#Low Side Fuel System

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/top-8-best-mods-for-a-800-hp-c7-z06-corvette/

Top 8 Best Mods for a 800+ HP C7 Z06 Corvette

If you’re looking to take your Corvette’s power and presence to the next level, you’ve come to the right place. In this guide, we’ll explore the top 8 best mods that can transform your Z06 into an 800+ horsepower beast, unleashing its full potential on the track or the street.

From enhancing exhaust notes to optimizing engine performance and improving traction, each of these mods plays a crucial role in elevating your driving experience. Whether you’re a seasoned enthusiast or just diving into the world of automotive upgrades, these carefully selected parts and accessories are sure to make a significant impact on your Corvette’s performance and aesthetics.

So buckle up, rev your engines, and let’s dive into the details of the Kooks Headers, Kooks X-Pipe, Borla ATAK Axleback exhaust, Cordes Performance upgrades including the 2.30″ LT4 Upper Pulley Kit and Engine Bay Ice Tank, the Low Side Fuel System for optimal fuel delivery, the traction-boosting Mickey Thompson Et Street SS Tires, and the stylish yet functional Forgestar D5 Drag Wheels. Get ready to experience the thrill of pushing your C7 Z06 Corvette to new heights!

https://www.vividracing.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/img-c7z06_forgestard5_mickeythompsonetstreet-3-scaled.jpg

1.) Kooks 1-7/8″ x 2″ x 3″ Stainless Steel Headers Chevrolet Corvette C7 2014-2019

  When it comes to elevating your Corvette’s performance, few names carry as much weight as Kooks Headers and Exhaust. With a legacy spanning over 50 years, Kooks has solidified its position as a leader in the High Performance Exhaust Industry since 1962. What sets Kooks apart is not just their reputation but their unwavering commitment to delivering top-notch headers and exhaust systems for street, race, and off-road applications.

The accolades speak for themselves – Kooks has secured hundreds of championships and set numerous records across renowned racing organizations like NHRA, IHRA, NMCA, NMRA, NASCAR, NASA, SCCA, and many others. This level of success is a testament to the quality and performance of Kooks products.

What makes Kooks truly special is their dedication to craftsmanship and American manufacturing. With three generations of family leadership at the helm, every Kooks product is handcrafted right here in the USA. This commitment to quality control and precision ensures that every header and exhaust system that bears the Kooks name meets the highest standards of excellence.

The Kooks Headers and Exhaust kit for the C7 Corvette includes a 1-7/8″ x 2″ x 3″ Stainless Steel Long Tube Header, Cometic Multi-Layer Gaskets, Stage 8 Header Bolts, O2 Extensions, and Torca Clamps. Crafted from premium 304 Stainless Steel, these components not only offer exceptional durability but also add a touch of aesthetic appeal with their stainless steel finish.

Fitment is seamless for various Corvette models, including the Chevrolet Corvette C7 LT1 6.2L (2014-2019), Chevrolet Corvette C7 Z06/Z07 LT4 6.2L (2015-2019), and Chevrolet Corvette C7 ZR1 LT5 6.2L (2019).

So, if you’re ready to “Get Kookin with KOOKS!” and experience a performance boost like never before, the Kooks Headers and Exhaust system is a must-have addition to your C7 Corvette.

2.) Kooks OEM X 3 X 2 3/4 (OEM) C7 X Pipe Chevrolet Corvette C7 6.2L -All models 2014-2019

Upgrade your Chevrolet Corvette C7’s exhaust system with the high-performance Kooks X-Pipe. Crafted from T-304 Aircraft Quality Steel, this 3″ x 3″ X-Pipe optimizes exhaust gas flow for maximum power and a thrilling exhaust note.

Features:

OEM x 3″ Front connections to factory catalytic converter

3″ x 3″ X-Pipe

3″ x 2 3/4″ Mid-Pipes. Connects to 2 3/4″ OEM Style Exhaust.

Benefits:

Enhanced engine efficiency with reduced back pressure

Dyno and race-tested for optimal performance

Direct fitment for Chevrolet Corvette C7 6.2L models 2014-2019

Limited lifetime warranty to the original purchaser

Note: Designed for off-road use only and not CARB compliant for California.

Experience over fifty years of exhaust system craftsmanship with the Kooks X-Pipe, delivering power and performance for your Corvette C7.

3.) Borla ATAK Axleback Exhaust System Chevrolet 6.2L V8

The Borla ATAK Axleback exhaust system is the ideal companion to your Kooks X-Pipe and Headers upgrade for the Chevrolet Corvette C7, offering a seamless integration that results in a host of performance benefits. Together, these high-performance exhaust components optimize exhaust flow, reduce back pressure, and improve engine efficiency, translating into a noticeable increase in horsepower and torque for exhilarating acceleration. What truly sets this combination apart is the distinctive Borla Sound of Power, delivering an aggressive yet refined exhaust note that not only enhances driving excitement but also sets your Corvette apart from the crowd. Crafted from polished T-304 stainless steel, the Borla exhaust system not only ensures premium quality and durability but also adds a touch of visual appeal to your Corvette’s rear end. With precision CNC manufacturing and Borla’s Million-Mile Warranty backing, you can trust that your exhaust system will fit perfectly and be covered for the long haul. Together, the Kooks X-Pipe and Headers with the Borla ATAK Axleback exhaust unleash the full potential of your Corvette C7, offering an unmatched driving experience that’s as thrilling as it is refined.

4.) Cordes Performance 2.30″ LT4 Upper Pulley Kit Chevrolet Corvette 2014-2021

Upgrade your Chevrolet Corvette’s performance with the Cordes Performance 2.30″ LT4 Upper Pulley Kit, designed specifically for models from 2014 to 2021. This kit offers a significant improvement by reducing the pulley size from the OEM 2.5 inches to a 2.3-inch diameter, resulting in a boost of 2-3 psi over stock levels. Included in the kit are essential components such as a press-on hub, 10 titanium torx bolts for secure installation, and the pulley itself featuring the newest griptec finish for enhanced traction and durability. Notably, the OEM belt can be reused if you have a stock-size lower, ensuring compatibility and ease of installation. This kit is compatible with all LT4 superchargers, making it a versatile and effective upgrade for unlocking additional power and performance from your Corvette’s engine. Experience improved boost levels and overall driving excitement with the Cordes Performance 2.30″ LT4 Upper Pulley Kit, tailored to elevate your Corvette’s performance to new heights.

5.) Cordes Performance Engine Bay Ice Tank Chevrolet Corvette 2014-2021

Elevate your Chevrolet Corvette’s cooling capabilities with the Cordes Performance Engine Bay Ice Tank designed for models from 2014 to 2021. Cordes Performance Racing, renowned as the premier GM LTX/LTX motorsports company in Arizona, brings a wealth of expertise and passion to every product they offer. As a family-run business deeply committed to performance excellence, Cordes Performance Racing not only focuses on building high-level performing vehicles but also prioritizes the overall presentation, ensuring that you’re proud to showcase your Corvette. The Engine Bay Ice Tank is no exception, crafted using the highest-quality components to deliver optimal cooling efficiency and performance reliability. By maintaining lower engine temperatures, especially during high-performance driving or track sessions, this ice tank ensures that your Corvette operates at the peak of its performance, providing consistent power delivery and reliability. Trust Cordes Performance Racing to go above and beyond in enhancing your Corvette’s cooling system, enabling you to push the limits with confidence and enjoy an exhilarating driving experience every time you hit the road or track.

6.) Cordes Performance Low Side Fuel System Chevrolet Corvette 2014-2021

(Image may differ from actual product)

Enhance the fuel delivery and performance of your Chevrolet Corvette from 2014 to 2021 with the Cordes Performance Low Side Fuel System. Cordes Performance Racing stands as the premier GM LTX/LTX motorsports company in Arizona, driven by a deep passion for excellence in automotive performance. As a family-run business, Cordes Performance Racing not only focuses on building high-level performing vehicles but also emphasizes an overall presentation that you’ll be proud to showcase. The Low Side Fuel System exemplifies this commitment, utilizing only the highest-quality components to ensure optimal fuel delivery and engine performance. Compatible with Chevrolet Corvette C7 models from 2014 to 2021, including the C7ZO6 and C7ZR1 variants, this fuel system upgrade is designed to keep your vehicle at the peak of its performance, providing consistent fuel delivery and power output. Trust Cordes Performance Racing to go the extra mile in upgrading your Corvette’s fuel system, delivering reliability and performance that you can count on for every drive.

7.) Forgestar D5 Drag Wheel 18×12 5×120.65 50mm Gloss Black w/ Machined Lip

The Forgestar D5 Drag Wheel in 18×12 size with a 5×120.65 bolt pattern and 50mm offset is a game-changer for high-performance builds like the 800hp C7 Z06 Corvette. Forgestar performance wheels are renowned for bridging the gap between forged and cast wheels, delivering exceptional strength and lightweight characteristics crucial for demanding applications. Using an innovative rotary formed production process, Forgestar creates a lightweight cast wheel with strength and impact values comparable to forged wheels, making them ideal for street, racing, and drag racing applications. The Drag Wheel variant is drag strip approved with SFI 15.1 and 15.2 ratings, ensuring top-notch safety and performance standards. The wheel features a rotary forged flow-formed barrel, monoblock construction, and a Gloss Black finish with a machined lip, combining aesthetics with functionality. Its lightweight design not only enhances acceleration and handling but also clears big brake kits for improved stopping power. The raised center cap adds axle clearance convenience, while bead knurling ensures secure tire fitment. With a load rating of 1600 lbs and meticulous attention to detail in construction, the Forgestar D5 Drag Wheel is a must-have for high-performance enthusiasts looking to maximize their C7 Z06 Corvette’s potential on the drag strip and beyond.

Mickey Thompson ET Street S/S Tire – P345/35R18

The Mickey Thompson ET Street S/S Tire in P345/35R18 size is a high-performance street-to-strip tire designed for enthusiasts seeking exceptional traction on both the street and the drag strip. Featuring radial construction and the renowned R2 compound, this tire delivers superior performance in 15- to 20-inch fitments. It is D.O.T. approved for street use, making it a versatile choice for daily driving and track days alike. The ET Street S/S tire boasts an equivalent tread void as the ET Street Radial II but with improved hydroplane resistance, ensuring excellent dry traction while maintaining safety in wet conditions. The proven R2 compound, also used in top “drag radials,” provides superior traction at the strip, often requiring minimal or no burnout for optimal performance. Tubeless construction adds convenience with a leak-free seal, eliminating the need for tubes. With specifications like a centerline tread depth of 6.0/32″, an inflated overall diameter of 27.8 inches, and a maximum rim width of 13.5 inches, this tire offers a perfect balance of performance and durability. Whether you’re hitting the drag strip or cruising the streets, the Mickey Thompson ET Street S/S Tire is the ideal choice for enthusiasts seeking exceptional traction and performance in a street-legal package.

By combining top-notch performance upgrades from industry leaders, the Chevrolet Corvette C7 Z06 transforms into an 800hp powerhouse ready to dominate the streets and the track. The Kooks Headers and Exhaust system, along with the Borla ATAK Axleback exhaust, not only optimize exhaust flow but also enhance the aggressive exhaust note, while the Cordes Performance 2.30″ LT4 Upper Pulley Kit and Engine Bay Ice Tank ensure optimal engine cooling and power delivery. The Cordes Performance Low Side Fuel System keeps fuel delivery consistent, while the Forgestar D5 Drag Wheels and Mickey Thompson ET Street S/S Tires provide traction and stability necessary for harnessing the massive power output. Together, these meticulously selected upgrades create a harmonious synergy, elevating the Corvette C7 Z06 to 800hp and delivering an exhilarating driving experience that’s as thrilling as it is refined.

As always, if you need any assistance with selecting the right parts for your car, feel free to shoot us an email at sales@vividracing.com or give us a call at (480) 966-3040. Whether it’s helping you pick the best parts, or being a shoulder to cry on, we’ll be here!

[aria0fgold]

The mkp5 brain getting fueled sooo much and also like, it's just so insane how on p5's side, the Phantom Thieves has such a big support system with how that's a core part of the whole story, gaining allies that'd help with the whole thing. And yet on Magic Kaito's side, Kaito barely Has anyone that can help him, he's always The One Helping, the only reliable help he can get is from Jii-san, whenever Conan's plans intersect with Kaito's, Conan could get Kaito to help along with the plan, and the few times Kaito needed an extra hand for help, it'd only just be Conan. My guy Needs more people, istg he needs more reliable help, my guy only has himself and an old man.

[xiao-come-home]

Even MORE pre-release Boothill. Please bear with me im doing my best,, slightly sug/gestive in one paragraph 🤸‍♀️

I've read somewhere that Boothill short-circuits when he's embarrassed AND I STAND BY IT. 1000%. I am here to spread this like a disease. His system is definitely able to process his emotions, but when you do something that makes his heart skip a beat, he freezes in his spot, his cheeks gain the most beautiful scarlet color... And then you hear the worst combination of malfunctioning robotic noises, AND then sparks fly off of him. Might have to wait a few minutes until he comes back...

Boothill might look like he's calm outside, but he just FEELS the blue screen coming when things get too heated with no break whatsoever or too much fluids go past the protective metal plates. His body stops in place, is absolutely unresponsive, and his eyes flash blue.

Don't worry though, your Boothill has a restart button, right in the middle of his upper back, hidden by his half-vest (or.. whatever that is). He might overheat a little bit though, so be careful not to give yourself unnecessary burns.

In rare cases when his blue screens get REAL bad, you have to stick a USB drive he gave you in those special slots he has on the left side of his hips to bring him back.

Boothill most definitely does not sleep, but gets recharged by electricity or fuel instead. Perhaps that's the reason for the hole he has on his back? Either way, it gives you an opportunity to "plug him up", which he hates, despises even, to hear from you when he feels low on energy (he still wants a goodnight kiss btw).

Boothill swallows bullets. He also spits them out when needed.. usually, he's very careful not to spit them into your mouth when you kiss, but gravity betrays him on his worst days.

Boothill probably works like Siri or Alexa when battles leave him a bit too wounded. You might wonder about something, say it out loud, and then Boothill just can't stop reading the first thing that came up on Google.

"What's the best recipe for carrot cake?"

"2 cups (260g) all-purpose flour, 2 teaspoons baking soda, ½ teaspoon fine sea salt—" Boothill gasps and covers his mouth, "1 ½ teaspoons ground cinnamon, 1 ¼ cups (295ml) vegetable oil, 1 cup (200g) granulated sugar—"

He just can't stop.

[risuola]

VII — WHAT IF...? // F. READER x TOBIRAMA SENJU

Tobirama never wanted children and not one of you ever brought the topic up, but now, as you grow more and more intimate and comfortable with each other you wonder, what if...?

contents: smut, reader discretion is advised — 2,1k words

a/n: i need to tell you guys that i'm so incredibely grateful for the positive feedback i got from you readers! i know that Tobirama isn't the most popular character in Naruto and i chose him to make this series about (because I love him, that's why) and it makes me so happy that you enjoy his little persona too! ❥ also, i'm very sorry for posting so rarely for this series, i was stuck in where to take the story now.

POLITICALLY LOVELESS || SERIES MASTERLIST

“God, I’m so damn busy.”

Tobirama’s low, deep voice rumbled against your skin as he kept latching his lips along the edges of you. You let your nails gently run across the pale flesh of his sides, your hands long gone underneath the dark ink-blue fabric of his blouse, yearning for the warmth of a man that has your heart in a tight grip for way longer than you’d ever suspect. The marks he was leaving at his wake matched the color to the ones you were painting on his back and you couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction when he hissed near your ear. The stinging sensation of your scratches fueled his fire even more and only seconds passed before your pants were pushed down and underwear got ripped into pieces. The heat of your core now exposed to his whims, starved tremendously for any touch of his, and you whimper – the sound nearly pathetic, as he moved his fingers along your dripping slit, spreading the slick and making their way around the pulsating bud.

“My love,” you breathed again, leaning your head against his peck, inhaling the subtle, fresh scent that always stuck to his body. A mixture of tangerine and pepper, a hint of sandal wood hovering above the soft undertone of morning dew and rain. “My god, I missed you.” You spoke, but what was leaving your mouth was incoherent, it was airy and broken; stuttered between the expert circles Tobirama was massaging right into your nervous system.

