#it's not that bad but I don't feel like getting that bad of an earful

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,743 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[amirasainz]

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

[heartsforvin]

PURGATORY

very much inspired by @deareststurns chris fic 😜 (i loved that shit btw, so good)

pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader

warnings: smut, praise kink, p in v, dirty talk, pet names, spanking/spit, lmk if i missed anything !!!

summary: vinnie loves to see you in his clothes, but when you wear one specific shirt, he can’t help but get turned on by it

vinnie loved whenever you would wear his clothes. spending the night and needed an extra shirt and shorts? he'd give you one of his, along with a pair of his boxers.

it's like you'd take his breath away every time he saw you in one of his shirts. he'd think you looked so sexy.

there was one shirt though, more specifically brand of clothing, that really got him going, however.

it was his brand, purgatory. every time he'd see you in one of his merch shirts. he couldn't help but feel immense amounts of neediness.

tonight was no different. when he walked back into your guys' shared apartment, you greeted him with a smile.

"how was the meeting, baby?" you ask, hugging your boyfriend before he can even put his things down.

vinnie chuckles as he tries to take his shoes off and put his phone on the counter. "went well i think, ran a little longer than expected though." he respond.

you hum in response, hugging vinnie tighter. this only stirs him on more. he can tell as you push against him that you're wearing nothing but his shirt.

vinnie holds your hips as he looks down at you, taking in your appearance. "look at you." his voice is deep, making you smile.

you don't speak, just let him roam his hands along your body. you smile at hi, he gives you one back.

"you did this on purpose, huh?" you know what he's talking about, but you decide to play dumb.

you cock your head to the side a bit, looking at him as you ask, "did what on purpose?"

vinnie chuckles as his hands move from your hips to your chest, cupping and squeezing. "you know what."

his tone makes you subconsciously clench your thighs, a soft whine escapes your lips when you feel his hands on your chest.

vinnie smirks, his hands finding their way under your shirt. his mouth moves to your ear before whispering, "you look so fucking sexy when you wear the purgatory clothes." he nips at your earlobe, making you let out a soft moan.

you move your head to the side to give him more access, making vinnie smiles against your skin before kissing you.

after a few minutes of vinnie kissing and marking you up, he moves back to look at you. "need you so fuckin' bad," he whispers against your lips. "drivin' me crazy lookin' like this."

you smile at his words, but before you can say anything back, vinnie's pulling you to the room.

he pushes you up against the closed door once the two of you enter the bedroom, kissing you hungrily.

as the kiss progresses, you push yourself against vinnie, pulling away from him just enough to smirk against his lips.

"shorts and panties off, now." his voice is firm, almost demanding.

you do as told, slipping off the clothing. his shirt is long enough on you so that nothing shows, acting as if you could be wearing short shorts.

vinnie's eyes darken when he watches you remove your clothing, smirk plastered on his face as he drags you to the bed.

smiling, you keep eye contact with him as you get on the bed without being told. once you lay against the headboard, you watch as vinnie climb on the bed too, moving to hover above you.

"gonna make you feel so good, baby." vinnie whispers, mere inches from your face.

you squirm just a bit from his words, making vinnie chuckle softly. he kisses you softly, moving his hand under your shirt.

vinnie can feel you move and whine at his touch, only sparing him on more. finally, you watch as he removes his clothes, mirroring you.

he watches the blush creep up on your cheeks when he removes his shirt. "like me like this, don't you, princess?"

you nod, trying to hide your smile by biting your lip. vinnie tsks. "don't hide that pretty smile from me baby."

he returns the smile when he sees yours. "so pretty." he mutters before grabbing your ankles and pulling you down against the pillow.

you watch as vinnie gets himself ready. you look up at him as you reach for him, wrapping your hand around his.

vinnie hisses at the feeling pf your hand. "fuck," he breathes out. "love when you touch me like this."

once he's ready, vinnie smiles as he lines himself up with your entrance. he teases for a second, smacking his tip against your clit, only making you more wet and moan loudly.

"please, vinnie." you whine. vine smirks, getting your message.

once he pushes inside you, a groan escapes his lips as he grips your hips. your hands find his shoulders, trying your best to steady yourself.

