered, his new baritone voice shaking. He gripped his head, but the fog thickened. His liberal values—empathy, inclusivity, nuance—were next to go. The program didn’t just erase them; it replaced them with a black-and-white worldview. Where Charlie once saw systemic inequality, he now saw weakness, people who “didn’t work hard enough.” His belief in collective responsibility morphed into rugged individualism, a conviction that winners like him deserved everything. The program fed him fragments of Travis’s memories—locker room banter, MAGA rallies, Fox News talking points—each one cementing a conservative ideology. Charlie’s nuanced debates about intersectionality were overwritten by slogans: “Make America Great Again,” “Toughen up or get left behind.” He felt a surge of pride in these ideas, alien yet intoxicating, as if they’d always been his.

His personality shifted to match. Charlie’s introspection, his tendency to listen and reflect, was crushed under a tidal wave of bravado. He was Travis now, cocky and loud, a man who owned every room he walked into. The program amplified his ego, making him obsessed with his new body. He flexed his biceps instinctively, marveling at their size, a grin spreading across his face. The mirror in the office became a magnet; he couldn’t stop staring at his chiseled jaw, his massive pecs, his eight-pack abs. “Goddamn, I’m a beast,” he muttered, the words slipping out effortlessly. His mind fixated on his physique, not as a tool but as proof of his superiority. Every muscle was a trophy, every vein a badge of dominance.

The sleazy edge Greg added was the final touch. Charlie’s respect for relationships, built on mutual trust, was twisted into something transactional. Taylor wasn’t a partner; she was a prize, a status symbol to parade. The program flooded his mind with fantasies of controlling her, of her existing to please him. He pictured her on his arm, dressed to impress, her every move reflecting his power. “She’s mine,” he thought, a sleazy smirk forming. “Gotta keep her in check.” The idea of objectifying her felt right, natural, a stark contrast to Charlie’s former belief in equality and consent. The program even tweaked his speech patterns, injecting a crude, frat-boy edge—phrases like “hot piece” and “knows her place” rolled off his tongue, each one burying Charlie deeper.

A faint echo of Charlie fought back, a whisper screaming that this wasn’t him. He tried to recall Eli’s laugh, the way it lit up a room, but the memory was overwritten by a locker room scene: Travis high-fiving teammates, bragging about “scoring” with cheerleaders. The whisper grew fainter, drowned by a flood of testosterone-fueled confidence. Charlie’s analytical mind, once his greatest asset, was now a liability. The program didn’t need him to think deeply; it needed him to act, to dominate, to win. His psychology degree, his dreams of helping others, dissolved into a singular drive: to be the best, to be Travis Kelce.

By the time Greg pocketed his phone, Charlie was gone. Travis Kelce 2.0 stood up, his massive frame filling the room. His mind was a fortress of ego, conservatism, and sleaze, every trace of Charlie’s gay, liberal identity erased. He adjusted his torn shirt, flexing for the mirror one last time. “Time to hit the field,” he said, voice dripping with swagger. “Then I’ll deal with Taylor. She’s gonna love this.” The program had done its job, creating a Travis who’d never retire until the Chiefs were finally done with him, who’d live for the game and the spotlight, and who’d reflect Greg’s twisted ideals. The old Travis was a memory; this Travis was the future.

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 14 "A World in a Grain of Sand"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

A/N: Giving you the eyebrow 🤨 because no one seems to have picked up on a tiny, little, important detail that was to be found in the last chapter, or at least no one mentioned it 😌 Finally I can write what I really crave to write. IT'S SCIENCE TIME 💖

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 31

"I have one last question, little slave," Vladimir Harkonnen drones from his afloat position, a celestial body of massive dimensions in front of the somber backdrop of his throne room, black within black with only a single glow globe illuminating the back of him. He prefers to shun the black sun these days, as glorious as it may be, it brings out the myriad of spider veins beneath his frail, aged skin.

"Yes, Lord Baron?" The unremarkable slave's voice echoes from below.

"What is this… ancient piece of metal in my dear nephew's toy's room?"

"I believe you must know more about it than I do. I assume you had it examined before it was unloaded and brought inside?"

"Naturally!" Vladimir raises his voice. The slave with her bowed head can't see the way the aged Baron squints to get a clearer picture of her. Afloat as he is, she is little more than a splotch of white against black, and an unwelcomely blurry one.

The examination had revealed a human shaped mold, cushioned with gel pads, thick tubes for coolant, a recycling system with residue nutrient solution, solar panels for energy harvesting. No traces of radiation or explosives. It almost seems like the metal box is exactly what the sisterhood had made it out to be. A hibernation chamber for a fossil from another time. However, it wouldn't be the first myth created by the Bene Gesserit.

"I know you are looking for something substantial, my Lord, and so was I," the slave speaks after the Baron's elongated pause. "But I'm afraid the truth is as embarrassing as it is mundane. I've come to believe that she keeps it close out of raw sentimentality. She's a sentimental creature, that woman."

Lilia has always loved danger and the long, twisted inkvine scar on her shoulder from girlhood days is just one proof of that. Perhaps that's why she so effortlessly serves the Baron velvet lies.

"Ah-h-h, like my Feyd-Rautha then. It doesn't surprise me," the Baron drawls, lungs expanding with a raspy heaviness to each intake of air.

In all his years as Giedi Prime's sovereign, Vladimir Harkonnen has never learned that the promise of a kind embrace outweighs the threat of violence tenfold and that a spark of human goodness can sway a servant's loyalty quicker than a snap of a whip.

"She calls it her sarcophagus," Lilia adds with a tiny scoff that doesn't go unnoticed by the Baron now that he has lowered himself and sinks back into the much more comfortable seat of his throne. The intimidation tactic has fulfilled its purpose.

He bellows. "So, she's got good humor too! A pity she's not a boy. I could have borrowed her sometimes."

The obedient set of Lilia's shoulders and her lowered gaze don't betray the noxious clench that has her stomach convulsing. Perhaps this is the only advantage of being a woman in the Harkonnen palace pyramid.

Day 45

The lack of color that had once bothered her into the throes of a slowly crawling depression is now a pleasure. The blackness of her abode has come to serve as the perfect desktop for columns of text and equations, formulations and simulations and hand-written notes that have her mouth moving and her eyeballs racing.

Her sarcophagus leeches the day's sun, side panels open to give way to rotating cooling fans. The Central Processing Unit of the computer that makes up half of the machinery inside buzzes from the strain she puts on it.

Astronaut M2-84 has finally come home and picked up the work of her own, chosen destiny.

Talking to God, Mikhail had whispered to his wife, is what the Lady is doing. But what she really does is think, read, calculate. Engineers born on the cusp of the astronautic age don't have their oily hands in tool boxes. Most of the time, they tell machines how to build other machines, and to do so, one needs to understand the laws of physics. 