“I missed you too,” he replied, quiet against the crown of your head, taking in your aura and impatiently moving his fingers a little bit further, making them slip right into you. One by one, he was focused on stretching you out, the tight ring of muscles clenching around his digits as he moved them back and forth.

“Tobi, please–“ you whined, gripping onto his sides with enough force to ground yourself.

“You think you are ready for me?”

“I do, please,” there was no hint of uncertainty when you begged for him to fuck you. Right there, on his desk, in his office in the hokage tower. There was no worry in you, no thought about his brother few doors further down the hall, no nothing that could convince you that it wasn’t the best idea and it seemed your husband has just as little concerns because it didn’t take him long to be inside you.

A low, gravelly groan escaped his throat, vibrating against your lips that glued to his throat marked their way across the sensitive skin over his Adam’s apple. It’s been too long since he felt you that close, it’s been too long since he was able to just lose himself in you, be vulnerable in the loving embrace of your body, be the person he never got to be publicly and instead of thinking and analyzing, just letting himself feel. And then, he was sure, that if ever he wished to feel anything, it was you he wanted to experience. It was you since the day he saw you for the first time, led by a servant in your family palace, blinded and obedient but bearing a beauty that tainted his thoughts perpetually.

Tobirama will always remember the feeling of your body – the soft curve of your shoulder he kept his hand on to lead you out of your village, the gentle brush of his fingers against your cheekbones when he took the blindfold off your face, revealing the eyes in which he got lost with no return. You were nothing more than a girl he just met back then, a wife-to-be but someone unknown and yet, his heart knew on the spot that things will change. And they did, he knew it’ll happen, but he wouldn’t dare to wish his life to turn out so dramatically different to what he predicted. Love was a feeling as foreign as fear to his heart. A heart he thought was frozen and nothing more than a dot in the constellation of organs that kept him alive. The beat in his chest has never had any more meaning than to keep his body going and the very same beat now goes crazy, rumbling against his ribs whenever he sees you. Tobirama knew his life will change, the very moment his head was filled with terror and uneasiness when Hashirama passed him the decision regarding the arrangement. He knew about all the shifts in his day to day life he will simply have to commit to and yet, the most vibrant of his dreams, the most brave and perverse could have never created what he had now. You.

You, on the desk he’s used to work at. You, with your plush thighs wrapped around his waist, your hands gripping onto him for just a fraction of support, panting out moans, so light and breathy, against his lips, quietly escaping only for his ears to hear. With your core clenching, aching to accommodate him whole and yet, greedy enough to take everything, to want more. Senju would never imagine he will be blessed enough to hear his name spoken with so much love he could actually feel it seeping through the sound of it.

You kept squeezing him and he kept losing his mind over every twitch your walls did around him. You were a work of art, he thought as his eyes followed the lines of your body. An arch of your back now prominent, and the only thing that kept you from falling flat onto the desk was a pair of his hands, strongly holding your waist to himself. Your eyes were absent, your mind long gone into the realm of pleasure and yet, your fingers stayed on his biceps, squeezing the flesh and wandering, hungry to have more of him.

“Tobi–“ you breathed out, the name just barely sliding on top of the air you were panting out and you pulled yourself closer to him. Your palms now found their way to his back, stretching the fabric of his blouse to feel the skin underneath it and you leaned into him, as he leaned into you. Your foreheads touched, noses squeezed together as the final moves of his hips brought both of you over the edge. Your breaths mingled together, a soft, broken sounds made for a cacophony of love you just shared and you shut your eyes to just feel him fully.

“Welcome back home,” your husband whispered finally, kissing your lips shortly after your smile acknowledged his words. The gesture was soft, languid and though you knew it was carrying much more than just concluding the sex. There was love that it carried, emotions unraveling with each movement of his mouth against yours and you felt the warmth spreading all over your body.

“I missed you too,” you replied, softly and quietly, slowly breaking the kiss off but not shying away from marking the line of his jawline with few more wet spots. “Let’s get cleaned, shall we?”

* * *

Watching Tobirama fight was one of your favorite things to do ever since you got to marry him. It amazed you every time you had a chance to witness his training and your husband never failed to take your breath away with how skilled and precise his movements are, how much control he has over nature releases and how well he wields the sword. Of course, the moment he offered you to join him while he trained with Kagami, you said yes without a second thought.

The boy from the clan of fire has become a part of your family in a way. Ever since you gave him a hand, helped him go through the traumatic events that happened with his biological parents, you kept an eye on him. With regular visits at his new home, you got to know his new parents – lovely people – and you really attached yourself to the little kid. He was growing so fast, warming your heart and soul as you watched the smile on his face and pinched his cheeks every time you had a chance, because soon he’ll be too big for you to do so any longer (you’ll try anyway). Kagami was a constant guest at your house, spreading his warm aura across the place where you and your husband live and making you smile every time you saw him, because the few days you got to take a close care of him were the sweetest memories you held onto. You’ll never forget the way he clung onto you, with trust and a kind of love that a child gives an adult that it feels safe with.

Tobirama grew to love the boy rather quickly – though he was reluctant to admit how fast it happened, but you knew he felt the intense need of care in just few days of little Uchiha in his life. Now it wasn’t a secret anymore – your husband openly treated the kid as if it was his own and even though he strongly believed that kids shouldn’t be exposed to war and violence, he was very supportive when it came to trainings. Even on the busiest days of his schedule, he always found a moment or two to spare for the cheerful child that came to visit the hokage tower every time he was around.

“Tired already?” Senju asked, watching the brunette gathering up from the green grass on one of the meadows that were more of a training field than a piece of greenery. An open space so big in comparison to the almost eight-year-old tiny human and yet he bravely raised up to his little feet, clenching his fingers around the handle of his kunai.

 “No!” He called out, panted and a small smile tugged on your husband’s lips as he got into his stance yet again. It was a spectacle of trust and power and you admired your man for being able to perfectly calculate how much strength he can put into every move of his body to make the little one hustle just enough.

You, as you sat on the side, resting on the soft blanket and surrounded by homemade food you prepared to feed both boys after they’re done and some bandages and first aid supplies that you knew will be needed to tend scrapes and cuts that Kagami will most likely be covered in after the session. All those little, harmless wounds you’ll later kiss and wrap around, tickling the child and basking in the sweet sound of his giggles muffled by the pieces of rice and meat you’ll give him.

You smiled, then sighed, feeling a sentiment washing over you. A slight tension made your muscles twitch and soon you found yourself pressing a hand onto your belly. You wished to have children, not always – but now, as you found love in the village that confidently you call your cherished home, more and more often you catch yourself thinking.

Tobirama didn’t want any offspring, at least that’s what he told you few days after the wedding – as he was explaining to you the mechanisms of the arrangement and briefing you through his visions of the future between you and him, he mentioned that his brother will secure the bloodline, therefore he has no wish to have kids himself. It’s something you agreed on, then slightly intimidated by his cold and calm persona, but three years had passed since you and him got bonded by knot of matrimony and as you think of it, none of his predictions came to life.

Sometimes you chuckled mentally, knowing how far off is what you have now to what he told you he think will happen. It was meant to be loveless, it was meant to be dry and distant. He told you that he’s sorry for the future you were given to, that he’s not going to love you just like you deserve but then, he did just that. He swore he’s cold, that his heart isn’t capable of sharing feelings as romantic as love but Tobirama loves, and he loves hot. Every kiss and stolen touch with him burns right into your soul, warms you from the inside, makes you happy and cherished, and you knew, deep inside of your heart, that his mind changed long time ago. You knew, deep down, that he’s content with what you built together, that he’s happier than he ever would be if your marriage turned out as he thought it will.

And so, you wondered if his will to have children changed as well? You never talked about it with him, never asked and he didn’t as well. Lost in the constant rush of his busy schedule, from meeting to meeting and from fight to fight, Tobirama stayed quiet about the issue and you, now leading the anbu, never had guts to bring it up either. But now, as you sat there, basking in the warm rays of the summer sun, you wondered what if…?

taglist: @garouaddict @bluebreadenthusiast @nelivv @drthymby @humongousdreamlandbear @darlingxoxo15 @gaozorous-rex-blog

[angelfoxx]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “COULD I…HELP YOU?”

… in which the genshin hybrids maybe, possibly let you help with their heats/ruts

FEATURING: gorou, tighnari, & yae miko.

WARNINGS: afab reader; do you consider eating yae out at the shrine sacrilege because if so then uh. um. scratches my neck awkwardly

NOTE/S: hey! i’m new and i eat requests UP. if u enjoy my work, pls leave a request and i’ll see if i can do it!

— GOROU

✧ He tries not to mention it to you. Key word; tries. More often than not he’s dealt with his…biological problems…during combat, and when you are leading an entire rebellion, getting off probably isn’t your top concern. Is it annoying? Yes. Does it make him irritable and short-tempered and want to commit violent crimes against the nation? Also yes. He goes absolutely apeshit insane during the worst of his cycle and chances are if you happen to be on the front lines with him you’ll see him lose his goddamn mind because while he may be a very high-ranking general he is also a bitch to the biological system and, archons, the frustration he has to otherwise ignore gets fueled into his job. he commits war crimes against the state

✧ That is, of course, until you. You are now a new factor in his life and considering that you’re not only fighting beside him but also more often than not sleeping over in his tent, bringing him food after he returns to camp, or doing who-knows-what-else, you’re bound to find out one way or another. His leading fear is that you’ll have a rather rude awakening to his issue after arriving at his tent a little too late and finding him trying to sleep, trying, because he doesn’t get much of that anymore between war and also hormones, but he’s afraid you’ll be a little too late and instead of him sleeping you’ll find him halfway curled over himself with his tortured dick slick in his hands and fierce red bleeding over his face as he tries to sate the carnal urge seething in his loins.

✧ He eventually tells you, sort of; he brings you in well before his cycle starts and tells you, as calmly as he can manage, that you should stay away from his tent because the coming week is going to be hard for him. You misunderstand, initially, and immediately start reassuring him that if the resistance is running low on supplies or rations or defenses you’ll go out no problem to provide assistance. This then leads to him having to explain that no, this isn’t anything to do with the resistance, it’s a…it’s a biological problem, and it makes me…frustrated, it frustrates me, and I don’t think I could live with myself if you got caught in the crossfire. He’s really trying not to stumble over his words — this is incredibly embarrassing, incredibly, like, tail-trying-to-tuck embarrassing — but he’s doing his best, and what more could you ask?

✧ You’re not stupid. Biological problems making him frustrated to the point of not being able to see you? He’s dancing around the whole core of the thing and so you half-laugh and look at him and his slumping ears and semi-tucked tail and rose-tinted cheeks and ask him, point blank, if he’s trying to explain rut. He seems almost scandalized by you putting it so simply, but with a whiny groan and guiltily-closing eyes he nods and affirms your suspicions. Now he’s trying to excuse himself; it’s not a big deal, I’ll be fine, I just…it would be best for you to stay away, stay away while I’m dealing with it, but you’re not having it. Obviously, he’s used to dealing with his primal side on his own, but now he has you; perhaps your clear-thinking, never-having-dealt-with-a-rut conscience is what makes you wait for him to finish rushing through his panicked monologue before you step forward, take his hand in yours, and ask if it would be a better idea for him to just…get it out of his system. You know, for the efforts of the resistance and all. It can’t be good to have General Top Dog Gorou not completely focused on the fight, right? So maybe he should just…you know, let you spend the night this coming week and just let his biological problem run its course. You know, for the resistance.

At this point, you aren’t sure whether the damp spot under your cheek is from spit or tears. You can’t exactly check either; it’s like your muscles aren’t listening to you anymore. They’re so rigid it hurts, so stiff you can’t move unless you want to lose what little composure you have left. You’re hot, so hot; despite being clothed in what are now torn-up, ragged shreds of fabric, you feel stifled, overheated; it’s not coming from your surroundings, but rather, your gut, from somewhere deep in your gut, the same place that’s making every muscle go stiff and your legs practically vibrate and your eyes roll back and oh, please, the same place that Gorou keeps hitting, blunt tip spearing up against and hammering into overdrive.

The thought swirls hazily in your head for half a second before you feel hard, slick length pull out of you, bump heavily against the back of your thigh before you hear a shuffle and then a hot tongue is prodding at your sobbing hole, carving searing lines through the thick glaze of spit, pre, and arousal coating the hot space between your legs and flooding over to the insides of your thighs. It’s been like this for so long, so long — you’ve lost track of time. You force a rolled-back eye to come forward; you gaze blearily at the ceiling of the tent, try to find the glow of the moon but it’s no use, not when everything is blurred together with tears and the world feels like it’s spinning and—

Gorou whines between your legs, laps up the arousal your cunt is all but drooling out by this point. His face is glued to you; a broken, absent consideration for whatever little things he’s got in here crosses through your mind as you hear the telltale whisk of fur on tent.

You’re leaning your hips back, ready this time when he mounts back up behind you. Both hands grope around your hips, claw at the seams of your thighs and finally find purchase quite literally on the hill of your pelvis. His chest lays up on your back; he’s burning up, skin on fire as his canines latch onto your ear and his breath threatens to burn your cheek. He doesn’t speak; he can’t, you don’t think, vocabulary reduced to a handful of pants, moans, and breathy half-words, slurred “m’gon, m’gonna, hol’n” as his stiff cockhead prods through your slit and nudges back into the sopping warmth of your cunt. Something clatters to the floor; if the rhythmic, quickening thump of his tail furiously hitting the floor in tandem with his pistoning hips, he’s close, again. How many times had he already? Four? Five, maybe? He’s still going at it as hard as he had in the start; the only indicator that his stamina is lessening is how sloppy he’s getting with his motions. He’s constantly groping around for a hold on your slick skin despite having found one immediately when this all first started; his breathing has steadily grown more labored, and you can feel saliva soaking down your neck as his teeth find purchase beside your nape and he bites down, some last effort to anchor himself as his hips twitch and a fresh rope of heat spills out against that spot deep in your gut.

— TIGHNARI

✧ Much unlike the aforementioned general, his methods of dealing with his rut are…indulgent. He knows better than anyone what the rut is and why it does what it does and how to best work with it. The other researches know this; they know that sometimes, for no apparent reason at all, he writes up a whole patrol schedule for the next several days and sends himself out on the further ones; he’ll disappear for days at a time, often excusing himself with reasoning along the lines of studying the forest over a period of days to ensure that the Withering isn’t rearing its head, or that he wants to record the state of certain formerly-affected plants over a longer section of time. Both are rather normal reasons to be excused for so long; plus, Collei’s got home base under control, and his absences aren’t necessarily unusual. So, it works.

✧ If you pry enough — but wait, Tighnari, we might need you, we’ve got this thing we’re doing…how long will you be gone for? — he’ll explain it to you, and he’ll do so rather eloquently which is wild considering that he’s really just talking about how he gets ridiculously, unbearably horny for a week or so at a time and fucks his hands several dozen times over. He explains it scientifically, simply, and comfortably; he’s casual about what he’s talking about and maybe that’s why you have to do a double take and, as he’s walking out to check on Collei and make sure she’s got things covered, you sort of sputter and turn around and ask if he’s going into rut. He just pauses, looks over his shoulder, and blinks — you feel kind of stupid when he just looks at you and dubiously goes “yes?” Somehow, despite him being the one who’s literally distancing himself so he can masturbate in peace, you feel awkward and exposed. In any case, he just walks away, very casually, to check in on Collei, leaving you to realize that oh, oh, that’s…oh.

✧ When you stop him the night before he leaves — he’s packing a satchel of whatever he needs, you’d guess — you’re the one who’s shifting on your feet and hot in the face as you ask if he needs any help. He just blinks at you, asks what you mean, and flicks an ear when you open your mouth to answer and stammer out something about helping to carry something to his temporary campsite. He says he appreciates the offer but he’s got it managed just fine; plus, he adds, you don’t want to be around someone under (what he calls) animalistic instinct. You don’t quite know how to say that uh, well, haha, funny you say that, because I kind of do, and so you just say you’re worried about him going off on his own. He laughs — he finds that quite endearing — and tells you he’ll be fine. He tells you to go get some sleep; if it’ll make you feel better, he’ll bring you some spoils from the jungle when he gets back, so you can look forward to his return for reasons other than the obvious.