"f-fuck, look at you," vinnie whispers, this thrusts becoming faster. "so pretty in my shirt."

you moan softly at his words, loving the way he's making you feel. your hands move down his shoulders and to his back, scratching against his skin, making him let out another groan.

his pace quickens, and before you can process, his gripping your jaw, telling you to open your mouth.

he spits in your mouth and closes it, smiling when he watches you swallow. "good girl." he praises.

you smile at him, it faltering slightly as his hips move against yours, making the prettiest sounds come from your lips.

vinnie looks down at you as he tries to form coherent sentences. "feel so fuckin' good, sweetheart," he says. "look so hot while I fuck you in my shirt."

you can only nod, not being able to form anything but moans and whines. vinnie chuckles. "you like this? like when i fuck you in the purgatory shirt?"

you nod, followed by a moan as he hits just the right spot. his hand moves from your hip, slapping one of your tits through the shirt, groaning while he watches it move.

"v-vinnie," you cry out, and he already knows what you're about to say. "gonna cum, s-shit."

vinnie smirks when he hears those words leave your lips. his thrusts more intense as he gets you to that point.

with one last particularly hard thrust, you cum all over vinnie's cock with a moan and his name leaving your lips.

hes not far behind you, gripping your tits through your shirt as he cums inside you.

the two of you stay connected for a minute before you roll off him. you face the boy, smiling as you do.

"didn't know me wearing purgatory really turned you on that much." you chuckle.

vinnie reciprocates, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "i didn't either until recently, but you look so fuckin' hot in it." he replies.

you smile and kiss him, hr kisses back just as passionately, moaning into your mouth.

"no more, vinnie." you tell him after the two of you pull apart.

he whines but takes hold of you tighter, enjoying the post sex moment with you.

heyyy been a minute 🥲 i’ve been so unmotivated im sorry, but im back !!

tags: @anqeliclust , @cosmicanakin , @nativegirltapes , @slvthrs , @sturnioloshacker , @visualbutterflysworld , @louloulemons-blog , @leqonsluv3r , @bernelflo , @0strawberrysorbet0 , @laylasbunbunny , @kriissy4gov , @defnotayonna , @kayleighh , @supabhad , @eddieslut69 , @hallecarey1 , @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom , @jpg3 , @khackerr , @khxna , @miilzzy , @skye-44

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Ford x fem!reader x Stan

minors dni

Stan’s grip on you tightens, pulling you against his frame as he crashes his lips against yours. There’s no hesitation, just raw, impatient hunger, the kind of kiss that takes your breath away and leaves you wanting more. His hands roam with a boldness that leaves no room for doubt, fingers digging into your hips as if claiming you.

From behind, Ford’s approach is way softer. His lips ghost along the curve of your neck, pressing tender slow kisses to your skin. Such contrast between them makes you dizzy, overwhelmed by the intensity of their touches. You groan softly, caught in the heat of it all, and instinctively lean back into Ford’s embrace. There Stan's face visibly frowns.

Stan pulls back just enough to mutter, “Don't let him think he's in charge here.” his tone is rough, tinged with jealousy, his hand slides over your side, possessive and demanding as if trying to take you away from his twin.

Before you can respond, Ford’s voice cuts through, quiet but confident. “She can decide for herself, Stan,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through you. “can’t you, darling?”

The tension between the brothers is palpable, but so is the way their hands explore your body. Stan’s touch is firm, always a little too eager, while Ford’s fingers trail gently over your skin, savoring every inch. They both can’t get enough of you. Stan’s lips crash back into yours, but Ford’s kisses never stop, his mouth pressing slow, sensual kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck, you literally melt between them. 

A loud moan escapes your lips when Stan's hand slaps your butt, you sob from a little pain and feel Ford's body tense behind you as he glares at his brother. “What? Are you trying to make me look bad?” Stan huffs.

Ford smirks softly, nipping at your skin gently before whispering, “no? Im just appreciating how beautiful she is.” his touch is feather-light, contrasting with Stan’s more possessive grip. “and I'm trying to please her, Stanley, not hurt her."

“Yeah? well, I’d like to appreciate her too,” Stan bites out, jealousy bubbling inside him. “don’t forget who’s been here longer.” he murmurs into your mouth and leans in again, capturing your lips.

You whimper softly, overwhelmed by their attention, your face all flushed as you try to hold yourself. Both men vying for your attention. Ford smiles against your skin. “Good girl,” he praises softly.

Stan, at the exact same time, mutters, “Atta girl.”

They both fall silent as their words intersect in the most unexpected way. They pull away, looking at each other over your shoulder, realizing what just happened. There's an awkward silence for a moment, but then Stan huffs in annoyance, his grip on your waist tightening. “Seriously? you gotta steal my lines now?”