This is how Feyd-Rautha finds her each night. Sometimes sunken against the cushions of her bed, or slumped over her desk, staring at the wall with dancing pupils. And other times, like tonight, she sits right by her Sarcophagus, shoulder pressed against the humming metal. She claims the connection between computer and chip is quicker this way.

Silently, Feyd's stride carries him across the room towards his precious engineer. Movement catches his attention at the right and the sight he finds causes a slow tilt of his head.

One quarter of her bed is filled out by a misshapen form, tucked under duvet and whalefur. Glugo lies prone on its stomach, limbs folded tightly against its covered body. Only one front arm-leg peaks out and cradles her plushie against its innocent pug face. Something glossy-white with small handles on each side is held in front of Glugo's mouth by tiny face-hands with liquid sloshing inside.

She has tucked Glugo in like a toddler. And, from the looks of it, she has printed it a sippy cup.

Feyd-Rautha feels all sorts of warmth filling out his chest. If because he wants to be tucked in like a toddler, or because his only friend is finally receiving the gentleness it deserves, or because of a different reason entirely, he can't tell. He raises his hand to wave at Glugo who gurgles softly in return, one tiny face-hand unlatching from the cup handle to wave back.

Glug glug glug.

"You're losing weight." Feyd approaches his beloved slowly. "I don't like it."

"One second, I'm at ninety-eight point five. Seven. Ninety-nine."

"Have you found out anything interesting today, my darling?"

He is long past asking what exactly she's doing, why they aren't simply figuring out a way to get his uncle to take his shield ring off so they can get a blade between his ribs. Or rather a sword, to pierce the obscene, fatty flesh costume he calls his body.

"Your spice—" His darling slurs with a concerning jump to her pupils.

"I don't take spice anymore." Feyd tilts his head and squats down before her, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. Ah, wait, what do you mean, not anymore?" Finally, her eyes regain focus and her arms fill with tension, fingers moving up to encircle Feyd-Rautha's strong wrists.

"There's my darling," he smiles with pretty, full lips and glinting teeth, stroking her cheeks. "So, what about my spice?"

"Not your spice in particular." Her hand flings out to gesture at the universe above. "Your spice shares a few molecular compounds with the medication I took to prepare for the cryo sleep." 

Feyd-Rautha's features slip into disbelief, a fresh frown carving deep into the smooth expanse of his forehead.

"Why does this surprise you?" She wonders.

"Spice is unique to Arrakis. Power over the spice means power over everything. How could you have had spice back on Earth without sandworms?"

"First of all, spice, much like anything else, is just protons, electrons and neutrons. With the right tools, you could, in theory, synthesize any molecule."

"And you have such a tool in your Sarcophagus?" 

"No! God, no." She laughs out loud and curls her arms around Feyd-Rautha's shoulders in a much needed embrace. Her very eyeballs ache and her spine feels calcified from leaning against the sarcophagus.

To him, it must seem like the solution to just about anything might be hidden in her cryo pod or in her precious chip, but it really holds only a fragment of the technological advancements of Old Earth. The last generation before mankind had embarked to the stars was an ingenious one. They had to be, and their knowledge is safely tucked into the 80 Billion terabyte hard-drive of her supercomputer. She may not have all the tools, but the knowledge to build them — in theory.

She taps the top of the cryo pod and hums. "Building molecules from scratch is not like building houses out of toy blocks. You need to accumulate tremendous amounts of energy in a lab environment to trigger complex chemical reactions."

"You've already built a chair from scratch, and a gun. And now a sippy cup for Glugo?" He states with an incredulous rasp of his voice.

"I couldn't bear seeing it drink from dog bowls anymore. And it struggled so much with cups and glasses, Lilia had to change the sheets twice because the poor thing kept spilling everything."

"You… You are fascinating, my darling." She doesn't miss the spark of arousal that lets Feyd's eyes half disappear under a fan of long lashes. "My point still stands, you've built other things before."

"Yes, but the materials were already there, I just had them pressed into the shape I desired." Feyd tilts his head and she cradles his jaw, stroking across the plushnes of his cheeks. "Were you not taught about chemistry?" Slowly, he shakes his head. "Ah, well, I will explain it to you another time then."

Feyd slides his mouth into her palm, groaning softly. "You know so much. How is it possible that you had spice 24 millenia ago?"

"Not spice. I said my pre-cryo medication shares a few interesting enzymes with spice." She slides one palm around Feyd-Rautha's nape of the neck and softly brings their foreheads together. "My people also used to think their own civilization was the pinnacle of all that has ever been. It was unthinkable that maybe the Aztecs or Sumerians were more advanced. That's how you are too. 

   You think spice is unique to Arrakis and the technological advancements you have derived from the Holtzman effect are the peak of what is achievable, because it suits you so nicely. But human evolution has never been a linear incline. You have fascinating medicine, Gholas and space travel… But who knows, maybe my people were smarter than yours. Maybe our engineers and chemists were smarter."

"You know so much," he moans again and she knows better than to keep boring him with details. One day, when the many other fires in his heart have settled, she can stoke his interest in science. Feyd is smart. He will come to be fascinated by it. 

"This universe is devouring itself because there is no innovation," she softly murmurs. "No one dares to go further, look further, break out of the pattern. Maybe they don't want to, because the consequences scare them. Mentats only do as their Lords bid…"

When Feyd's lips close in on hers, with half-lidded eyes and a dreamy stare, her ramblings subside into grateful, blissful silence, choosing to welcome his tongue in her mouth instead.

Day 59

"Silence!"

The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam's voice ripples in the shape of a waveform pattern across the engineer's interface, recorded many decades ago by Baron Harkonnen himself and transferred to the House archive for research purposes.

Other lines of the same encounter, she is certain, were deliberately removed. Such as when the Reverend Mother, then a young woman, had ordered the Baron to hold still so she could mount him and steal the seed out of his body that would sire the Lady Jessica.

She only knows of this story because of Feyd-Rautha, and what it had cost him to learn it, she doesn't even want to know.

"Silence!"

She can only imagine that Piter de Vries' research on the matter might have consisted to a considerable amount of snide mockery, going by Feyd's recountings of the late mentat, hence why the files were so perfectly abandoned and ready for her to pick apart.

Carefully, she separates the impressive cluster of different wavelengths that make up the audio fragment, finding portions all the way from the high-frequency to the low-frequency audible spectrum, some even so low that they are no longer perceived as sound by the human ear.