✧ Which, of course, doesn’t work. He disappears the next morning, as expected, but thanks to literally scouting the whole fucking jungle a good bit of adventurer’s expertise you stumble across his camp. Camp, consisting of a hollowed-out tree stump and the starts of a nest constructed from underbrush and reeds. It doesn’t take long to find the fox himself; upon seeing you he’s quick to jump into scolding, to which you literally have to cut him off and say that no, no, you know why he’s here and you’ll leave but also you meant it if he wanted help, like you really meant it, and…

Hands balled into fists, crushing willowy reed-stems in your grasp; to say you’re being drilled into is an understatement. The world had smelled initially like the jungle — damp soil, wild flowers, sweet wood — but now it smells hot, rough, almost wild.

And it’s all because of him.

Breath coming in short, thick half-pant, half-grunts, Tighnari’s chasing refuge from the need exploding through his system; it’s evident in the tendons defined down his neck, the blueish veins starting to stick up under his skin, the sheen of sweat painting his skin a glossy golden-cream. His face tips back; quivering under him, you watch as he groans into the hot, enclosed air of his carved-out camp, watch as he swallows, hard, as if to calm himself down.

Fat chance of that, you manage to think, lifting your head just a little to try a glance at your hips. Your prostrate hips, flat against the jungle floor, legs split apart to leave room for the sharp-eyed hybrid overhead to thrust up into you.

“Is this what you wanted?” His voice is surprisingly steady, considering how hard his hips are rutting and how aggressive the slap of skin on skin has gotten. His voice is aimed down at you; he’s looking down, now, watching your expression change with sardonic eyes. Both tall ears sit almost-flat against his head; he finds you funny, right now, funny even though you’re the one he’s been so desperately fucking into. “Helping me move my stuff, huh?”

You open your mouth to answer and can’t. He knows damn well what you’d meant; he knew it then, too, when he said he’d be just fine on his own. A test to see how far you’d go, perhaps, and one that you’d succeeded. Going on a wild hunt through a jungle to go find him is certainly something, he thinks — and what kind of thanks would it be if he didn’t let you give this whole bitch thing a whirl?

Your breathing breaks as his pace grows quicker; he never falters, not even when you grab on around the small of his back snd dig your nails into the smooth planes of his back. “Gonna,” you gasp, almost voiceless; “gonna, gonna, ‘Nari, gonna…”

Black fur curls against your ankle and trails up your thigh. He finds it funny, how quick you are to break under him; but oh, silly you. Silly, silly you. One round…that won’t do. But you know that, don’t you? That’s why you came out here; to ruin yourself, or to let him ruin you. Isn’t it?

— YAE MIKO

WOMEN. WOMEN RRRRRRAUGH THIS IS MOMMY

✧ If you think anyone is gonna know shit when this woman deals with a heat cycle then you’re wrong. Wrong. Yes, it is very frustrating and yes, she’s well aware of that feeling being there and yes, archons, she’s very poignantly aware that you, her little admirer — she’s poignantly aware that whenever you’re around she finds that feeling getting a little stronger and a little harder to ignore because maybe, maybe she’s a little…a little interested in you, and maybe those comments that sound flirty but you’ve always just chalked up to her being her mean a little more than she lets on, but…no, no. She won’t tell you that. It would be embarrassing and also weird; even Ei doesn’t know about it, and Ei knows most things. She knows her rosy-haired, sly-eyed familiar has taken a liking to you, and she’s mentioned it in brief teasing every now and again — in Ei’s mind, she should really just tell you because human life is short and eternity is damn long — but what she doesn’t know is that hr same rosy-haired, sly-eyed familiar finds somewhere, anywhere — hell, half the time it’s at the shrine where she won’t be bothered — and fucks herself with her hand and pretends it’s you, pretends, and she feels more than slightly foul afterward because she’s doing it at a sacred shrine but archons, screw it, she needs to take care of this or she’ll provoke Ei into another bad decision with her attitude.

✧ Speaking of which; it’s after another casual wander through Inazuma with Ei that you head up to visit her foxy familiar. Much unlike the many times you’ve seen her here before, she’s not in front of that sacred tree; no, she’s staring off into the fenced-off pond, and she looks very far away, like her head’s not all here. Upon calling for her, she seems to come back; she finds your eyes, offers you a charming little smile, and shuffles over as if to make room for you despite her current spot already being separated from the main crowd. Internally, she’s cursing herself for how her heart beats a little harder against her ribs and how the warmth between her legs starts to spread up into her gut, twists around her rationale and puts her world in a haze. Being in the depths of a heat cycle, specifically around you, has her almost scattered; she hears all of your questions well after you ask them and she answers even more delayed than that and so maybe that’s why you’re suddenly so close, trying to get closer to her face with your expression wrought and eyes worried as you ask if she’s feeling alright.

✧ She should push you away. She should, really, because you’re so warm, and you smell so nice and sweet and you look so pretty and untouched and — no, no, she should push you away, but she can’t. She’ll hide it under some smooth, late remark — I’m feeling fine; is this just an excuse to get closer to me? — but the little voice in her head is screaming at her to grab you by the nape and drag you off to a quiet, hidden corner and wreck you because you’re hers, hers, her sweet thing, hers…

✧ You don’t look alright. Have you been sleeping enough? Oh, ever-so-innocent, ever-so-sweet you, concerned suddenly that maybe the thin mountain air has gotten her sick as you press your palm to her forehead to see and — you’re burning up, you’re actually burning up, we need…do you have medicine? I’m not sure if familiars carry medicine, but we can head down to the village…no, no, I’ll head down, you stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, or…

✧ She finally manages a no. No, she doesn’t need medicine; trying to manage to keep her voice from dropping, she gives you the simple explanation of this happens sometimes and medicine won’t do anything about it, and you’re kind of confused because does she mean her period? do fox familiars get periods? when fox familiars get periods do they suddenly burn up like they’ve got a bad fever? but then you realize fox and oh, oh, you think you get it now. It must be evident on your face; oh, you say, face going hot, oh, sorry, I…do you need anything? I can leave you alone — sorry, I didn’t know, this is probably a bad time… but she’s just looking at you, now, and you don’t quite know what to do before you feel hot fingers wrap around your wrist and nails poke your skin. She’s trying to keep up the act; are you asking to help? she manages, suave tone just slightly shaky, and you’re sort of left sitting there dealing with the moral question of whether or not fucking the Electro Archon’s familiar is something you’ll get tit-sword’d for but ultimately, looking at slightly-heaving Miko with her eyes almost glowing and her skin starting to burn yours and oh, is that a blush you’re seeing? you decide that maybe getting tit-sword’d is worth it.

For being such a smooth talker, Yae Miko is awfully messy when it comes to sex. At least, this kind of sex. The sex where she’s dragged you rather hurriedly and rather unceremoniously behind one of the buildings atop the shrine, practically shoved you up against the wooden wall and swallowed any complaints or remarks you may have had about the manner between her lips. Dominant, yes — but messy. Messy, in the way her mouth can’t seem to stay on yours and instead slips off, wets the corners of your mouth and down under your jaw when you try and fail to gasp for breath. Messy, in the way that her hands are immediately moving; one raking down your spine, the other digging into your nape, and then both to your sides, and then one up under your blouse to tear apart the buttons and get a handful of your chest. Messy, in the way that despite her heat being at its worst, especially being neglected for so long, she insists on marking you; you don’t know if the Shogun’s eyes see the shrine but oh, oh, you hope they don’t, because you’re pinned to a wall with her familiar licking and biting and sucking on the soft spots under your jaw so hard that you’re heaving and debating on whether or not it’s okay to wrap your arms behind her head and draw her deeper into you because it feels like fire, it feels like fire on your throat…

“On your knees,” she purrs shakily, breath hot on your neck. “On your knees, get on your knees…you said you’d help me, didn’t you? Be good…listen to me, listen…”

And so, you do. And, really, you shouldn’t be surprised but oh, the way she watches you drop weakly to your knees, land softly in the grass with the wooden wall burning up your back — it’s too much, it’s too much, and your eyes have gone drunken before she can even start to move her clothes, move the pretty white silk out of the way and she’s lowering herself, too, but she really doesn’t have to. She doesn’t have to, because you’re drunk on desire and maybe that’s what gives you the confidence to touch her, wrap a shaky hand around her thigh and stretch up, duck under her dress guys im so sorry it might be a kimono but i actually do not know and i dont want to use the wrong terminology and sound dumb please help and…oh, she smells so sweet, so warm and sweet and—

She swears she sees stars. The long, pitched-tailed moan she lets out is evidence of it; nails scrape along your nape as you tongue at the heat burning fiercely between her thighs, taste thick, sugared arousal on your tongue and groan as you lap for more. She gives you no instructions, no limits, and so you just go all in; you wrap an arm around her waist to steady yourself as you let go of her thigh, reach up with your now-free hand and spread slick, soaked folds apart to get on the source. Her breathing is labored; you can feel her pulse stuttering when the tip of your tongue finds her pulsing cunt, pushes in only to get tightened on. Something warm and soft brushes the hand behind her back; you’ve seen the ghost of her tail a few times but it sure as fuck feels real now, beating against her thigh as you latch onto the sweet well between her thighs and practically drink the effect of her heat as it dribbles down your chin. Heaven, you’re in heaven, and oh, archons, so is she; the wooden wall behind you groans as she shifts, assumably to rest her weight against it as her thighs steady against your head and close you off to the outside world.

[chososlittlecrybaby]

just discovered you and I am obsessed, so here’s a request! (does that rhyme lol)

ony and connie’s reactions to us giving them the upmost disrespect 🤭.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊, 𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆!

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝⚠︎

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 ♡

You were driving home after a long day of work. Having to deal with rude customers and on top of that you stayed over time to take in 4 more clients because your coworker called in sick.

Once you were right around the corner from you and Connies shared house, you pressed the button on the garage door opener remote that was clipped onto the mirror visor. You seen the garage opening from the distance.

You sighed. You really wanted a bath and to just lay in your boyfriends arms. its was 10:46pm so you knew he was on the game waiting for you.

“God dammit.” You whispered, dropping your head down to the steering wheel before backing up into the garage setting your white Honda Sonata next to your boyfriends Mercedes-Benz.

You got out of the car and grabbed your Tote bag shuffling your hand around in the cup holders to find the key since your car didn’t need for you to put it in, in order for it to start.

Once you found your key you got out of the car and locked it. Dragging your feet towards the door that connects to the house, you wanted to fall and go to sleep right then and there.

You opened the door and made your way towards the kitchen to set your things on the island. You seen your boyfriend in the living room playing ‘Call of Duty.’ He had his headset on and he was yelling every curse word in the book.

You chuckled to yourself. That man was going to get hurt one day having those headphones on. He didn’t even hear you come in. Then again, where theres Connie there is always a gun nearby.

You walked over to him standing behind the couch. You bent over and tried to plant a kiss on his cheek but he moved away. He removed one of the headphone muffs from his ear. “Hey baby.” Was all he said before turning back to the game. You stood there dumbfounded.

“That’s it?” You said, slightly confused. “What do you mean?” He said, turning his head slightly to you and then back to the game. “I come home after like 10 hours and all I get is a ‘hey baby’? Don’t even ask me how my day was.” You said, anger fueling in your system. “Too busy trying to suck on your friends dick and play that fuck ass game.” You said. Now it was Connies turn to get mad. He quickly muted his mic and turned off his game.

“You lost your fucking mind.” He said. “Bring your ass over here.” He glared at you. You walked to the other side of the couch, not wanting to push him anymore, but you still had a right to be mad.

Connie was in a manspread position. You stood in between his legs as he looked up at you. A stern look plastered on his face.

“You wanna embarrass me?” He said, voice low. He gripped your waist with both hands and yanked you onto his lap. You stared at chain he had on, that read your name.

“My eyes up here. Look at me when im talking to you.” He said with venom laced in his voice. He gripped your throat and forced you to look up at him. “Whats your problem mami?” He said, taking his free hand and slapping your ass. You jolted up, the stinging sensation going straight to your head causing your eyes to water.

“Nothing papi, im just tired.” You said, voice shaky. “Tired my ass.” He said, another slap landing onto your ass. You jolted up and again, causing a laugh to come out of connie. “Not finna lie, you got me fucked up. Get off me and turn over, im finna tear your ass up.” He chuckled.

You got off of him and went to the opposite side of where he was sitting. You laid there looking at the patterned carpet. You knew you were going to be on bed rest after this.

𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐎𝐏𝐎𝐍 ♡

You were laying down with your back resting on the headboard and Ony in between your legs. Your long nails massaging his scalp as he played a mobile game.

“At your big age you playing games on yo phone?” You said, a laugh coming from your chest. “Its not about my age ma, its about uhm” he stopped for a second. “Its about the what?” You laughed again. He slapped your thigh and went back to playing his game.

You picked up the remote and went to Spotify on your TV. You picked a different playlist (the starting song being)

‣ 𝐘𝐎𝐔~ 𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝♫

“Pa, I need my hair done oh my God.” You said, looking through your best friends highlights. “No.” He said. You sat there with a confused look plastered on your face. “No?” You asked. “Yeah, no? I’m pretty sure I said it loud and clear.” He said, his gaze not leaving his phone.

“The hell? Get the fuck off of me.” You said, shoving him off you. He looked at you, like he wanted to kill you. “You mad or sum? why you suddenly got a attitude?” He asked you, turning his phone off.

You knew these were rhetorical questions. At the end of the day, he pissed you off. “Yeah I got me an attitude? I didn’t even do anything so why you acting like a bitch right now bro?” You said. You got off the bed walking downstairs into the kitchen, Ony following behind you.

Before you could even make it to the kitchen, Ony grabbed the back of your neck yanking you back causing you to turn and face him. He slowly slid his hand from the back of your neck to grab your throat.

“You got 20 seconds to figure out who the fuck you talking to and walking away from.” His eyes piercing straight through you. “You got me fucked up calling me a bitch and think you finna get away with it. Get yo ass upstairs” He yelled at you in your face, throwing you to the side.

You walked upstairs, your arousal leaking onto your panties forming a wet patch. You took your time getting up there scared for what was in store.

“Hurry the fuck up Y/N!” He yelled, causing you to jump.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 1.9𝐊

𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 ♡

𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄!

𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓☯︎

[spreadwardiard]

The Rot (part 2)

Dazed and confused, Orion pax comes online surrounded by rubble. Luckily, he isn't alone. However, that does not mean he's safe.

Part 2 of my 'inspired by MLP infection' AU! I hope y'all enjoy it! Again, big thanks to @lets-try-some-writing for all the help and encouragement!

Part 1 here

The hot, yet soothing tingle of his self-repair system’s nanites tending to the aching wounds of his frame was what finally brought Orion’s processor back online. His awareness floated slowly in and out, only able to sense the slowly ebbing pain signals from his damaged frame. His helm throbbed aggressively if he so much as even attempted a thought. It was reassuring, however, that each time Orion’s awareness floated back to him, he ached a little less and that his thoughts were able to come more freely. 

Where was he? Even without his full processing power, he knew that he was not in the safety of his berth. Accessing his memories did little to answer that question. He recalled Megatronus contacting him about a train, and he could remember that he had indeed left his hab, but beyond that, his memories were still too damaged to retrieve. The only option available was to allow himself to float away once more and allow the nanites time to continue their repair.

When he next came to awareness, it lacked the gentle ebb and flow of before. Rapid flashes of his most recent memories assaulted him in waves: coming online to an unexpected call, Megatronus’ unexpected declaration of affection, his walk to the station, boarding the train… 

His processor throbbed as if it would burst while the emotions tied to his memories crashed into effect: confusion, worry and then fear. Orion’s optics shuttered online just as the panic hit him. He sat rapidly, causing his helm to spin and his optical input to become distorted. 

“Shield your field!” The command was hissed at him with quiet urgency, and Orion clamped down on instinct. He brought his servo to his helm and groaned softly as he rubbed at his closed optics with his palm in a desperate attempt to placate the pain in his processor. 

“What happened?” Orion croaked out softly. Behind him came the soft shuffling of small pedes, and before Orion could even process what that meant, his companion was at his side.

“There’s no time to explain, Can you walk? It isn’t safe here.” Orion reset his optics, and slowly opened them once more, relieved that his inputs were no longer spinning. He was surrounded by broken glass and crumpled sheets of metal, dangerously sharp. Strips of soft mesh cabling dangled from above him, some slowly dripping fluids that he couldn’t identify. 