Ford, always calm, arches an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk. “Didn’t realize praise was trademarked,” he remarks dryly.

You laugh softly, but the sound breathy from arousal. "Are you really arguing about this right now?” you ask them, needing their attention and kisses so badly, you don’t want that to stop.

Stan shoots a half-grin your way, nodding. “You better believe it, sweetie. I’m not lettin’ this nerd outdo me.”

Ford still remains calm and patient, although his hand slides up, cupping your chin, gently turning your face towards him. “Outdo you? Stan, we’re not in a competition.” his lips gently touch yours as he murmurs, “we’re both making her feel good.”

Stan’s cocky grin widens, and he leans in, his voice rough as he rests his hands on your thighs. “Speak for yourself, i think she likes me better.”

Ford chuckles smoothly, rolling his eyes and pressing another kiss to your shoulder, his breath tickles your skin pleasantly. “Is that so? Why don’t we let her tell us herself?”

Your heart pounds, your body burns at their touch and it takes your breath away when their eyes focus solely on you, waiting, watching. “I. . . I like both of you,” you admit breathlessly. “please, just- just continue, I need you both.”

Stan’s eyes light up, his fingers slide lower, his thumb brushing teasingly along your hip. “That’s my girl.”

Ford’s touch remains soft still, his lips pressing a delicate kiss to your neck as he murmurs against your skin, “You’re perfect, darling.”

[mattsfootcramp]

'Birthday Sex'-M.S

summary: You and the triplets throw a party for their birthday. Matt got a little tipsy...

warnings: FILTHY!! hair pulling, doggy, multiple orgasms, dom! matt, degradation, oral fixations, matt the munch, fingerings, spanking, slapping, blow jobs, use of safe words, smut. plan smut

a/n: I'm just gonna go with the flow on this

she sat on one of the couches as people were buzzing in the air. music was playing in the background. the smell of sweat lingered in the air.

she was wearing a black and silver sequence dress. one of her boyfriend's favorites out of all her dresses.

it was short and strapless and sexy. she stands up and walks toward the kitchen, where she finds Matt drinking out of a red solo cup.

"Hey, birthday boy. Do you feel it yet?" She asks

"What? the alcohol?" He says, confused

"Yeah.." She answers

"The best iv ever felt." He takes her hand and wraps his other around her waist.

he puts the hand he is holding on her thigh and rubs it gently. he bends down to her ear level.

"How about.. we just take a few steps into my room. How does that sound?" He whispers in her ear. causing shivers to go down her spine from his lustful words

she quickly nods and makes her way to Matt's room. a few minutes later, Matt gets in. be immediately goes to kiss her.

"god y/n... your so fucking perfect...I love you so much" He praises in between kisses

she could taste the alcohol on his lips. but she didn't care she wanted this so bad

Matt's tongue makes its way into her mouth. making their guys' tongues fight for dominance. ultimately, Matt won.

Matt puts his right hand onto the dress near the breast line and pulls it down so her boobs hang out for the air. She hisses as the cold air hits her already hard nipples.

"look at how fucking beautiful you are" He attaches his mouth to her left tit and flicks her right nipple with his hand.

"look at how fucking beautiful you are" He attaches his mouth to her left tit and flicks her right nipple with his hand.she whimpers slightly.

Matt pulls away takes his shirt off places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her down to her kneesshe unbuckles his restricting belt. his cock rock hard. Once she gets his pants off she jerks him off slightly. matt hissing slightly

"oh fuck.. put your mouth on it. be a little slut for me" He puts his hands on the back of her head and thrusts into her mouth

"oh- my god" He picks up the pace. she was gagging softly

she squirms slightly to catch air. he stops thrusting. resting his cock in her mouth. he slaps her across the cheek

"stop fucking moving bitch. You gonna take it like the good girl you are" He roughly sayshe continues his thrusts.

she feels him twitching in her mouth signaling that his close.

"god this mouth- oh fuck- it's all mine...I'm c-cumming" she cums and she swallows

"on the bed ass up face down" He says roughly as he takes his still hard cock out of her mouthshe gets on the bed and puts her face in the pillow

"should I eat you out from behind" making her whine

"it was a joke" He says slapping her ass

He gets behind her and teases her entrance before slamming into her not giving her enough time to adjust to his length and width

"OH fuck matt" his thrusts were fast and rough. He slaps her ass as his hip recole off of it.