The astronaut remembers how the Reverend Mother had tested her in an archaic show of deference, forced onto her knees with her hand in a box while the older woman addressed the pain receptors in her brain via an inaudible wavelength. She may not have moved her lips, but that doesn't mean she didn't cause the air molecules to oscillate.

Technically speaking, this renders the mysteriously omnipotent sisterhood into little more than ventriloquists. That image of demystification offers at least a little comfort to the humiliation provided by the memory of searing pain in every nerve.

She reclines in her chair, swallowing against the dry itch in her throat while she strings together a few fairly simple lines of code.

Curiously, the voice doesn't affect her physiology when played from an artificial source, such as the micro speaker soldered onto her chip's tiny board.

She can only assume that by manipulation of the larynx, wielders of the voice can propel pressure waves in a way that a speaker can not. How exactly this forces the human brain into submission, the engineer cannot tell, but she doesn't need to, to tinker on some offensively simple counter magic to the Bene Gesserit's seemingly almighty tool of control.

Noise cancellation is as simple as letting a speaker emit a sound wave with the same amplitude but an inverted phase. The sound waves cancel each other out in destructive interference.

As much as this scientific victory entices her, it frustrates her endlessly that all of the side research she picks up to take her mind off the real problem bears more fruit.

"Refreshments for you, my Lady!" Lilia's voice snaps her out of her brooding thoughts. The maid slips through the door, bringing a tray of fresh fruit and the stimulating citrus drink that her Lady has come to enjoy as of late. "It's been three hours, it's time to take a break."

"Ugh, three? Felt like one." That explains the dry throat. The relic arches her spine and presses her knuckles against her closed lids until tiny flashes prickle across the dark.

Lilia's footsteps close in at her side along with four other pairs of hand-feet. She sets the tray down on the desk.

"And have you made any progress today, my Lady?"

"Not with the one thing that matters, but yes." She reaches for the pitcher but finds her hands gently shooed away by Lilia who insists on pouring the glass for her, tiny bubbles fizzing in the lemon water.

"Oooh! Have you thought about these visions, my Lady?" The handmaid's ears perk up with interest, enamored with the story of how Feyd and her Lady had gotten to know each other in dreams ever since she had indulged her.

Lilia regards the phenomenon of their getting acquainted with the eyes of a romantic. For the engineer however, this is the only topic that frustrates her more than finding a workaround for the Holtzman effect to get past the Baron's shield.

"Dreams, visions, I don't fucking know. I don't even want to think about them because they drive me fucking crazy." The engineer reaches for her glass and drinks with big gulps, making the maid flinch by how forcefully she slams it back down.

The crescent shaped scar she herself had created on Feyd's clavicle when grappling for his blade is the same that had decorated his skin in their lucid dreams. So, visions? But the topics they had discussed during their shared nights are events of the past. It defies logic, it's paradox. The thing that scares her the most, however, is the fact that the Baron's abuse was still real in those dreams. If they truly were visions of the future, does that mean her research is in vain and he will live?

There is no phenomenon that can't be explained, not even prophetic dreams. But not by her, and not yet.

"Sorry," she apologizes and rubs her temples, finding Glugo staring at her with big, milky eyes, one hand-foot clinging to Lilia's skirt. The engineer's heart softens at once and she leans towards her insecure looking friend. "Aw, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to scare you both, my poor, little— Aw!"

Glugo curls four out of its eight limbs around her calves and rests its chin on her knee, pearly eyes aimed unerringly at the pitcher of sparkling drink on the desk.

"That's citrus," she explains. "I don't think you'll like citrus…"

One of the Tleilaxu creature's oily-black hand-feet clutches the table's edge, another incessantly reaches for the glass container.

"Okay, fine, but just a tiny sip. Where's your cup?"

Glugo glugs cluelessly, looking at Lilia for help. Still, both women are uncertain if the being has any grasp on human language, or if it simply recognizes a question by the inflection of one's voice. 

The handmaid locates Glugo's cup in the folds of the duvet and quickly washes out the remnants of pink liquid over the sink in the bath before filling a finger of citrus inside. The creature's hand-feet tippy-tap on the tiles, reaching for the shiny container to take its first curious gulp.

Glugo's pug face puckers into a scrunched up grimace at once, face-hands releasing the sippy cup with an indignant noise.

Glurgh!

Day 93

It is a few weeks later, while Feyd and Mikhail are out brawling, that she figures it out.

"M'lord, I really am sorry," Mikhail laments, his flesh stripped of color as the black sun roars down on his bare torso. The na-Baron and he are prowling around each other in a tight circle, unarmed aside from their fists.

"You told me already." Feyd-Rautha's grating voice cuts through the sweltering air. The training ring's roof is retracted, giving way to blazing white skies and a heat that Giedi Prime's life forms have adapted to. "Five times. Another time, and I might just cut out your tongue."

"Ya know I had to take yer Lady to them bath chambers. Baron commanded it, and I can't just—" 

"Shut up, boy!" Feyd's boots crunch in the sandy gravel, shoulders rolling. He is stronger than Mikhail, rounded arms and pectorals contrasting a powerful, slender waist. The guard's physique is more wiry, taut muscles stretched across visible ribs. The glorious sun brings out an overabundance of gray scars.

"Boy, eh? Ain't any older than you, my Lord!" Feyd is surprised, tilting his head at the deceptive edges of the guard's features that make him look closer to 40.

"Fine, then shut up, brother!" Feyd bares his teeth and clenches his fists hard, veins rippling across his forearms. "What are the rules?" 

Mikhail's fist springs forward and punches Feyd-Rautha in the guts. He nearly doubles over, groaning in pain. Spit drips from his open mouth into the sand. 

"Rules?" The guard quips and aims his elbow for the na-Baron's nose. Feyd dodges with a semi-graceful dive to the side, taking the blow to his ear instead. He tastes blood on his tongue.

This man is bold. He has no manners. Feyd likes him. 

Mikhail is smaller, thinner, but he fights like a mongrel, like someone whose ferocious survival instincts have carried him from across the svart valta all the way to the royal palace in Barony. And Feyd struggles.

And by the black sun, he loses. Few things have ever excited him so much. After nearly an hour of grappling in the scorching heat, Feyd-Rautha finds himself on his back in the gravel, panting for dear life, ears ringing from the last punch square across his jaw. He barely hears Mikhail's voice when he praises that he had fought well, but he feels the brotherly smack on his sandy chest, right on top of a wicked bruise.

Every bone and muscle burns when he drags himself to his personal bath chambers. It was, undoubtedly, the best fight of Feyd-Rautha's life.

"Lilia! I've got it! I fucking got it, do you see this?!"

Pixelated particles give way to a bullet that cuts through them like a harpoon through water.

"What, my Lady? See what?" The maid dashes into the bedroom from the antechamber with flying skirts.