Orion’s optics finally found his companion. He ex-vented in relief as he was struck with recognition. Ravage observed him with a raised optical ridge, and the look on his face gave Orion the impression that the cassette hadn’t expected him to come online as suddenly as he had. 

“I think so?” Orion whispered through his grimace as he felt the stiffness in his hydraulics as he shifted his weight, to maneuver onto his knees. A flurry of diagnostic pings assaulted his HUD, alerting him to several injuries that were, luckily, non-critical. 

“Good. We need to leave. Now.” It was a command, and one Orion thought almost sounded laced with fear. Ravage darted forward, his cyber-feline frame having no issue ducking beneath what appeared to be the mangled remains of a bench that had been partially ripped from the walls in the crash. 

It wasn’t especially difficult to maneuver his frame through the small space, but it did ache like the Pits to crawl his way through what was left of the compartment. He was dangerously low on fuel, that much was obvious by how exhausting it was to hold his frame and move at such an angle. 

That also explains why my nanites did not complete my self repair. Orion thought as he dragged himself forward through the jagged remains. By the time his helm popped through a crushed window, he was venting heavily, and his arms shook with the strain of holding up his weight.

“Hurry. We don’t have much time.” Ravage paced nervously outside the wreckage, his optics constantly scanning around them. Orion begrudgingly hauled himself free from the shattered window and grimaced as he stood, taking only a klik to allow his optics to adjust to the increased light before following the cyber-feline between two hunks of deformed metal. 

Orion almost couldn’t believe the utter devastation around him. Smashed bits of transport compartments lie crumpled as far as he could see. Mutilated remains of Cybertronians were scattered haphazardly about, some obviously crushed by impact alone, while others looked…. Gnawed at, as if something had consumed them. 

He’d never seen anything like it before, not even on his long deep-dives into the darkest reaches of the data-net. Orion’s tanks churned, hot and sickly sweet, at the thought of what could have done damage like that. Some of those bodies were completely eviscerated… 

Orion focused his optics on Ravage, not wanting to see any more of the surrounding carnage than he had to. This was beyond wrong.  His internal chronometer told him that he had been offline for several cycles, which should have been plenty of time for rescue crews to have saved not only him, but everyone else strewn around. Surely, the Transport Commission would have sent a crew to clean the debris off the tracks. 

It seemed that he and Ravage were the only two living mechs around. But if that were the case, what had Ravage so anxious? It was painfully obvious as Ravage led him through the debris field, zigzagging to stay in the shadows of the rubble, that he was trying to avoid them being seen, but from whom, Orion couldn’t begin to guess. 

It seemed like the rubble stretched forever. The closer they came to the front of the train, the worse everything seemed to be.  Train compartments were smashed against and piled atop each other in such a disordered way that it almost could have been beautiful. If only the place wasn’t littered with corpses and plastered with splattered energon.

“Hey!” A panicked voice called out to the pair, causing Ravage to startle and Orion’s helm to whip towards the source of the sound. A young mech, pinned at the waist beneath a large scrap of steel, waved frantically at them. “Oh! Thank Primus, you’re not one’a them…” He could see the fear that emanated from his optics and the stains of dried optical lubricants painted down his face. 

Orion thought nothing of it. His internal processes immediately flooded him with coding to provide aid. He rushed towards the trapped youngster, ignoring the pings flooding his circuits from his injuries. He wasn’t that far from them. 

“Pax! Stop!” Ravage called out to him in a harsh whisper, his frustration evident in the slight growl lacing his command, but Orion could not heed that request. Not when his coding so persistently urged him to help someone so desperately in need.

“You gotta get me outta here! They’re coming!” A wall of hunger assaulted the archivist’s EM receiver, unlike anything he’d ever felt before: thick, desperate, and driving. Something was coming, that was for sure, and Orion had a feeling that whatever it was, was the same thing that had caused all the carnage he’d been trying to avoid looking at. He had to get him out fast, or he’d be torn apart, just like the corpses littering the whole area. 

A weight slammed into him from behind, sending Orion careening face-first into the ground. Ravage hunched atop his back and hissed furiously into his audials. “There isn’t time, Pax! They’re here! We have to leave him!” 

Orion lifted his helm, anger coursing through his circuits like an inferno. He opened his intake to retort, but was frozen solid in fear when a shambling mech, painted in red and gold, tumbled down from atop the hunk of metal pinning the youngling down, landing with a ground shaking thud. Chunks of his armor were missing from his frame, and Orion immediately recognized the same thick, green goop oozing from his intake and down his front as he saw the drunken mech purge before the crash. 

The youngling screamed as the mech shambled towards him. Ravage jumped, and suddenly was in Orion’s line of sight, their faces nearly touching,

“We have to go now! More will come!” Ravage pushed his entire face against Orion’s aggressively, an obviously desperate attempt to push him up onto his pedes. The youngling’s field erupted suddenly in a hot, sickening burst of panic. “There’s no saving him now, Pax!”

Orion couldn’t remember getting to his pedes. Everything happened so fast. The shambling mech grabbed the youngling by the arm and mercilessly tore at the plating. Another mech, covered in the same putrid ooze, shambled forward from the shadows, and Orion’s processor flooded him with a new command: Run! 

Ravage was two steps ahead of him on that front, and Orion instinctually followed the cassette as he swiftly led them away, even passing more of the shambling, rotting mechs that were hobbling towards the source of the screams. 

The youngling’s field projected his agony and fear of death far beyond the wreckage field, and by the time the screaming stopped, Orion was venting far too heavily to even notice its absence. He ran until the pressure building in his hydraulics overpowered his internal command to flee. 

His HUD flashed red. He was overheating, and his hydraulics couldn’t continue at the brutal pace that his survival coding had forced on him. He had to stop. His frame shook from the overexertion. He couldn’t stop the anguished screams of that mech from playing on loop in his processor. If he’d had any fuel in his tanks, he would have purged it all right then. 

“Snap out of it, Pax. We can’t stop now. We’re almost there.” Ravage’s annoyed whisper broke through his inner turmoil. Ravage was right. He couldn’t afford to stop. Not when those things were out there, likely to follow them once they were finished with-

No! Orion forced the thought out of his processor and forced his legs forward, despite the stinging pressure and pinging diagnostics. He wasn’t ready to return to the Well just yet. He was grateful that Ravage accepted this slower pace that his frame now demanded. 

They were following the tracks. Orion hadn’t noticed when they were running. All he was able to focus on was Ravage and trying to keep up with the far nimbler cyber-feline. He wasn’t even entirely certain how far they ran before he stopped, and he absolutely was not about to turn around and find out. 

When they finally stopped, it was at what appeared to be an empty Emergency Depot. They were scattered relatively regularly along the various strings of transport lines around the planet. Ravage led him inside, and as soon as the door snapped shut behind them, he let out a furious hiss. 

“Don’t you ever do something that slagging stupid again! You almost got the both of us killed!” Orion jumped away from his smaller companion and opened his intake to respond, but Ravage gave him no time to do so. 

“I will not die for you, Orion Pax.  Do you understand me? If you pull something like that again, I will leave you behind! I don’t care if you’re Megatronus’ favorite upper cast plaything. You ain’t worth dying for!” 

It was like the very air was sucked from his vents. Orion deflated, his gaze falling to the floor and his finials lowering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know” 

Ravage sighed dismissively and flicked his tail. He said nothing for a few kliks, but Orion didn’t want to think about why. He had too many other concerns vying for his attention. His tanks ached with their emptiness, and his frame felt heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He ached deeply, down to the protoform, and he still had no clue what was going on. Overshadowing all of that was the fear that clawed at his spark and made him wish he’d just slipped into stasis instead of coming online to this nightmare. 

“Frag… you’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Pax?” Ravage said, but his tone was gentler than before. It made Orion think of when he was a sparkling, annoying his caretakers for attention, which, unfortunately, didn’t make him feel any better in the moment. 

“Megatronus just told me to get on the train. Ravage… is he alright?” The cyber-feline rolled his optics and turned to slink deeper into the building. Orion had no choice but to follow, making sure to close and lock every door they came through, just in case. 

“I don’t know. Comms are down all over. I can’t even contact Soundwave.” Ravage huffed softly at that. “I found this place about 2 cycles ago. There’s some energon rations stashed in the back, and some mediberths if you need to recharge. They, uh… they haven’t come back. They tend to hang around the crash.” 

“The rations taste like scrap, but the packaging says it's nutritionally complete,’ whatever that means.” Ravage shrugged, and hopped up onto a sofa in the dimly lit space that Orion could now see was a lounge of sorts, probably for the mechs who normally were stationed here. 

Orion couldn't care less how the rations tasted. His tanks demanded refueling, and his coding told him that he would feel better all over if only he could get something into his him. He tore into them, devouring one after the other. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was, or how much his systems had been starving for the power to simply function. It took four entire ration cubes to satiate him. 

The effect struck almost immediately once he lowered his last cube to the floor. His self-repair routines rebooted, and he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge for recharge. He didn’t even try to make it to the mediberths. The lounge sofa was much closer, and right now, it looked like the most comfortable thing on the entire planet. 

Ravage only huffed softly as he hopped down from the sofa, and up onto the adjacent chair, where he curled up in the way that cyber-felines did; curled in a ball with his helm tucked under his tail.

“We can’t stay here.” Orion said, his voice just above a whisper. His processor was fighting against the wave of recharge that was crashing over him, forcing him to think about how close those things really were to them, and mixing those thoughts with how much he wished Megatronus was here… 

“Not for long, no.” Ravage glanced up at him, with a raised optical ridge, his tone dry and tired. Orion tried to keep his optics focused on him. 

“I promised him I would get there.” Orion’s vocalizer started to slur his glyphs, and Ravage tilted his helm and scrunched his optics in confusion. 

“Promised who?” Ravage’s tone said that he really didn’t care. 

“Mega…” Orion’s optics shuttered closed, and he in-vented deeply to quell the anxiety that still bubbled behind the coding trying to force him into recharge. 

The cyber-feline snorted at that and laid his helm back down. 

Orion frowned and forced his optics back open. There was still too much data he needed to understand what was happening around him. 

“What happened to everyone?” 

Ravage sighed at that question, and lifted his helm to meet Orion’s optics once more. 

“Shut up, Pax, and recharge. I’ll tell you all I know when we come online.” 

[indiepressrevolution]

Now at IPR: Lost Among The Starlit Wreckage

You are a mecha pilot. You have piloted your humanoid machine across the surface of the earth, through the void of space, and among the shattered hulls of space colonies. You have fought a war that has seen cities consumed by fire, fleets of ships struck down by energy weapons, and mecha immolated by their own stricken reactors. You have survived all the way to today, the last battle of the war, waged in the void. Now, your survival is more uncertain than it has ever been.

The visual cacophony of both sides tearing into one another has faded, replaced by the silence of wrecked machines, an open grave of floating bodies, and the last gutters of fire as atmosphere and fuel are consumed from broken ships. Your mecha is laid low, its diagnostic screen awash in the black and red of dead and dying systems as you drift among the debris. 

All you have is a dying mecha, an open communications channel, and your thoughts and memories - and the vague hope that someone will find you Lost Among The Starlit Wreckage before it’s too late.

https://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Lost-Among-The-Starlit-Wreckage-Print-PDF.html

[avastrasposts]

Not An Easy Man To Find

Hello!

🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈This my contribution to @romanarose Pride Event 🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈🏳‍🌈

It's the result of one of those "what if?" conversations that sometimes happen. I've never written m/m and I was curious to see if I could come up with a language to get across feelings and emotions between two characters that I love very much and still remain true to them. What would they express if they find themselves in a situation where they no longer need to deny the tension and attraction between them?

A/N - set after the events of Triple Frontier, mild spice, nothing too explicit.

The house was small, more of a cabin really, and set back from the small country road, right at the end of a narrow lane. The thick forest around the building had been cleared and the approach to the house was exposed. The second the man set foot on the property, flood lights lit up the yard. Even in the heavy rain he could see the cameras mounted on the porch, one aimed at the drive, the other at the front door. 

Frankie saw the lights go on in his yard, and he immediately reached for the gun on the coffee table but he remained on the couch, the book he was reading now face down beside him. Most likely it was just an animal crossing the yard, alarms wouldn't go off until someone tried to force entry. He waited for the lights to go off again, the knock on the door almost made him jump. Quietly he got up from the couch, moved through the house to the hallway and tapped the screen mounted on the wall. The man on the other side of the door was soaked through by the rain underneath his cap and he gave the camera a nod as if he knew Frankie was watching him. 

He should know Frankie was watching him. After all, he taught him how to set up the system. 

Pope heard the door unlock and couldn’t repress the smile creeping up as it swung open. 

“You’re not an easy man to find, Fish.” 

“Pendejo, where the fuck have you been?!” 

Frankie tossed Pope a towel after he peeled off his wet jacket, leaving it dripping onto the floor of the small hallway. The door was closed again, locked and bolted, and Pope nodded approvingly at the security system his friend had set up.  

“How did you find me?” Frankie asked as Pope toweled his wet hair, following him into the kitchen, “I’ve been staying off the radar as much as possible, Will told me a couple of guys came after you?” 

“Yeah, some of Lorea’s men. I got rid of them and I had to move location again. But Will had a hunch about where you might be so I checked it out and one thing led to another.” 

He hung the towel over a chair and sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen island as Frankie leaned against the counter. 

“Do I need to worry that someone else might find me that way?” he asked, raising his eyebrows but Pope shook his head.

“No, you’re good, Fish, I found you because I know you. How have you been?” 

“Shit.” 

Frankie spat the word, his eyebrows pulling together as he rubbed a large hand over his face. 

“Like absolute shit. I’m not sleeping, Tom’s death…it’s still….”

“Yeah, I know,” Pope said, “the nightmares have been brutal.”

“I keep reliving that fucking moment up on those rocks, when Tom…”

Frankie trailed off and Pope nodded. 

“Yeah, Tom, the heli crashing, Will getting shot, that fucking donkey…I have nightmares about that fucking donkey, you go over with it too, Fish, I keep dreaming the same sequence, seeing you tumble over the side, pulled down by it.” 

Pope glanced over at Frankie who was shaking his head with his eyes closed as if he was trying to shut something out.

“Don’t….” Frankie muttered, meeting Pope’s dark gaze. 

The two men fell silent for a few moments, eyes locked on each other,  the rain hammering against the shutters and a low rumble of thunder in the distance. Something made the lights flicker and Pope broke the stalemate, glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I’ve got a backup generator,” Frankie said, “and extra fuel. The power goes out pretty often when trees fall on the power lines.”

Pope nodded, “Always prepared, Fish.”

Frankie shrugged in response, seemingly waiting for the other man to say something else. Pope could feel the tension building in the small kitchen and he couldn’t face it, even if he was the only one who felt it. 

“You got a beer?” He motioned to the fridge but Frankie shook his head. 

“No, I’ve been staying sober, on all accounts, since we got back. I…I lost custody of the kids, after the divorce.” 

“I heard, man, I’m sorry. That’s fucked up,” Pope shook his head as Frankie shrugged again. 

“Shit was bad when I got home, she’d changed the locks, tossed my things, got the divorce papers ready. And I went on a bender, totalled the truck and then the court awarded her full custody,” Frankie shook his head, glancing down at his feet, “Can’t blame ‘em, and it was probably for the best. Some people were sniffing around the house a few months later but I’d already moved away. At least this way she and the kids aren’t in any danger.”

Frankie looked up at Pope, still damp, his shirt clinging to his shoulders as he leaned on his forearms on the wood countertop. His friend’s dark eyes looked apologetic as he listened to Frankie.

“Could’ve used your help, Pope.”  

“Fuck, Frankie, I’m sorry. I only just heard from Will that you got divorced, if I’d known I would’ve helped out, you know.”

“Yeah, well…” Frankie said, “It was my mess, I guess I had to deal with it.” 

“Yeah, but Fish, you’re family. Will and Benny have each other, Tom always had Molly and the girls, and then it’s you and me,” Pope said, getting off the stool and coming around to lean against the opposite counter, giving Frankie’s shoulder a clap. Frankie gave him a dismissive snort. 

“We’re family but you’ve stayed away for two years? Living off what’s her name's money? Not even a word to confirm that you were still alive?” 