"It's so simple, I'm so stupid." The relic has jumped up from the desk, fingers twisted like claws around the back of her chair while her chest heaves with laughter and a threat of tears. Lilia, of course, cannot see the baffling results of the simulation on the engineer's interface.

The Lady lurches over to the cryo pod, leaving the tilted chair swaying and falling down on the tiles with a bang. She mutters something along the lines of 'must build it', before her voice dissolves into foreign, ancient tongues and a shiver runs down Lilia's spine. Her voice so alien, her ways so enigmatic, she truly is a relic cracked open, pouring her forbidden knowledge into the world. 

But she is also a human and Lilia feels her Lady's voice and shaking body teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown as she snaps open several compartments of the sarcophagus.

"You figured it out, that's wonderful!" This barely gets the engineer's attention, so she curls her fingers around the woman's shoulder, gently forcing her away from the compartments. The relic slumps down with her back to the sarcophagus.

"I need to build it. I know there's laser diodes in there, I only need to—"

"Please, my Lady, you need to breathe deeply. Why don't you explain it to me first?" Lilia squats in front of her, holding her wrists in her warm hands. Her Lady is trembling, her breath too shallow and fast.

"It's so simple, I could build it in an hour."

"Please, do me the favor," Lilia insists and brackets the woman's trembling knees between her own. Finally, her Lady exhales a long sigh and lets her head sink against the humming metal.

"Alright," she agrees and starts with a jittery voice. "So, you're aware of what the Holtzman effect is?"

"Ah, yes, I think so?" The maid hadn't really known the term before her Lady had started rambling about it. "Shields and heighliners?"

The one discovery that has shaped the entire human universe and kept it shackled since then, and the average commoner barely even knows its name. The relic doesn't hold it against Lilia. In a world where “eat or be eaten” takes on a literal meaning, the last thing to worry about is science. So, she wills her voice into calmness. If she's going to try and explain it, she at least wants to do it well.

"The Holtzman effect is responsible for the four major technologies that have made the world into what it is today. The first one — shields. No fast-moving object can pass through a shield, so guns like these?" She points towards her nightstand. "They've been useless for millennia. That's why you've resorted to close combat weapons."

"I was wondering why you went for a gun and not a blade." Lilia tilts her head. Close combat weapons are all that she's ever personally encountered. She knows that lasguns exist and that each Great House has an arsenal of atomic warheads, but every soldier has a sword on their hip, not a gun.

"Melee weapons seem so…" The engineer struggles to find a corresponding word in Galach. "Medieval to me. Archaic. Warfare on Earth was nothing like this."

"What was it like?" Lilia whispers in awe, noticing her Lady's shaking abate second by second.

"You could obliterate entire cities within the blink of an eye. A million different ways to set a home on fire and kill a population from a thousand miles away. It was terrible." Which is why what she has discovered is just as terrible.

The relic continues. "The other three technologies derived from the Holtzman effect are suspensors, glowglobes and space travel. You know why I was in that metal coffin here?" She taps against the sarcophagus. "Because a journey within our own solar system would take several years. You however can travel to the other side of the universe within the blink of an eye, through a quantum tunnel."

Lilia has never left the planet, but to imagine trade and travel without space-folding almost strikes her as ridiculous. All of humanity, reduced to just one, single planet. The cradle of mankind. The thought humbles her.

"And all four of these are based on one single effect?" Lilia considers herself an intelligent woman, but she doubts she can understand what took her Lady weeks to figure out.

"The essence of the Holtzman effect lies in how subatomic particles interact with each other."

"Subatomic?"

"Any type of matter is made of smaller building blocks. This metal for example is made of all kinds of molecules, which are made of atoms, and every single atom is made of protons, electrons and neutrons. These are called subatomic particles. Protons and neutrons make up the nucleus of an atom, and you can imagine the electrons orbiting the nucleus almost like planets a sun."

The handmaid quite enjoys that mental image. It's like the smallest particles exist in a cosmos of their own. "So, the Holtzman effect has something to do with protons, electrons and neutrons?" Lilia imagines, if she could have gone to school like she wanted as a girl, it may have been something like this.

"Almost. It gets even smaller. Protons and neutrons are made of quarks, tiniest quantities that cannot be divided any further. I could go into more detail and talk about quantum physics," the relic pronounces a word that is just guttural enough for Lilia to imitate without all too many struggles. "But that won't be necessary for now."

Even though her Lady has stopped shaking, Lilia doesn't want to release her wrists yet. She is glued to the engineer's lips, soaking up what sounds like forbidden knowledge, like having a peek through God's microscope.

"What is a Holtzman shield made of? What do you think?" The engineer wraps her own fingers around Lilia's slender wrists and the maid sinks from squatting on her soles to sitting down on her bum, stretching out her legs on either side of her Lady's.

"I don't know, my Lady. Uh, something that repels?"

"Yes, that's right," she nods encouragingly. "There are several forces in the universe that attract and repel. The most well-known force of attraction is gravity. And electro-magnetism— Opposite poles attract, equal poles repel each other. But there are other forces that work on a subatomic level."

The engineer pauses without urging her and Lilia takes a moment to think.

"I'm guessing there's a subatomic force that keeps these, uh, nuclei together? The protons and neutrons? Because if not, everything would just be falling apart?"

It almost frightens her to imagine what her very own body must look like on its deepest level. A cluster of tiniest quantities, held together by forces as invisible as her Lady's interface.

"That's perfectly true!" The woman from Old Earth beams, fingers clenching around Lilia's wrists. "The force responsible for that is called the strong nuclear force. On an even smaller scale, the strong force holds together the quarks that make up the neutrons and protons, but you already said it just right."

Warmth fills out the handmaid's chest and she slowly begins to understand the feeling that had her Lady nearly panicking earlier. Her own heart drums against her ribs quick and hard.

"Okay, so now what about the Holtzman shield and how can you get past it?"

"For that, we also need to take the other subatomic force into consideration. It's called the weak force. Isn't that creative? Despite its name, the weak force is technically stronger than gravity, but it is only effective at very short distances and it can change one quark type into another. What do you think happens when such a change occurs?"

"Hmmm," the Harkonnen woman ponders. She doesn't want to disappoint her Lady who is putting so much effort into her explanation. "If quarks are the smallest quantities that make up anything, I suppose when something changes on the lowest level, this change translates to the highest level as well?"

"You're a natural, Lilia." Upon that, the maid blushes purple and finally releases the relic's wrist in a sudden burst of shyness. "Such a change can turn one element into another. It happens all the time, in every sun. And also in radioactive decay. This is important."

"How so?"