“That…that didn’t work out,” Pope said, hesitating a little, “Turned out she wasn’t that interested when I’d already gotten her and her brother out of the country. And I always…” Pope trailed off and shrugged. He seemed to consider his next words, meeting Frankie’s questioning look for a few heartbeats before he continued, “Yeah…it didn’t work out. I came back to the States about eighteen months ago.”

Frankie’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at Pope’s answer. 

“Eighteen months ago? And you only just now got in touch? What the fuck, Pope?” 

“Like I said, you’re not an easy man to find, Fish.” 

“Bullshit, Will always knew how to find me, I made sure, you just didn’t bother.” 

Frankie crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Pope who just shook his head, but still met his gaze. 

“I thought you were still married, Frankie, you had your own family. I didn’t wanna crash that.” 

“Still, could’ve used your help, even if I wasn’t divorced. If you really mean we’re family and-” 

“It was too hard, Frankie, you know that,” Pope interrupted, pushing himself off the counter and taking a step towards Frankie who stared back at him. Pope shoved a frustrated hand through his hair, “Seeing you with her, the kids, happy family life. You must’ve known how I felt, seeing you run back to her the second we were done in Columbia.” 

“Pope…” Frankie said in a low voice, his eyes dropping to his boots as his fingers twitched, he looked ready to crawl out of his skin. 

But Pope ignored him, tension dripping off him as he paced the small kitchen, “You know, right, Fish? This has always been here, this,” He pointed between the two of them, almost poking Frankie’s chest as he stopped by the counter again. “This…this friction, you and me, and now…you always just stand there and say nothing.” Pope shoved his hand through his hair again and slumped back against the counter, “Frankie, half the time I don’t know if I want to hit your or fuck you.”

Frankie suddenly exploded into action, two long strides and his fists grabbed Pope’s shirts, slamming their bodies together as his mouth found Pope’s. Pope grunted in surprise and took hold of Frankie’s sides as he stumbled back with the force of the other man’s kiss. Teeth and lips clashed as Frankie pulled Pope closer, tongues meeting and Frankie groaned, tasting rainwater on Pope’s lips. Pope wound his arms around Frankie’s waist and up his back, grabbing the shirt and pushing the other man into him as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. Panted breathes filled the silent kitchen, a low moan from Pope as Frankie wrapped his hand around the back of his head. 

“I fucking missed you,” Pope mumbled, still pressed against the other man’s lips, and Frankie’s soft tongue came out to taste Pope again. A mouthed fuck and Pope’s hand slid down and grabbed Frankie’s hip, his touch going soft as he let himself feel the outlines of his body properly for the first time. 

“How long?” Frankie asked, his voice low as he pulled back a little, meeting Pope’s eyes. 

“Since basic, I guess. But I denied it for years.” 

“Yeah,” Frankie breathed out, barely a whisper, his eyes on Pope’s mouth. Pope tightened his grip on Frankie’s hip again and pulled his friend close, the kiss softer, less rushed. Frankie’s body was tense under his grip, uncertain as he shifted his weight and opened his mouth to Pope’s tongue. Pope moved slowly, feeling his way around Frankie’s stiff muscles, caressing his back, leading the kisses as the other man slowly began to relax. 

When Frankie groaned into his mouth and pushed forward, almost bending Pope backwards over the counter, Pope took hold of Frankie’s hips again and pulled him along. Leading him backwards into the living room. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he sank down and Frankie toppled over, on top, his long body covering Pope’s, legs tangled together. 

A moan escaped Frankie when he felt the hard length of the other man against his thigh and he rolled his hips, seeking friction for himself, his body reacting faster than his mind, the primal urge to rut into the warm body underneath him almost taking over. Pope’s mouth was warm, heavy breaths panted into his own, as he squeezed his eyes shut. Pope’s hands were caressing his back, trailing down over his ass, grabbing and pressing them together, calloused fingers sliding inside his jeans and Frankie froze, pulling back an inch, panic flaring up in his throat. 

Pope’s dark eyes met his as Frankie pushed himself up, hovering over Pope on his forearms, not meeting his friend's look.  

“Have you done this before, Frankie?” he asked, his voice slightly breathless from the kisses, but calm, and Frankie wanted just to bury his face against Pope’s warm, flustered, neck, hide his face and not show the intensity he felt was written across it.

“Just a hookup, when I was drunk,” he mumbled in response, his hands suddenly felt too big, he didn’t know where to put them when all that was under him was Santiago. He shifted uneasily.  

“Cálmate, Francisco,” Pope mumbled, cupping his hand around Frankie’s head, his fingers finding damp, soft curls, “Relax.” 

Frankie nodded and dropped his head to Pope’s chest, exhaling deeply. The steady heartbeat under the shirt told him his friend was still calm, hadn’t lost his cool, wasn’t rushing into anything. Warm hands resumed their movements up and down his back but now they were slow, and didn’t touch his skin. He felt his nerves calm, this was just Santiago, Pope, his oldest friend, who knew the darkest things he’d done because he was right next to him when it all went down. If anyone would understand, could reach inside and soothe the panic in his chest, it was this man. 

He lifted his head from Pope’s chest and cupped his cheek, a slow, uncertain movement, running his thumb across the thick beard, shot through with more gray now than last time. The sensation was unfamiliar to his fingers, not used to touching him in this way, the texture of the beard different from his own scruffy patches. Pope parted his lips as Frankie’s thumb traced across them, pausing briefly to press into the bottom lip. Frankie watched as the soft skin gave in under his thumb, making Pope part his lips more. When he leaned forward and gave an experimental lick to the pink bottom lip, Pope hummed under him, his hands stilling on Frankie’s back. He let Frankie lead the way, taking it at his pace, meeting his tongue as Frankie opened his mouth and licked into Pope’s. 

This time it was Frankie who reached for Pope’s skin, sliding a hand in under his shirt, not even thinking about what he was doing, just needing to feel more. Pope shifted under him, letting the buttons come undone and the shirt slid open. The palms that skated across his skin were calloused and familiar, but never in this way, never with this soft touch, followed by a hot mouth and tongue lapping at his skin. 

He could help himself, “Frankie,” he moaned, the roll of Frankie’s hips grinding against his own hard length clouding his mind, “Frankie, are you sure?” 

A muffled Yes and a nod came from Frankie, his tongue exploring Pope’s skin with increasing fervor. When his hand cupped the hard length straining against the fabric of his jeans, Pope’s breath hitched and he groaned loudly. It egged Frankie on, suddenly he felt a desperate need rise inside him and he grabbed Pope’s hand, dragging him off the couch. 

“Bedroom,” he muttered, tugging the other man with him, the two of them stumbling the short distance to the small bedroom at the back of the cabin. 

Pope grabbed Frankie’s shirt and pulled it off, shrugging his own shirt on to the floor, and then Frankie’s hands were skimming up and down his sides as they climbed onto the bed, buttons being undone, jeans discarded. It wasn’t the first time they’d been naked in front of each other, far from it, but the new situation gave them cause to look at the other man in another way. Pope took in the trail of dark hair on Frankie’s soft belly, leading down to his achingly hard cock. Frankie couldn’t just look, his hand came out and closed around Pope’s stiff length, making him huff a strangled Frankie before he pulled him down over him. 

After, when their bodies were slick with sweat and the room reeked of cum, Pope cupped his hands around Frankie’s scruffy cheeks and kissed him firmly, holding the other man tight as their heart beats slowed down. 

“I should’ve come back much sooner, Francisco,” he mumbled, when he finally broke the kiss. 

“Should’ve done this much sooner,” Frankie muttered in reply, his hands wrapped around Pope’s shoulders, sharing his breath and still tasting the salty tang of his own spend on Pope’s lips. 

Pope nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back on the pillow with his fingers tangled in Frankie’s soft curls. He'd never known Frankie's hair was so soft, but he’d often thought about curling his fingers around the tufts that always stuck out from underneath that damn cap. Now he slowly ran his fingers through them, still damp from their exertion.

Frankie shifted his weight, resting his head against Pope’s shoulder, his leg hooked over the other man’s thigh. When the air in the room cooled, he reached over and tugged the comforter over both of them, rousing Pope from his light sleep. He shifted down, pulling Frankie into arms so that he could look him in the eyes. 

“What now, Francisco?” he asked, his voice already thick with sleep, and Frankie kissed him. The soft lips and rough voice now his to claim. 

“Nothing, just this, Santiago,” Frankie replied, “We sleep, we wake up, and then just this.” 

Tagging the lovely people who were excited to read this when I blabbed about writing it. @legendary-pink-dot @lady-bess @nerdieforpedro @i-own-loki @mysterious-moonstruck-musings and last but not least @for-a-longlongtime for beta reading and being incredibly supportive! Love you all!

[nebmia]

Reviewing every rpg book on my shelf: 5, Flying Circus

Flying Circus is a a game by Erika Chappell where you fly planes, have messy dramatic relationships, and find out who you are. Sometimes all at the same time. More specifically you fly *rickety planes from the dawn of aviation* and have messy, dramatic relationships, and find out who you are *in an essentially queer way*.

The first thing I love about Flying Circus is it's sheer audacity in taking pbta (usually deployed for low crunch storygame-y titles) and twisting it into a highly detailed and technical system for running dogfights. I think its really clever how Erika has taken the idea of a detailed combat system are re-appraised it from the ground up in the context of dogfighting.

There is no grid based movement here, it simply is not useful in the three dimensional world that planes inhabit. Instead your positioning is modelled through altitude and air speed, with each being tradeable for the other and spend able to perform maneuvers.

Honestly the whole system is rather intimidating (a fact the book freely admits). Each plane requires a little personal instrument panel sheet (and a few extra side sheets) that resemble somthing you would expect in a euro-game boardgame more than an rpg. The system goes as far as modelling how your plane performs as you use up your modelling fuel and with varying altitude. There are also a lot of fairly involved moves that it feels would be a little tricky to keep aware of while running a dogfight. However, from what I hear, the system works well and, once you understand it, isn't /that/ tricky to run. I think this isn't actually that crunchy when compared to your standard tactical battlers, it's just completely new (and working in a zone most people have less of an intuitive understanding of [although its worth noting that most peoples intuitive understanding of medieval style combat is dead wrong]) so we are unably to draw upon our preexisting assumptions.

You will notice I have to fall back on reports and intiitions here because I am yet to be able to play the game, which is honestly my biggest problem with it: it carves such a specific niche that I think I will really struggle to ever bring it to the table. Anyone I have talked to about the game has always responded to the effect of 'I don't think I'm into planes enough for this'.

I am also not half as into planes specifically as Erika Chappell is. But what I am into is getting deep into things in general, and this whole system excels at letting you get incredibly technical and nerdy about your plane (as far as things like exactly what radiator fluid it has, if you use the advanced rules) and making those choices actually matter in play.

ok, that's probably enough about planes (a phrase I anticipate has never once been uttered by the author of this book), what are you doing when you get out of the planes?

The game follows a cycle of mission and downtime, which you spend relieving stress (in healthy or unhealthy ways) and running upkeep on your company. This is where you do a lot of the character work and bring into focus the 'coming of age' narrative that the game intends.

Which seems a good lead in to talking about the playbooks. Each playbook is focused around a particular thematic idea or experience, which is helpfully spelled out directly in a 'themes' section for each one. This isn't a game where you play as a fighter because you want to solve problems by hitting them but rather one where you play as a Fisher because you want to engage with "a queer reclamation of the monstous", or a scion because you want to engage with "privilege and power, and what obligations come with it", or a believer because you want to engage with "a mindset that thrives on radicalism", or a survivor because you want to engage with "a metaphor for what it feels like to be a transgender person escaping an unwelcome or abusive situation".

Obviously, alongside themes you do also get a load of cool abilities to use.

Of the many games that claim to be ghibli-esque but I think Flying Circus hews closest on account of two things: understanding miyazaki's perspective on war and also due to being absolutely unhinged about planes.

[bekolxeram]

S8 opening disaster predictions

I was patiently waiting for more bts material before making my predictions, but due to recent events, it seems like we're not going to get much more before the premiere, so here goes nothing, I'm making wild guesses out of what we've got so far. (No, we're not going to Oz.)

Bees

We've all seen the constant reference to bees in promos, the latest official teaser seems to indicate a bee-nado as well. I don't think it's an actual tornado with bees in it, or even a The Swarm style large scale bee disaster. In that film the bees crash 2 military helicopters, derail a train and contribute to a nuclear meltdown. I don't think ABC would greenlight The Swarm parody or an actual bee-tornado, especially after how widely mocked Lone Star was for that frozen man CPR scene.

I can see it being a severe bee infestation with multiple bee sting emergencies. Whenever a swamp of bees is reported by media, it's often described as... you've guessed it, a bee tornado. I can totally see the 118 dealing with bee attacks in 8x01.

I can't think of how the bees alone would be a major disaster though. A couple unfortunate people might get stung by a swamp, some more unlucky firefighters might have to fight through the bees to get to the patient, but it's hardly a city-wide catastrophe. I highly doubt the opening disaster is just about the bees.

Plane

I've already written why I think S8's big disaster would be aviation related, judging by the few photos and clips uploaded by the crew.

Every international airport in the US is required to have enough resources to deal with regular aviation incidents like bird strikes, hot brakes, engine failures, minor runway excursions, etc. There must be a very real possibility of a catastrophic mass casualty event for the fire department to send in engines from outside the airport for support.

The emergency vehicles we see in the hangar seem to be parked neatly in rows, so I don't think it's the case of a plane rapidly dropping out of the sky, looking for a place to land as soon as possible, or a sudden accident happening within the vicinity of the airfield. Emergency services have already been notified before the aircraft's arrival, so the trucks are just waiting on the side.

One real life example I can think of that matches these 2 conditions would be JetBlue Flight 292 in 2005. The A320 was flying from Burbank to New York when the pilots realized they couldn't retract the landing gear after takeoff. The crew tried troubleshooting while hand-flying the plane in a holding pattern (the stuck gear prevented the autopilot and the auto-throttle from engaging) to no avail, so they decided to divert to Long Beach and suggested doing a low fly-by for airport officials to assess the damage to the landing gear before attempting to land. It was reported back that the nose gear of the A320 was rotated 90° to the left, meaning it was completely perpendicular to the direction of the fuselage.

In the case of unsafe landing gear, pilots would usually attempt a gear up belly landing instead, as most modern airliners are designed to handle that. Since the nose gear was sideways in this case, retracting it was not possible, so the pilots decided to hold over the city for more than 2 hours in order to burn fuel (A320s can't dump fuel), then attempt to land at LAX, since its runways are longer and wider.

The LAFD mobilized over 100 firefighters all across the city to the airport and positioned them at different locations along the runway on standby. On the other hand, news stations sent out flocks of helicopters to broadcast the whole incident live on TV. Not only their loved ones at home, but the passengers themselves could utilize the in-flight entertainment system to tune in and witness the very plane they were on circling over LA, with aviation experts on air discussing the potential disastrous scenarios they might encounter.

At around 18:00, the flight crew turned off the in-flight entertainment system and gave the passengers a few minutes to call their loved ones. After that, the plane successfully landed at LAX with 1000 feet of runway to spare. No one was injured.

This is what's left of the nose gear wheels.

I'm not saying it will be exactly like this incident, but a major mechanical failure that hinders an aircraft's ability to land safely would fit the most.

Prisoner

Apparently Athena will be on a flight escorting a prisoner in 8x02, at least according to that person working at ONT who posted the photo with Angela on reddit. Naturally, some theorized that the prison would have something to do with the plane going down. I've seen nothing to disprove this theory so far, so it's absolutely a possibility. Although, that would make it the second time in a row a sort of transport vessel with Athena in it runs into a disaster caused by criminal sabotage. It's predictable and repetitive. I also haven't seen in bts stuff the amount of cops required for a hijacking scenario.

What I've noticed from crew photos is that the plane outside of the hangar during filming is a Boeing aircraft, while the cockpit we see earlier at the studio is an Airbus. If there are indeed two different airplanes involved in 8x02, then I can see maybe an impending emergency landing shutting down the airport, the prisoner being stuck inside of a plane on the ground decides to open an emergency exit and makes a run for it. Athena tracking down the prisoner would be the B-plot or something I don't know. I have 0 evidence to back it up, it's just a wild guess.

Sankes Bees on a plane?

Bees swarm airplanes all the time, but getting inside is a different story.