"Imagine if that radioactive decay was amplified. Imagine throwing a huge amount of energy at a substance that is already sporadically decaying. Imagine a whole chain reaction of it. This is what triggers a nuclear explosion, the kind that obliterates an entire city."

Lilia's eyes grow wide with understanding. "So, that's why, when you shoot a lasgun at a Holtzman shield, it triggers a nuclear explosion?"

"That's right. I believe shields are made up of nuclei and rely on both the strong and the weak force to repel incoming objects on a subatomic level."

"All of that was fascinating, but how does it help us get past the shield?" Suddenly it's us, not you. Lilia has clutched the fabric of the relic's trousers over the knees in both of her fists. What the engineer's poor Feyd-Rautha currently lacks in fascination, Lilia makes up for a hundredfold.

"Oh, that was just the prelude." The engineer's lips twist into an almost mischievous little grin. "It's just what I need to take into consideration, so I don't accidentally blow up the shield and the city instead of passing through it."

"Just the prelude? My Lady, I think I'll go insane if you don't get to the point!"

The relic bursts out laughing. "We're almost done, I promise! Imagine you're riding in a groundcar and next to you drives another one with the exact same speed. When you look at it, it seems like you're both standing still, because the relative speed between both cars is zero." Lilia nods and the engineer smiles knowingly. "Now imagine you're a bullet and you want to pass through a Holtzman shield which only allows slow-moving objects to pass."

"Then I'd need the shield particles to move in the same direction as I do, only a tad slower, so that my relative speed is like that of a slow blade."

"Congratulations, you've just figured out how to trick a Holtzman shield."

"That is absolutely genius, my Lady."

"No, it's actually so simple." The woman shakes her head. "The difficult part is how to put the shield particles into motion, but I've figured something out." She summons the pixelated particles that are only for herself to see once more, nuclei that make up a Holtzman shield, accelerated by a burst of calibrated laser light, and how they give way to a bullet that cuts through them like a harpoon through water.

"Now I only need to build a proper gun," the engineer concludes.

Lilia has never cared much about the rest of the universe, and the universe has never cared much about her. Why would she care if her Lady, who has always been good to her, sets everything on fire?

When the door to Feyd-Rautha's personal bath chamber rushes open, he knows it can only be his darling, because the scanner only recognizes her handprint when he is inside.

The na-Baron is submerged to the jaw in oily-black liquid to soothe his bruises, a diluted version, heavily scented with the essence of exotic fruit and spices. He cannot breathe the unadulterated variant without gnawing memories of horror.

Her hectic footfalls cause him to spin around in the tub with worry, but before he can even utter a greeting, he finds his woman sagging down on her knees in front of him and his face captured in her palms.

"I've found a way!" She sobs.

"You've found a way?"

Tears spill down her cheeks as she nods, bringing her forehead against his. She's found a way. To kill the Baron and destroy the universe.

She is so elated, her joy could make a star rotate, it could set the world on fire. She kisses Feyd hard on the lips, melting against the wet expanse of his chest when he embraces her in his strong arms. His muscles break into tremors just like hers had an hour ago. 

All of her doubts have flown away like comets in the sky of a fiery dawn.

"Feyd-Rautha, would you be my husband?"

To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour

— Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

A/N: Pretty much none of the physical concepts mentioned are made up. I've tried to use real physics to offer explanations for Frank Herbert's fantastical inventions that make the Dune universe so unique.

I'm not even close to the level of genius that I admire in my favorite sci-fi authors, but all of this was so insanely much fun to come up with. I have more ramblings about space travel, suspenders and glowglobes, but they weren't really necessary for this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. I'm very proud ❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

[altraviolet]

hey so i was scrolling through the comment section of TEG and i saw a comment saying RIP TFP Ratchet?? What happened my boy? :'(

heya, he was the victim of worldbuilding, I'm afraid

cut for length!

so the logic of the comics states that 2 of the same thing can't exist in the same universe (specifically in proximity, but probably also in general). there are lot of finer details there that I could get into but basically I took that rule and put it in the fic like this:

the Lost Light cannot jump into any universe where anyone aboard who is currently living is alive. no living mech can go to a universe where there is already a living version of them.

so the logic goes: TFP Soundwave can go to 0001 because 0001 SW is dead, but TEG Rodimus cannot go to 0001 because 0001 Rodimus is still alive

because the LL successfully jumped to TFP SW's universe, the implication is that everyone aboard has died or never existed in the TFP universe. which means that TFP Megatron and Ratchet and Ultra Magnus are dead

now. did I do this purposefully? no xD and I didn't realize TFP Ratchet would be dead until I got that comment. and I went "oh. dang." because that hadn't been the intention.

when I first started the fic, I didn't have everything about jumping sorted out. I didn't even have a solution to the question "are they duplicating every time they jump?" until way into the fic. and I really was not at all concerned with any TFP character except SW, because SW was jumping onto the LL and leaving the TFP universe forever. the other TFP characters weren't relevant to anything I was working on

so yeah. I don't have an answer for what exactly happened to TFP Ratchet because it wasn't relevant to the fic. if it ever becomes relevant, I will figure it out, though

side note: this ties into "do you write the whole fic and then post" or "do you post chapter by chapter" in a way because the TEG you're seeing is the first draft. I posted chapter by chapter, and I've never gone back to make any major developmental edits

I don't know how I could've done the story without that worldbuilding rule, and I'm not sure how I could structure it so that TFP Ratchet is still alive [without some major eye rolling contrivances, like being reborn a la Megatron -> Galvatron, or something]. if it helps, if there were a way I could get around the rule and it didn't ruin the story, I'd do it xD you may have noticed from the lack of death count that I'm not really a fan of killing off the characters. it was nothing personal to TFP Ratchet u u

super side note: I feel like I shouldn't even be admitting this, but the thing where I hadn't reasoned out that TFP Ratchet would be dead when the LL went to TFP universe also happened with 2938 Megatron. when I realized that I went "oh shit" because I'd already established 2938 Megatron existed. and the little mention of him was one of those times where my brain said "hey write this, it sounds cool, and we might be able to expand on it later." I had NO IDEA 2938 Megatron would be so important to the story when I first wrote his mention. the mention was merely to bring a little extra detail to the fic and some intrigue to Mirage. my brain seeds stuff like that in the fic all the time, and then later when I need to problem solve plot stuff, it goes "hey remember Thing? connect that here." and that's what happened to 2938 Megatron. he got a cool mention, then I realized he shouldn't exist [I had Aquafend mention this in the Irradion chapters, lol, which was partly to inform readers but also partly me pointing out my own seeming-plot hole so I'd be forced to correct it later]. 2938 Megatron ascending to a godthing so divorced from his metal coil fortunately fit into the worldbuilding rule

so basically my brain does this:

-> set up a rule

-> write a bunch of stuff

-> put random details in

-> oh no problem where the worldbuilding seems to contradict the world

-> uh

-> refer back to random stuff

-> expand on it

-> tie it all together

-> write more

if you would also like to write this way, I'm afraid I have no advice other than to read a lot and practice writing a lot

so ummmm in conclusion, TFP Ratchet is dead or changed so much from his original form he cannot be recognized*, or, if you'd like to be really optimistic and out there, has somehow jumped to another dimension**. I didn't do that on purpose, but it was the natural result of the fic's worldbuilding.

thanks for the ask!