It's kind of hard to miss a swarm of buzzing bees inside an airplane. After pre-flight inspections by technicians and the flight crew, security checks by the cabin crew, the time it takes for the passengers to embark and the baggage to be loaded. then pushing back and taxiing, if a swarm of bees somehow still goes unnoticed, I guess everyone has to be blind and deaf.

Also, if the nature of the disaster is merely a bunch of angry bees attacking people on a plane, it would be quite boring? It would just be a lot of first responders triaging people and applying first aid.

What if the the bees are in the cockpit and the pilots are stung? Well, do both of them just happen to be allergic to bees at the same time? If so, I can maybe see a passenger onboard having to land the plane listening to instructions from the ground. I say 80% chance it'll end badly, thus needing fire rescue. But still, it's a very improbable scenario that requires way to many coincidences.

Bee strike

Airplanes accidentally hit wildlife in the air all the time, the most common one is bird strike, but there have also been locust strike, bat strike, even fish strike.

A swarm of bees is not like a flock of geese, bees don't have bones and are much lighter in mass, so while they can still cause some minor damages to the engine(s), it's usually not a big deal. The leftover bee goo on the windshield might affect visibility, but modern airliners have so many automated systems and navigational aid in place that they can pretty much land in 0 visibility.

So the bees have nothing to do with the plane?

Not exactly, bees and wasps are actually a serious hazard to aviation safety, but not in the way you would think.

Some species of bees and wasps like to build their nests in small, exposed cavities belonging to an aircraft, especially the pitot tubes.

A pitot tube is a crucial instrument on the fuselage of an aircraft that measures its airspeed. If it becomes clogged by foreign objects, in this bees, wasps and/or their nest, the pilots would be left with unreliable airspeed indications. If they unknowingly fly too slow, the plane risks stalling and crashing, like Birgenair Flight 301 in 1996. Air France Flight 447 also stalled and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean due to blocked pitot tubes, but this time not caused by insects, they were blocked by icing.

Brisbane Airport in Australia struggles with wasps infestation particularly badly. In 2013, some mud daubers managed to clog the pitot tubes on an Etihad A330 in under 2 hours, resulting in an overweight emergency landing. For that, airport authority recommended the use of pitot tube covers for aircrafts on the ground, but that causes a whole new problem.

Although the pitot tube covers are big red things with "REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT" written on them, ground crews forgot to remove them before pushing back... twice! The 2022 incident was luckily caught just in time by a refueller nearby, but in 2018, the Malaysian Airlines A330 actually took off with all 3 pitot tube covers still on and the flight crew had to circle back to the airport with no airspeed indications.

While pitot tubes seem to be the most popular among bees and wasps, there have been cases of other openings on an aircraft being blocked by wasps. This Gulfstream business jet had its cabin pressurization relief valve clogged by dried dirt from a mud dauber, leading to a cabin over-pressurization event.

There shouldn't be a catastrophic crash because of unreliable airspeed if the pilots are well trained, but I can imagine a TV show finding some even more crucial flight instruments to be clogged by bees.

Bees as indirect contributors

Of course it can also be the case of bees just happen to sting the one person keeping the aircraft safe. Maybe bees distracted a small aircraft or drone pilot, causing a midair collision.

Or it could be an important airplane mechanic missing work to recover from bee stings. Just last week, an article was published on the Seattle Times detailing the timeline leading up to the Alaska Airlines 737 Max 9 door plug blowout incident. It was revealed that there was basically only one single mechanic who would work on door plugs. On the 2 days when the door plug in question had to be opened and closed back up to replace damaged rivets, the mechanic happened to be on vacation. His replacement, a young trainee, had no idea what they were doing, and the 737 with a ticking time bomb of a door plug rolled straight out of the shop.

Aviation experts have commented that if the door plug exited the aircraft at a higher altitude, the result would be much more catastrophic: some parts in the cabin could be ripped off, objects would fly out of the plane and possibly ingested into the engine, and if the plane hit cruising altitude, unbuckled passengers and flight attendants up and walking around the cabin would be sucked right out.

Tommy's role in this disaster

The 217 truck is right there next to the 118 one, so Tommy's house is definitely involved. It probably happens at the airport where the 217 is located as well. We've already seen Tommy working on the ground in 7x06, he'll be needed in this kind of all hands on deck situation at his station's airport too.

He could also be airlifting seriously injured patients to the hospital. One service Air Ops provide that is often overlooked, is VIP transport. Tommy may be asked to fly higher ups of the fire department around the airport to assess the situation. LAFD helicopters were deployed for the JetBlue 292 incident in fact.

*Whisper*

There’s also a chance that Tommy’s helicopter will crash. One crashed in New York back in July because its fuel vent was clogged by a wasp nest.🫣

But I hope not, not so soon. Let me see them be cute and sweet for a while first, that’ll make the angst more delicious.

Conclusion

My predictions are probably super wrong, I don't have a lot to work with, so take them with a grain of salt, maybe think of this as simply a fun read about planes. These all are about as accurate as the Wizard of Oz theory, only I didn't grow up watching classic fantasy musical like a normal person, I watched all 24 seasons of Mayday.

I guess we'll find out in a month.

[xeonetrlight]

Silvaze Headcanons PT 3

So basically the idea is that I wanted to go over some headcanons that I had for some of the abilities for Blaze and Silver as well as some smaller headcanons for these two goobers

For Silver, I wanted to delve into how his psychic abilities affect him physically and mentally with each strain he places on his mind and body. Similar to Shadow, I think that Silver's bracers are almost like inhibitor bracers that prevent him from unlocking his full potential due to the massive strain they place on his mind and body when fully unlocked. I kinda see it as a leveling system where for each of the two bracers he removes he strengthens his already powerful abilities and gains two new ones to help him out. After the first bracer is removed, he gains the ability to become invisible but can only sustain it for around 5 minutes before he can't use it again. After the next bracer is removed, Silver is able to induce a hypnosis-like ability that helps him confuse and distract his foes. However, all these abilities come at a cost where they quickly tire Silver by causing aches and migraines to him.

2. For Blaze, I thought that she could explain how she is able to use her abilities where her body and lungs can absorb much more oxygen than any other mobians as her body can quickly intake massive amounts of oxygen and keep them stored for later similar to thermite reactions as they can steal oxygen from the surrounding environment to fuel their flames and keep themselves lit. However, if her lungs are targeted or the area is very low on oxygen, Blaze has to choose whether to use that oxygen for herself and store it or use it to create her flames and help her in combat. This helps explain why she is afraid of the sky because the high altitude will quickly rob her of air and prevent her from being able to use her powers 3. When it comes to Silver, I feel like a good mix of his IDW and Archie personalities would be where when on missions, he would be serious and no-nonsense but when with Blaze, he would be sweet and gentle with her, showing off a sweet side that only she and a few others get to see. 4. Sometimes Blaze lets her cat tendencies get the best of her where sometimes the furniture is covered in claw marks or when Blaze feels comfy, she makes biscuits on Silver's fur and especially his chest fur since she finds it so soft as she purrs up a storm.

[inkytypewriter]

Dreamscape

Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

A/N: Super short but super true. And formatting will come next time. Mobile formating sucks.

Every moment with him would be suffocating, filled with pure need and love. Every glance would be a distraction, every word a plea, every touch fodder for the liquid flame in your gut. He would build you up so you could touch the sky, and then have you melt all the way down and quake from a single brush of his fingers against your skin. He was your world, the center of your thoughts and fantasies.

In the heat of battle, he’d make his way to you, protecting you and slicing through each Kaiju with practiced grace and speed. Not a single wound would find its way onto your body, and that was just how he would like it. And if you’d end up on the civilians’ side of the mess, he’d be your guardian, never leaving your side until you are safe and sound.

He’d hold you close, your chest flush against his as his lips graze your earlobe, murmured words only fueling the heat in your heart. His hands would caress and roam your body, calloused fingertips from ages of wielding blades tracing and ghosting over every inch. His fangs, sharper than that of your average human’s, would tease and nip at the expanse of sensitive flesh where your neck met your shoulder, leaving blazing trails of heat from the bites. His lips would find yours in a heated lock, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for more as you squirm beneath him.

Or he’d drive you to an extravagant restaurant for dinner, his hand resting on your thigh as he expertly navigates the highways with his other hand. The dinner would be shared in a private booth, the only sound being the muffled live band playing in the main room and the warm chatter shared between the two of you. His crimson eyes would fix upon yours with a gaze so intense it’d take your very breath away, and his slender fingers would slide over the table, intertwining with yours. His fangs would glimmer in the low lighting as his rich chuckles fill your ears, a comforting sound you’d grown to adore.

And then the harsh rays of sunshine force your eyes open and drag you from your incredible slumber, shocking your system awake. You feel the remnants of the dream slip from you, the sensations leaving you in a wreck of devoid and yearning. His scarlet gaze is now only a fragment of your imagination, his kiss a fleeting graze lost in the depths of reality, his touch a ghostly whisper against your skin. Each time your bed feels emptier than the last, cold despite the warmth from under your duvet. Each time, you wake to feel the harrowing void in your soul and the weight of teary disappointment choking you. But each time, you are just foolish enough to lie down hours later to dream of him again, only to wake to the same nightmarish cycle of heaven and hell…

It will never be.

It can never be.

He is only fiction after all.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter six

well it’s love, make it hurt series

six: sometimes it just feels better to give in

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You have cabin fever and a rough morning. The Mandalorian finds a way to cheer you up and pass the time while you travel across the galaxy.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s relationship, established relationship, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din Djarin, kind of intense scene, domestic nonsense, hand feeding, spanking, one (1) pussy slap, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), 69, rope bondage, sex pollen (intentional, Din only), Din Djarin removes the helmet but doesn't reveal his face, subspace, aftercare, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 8: Sex Pollen/Sexual Competition, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on a03

3 ABY - Winter

It's day five of near-constant travel across the galaxy. You had worked on the way out, filling the carbonite, and now had nothing to do but return.

Yesterday, you had stopped for fuel and food. Taking the long range of bounties would pay off in the end; you had run the numbers, but for now, it meant things were a little tight. Mando never really lingered at the ports, but you hadn’t bothered to enjoy the market or the rusty crimson mountain range. The faster you got back, the faster you got paid.

It wasn’t as if you would starve. There were reserves; you both knew that. After it became clear neither of you were particularly interested in ending your arrangement, you shifted the way the profits were split in favor of a more communal fund for ship repairs, rations, and medicine. That budget was running low. But both Mando and you had your own caches of credits, earmarked for other purposes.

You regret the quick departure now. You wake up stiff and grouchy, like your body knew it missed out on a leisurely hike full of beautiful sights. After you drag yourself out of bed to stretch, you try to recover the day.

What for, though? There's nothing to do. You're over looking at the stars or the gray walls of the Crest. The datapad only held your attention for a minute or so before the tension in your chest built back up, and you tossed it to the side.

Getting out of bed proves to be another mistake. You burn your caf. When you try to dump it out, you spill a bunch on the floor and have to clean the whole galley to get the smell out. And when you go to rid yourself of the caustic odor and sticky residue, the fresher is exclusively sputtering cold water.

Fuck it.

You dry off and go back to the bunk, not bothering with clothes lest you rip your favorite shirt or trip and fall while putting on trousers. Seemed like the kind of thing that might happen.

You bury yourself in the covers and turn off the light, determined to sleep for the entire day and hope tomorrow was better.

Mando was elbow-deep in the wiring for most of the morning. A long trip was a good chance to update some of the non-critical systems. He was vaguely aware that you were up and puttering around the ship, and as much as he wanted to take a break and greet you, he knew he’d never be able to finish the job.

By the time he finishes and cleans up, securing the panel back to the wall, a couple hours have passed. But you aren’t in the hull eating lunch or fixing your jammed pistol. You aren’t curled up in your chair with a book. Even the refresher is empty (to his slight disappointment. He would have enjoyed the show).

It was unlike you to go back to bed. A deep frown settles as he makes his way to the bunk, and there you are, curled up on your side against the wall. He runs a bare hand up and down your leg, and you stir a little.

“Cyare, you okay?” he says.

“Uh-huh.” It was more of a groan than anything else.

“Are you sick?” His hand tightens a little on your calf, brow furrowing as he reaches up to feel your forehead.

You bat him away (or, at least, he thinks that's what you attempted to do. It was more of a weak flop of your hand before it fell back on the bed). “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. Bad morning.”

He settles on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can do for you, cyar’ika?”

“Nuh-uh. Lemme sleep.”

“Okay.” He sighs and slips back out of the bunk, but leaves the door open. The idea of closing you in there made something grind in his sternum.

He lets you sleep for another hour while he takes a quick rinse in the fresher before preparing a bit of lunch—or, technically, breakfast. Neither of you have eaten yet. At the market yesterday, while you were meticulously restocking and haggling with shopkeepers (he could practically see the credit-per-meal calculations crunching in your head), he had slipped a wrap of boiled tipyip, a crusty loaf of bread, fresh tubers, and a few fruits into the bag. With his own coin, of course, and insisted on carrying the bag.

The idea of you stressing over whether or not you’d have enough food made him physically ill. He trusted you to buy enough rations, but it was unusual for you not to buy at least a few fresh items. You were going to be on the ship for another four days.

Before working together, you had both lived that way. Bounty to bounty, ration to ration. But half the point of taking a partner was to have a better life. And while most of his credits went to making sure his people all had better lives, it hadn’t taken long to soften up with you around. He wanted to be soft with you around, or you’d spend every moment flinching away from the thorns you’d made your nest from.

Osik, he’d done the same thing, but he had the armor. The armor he’d been wearing a lot less lately. The past month or so, he found himself shedding everything but the helmet while you traveled. Never on land or at port, but hurdling through the frigid vastness, he preferred to feel your warmth.

Mando eats while he makes your plate and then, slipping his helmet back into place, climbs into the bed. He settles behind you and wakes you.

“S’it morning?” you mumble.

“No, but it’s time to get up.”

“No,” you whine and cover your head with the blanket.

He shakes his head, grinning beneath the mask. “I’m not asking, cyar’ika.”

You pull the blanket down to your nose and look up at him with big, sad eyes.

“Stop that,” he tugs at the blanket, “or are you trying to be a brat?”

You shake your head.

“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap. You scoot up so your back is against his chest.

“Open,” he says.

You obey immediately, but furrow your brows and strain your head back a little to see what he's up to, given that you are very much not in range of his cock.

He presses a berry into your mouth, which doesn’t seem to clear anything up for you, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Eat, cyar’ika,” he says, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You close your eyes for a moment as the juicy berry bursts on your tongue, and then you sit up and whip around to look at him. “Hey—” you started to scold.

“It didn’t come out of the budget,” he says, pulling you back down by the shoulder. A wave of affection spreads as you let him rearrange your body, despite your irritation.

You open your mouth to argue, but he fills it with a slice of longfruit before you can make a sound. You bite down on it like you wished it was his flesh, narrowing your eyes in challenge.

“I’m allowed to spend my credits however I’d like,” he reminds you, pressing a piece of stew-soaked bread to your lips just in case you got any ideas about speaking again. “If I want to spoil you, I can spoil you.”

You cross your arms across your chest but open your mouth willingly for the next bite. He brings his idle arm around yours, basking in the way you loosen a little, forehead smoothing over and exhaling softly.

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just let me take care of you.”

Once you had eaten a decent helping of everything, he brings his other arm around you and closes his eyes, resting his helmet in the crook of your neck.

“Are you still hungry?” he murmurs after a few moments of peace.

You shake your head. You're pleasantly full, warmed by the stew, and feeling lighter from the fresh meal. “Did you eat?”

He nods against your shoulder, wiggling you a little so you're nestled between his long legs, and sighs softly. You take the cue to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest, content to go back to sleep.

You should have known he had other plans when his hands started wandering, but to be fair, it was rare that you lay together without him idly fonding you. It didn’t always lead to anything; he just liked to keep you in a near-constant state of arousal through teasing.

“That way,” Mando had purred in your ear once when you whined, “you’re always wet and ready for me, cyar’ika. That way, I can just… bend you over and slide right in.”

You had nearly cum at the thought alone, and so, he continued to be an absolute menace.

Now, he helps himself to handfuls of your breasts and lazily rolls each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. You concentrate on your breathing, having learned well enough that if you let yourself get worked up too soon, he was more likely to laugh and walk away, to let you marinate in it until you were begging for him.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, pitched low and dangerous in a way that never fails to make you feel like prey. Uh-oh.

“Yes, sir?”

He grins at the tell-tale waver in your voice. “I’d like to try something.”

“Oh no,” you breathe, shuddering.

“Oh no?” he says. “You don’t want to try something? Is that why your poor, empty cunt is dripping all over the bed?”

You whimper and bury your face in your hands. He pries them away immediately, holding both wrists in one hand.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,” you say, knowing how he hated it when you hid from him. You're squirming, now, and can feel his hard cock against your lower back.

“What do you say, cyar’ika? Can I use you? I think you’ll like it.”

You nod without hesitation, despite the way your heart rabbits against your ribcage. You had enjoyed everything he's done so far, but every time he starts with “I’d like to try something,” it usually involves something very intense.

“Let me help you forget all about your bad day.” His hand slides down to your cunt, and your hips buck involuntarily, trying to reach him. He snatches his hand away and laughs. “Be patient,” he warns, before cracking his hand down against your pussy.

You yelp and whine, a pout turning your lips down.

“None of that, sweetheart, or do we need to start with a spanking?” He's teasing, but you hesitate. “We can, if that’ll help.”

You nod, your hands twisting at the sheets to keep them from obscuring his view as you flush from your ears to your chest.

“Such a good girl, telling me what you need. Lay across my lap,” he scoots so his back is flush with the wall. He’s so proud he doesn’t even make you beg for it.

As you settle, he strokes the soft skin of your back, one broad hand splayed across your shoulder blades. “Count for me, baby,” he says before bringing his hand down across your ass.

The strikes are firm but not sharp. Your count comes out in soft moans. He watches as your skin reddens a little, the way your plump flesh bounces. His cock is straining against its linen prison. It was going to have to wait a while, too. He had too much self-control, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to you if he got to take the edge off before starting his little game.

Not that it was going to be fair to begin with.

You’re sprawled now, limbs askew, head hanging off his lap with your arms dangling.

He pauses. “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s just so nice.”

Ooh, mistake, he thinks, and brings his hand down hard for the last hit. It has the desired effect as you yelp and startle from his lap, betrayal across your face.

“Out,” he said, gesturing to the door and pulling his legs from under you so you have to scramble to make room.

You eye him suspiciously when you land on your old bedroll.

“Something you want to say?” he says, digging around in a cabinet with his back to you.

“No, sir.” You bite your tongue and try to see what he’s doing.

“Sit down, impatient girl,” he scolds.

You sit, legs crossed. You thought about kneeling, but with no indication how long you’d be there, you decided to get comfy instead. It’s then that you notice the ropes on either side of the bedroll, neatly coiled. Waiting.

“Don’t touch,” he says as you reach to feel.

“How do you do that?” you say, flinching back and folding your hands in your lap.

He chuckles. “I know you, cyar’ika. Turn around and face the fresher for a minute.” When you’re settled, he sits down behind you and takes one of the ropes. “Can I tie you up, baby?”

“Please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you mean, but your every muscle aches to find out what it feels like.

“You just sit there and relax.” He pauses. “No sleeping.”

You snort and shake your head. There was no need to worry about that. You’re too wound up now.

He begins to wind the cords around you, softly explaining what he’s doing. You would have been fine just letting him work, but to your surprise, it’s nice to know what’s happening. It helps that his voice is so, so pretty. And soft.

As he ties the diamond harness around your chest, he brushes his hands against your breasts, and you can’t help but squirm. He lets you. You won’t be able to, soon, anyway. He ties it off and shakes some of the ropes, running his finger under them to make sure they aren’t too tight.

“Oh,” you whisper, reaching up to feel the knot against your sternum, cupping your cradled breasts, and following the rope up to where he’s woven it over and under your collar.

He lets you explore for a moment. “How’s everything feel? Any pinching or tingling?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over the hum of the mechanics.

“Hands together behind your head.”

You lift them up, fingers knit, and he adjusts them so your neck is cradled in your palms. “Is that comfortable? Think you’ll be alright with them there for a while?”

You hum.

“Cyar’ika. Need you to stay with me right now and use your words.”

You shake your head a little bit, trying to clear away the haze even though all you want to do is sink into it. “Yes, sir. And yes, I’m comfortable.”

“Good girl. Hold still.” He starts first with your arms, threading the rope around to secure your forearm to your bicep. He winds a cuff around each wrist and gathers your hair into one fist.

You moan, less in pleasure than in contentment, so he takes an extra moment to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it neatly back. He slides a loop around it and braids the excess through, tying the end and securing it to your wrists.

Your breathing is ragged. Every brush of his fingers is sparking straight to your cunt, your thighs damp.

“Relax, baby. I’m only halfway done,” he says. He helps you turn around and gently lowers you until you’re lying flat, face up.

He looks you up and down and scraps some of his plan. He had something more elaborate in mind, but he doesn’t want you to slip into subspace yet, and it doesn’t seem like you can fight it for long.

Instead, he takes one leg and bends it to your chest before tying it there. With the other, he bends it over a low rung of the ladder, and secures it so you’re spread and vulnerable. Finally, he takes the loose ends sprawling from under the bedroll and weaves them across your torso, crisscrossing until he’s satisfied.

He checks each tie meticulously, having you affirm your comfort, before he sits back on his haunches. “Move.”

“What?”

“Wiggle, baby. Squirm around.”

You try. When you find that you can only wiggle in place, but can’t actually get any distance, you moan.

“You like this, cyar’ika?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your cunt, spread wide for him, is soaked. But he likes to make you say it anyway.

“Yes, sir.” You’re flushed, but you couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

“Good girl. You ready to try my idea?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “This isn’t it?”

“It’s part of it, baby. It’s preparation. But last night at the market, I found something very interesting.” He holds up a small canister. “There’s a plant that grows on the mountainsides there with a peculiar side effect, if inhaled. If I take this, I’ll be insatiable for hours.”

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide as you stare at the little tin.

“Remember, cyar’ika. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be upset with you if we don’t use it.”

“What’ll happen if we do?” You’re curious. “You’re already insatiable.”

“No, pretty girl. It’ll leave me hard. I’ll be able to cum over and over. Y’know, like you get to?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

He laughs. “I was thinking we could play a little game. You like a little competition, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, feeling a little suspicious again. You enjoy when he makes you suffer for his (and your) pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous.

“I want to see which one of us can make the other one cum more.”

“Oh,” that sounds fun, actually, so what’s the catch? “Wait. Hey, hang on. You tied me down.”

He laughs. When he’s like this, it’s just on the side of condescending that makes your clit throb. “You’ll have your mouth. And I’ll have everything else.”

“That’s cheating!”

He runs his hands over your breasts, pinching and squeezing. “That’s the point. Don’t worry, cyar’ika,” he strokes your cheek. “You kind of win either way, don’t you?”

He stands up. “It’s up to you. You say the word, and I’ll put this away. Plenty of other ways I can use you like this.”

You look up at him, a look in your eye he can’t quite place. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you. And I want to make you cum. A lot.”

He grins. “Greedy thing. I’ll be right back, then.” He doesn’t want to open the container in the same room, doesn’t want to risk dosing you somehow. One of you has to be of sound mind for this, and he knows in his bones that if you use your safeword, he’ll stop. But he’s not sure you’d use it if you needed to, were you to ingest it.

It takes a few minutes, but by the time he returns to you, he feels warm all over. He had been half-hard already from groping you while you were tied up so prettily. But now, he aches.

“Can I blindfold you, cyare?” He’s breathing heavily.

“Please, sir,” you beg immediately, fairly certain of what that will mean. And you’re right.

As soon as the cloth is secure, you hear the soft hiss as he removes the helmet. He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You moan and try to lean up for more, but your tether doesn’t let you.

He smiles, you can feel it against your lips, and you think you might lose your mind. You need him. Now. But he backs away.

He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his warmth, and settles himself over you.

“Oh, stars,” you groan as you realize what’s happening. He lowers his hips, letting the tip of his cock brush over your lips as he bows his head and parts you with his fingers. He dips his cock into your waiting mouth just as he licks the first stripe from your clit to your cunt.

It kicks off a chain reaction. You moan around his cock, and the vibrations pull a moan from him, as well. When you try to take him deeper, you realize you’ve been thoroughly tricked. You’re completely at his mercy, can only have as much of him as he lets you. Meanwhile, he’s teasing a finger at your entrance and sucking softly on your clit.

Suddenly, he pulls away, but slides his cock deeper in your throat. “Oh, and you can cum whenever you want. You don’t need to ask right now.”

Fuck.

It doesn’t take him long to draw the first one out of you. He lets you have his cock the whole time, softly thrusting as you suck and work your tongue. When he finally slides a thick finger in you, all the way to the knuckle, you cum. He moans into your cunt, pushing his cock down deep into your throat. He knows you like to choke on it when you cum, which—you realize later—was actually evil. Because it knocks a second orgasm out of you as you gag and struggle.

He pulls almost completely out, moaning as you suck hard to try to keep the head in your mouth. “That’s two,” he says, but it breaks into another moan as you flick your tongue over the slit. “That’s it, pretty girl, I’m almost there.”

He resumes fucking you with his finger, sliding another one in for good measure. He isn’t going to fight his orgasm. It’s not like he needs to try to hold out, and you deserve to get what you worked so hard for. So he thrusts roughly into you and spills down your throat.

He expects you to count or tease.

But you don’t. You gasp out, “Thank you, sir,” before opening your mouth again to wait for him.

“Dank farrik, cyar’ika,” he groans. “You’re going to kill me.” He slides his still-hard cock back into your mouth, and the way you take him is rapturous.

He resumes licking and nipping at you, kissing and sucking bruises into your thighs. You don’t notice the particulars of what he’s doing. Everything is soft and blissful. You’re only vaguely aware when you cum again, a gentle, rolling thing that makes you shake all over.

The world around you has narrowed. You might be floating, but thankfully, Mando has tied you nice and tight, so you don’t have to worry about it. You always love his cock, but right now, you think you might die if he stopped fucking your face.

The exquisite pleasure is just on the right side of painful. There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like a waterfall. You lose count of how many times he rewards you with his cum, how many times you cum just from feeling him twitch and spurt down your throat. Your jaw aches, and you feel raw all over. It’s bliss.

By the time the drugs wear off, Mando thinks maybe, maybe he’s too old for this. His back aches, and his knees lock up. And he’s so, so tired. But he’s still warm all over, and you’re so soft and beautiful.

You whine when he pulls away, but it’s a weak, soft thing. You’re too far gone, too worn out for more. He gives you another kiss before sliding the helmet back on.

“Cyar’ika, I’m going to take the blindfold off now.” He’s turned out the lights in the hull, but the adjustment might be too much still.

“Mm.” Everything is too heavy to move.

He slips the cloth off your head and warns you to hold still.

As if you would move if you could. That would be so, so much work.

You barely notice as he slides the knife, cutting the rope away from your body. You’re both absolutely filthy, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even think about getting cleaned up. Instead, he lifts you up and somehow manages to ease you both into the bunk. He brings the canteen to your lips and makes sure you take slow, easy sips.

Running his hands gently over you, he both checks to make sure skin didn’t break and admires the ridges of the rope where they’ve been tattooed into you. You’re limp, curled toward him, and he thinks you’re already asleep.

But then you nestle closer, pressing soft kisses to his bare chest, and he’s overcome again by gratitude, by awe at what he gets to have with you.

“Hey,” you whisper, later into the night. He stirs a little, too groggy to open his eyes. “Who won?” you ask.

“No idea,” he murmurs, and pulls you back into his chest to sleep.

*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday.

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- two.

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. introing in graves and his shadows. modern settings. mentions of stalking. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.6k words.

note: Ox is the play on one of the few confirmed operatives in Shadow Company <3. He's just, as yk, named after Oxide. Getting into the juice of jealous!ghost too quickly is the spice for any good stalker fic lets be honest.

The alcohol and secondhand smoke of cheap cigarettes waft through the buzzing of the club's techno music. It's down and dirty, you can feel the bass in your heart and between your thighs if you ground your hips just low enough to the fast tempo that rewound for the umpteenth time that night. The pre-game at that dive bar had given you enough liquid courage to follow your two friends out the swinging doors and down the street to the neon purple and pink nightclub. Lemon drops and free drinks were thrumming through your entire system, and the set of rough hands that squeezed around your gyrating hips didn't feel half bad either. 

You didn't catch his name, but 'Blue Eyes' was what you were referring to the man who was nearly half-folded against your back. His breath fanned over your cheekbone, and if you ground back just right against his swirling hips. You'd hear the slight hitch in his breath and low demanding grunt of more frivolous friction against his semi he was pleasantly sporting for no other woman than you. It's been too long since you got someone hot and horny for you. Not saying that you weren't ugly, or what's considered troll-like in the world. You just never had the time nor energy to go out there and support a man's one-tracked mind long enough to bring him back home and in your sheets for ten or twenty minutes of pleasure. If you were lucky enough, maybe he'd know how to find your clit and g-spot all without insistent guidance from you. 

The demanding need for another refreshing shot of whiskey or lemon-ey cocktails had you pulling away from your dance partner's strong chance. His fingers caught on the hem of your dress to keep you in his grasp while he followed you without a complaint or him yanking you back into his built arms to start another round of dry humping on the dancefloor. His fingers skated from the side of your thigh to your side then finally tangling thick fingers around your wrist. It caused your head to swivel to look up at your Blue Eyes. 

"Your friends and round of drinks are already at my table, why not join them instead of waiting for the bartender to notice you?" His voice pressed into your ear. Sharp astringent liquor and subtle desire for you, tickled your senses through his words. 

Jesus, you nearly forgot you didn't come here alone. The hypnotic grinding and captivating presence of the man, now holding your wrist captive in his palm, had taken up your frontal cortex. You didn't even register how long it had been since you had been pulled off the bar top by Blue Eyes for your first dance. You must have looked like a crummy friend, abandoning your friends for a pretty face and dark hair just to fuel your liquor-tainted mind.

Not that your friends had minded much when you discovered them equally if not more drunk than you were. 

You allowed yourself to be led by the wrist through the sea of grinding, perfume-tainted bodies to Blue Eyes's table that he was talking about. Three other men were lounged about, legs outspread with their hips raised to show the signs of whiskey dick through overly tight jeans. Your two friends were sandwiched between two of them men. Flushed faces and loud giggles expelling from their mouths as the two men sitting on either side of the girls, had been entertaining them with hushed whispers. The other man, some equally dark-haired male was refilling his glass with liquor; not bothered in the slightest that he didn't have a pretty thing to flirt with. 

"_____" Izzy slurred slightly when you and Blue Eyes joined the rest of the group. Her weight started to jump and push at Veronica's side. Sweaty palms shoving at her shoulder to signal the girl and the other men to scoot over and make room on the rich leather booth. "You nearly missed out on the invite for the boys' after-party tonight."

Your brows barely raised in reply. "Graves, you don't mind, do you?" One of the men spoke up, his eyes watching the hand of your 'Graves' that had wrapped around your waist to guide you closer to him when he sat down. The sweaty heat of his body, had you pressing more into his addictingly strong frame. The liquor had you clingy. Your fingers mindlessly paw at the hem of his shirt while you gazed up at handsome features. 

"I mean, unless this little thing didn't have any other plans tonight." His voice purred down at you. His lips turned up into an alluring smirk that made you want to kiss him drunk and stupid if you so wanted to. You wanted to, right now. 

Your tongue pressed out from liquor-soaked brims to wet your bottom lip in taunting appeal. His pretty eyes darkened ever so slightly as if he could read your mind and all the thoughts that were running through your mind right now. How you had anything but the silly little 'afterparty' and learning the men's names that were flirting with your friends for quite some time. Your afterparty consisted of fewer clothes, maybe more liquor, and staying up till the sun was high in the sky and you were kicking him out with a killer migraine and a pleasant thumping between your legs. 

You hummed under your breath, the tension between you two broke as soon as you turned your head to address Izzy. Your cheeks flushed with heat and alcohol. 

"Probably not, early morning you know." You flashed a half-assed apologetic grin. Your left side of your body vibrated with a husky chuckle that came from Graves. His large palm squeezed your hip till his fingers slid to the sensitive crease of where your thigh met your hips. A sharp jolt ran through your system, and your legs tingled with a rush of electricity. Every single cell of you was not overly receptive to the wants and needs of your intoxicated mind. Who could blame you, after all, you're only human. 