*the horror interpretation of this is really interesting actually... 👀

**I suppose another dimension hopping Lost Light, which has lost its Ratchet, could jump into TFP universe and snatch him up. I feel like TFP Ratchet wouldn't like LL Drift very much (especially since he'd be living the hell of the gray years every day in this instance) and would have a hard time adapting to the crew and new circumstance. I will write this fic for $50,000 cash sent through the mail

[callistoscollection]

Sounding

This guide delves into the world of sounding, also known as urethral sounding or urethral play.

What is Sounding?

Sounding is a form of BDSM that involves inserting a thin, smooth object, often a metal rod, into the urethra.

The appeal of sounding, is multifaceted and highly personal. However, some common themes emerge:

- Intense Sensations: The urethra is highly sensitive, and the act of inserting a rod can produce intense sensations of pleasure, pain, or a combination of both.

- Prostate Stimulation: The urethra passes through the prostate gland, and stimulating this area can lead to intense orgasms.

- Power Dynamics: Sounding can be a powerful expression of dominance and submission within a BDSM relationship.

- Taboo and Forbiddenness: The act of inserting objects into the urethra is generally considered taboo, which can add to the excitement and arousal for some individuals.

Types

- Sounding: Involves inserting a rod into the urethra for stimulation.

- Plunging: The rod is inserted further into the urethra, past the prostate gland.

- Urethral Stuffing: Using thicker rods to stretch and expand the urethra.

Tools

- Sounding Rods: These are typically made of surgical-grade steel or silicone and come in various sizes and shapes.

- Catheters: Medical catheters can also be used for sounding.

- Other Objects: Some individuals use other objects, such as thermometers or knitting needles, but these are not recommended due to safety concerns.

Steel Rods

Pros:

- Durability: Steel is highly resistant to damage and corrosion, ensuring longevity.

- Easy Sterilization: Its non-porous nature makes it easy to sterilize, minimizing infection risk.

- Temperature Play: Steel's thermo-reactive properties allow for temperature play (heating or cooling).

Cons:

- Less Comfortable: Can feel colder and potentially less comfortable than silicone, especially for beginners.

- Rigidity: Its rigidity may be less comfortable for some users.

- Weight: Can be heavier than silicone.

Silicone Rods

Pros:

- Comfort: Generally considered more comfortable and flexible, especially for beginners.

- Flexibility: Allows for easier insertion and movement within the urethra.

- Variety: Available in a wide range of shapes and textures.

Cons:

- Durability: May be less durable than stainless steel and more prone to damage.

- Sterilization: Requires careful cleaning and sterilization to prevent bacterial growth.

- Lubricant Compatibility: Not all lubricants are compatible with silicone.

Risks

- Infection: The urethra is normally sterile, and introducing foreign objects can increase the risk of urinary tract infections.

- Tearing or Damage: The urethra is delicate and can be easily torn or damaged, which can lead to pain, bleeding, and scarring.

- Obstruction: Objects can become lodged in the urethra, leading to blockages that require medical intervention.

- Pain and Discomfort: Even with proper technique, sounding can be uncomfortable or painful, especially if the rod is too large or inserted too forcefully.

Mitigating Risks

- Sterility: All equipment must be sterile and single-use.

- Lubrication: Use plenty of water-based lubricant to reduce friction and discomfort.

- Slow and Gentle Insertion: Insert the rod slowly and gently, paying attention to your partner's feedback.

- Communication: Open communication is essential to ensure consent and safety.

- Safewords: Establish safewords or signals to stop the activity immediately if necessary.

- Medical Expertise: Seek guidance from experienced practitioners or workshops.

Aftercare

- Clean the Area: Clean the urethra with antiseptic solution after sounding.

- Monitor for Signs of Infection: Watch for signs of infection, such as pain, fever, or discharge.

- Seek Medical Attention: If you experience any complications, seek medical attention immediately.

[strengthineverylayer]

Discover how expanded metal evolved from British innovation to a cornerstone of Philippine industrial leadership. Explore its journey, impact, and future in local manufacturing.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Most solids expand as temperatures increase and shrink as they cool. Some materials do the opposite, expanding in the cold. Lithium titanium phosphate is one such substance and could provide a solution to the problem of steeply declining performance of lithium-ion batteries in cold environments. In the journal Angewandte Chemie, a Chinese team has demonstrated its suitability for use in electrodes for rechargeable batteries. Lithium-ion batteries and other rechargeable batteries based on metal ions provide our portable devices with electricity, power vehicles, and store solar and wind energy. They work well -- as long as it is warm. As temperatures drop, the performance of these batteries can decrease sharply -- a problem for electric cars, aerospace, and military applications. Countermeasures such as integrated heaters, improved electrolytes, or electrode coatings increase the cost and complexity of battery production or reduce performance.

Read more.

[apas-95]

what in the world is a lich vacuum tunnel skeleton computer? it sounds cool as hell

powerful necromancer commands an army of the undead. said undead can be given rudimentary commands. by organising multiple undead to pass, say, metal rods between each other, you can create simple logic gates - order two undead to pass along any rods they're given, and order the third to only pass along a rod if both undead pass a rod to them, then you've got an AND gate. knowing this, our humble lich retreats to a mountain and sets their minions to work. they raise a large army of skeletons, tunneling out a series of inter-connected circuits inside the stone, and stationing these skeletons along the entire length, at arms length from each other. at a command, metal rods are passed to the input skeletons, which immediately hand them forwards, and on and on, passing through successive skeleton logic gates, forming an arithmetic unit, which are then passed to the output skeletons, which present our lich with a numeric solution, in binary. such a system can be extended and expanded as much as necessary. to reduce the effect of air resistance on our speedy skeleton stick slingers, the lich seals off the tunnels and further employs some skeletons to work bellows to constantly pump out the air and create a partial vacuum.

see also the feudal chinese version with dessicated alien peasants as presented in three body problem, for calculating celestial and astronomical movements

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xxxv // Aftermath of Nervous

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It’s like nothing he’s ever heard before. Brainless. Unfiltered. Like the guy’s voice splinters, sending ice cold shards through the room. Crawling down his spine, an expected form of arousal creeping its way through a body still sore from running. His elbow aches to the bone. The pool of blood between Davin’s feet steadily expands.