  A predator-like grin slid on Graves's lips when he heard your phony excuse for ditching the rest of his boys and your friends for some high-quality alone time at your place. He couldn't blame you, after all, nobody complained when it came to fucking him. He was worth the time of losing sleep and dealing with police for several noise complaints that were made. Ask all the one-night stands and barrack bunnies, they'd rate him five stars on Yelp. He shifted under the warm feeling of your fingers playing with the sliver of skin you allowed yourself to touch while you dealt with the drunken groans and whines of your redheaded friend. Her eyes rolled with dramatics, while the blonde girl beside her huffed and pouted silently. If you dared to smooth your hands up further and to the side, you'd find a glorious little happy trail just waiting to lead you to what you were thinking about the most when you first started dancing with him. 

"But I shouldn't leave you two alone, it wouldn't be right." Your voice quipped, cheeks flushing with embarrassment from being so openly handsy with Graves in front of his and your friends. Hands wringing themselves in your lap, your eyes darted to the faces of the three other men. It was the right thing to do. After all, nobody even introduced themselves to you besides Graves. And that doesn't even count, since it was a slip of the tongue from one of the men. 

"Don't worry about them, darlin'. They don't bite." Graves huffed out, another chuckle leaving his lungs. His head ducked down slightly to send shivers through your spine when he spoke to you. 

"Unless one of these pretty girls asks for it, ain't that right, boss?" The man who was pouring himself another drink when you first arrived to greet the group snarked; sending a few high-pitched giggles from your friends. Their cheeks flushing to match your blush. His teeth, pearly and white flashed in a wicked grin. Brown eyes gleamed with a subtle darkness that made you even more uneasy and unwilling to leave your friends alone with three strangers.

"Knock it off, Ox. Don't scare her. " Graves bit out, his blue eyes flashing in irritation. The grip he had on the crease of your thigh squeezed tighter; surely it would leave marks if he grasped at your plush skin even harder than he already was. "He doesn't mean it darlin', my boys are well-behaved and trained to be gentlemen."

One of the men, lean and blonde with a still giggling Veronica wrapped in his arms, swatted at the man who spoke so brashly. The hit was hard enough to erase the dark look in those brown eyes you were starting to dislike very much. 

"Ox and Graves, your mommas must have hated you to name you that." Izzy giggled again, curling into Veronica's side so she could reach over and finish off the rest of her fruity cocktail. Her tongue hung out of her mouth almost childishly while trying to grasp the sweaty glass in her palm. 

"You could say that, but that's not the case." The blonde-haired man beside her leaned over, pushing a different glass to her. It was filled to the brim with the same fruity drink both girls had been sucking down since they joined the boys for the night. Izzy took it in grateful hands, fruity straw placed between pink lips. "If you want, you can go, unlike these dogs of men that I'm unfortunately acquainted with. I'll make sure they're safe for the rest of the night. I'm the designated driver anyway." His lighter blue eyes swapped over to you, flashing a light charming smile in hopes you'd give up your guard and ignore the red flags of leaving your only two friends in the throes of three men for the night.  

"You sure?" Your eyes rounded in belief. Thanks to the alcohol, it was too easy to trust an all-American looking man such as the man who was smiling and nodding at you. His pointer finger even crossed over his heart, like he was swearing himself to you. 

You let out a sigh in defeat, head shaking back and forth. Red flags were blaring their sirens loud enough to almost drown out the thumping of the bass music and the goodbyes of both the men and your friends from their table. You forced the girls to make some sort of promise to at least text or share their locations for the rest of the night. Then, you let yourself be walked out of the club and to your parked car by Graves. His excuse was only "It was the right thing to do, never know if I'll see you again." The walk back to your car was quiet, it allowed your ears some reprieve from the loud techno beats and constant shrill scream of the DJ's voice in the microphone. 

Your head tilted up, semi- clear vision lets the stars and moon in the night sky seem even brighter than normal. Although dead stars and a rock in the sky weren't going to captivate your eyes for much time. Under the spaced-out lights of the sidewalk streetlamps, you could finally see the chiseled side profile of the man you had been grinding and dancing with. 

He was far more handsome than what the blue light and flashing neon lights of the club had shown you in quick bursts of color. He was a shadow that encompassed your body with the scent of his cologne and his constant running hands that moved here and there on your body. He didn't even feel solid in your grasp unless he was sitting down and holding you tight to his side with those commanding hands of his. Now under the fluorescent orange lamp lights, he looked like just a man. A man capable of finally being kissed and touched like any man would want to be touched if they were granted the chance. 

"This is me." You said when you both approached your cute cherry red car. The neon lettering of 'Vaqueros' glared cooly onto the sleek body of your ride. Not entirely brand new, but up to date with all the bells and whistles that any fancy shmancy car these days came with. 

You turned on your heel, lower back lightly pressing on your driver's side door just so you could gaze up at Graves who was standing close in your line of sight. Your breath got caught in your throat when his right hand raised from his side. His fingers tucked pieces of your hair behind your ear, while those alluring blue eyes of his flicked down to your lips and then back up to your eyes. "Think I can keep this gentlemanly streak going and kiss you goodnight." His voice uttered deeply. Another flicker of his eyes running up and down your face, had your cheeks flushing with a different kind of heat once again. His hand pressed to the side of your head.

"Only if you ask nicely, and don't bite like your boys say they do." Your head tilted into his cool palm, a welcome difference from the sweet heat your face carried too many times for just him alone. 

His chest rumbled with a drawn-out chuckle. He shifted forward, booted feet taking the few steps forward until he had you now pinned to the uncomfortable curvature of your car door. His breath was still tainted with liquor and something woody had washed over your face. His free hand slid back into its rightful place back onto your hip; his fingers clamping down on soft curves with heavy greed. "Darlin' I usually don't ask or beg women for a kiss, but for you." A breath, his face drawing closer till his lips were only millimeters away from the swell of your own. "I'd get on my knees if you wanted me to." Sure, he was kidding, but for a pretty thing wrapped in his arms at this moment? He had to lead with his dick and not his pride and ego. 

That was more than a green light for you to eliminate whatever little space you had between you too. Your lips pressed onto his own. He tasted of beer and something sharply metal that made your nose wrinkle and lips part in a quick gasp. The reaction was enough to let Graves advance and shove a thick tongue into your mouth, only furthering the strong taste your tastebuds didn't seem to agree with that much. You could ignore that for the fact that your entire body seemed to alight with brilliant electricity when Graves groaned so filthy into your open mouth. The sweeter taste of what you had been drinking, could be compared to straight-up liquid honey. Your tongue twirling around his own between deep kisses, was like giving pure sugar to a diabetic. Euphoric. The man only wanted more. He wanted to know if your cunt tasted just as sweet as your kisses were. 

Both of your hands swiftly felt each other up, wrinkling and tugging at clothing while you both whimpered and groaned into each kiss. Two grown adults kissing like they were back in high school and pent-up virgins who never kissed the opposite sex once in their entire lives. It must look completely inappropriate to the naked eye, but you nor Graves cared. He had just managed to work a thick jean-clad high between your own. The rough fabric pushed your dress hem up, just to let the denim press right against your warm pussy when a loud noise startled you both into pulling apart from the make out session. 

Your head whipped to the side at such a fast turn, that you swore you felt something pop in your vertebrae.

Loud would have been an underestimate of how hard your heart flip-flopped and tried flying out of your mouth from the sound of trashcans and metal banging together from the narrow alleyway that was made up of one part of the Vaqueros building. A broken streetlight, with sparks of orange and red, did nothing to illuminate whatever was the cause for such a commotion in the early hours of the morning.

If you focus hard enough, maybe even squint. You'd see a pair of eyes watching you from the murky blackness of the alleyway shadows. Just watching you like you were a crippled prey animal, and those eyes were your executioner here to take you out. "Maybe that's your cue to get goin'. " Graves whispered into your temple. His breath is still shaky from how hard you both were kissing each other. His words were muddy in your ringing ears, and hyper focused staring at the nothingness in the alley. His spit-slicked lips brushed against the soft curve of your ear. Rough fingers squeezed your hips for the umpteenth time that night. Your lower back responded by arching forward. Your cunt trailing up the length of his thick thigh with such a fluid motion. 

The small touch between your thighs was enough to have you take in a breath and redirect your attention back onto Graves. 

 Heart pounding harder from the jumpscare than the rough touches that you were receiving. Some part of you wanted to offer him to just come over later and put behind the prickles of fear you felt at this moment. The other parts of you had agreed with the male. Your hand blindly pulled on the door handle of your car; ignoring the way that it was unlocked, you smiled sheepishly up to Graves. "Maybe, I'll see you around?"

"Maybe you will, darlin'. Don't miss me too much now." He chuckles huskily. His feet stepped back a few steps, just to allow your door to open and let you slide into the driver's seat. Once situated, he's gracious enough to close your door for you with another dazzling grin of his directed at you. You don't have the heart to tear your eyes off his handsome face, the kiss had you in some sort of buzzed trance of watching him retreat from your car and walk back the way you both came. 

When he's gone and outta sight, blending into the night's shadows and fluorescent orange lamp lights you notice the flash of red out of the corner of your eye. You turn fully to your passenger seat, and a series of emotions overtake your body. Your eyes widen a few inches, brows knitted to sharp points. Your lips are parted in awe or shock at the perfectly blossomed red peony that was sitting delicately on the leather seat. Starking petals glared up at you in the semi-darkness of your car. If you were crazy enough, you would have thought the flower was making fun of you for how it managed to show up in your car in the first place. 

Perhaps you shouldn't be staring at the single flower, but scanning over every single inch of your car to see if something or someone else was hiding in the small interior. Maybe you should be freaking out at the fact someone had managed to unlock your car, without breaking the windows or setting off the alarm, and leaving you just one innocent red peony. Any sane person would have started their car and driven like a bat out of hell away from the bar and back to their house and hid in their bed for the rest of the night. For you, however, the shock hadn't set in just yet. You didn't call 911, didn't scream for Graves to come back, and offered for him to stay with you just for your sanity. What you had done that was probably the most idiotic thing you could have done, however, was pluck up the flower from its resting place. 

The dark green stem held with the tips of your pointer and thumb, your other hand opened your car door while your eyes remained on the bright flower. You then flung the peony away from you, as hard as one could throw a very light flower away from oneself. Your car door slammed shut with a loud bang, your eyes still staring at the flower as it sailed through the still air and plopped onto chipped parking lot tar. Every single petal was still in place, very much undisturbed and picture perfect like it was never even touched. 

Chills ran through your body, cold and suddenly hot. You felt itchy, and uncomfortable in your skin. Suddenly aware of every single hair on your head and the erratic beat of your heart. You felt vulnerable and trapped in the confines of your car. You wanted to burn your fingers just for even touching the wretched little flora. How silly. You must look so mad, wiping your sweaty hands on the wrinkles of your dress till you nearly gave yourself friction burn on your palms. Another wave of chills encapsulated your body as you got your car to start and peel out of the parking lot. The tires squash the flower under its tracks without a care in the world. The eyes you had imagined that were watching you from the alleyway only narrowed at the harsh squeal of rubber against the pavement. The sound bounced off the quiet buildings while you too tried to disappear into the night. 

Not that you ever could. Not from him. Not from those eyes in the alleyway that moved forward, when he was sure you were gone, to reveal Simon that had been lurking and watching you and that .     .  thing the entire time.  His poor precious girl.

Perhaps now, he'll give you a good reason to hide in your bed after all. 

[void-detective]

A Man can Hate 🔥

[[GIF IS NOT MINE!! All dividers made by cafekitsunes]]

Author note: I feel for y'all Drew McIntyre fans, hopefully they'll be able to give the man a title and these two can fully feud. Also yes I do have an obsession how did you tell?

Warning: Drew is PISSED, choking, and backstage brawl

Word count: 1,013

Summary: After a humiliating loss in his home country by the hands of Punk, Drew tears Punk a new one backstage. And has some very choice words for the former champion about the future of their feud.

Drew McIntyre was livid.

Not only had his championship match been stolen out of his hands again by the man he hated the most, but it had also been within his home country. The man could hate– he could really hate, but this was a new level of anger he had ever felt before.

Even now, standing outside the ring beaten and exhausted; he could feel the adrenaline fueling his system like he had been pumped full of drugs. His body aching and sweating from the match with Priest, but most of all his anger boiling over like he was about to blow his top.

WrestleMania, the number one contender match, the scathing promos by Punk, and now the Clash of Champions match.

That smug ass grin..the referee jersey.. the low blow. He had never felt such humiliation since the last time they screwed him over in his home country. And now he snapped.

The security and referees were no match for Drew as he stormed the backstage area practically seething from every pore in his body. He didn't care who he had to go through to get his hands on Punk, but come hell was about to grab the Chicago native.

As he cut through the backstage area he could feel his heart pounding in his chest like crazy as his fist clenched hard at his sides in frustration. His body vibrated with an intense rage that made everyone steer clear of his path of destruction.

Tables were cleared of items, no matter what they were, trash cans and other items thrown across the room as he shouted for a clear answer to the whereabouts of Punk. He didn't care if the man was cleared or not, he'd make him pay.

And then he caught sight of the slicked back hair and retreating figure of the older man hauling ass backstage. Oh that bitch.

McIntyre ran after Punk, and for a man of his size? He was faster then he looked, hell, now that he was pissed? He was bolting across the backstage, shoving people out of his way toward him. Maybe he'd get his ass in trouble later for his rampage, but right now all he cared about was getting to Punk.

As he zeroed in on Punk he reached out and tightly grasped the back of the man's shirt with one hand before yanking him back hard enough to make him stumble backwards. The Scotsman gripped Punk tight and threw him back toward the wall, making the other man slam back first into the wall with a thud and wheeze.

“J-jesus Christ Drew! What the hell!?” Punk managed through a gasp of pain as he held himself up against the wall trying to ignore the pain shooting up his spine.

“Shut up you goddamn bastard, you hear me!?” Drew snarled out baring his teeth at Punk like he was about to bite the man as he heaved out breaths. His eyes dark with intent and fury as he moved to cage other man against the wall. His hand reached up and grasped tightly around Punk's throat ensuring the man shut up for one as he squeezed dangerously.

“You are getting on my last nerve, I think it's about time I gave you what for.” The Scotsman growled out with a frown and pulled Punk off the wall still gripping his throat as he hauled him through the backstage area. He went towards the production crew and watched as they scattered away quickly leaving him to lay waste to the defenseless man. He used his free hand to push all the equipment off the tables and sent Punk a scathing glare as the man desperately tried to pry his hand off his throat.

“You should've stayed in AEW..” McIntyre whispered, watching the wide eyed stare of the older man before he smirked, watching the pure fear as he tried to reason with the other man. The way he flailed his arms and muttered choked pleas while gripping his arm was almost comical. He ignored the sting in his heart as he prepared himself for the next move.

Don't get emotional.

Drew hauled Punk up and grabbed his jeans as he lifted him in the air then slammed him down into the tables below. The sound of wood cracking and the tables giving in under Punk's weight filling the air as the other man cried out in pain. He chuckled darkly as he looked over at the referees and guards, giving them a look that made them back off before he stepped over the collapsed tables that were under Punk.

One boot rose and stomped down on the “formely” injured elbow of Punk as he dug his heel down into the area. His weight pressed down onto the area as he leaned over to watch the withering figure of Punk under him. His eyes gleaming with delight as he chuckled out and reached a hand out to grasp Punk’s jaw harshly.

“You and me Punk, in your home town…I'm going to humiliate you. I'm going to ensure you wished you would've never returned to the WWE again. I want-” he spoke lowly, “-a dog collar match.” McIntyre sneered out venomously and watched as the horror flashed in Punk's eyes both from the memory and the threats.

That devil..

With that, Drew released Punk from his vice grip and watched as the older man gripped his arm, curling in the spot while glaring back at the other wrestler. The Scotsman still bubbling with rage as Triple H stepped in front of the veteran in order to shield the onslaught of attacks and yelled at McIntyre to back off to which he eventually did as he raised his hands up in surrender.

And one last look was thrown at Punk as Drew backed off from the scene still heaving with breath with a stinging feeling in his heart. His steps heavy as he tangled his fingers in his hair and walked down the hallway silently, emotions swirling inside his body

Damn you Punk.