Renee swears that he finds a deep satisfaction in what he sees, but there’s something else, something new. Something he doesn’t entirely understand, mixed as it is with that twitch in his hands, the mark of his desire.

He finds himself struggling with the urge to take a step backwards. Imagines crossing the threshold between kitchen and hallway, retreating into his room, and closing the door behind him.

Instead his eyes are fixed on the arch of Conrad’s back, the strain of his shoulders. The way the ropes dig into his wrists so hard, his hands turn red and swell from a lack of circulation.

That final cut, and Conrad’s near-silent reaction, is what ultimately makes Renee shudder.

In the silence that follows, walls echoing with the memory of violence, Renee becomes mindful of his racing heart, the rush in his ears, contrasted breathing that comes so slow, it’s making him lightheaded. He blinks.

“… holy shit.”

Davin casts him a quick glance, calmly stepping back from the table. His hands drip red at his sides, the dark burgundy of deoxygenated blood interspersed with streaks of a more vibrant vermilion. He cocks his head to the side as he takes a closer look at Conrad’s face. The crease at the corner of his mouth is ambiguous – might be satisfaction, might be dissatisfaction. Nothing else in his expression betrays his state of mind. Eventually, he walks over to the sink and starts the faucet. There’s a soft clank of metal against metal as the scalpel is discarded, and Davin begins to wash his hands.

The wound gapes a good two inches, but so much blood is pooled within it, it’s impossible to tell how deep it goes. Tiny ripples on the surface betray a racing heartbeat. Conrad, otherwise completely limp at this point, occasionally twitches a little, breaths whistling in his throat. Curly hair, drenched in sweat, sticks with a sheen to his skin. Tear-streaked eyes, half-open but unseeing, stare motionless toward the table. He looks far gone.

Renee’s mouth is dry.

Davin returns, hands clean, and begins tending to Conrad, as if something in this carefully balanced dynamic didn’t just dramatically shift. The ropes are loosened. A palm on the forehead, another on the neck, thumb digging into the flesh over the jugular; Conrad doesn’t stir. A syringe is produced from Davin’s medicinal bag, as well as a small vial. He flicks the cap off with his thumb, retracts the plunger to a desired dose, injects air through the vial’s lid, and lets the surplus pressure in the glass fill the syringe with a clear liquid. Casual work. Whatever Davin injects Conrad with, it steadily evens out his breathing, and his eyes drift all the way closed, and the twitching eventually stops.

Despite the broken window, the coldness of the room, the air feels stifled. That tangy, metallic smell that bites with every breath. Renee waits until Davin has gathered his usual stitching kit, the packs of threaded needles, the saline solution, the disposable rags, before he clears his throat. “Do you need me for anything?”

Davin looks up at him. Keeps his gaze for just a moment too long, in that damned curious, contemplative way. “We’ve got quite a few stitches to get through,” he mutters. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt with an extra set of hands.”

Renee lets out an awkward laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t know how to…”

“It’s not complicated,” Davin says.

Renee laughs again, but it falters the moment he sees the hint of amusement tugging at the corner of Davin’s lips. He shifts his weight, eyes flickering to the gaping wound. “Are you serious?”

Raising a brow, Davin picks a latex glove out of a carton full of them. The soft snap of the elastic material as he pulls it on. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting your hands dirty.”

Renee lets out a snort. “I’m not.”

Davin cocks his head to the side. “What’s the problem, then?”

A dry chuckle. The shrug of a shoulder. “Nothing. Sure, whatever.”

Nodding, Davin pulls another glove for himself, and then hands the carton to Renee with a casual smile. It’s only when he turns away that Renee lets himself grit his teeth, swallowing down that strange, revolting feeling.

The first towel Davin sticks into Conrad’s thigh is completely soaked through, dripping, when it resurfaces. The next stains at a slower pace. Davin unscrews the lid of the saline solution, and methodically cleans the wound and the skin immediately surrounding it, pouring and dabbing away, little by little.

Renee slowly walks closer as he pulls the latex gloves on. Five cloths in, with no blood to obscure the view, the sheer depth of the wound is almost enough to make him suck in a breath between his teeth. The gorge must reach halfway through the leg. The yellow-ish bubbly tissue directly under the skin, the neat separation between that and darker flesh. At the bottom of the cut, little bands of something, running from one side to the other. One looks like a reddish purple cord, and it pulses faintly, the color seems to shift in a rhythm. Other bands are lighter, look almost frayed. None are wider than a centimeter.

It looks fake, in a way Renee can’t entirely explain. Like it’s simultaneously there and not there. His gaze flickers briefly to Conrad’s face. Then down to his own arms, skin dotted. Hair raised.

The crinkling of plastic by his side makes his attention snap back up. Davin, opening one of the packets of threaded needles, is watching him, expression unreadable. “We do a row of buried stitches,” he says. “This thread’s gonna dissolve after a few weeks.”

Renee nods a little.

Davin picks up a pair of pliers, carefully positioning the bottom of the curved needle in its grip. “You hold the needle like this,” he says. “You keep a towel in your other hand. When you’re wiping off blood, don’t drag the towel in the wound, that’s just gonna deposit fibers and raise the risk of infection. Dab it instead.”

“Alright.”

Davin sniffs, motioning for Renee to follow as he bends over the wound. “You start from the bottom, like this,” he mutters, driving the needle into flesh without further hesitation, “and curve up right before you hit the junction between… see the difference in layers there?”

“Yeah.”

“The other side, you start parallel to the exit of the last stitch, going down. Don’t worry about pulling the tissue around a bit to make room for it... See how the leading and trailing part of the thread are both at the bottom now? Give it two inches when you cut it, pick up another set of pliers… you wrap it around like this, three times, lead the other one through, tighten… keep some tension on it. Another regular knot to keep it in place, that’ll hold just fine. See?”

“Yeah.”

Davin straightens up, shooting him a look. “Need me to show you again?”

“Uh,” Renee says. “I think I got it.”

With a smirk, Davin hands him the pliers, the threaded needle. The touch is muted under the gloves, but the pliers are still cold enough to discern. Renee catches himself before his eyes can flicker to Conrad’s face again, as he positions himself like Davin did. Feels the other’s keen eyes on his back, his hands. Takes a subdued breath, suppressing urge to stall, and pushes the needle sideways from the bottom of the gorge.

It glides through with little to no resistance, but Renee can still feel that stringy, raw texture of it, little pinpricks of muscle fibers giving way. He feels the aggressive heat of Conrad’s flesh on the back of his hands. The needle does most of the work steering itself back out of the curve, not directly above where he started, but close enough. The other side is harder to get right. He starts too low and has to retract the needle, and then the wound starts seeping blood, not a lot, but enough to obscure the view. He dabs it away, tries again, gets it somewhat right, more blood, he dabs it away. Wonders why his hands feel so difficult to control. Knotting the line isn’t easy, the thread slips out of the grip of the pliers unless you hold it a certain way. Two sides are drawn together as the thread is tightened. How do wounds like this even heal? You’re just slapping meat together, that’s all you’re doing.

There’s a sense in him, once he has cut away the excess of the knot. Relief? Disgust?

“Could’ve been worse,” Davin says, giving him a short nod. He sifts through packets of thread, pulls one out. The needle looks different than the one Renee is using, slightly thicker, and the curve isn’t as sharp. “Thirty more of those, and I’ll let you fuck off.”

Renee nods. Clears his throat. “Sorry for acting weird,” he mutters before he can stop himself, “I just didn’t expect…”

Finessing the plastic cover of the packet, Davin looks up, but doesn’t speak. Instead he waits, patiently, for Renee to continue.

There’s a pause. A shrug. “I took some shit yesterday. I’m still kinda… y’know.” Renee points to his temple, chuckling.

Davin nods. “Got it.”

Renee swallows. Eyes flickering between points in the wall. His emotions seem to flash in his head from microsecond to microsecond, too quickly to differentiate. The anger is there, as it always is, but it’s directionless, confused. Although he’s aware of Davin’s eyes on him, he’s slow to position the needle back in the pliers, slow to lean back over the wound.

Five stitches in, Davin gently pushes him slightly to the side and begins suturing the surface of Conrad’s thigh back together, his hands above Renee’s. Occasionally tells Renee to redo whatever stitches he deems to be too sloppy. Something about being shoulder to shoulder with the guy is unnerving. They both have to occupy a tight space to work, arms rubbing up against each other. It’s like a cursed rendition of the scene from Ghost, except despite Davin’s fucking reptilian nature, he actually gives off body heat.

The faster Renee can get this over with, the faster he can get blasted out of his mind, forget about everything.

Strangely enough, that’s the thought that finally makes him feel normal enough to push through apprehension. Needle in, needle out, cut the thread, tighten the knot, rinse and repeat. It’s not about Conrad, it’s about dead meat. You get used to the smell of blood; it starts to feel as though it was always there. What just happened? Nothing, fuck it. You can get high, you can wipe the slate clean. Rinse and repeat.

“I just want you to see me as human.”

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[eserveofficial]

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[kulekrizpy]

😵

things i am worried abt

my health, generally. i eat way too much sugar :/

my finances (you're supposed to have an annual salary's amount in retirement by 30?? augh. i'm just part time and i don't think i can do more for very long. i burn out easily.) (also my rent is roughly 2/3 of my income. so)

i fear the solution to money is to work more and i don't wanna turn into a soulless husk

finishing late birthday presents

state of the country

i neeeeeeeed to get a new therapist

i might wanna get on low-dose hrt? idk. another reason i need a therapist

i want to have a relationship but i'm not ready and i'm still figuring out dating tbh...

and THEN i think but no i should just focus on me. which is valid! and i probably will be more likely to meet someone doing things i enjoy anyway it just requires going to places/spending money. so fucked up *i* have to expand my own world when sitting around at home is so much easier

what if i get too old to safely have a kid before i find The One. what if i never find The One. what if i have to live my life bravely alone or worse, with someone who drops me again. big fear of always loving more than the other.

I NEED TO JOIN A ROCK CLIMBING GYM. MAYBE. or dancing, maybe. i wanted to save skateboarding for when i'm more in shape but that hasn't happened over the last year. also my foot is still messed up. and my (dominant!!) wrist is still hurting and weaker which makes me worry for the future use of it even tho it's normally usable rn

i need new shoes. but again. research and effort while i'm not sure i'll get a lasting product 😫😫😫

my files are not truly organized

boxes in my room leaking paint fumes....

still have like half my stuff on the floor of my room. the pile has slowly shrunken over time but i still need to put up paintings and the stud situation in my walls is not clear. when the stud finder went off while putting up something heavy before it ended up being some kind of metal pipe or something.

the water in our sink doesn't always come out clear OvO;; i literally just need to put in an order

decided to quit 🍃 & immediately **** ** ******. i've kinda become a poth*ad the last few years and i have no experiencing quitting. i'm still gonna try, but as of yesterday? i haven't stopped

biggest issue is my sleep, probably. my true addiction is staying up forever and ever and never going to sleep

i know a lot of this would be solved with certain adjustments and remembering to round out my life with the list i made (which i would have to find). but that's saying rather than doing, and i have low confidence in my self-discipline

[spiderfreedom]

i notice a lot of tumblr users seem convinced apple is the only company that uses unethically sourced electronics materials and foxconn, and i'm sorry to say that's not true

every nintendo console since the gamecube has been produced by foxconn

sony's playstation consoles are produced by foxconn

the xbox consoles are produced by foxconn

like basically every major tech company you know of has worked with foxconn, xiamoi, nokia, sega, google, the blackberry

and that's just foxconn, that's just the people putting the stuff together. (to read more on this, I strongly recommend the book "Dying for an iPhone", which is a history of Foxconn and Foxconn's relation with Apple)

resource extraction is an even uglier game with fewer players. I'm sure you guys have heard about the congolese protests recently due to the mines expanding

nothing about the technology supply chain is clean or ethical. now, lots of supply chains are unethical and involve slavery or exploitation in some way or another - see the supply chain for textiles. but whereas an especially motivated and well-off person could buy from small farms for wool, the capital requirements to extract rare earth metals are so large that only large firms can afford to do so. firms with no incentive to increase the price of these operations by voluntarily caring about safety or ethics. the countries that are being extracted from are so poor and exploited that they have no real way to fight back, either.

i know we've all grown up with console wars and mobile phone wars and nintendo vs sony vs microsoft, nintendo vs sega, android vs iphone, but i'm sorry to say that it's all marketing, and all these companies play the dirty game of forced labor in their supply chain.

i can't tell you what the solution to this because 1. i am not an expert in international business? and 2. when transnational entities get involved, things very quickly become way out of the reach of what an ordinary citizen or even groups of citizens can do. foreign policy and business is out of our sphere of influence.

that's not to turn everyone into doomers, but to give perspective. there's no ethical console war here. if you're a student and you want to make this your career path, study economics, law, transnationalism... I recommend the book "Challenging the Chip: Labor Rights and Environmental Justice in the Global Electronics Industry," which is from 2006 but still relevant. (if you are in university, check jstor, your uni may have the book!)