"all mine baby.. fuck your pussy feels so good wrapped around my cock" he grunts outHe pulls her hair up making her head go up and out of the pillow

"moan louder slut. no one can fucking hear you" making y/n make a pronographic moan matt keeps railing into her

"god fuck... your pussy is sucking me in. your such a little cum slut."

"m-matt. so c-lose" She warns him

"yeah? then cum for me. make a mess like the slut you are

"she releases her cum. her cum floats down his dick making a white ring around the basematt keeps thrusting into her like there no tomorrow

"m-att I can't im to sensitive" She sobs out

"and I don't care. your gonna take it like a little bitch" he pushes her head into the bed more

"oh.. fuck yeah baby take it." he grunts out

"I can't" she sobs out

"yes you can. take it like a little slut" he retorts.his thrusts get faster and harder

"RED RED RED" she screams their safe wordmatt stopped everything he was doing and pulled out of her gently and craddeld her.

"hey I'm so sorry.. come here" his face softens and lays next to her

"it's okay. It just hurt.." She whips a tear

"I'm so sorry.. come here. let's cuddle"

a/n: this sat in my fucking drafts forever so I finished it up and bro the ending sucks ass but oh well

Taglist: @iluvjakeyy @spicybabysworld @monroesturnns @sturniolo-fann @bernardsbendystraws @hystria-things

[theamazingmuse]

How to always look neat

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

THIS IS ALL IN THE DETAILS. When I say neat, I mean if you are late and you still wanna look good, without many effort.

Iron your clothes. You have to do it. Sometimes it's exhausting but this looks so good once you did it. Especially if you wear blouses ! Iron clothes look cleannnnn

Next hair. It's all about you. Make sure to take care of them, no matter which texture you have. Caucasian, natural, long, short...Hair is an essential part. Make sure to know which hairstyle is good for your face too.

Teeth / breath: when you talk this the first thing that we notice. Have a good smell, use a good toothpaste and a good toothbrush. It is recommended to change your toothbrush (classic) every 3 months.

-> Moreover, if you smell bad from the mouth nobody is gonna tell you lol.

Your face. Especially your eyes and mouth. Keep a lip balm or a gloss in your bag. I really like gloss. Also mascara can make a huge difference, even if you wear nothing on. If you wanna put some makeup, make sure it is the good undertone.

There are many undertones no matter what your skin color is. You're not necessary warm if you are black for exemple. I struggled a lot with that to find out that I'm a neutral. So take your time to know that. It's gonna look so smooth after, like your skin.

-> How can I not say the brows. It is what structure your face.

Nails. It's all about you #2. I think that nails represent our personality. I really like dark red WITH an almond shape. For now, I make my nails grow because I can't with fake anymore. It means that there is only a strengthener. Keep them clean even when there is nothing on. Accessoiries. Necklace, belts, earrings, bag, you already know this part

Last but not least PERFUME. Now the perfume is the icing on the cake. It has to be a blend with your outfit

-> For an office siren look, you're not going to wear something floral. Something more woody/strong would be good. If you wear a pink dress with ribbon, you're gonna wear something more feminine. I think that many people don't understand that

+ note expert: I highly recommend you to find your signature scent. Something that represent YOU, that you can wear everyday. Go at Sephora and smell everything. Then find what you like (especially notes) and write them. Here is three perfume that me, the antagonist would recommend

Scandal - La belle Intense. INTENSE. People always forget the INTENSE when I tell them. Every time I get compliments from men and women (and this is not my signature scent by the way). Trust me one this one, if you like gourmand, vanilla perfume. Perfect for winter

Maison Margiela Collection- I really like on a date for this autumn, very woody. This collection is amazing

Acqua di gioia - if you like smelling like laundry this is SAME smell. Very fresh.

I can talk about perfumes everyday so maybe I would make a post with outfit that I like with the perfect perfume . (I have a good style I promise you)

I really like vanilla, woody, strong perfume. I am more in the gourmand, sweet side. I don't like floral perfume.

-> I think I would make a post about perfume that I like in each perfumes family. I have a huge notion table with my harsh perfume opinions 😭

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─

THE END. My mom always told me that I have to look clean before even thinking about be beautiful. It feels so good to be neat.

I love wherever you are

theamazingmuse 🫧

(me and my perfume opinions lmao)

[machveil]

Don't think about a Konig that has a smidgen of confidence due to everyone telling him his crush is down bad for him, and also maybe a little liquid courage, walking up behind them, loud enough to where they can hear him but not so loud that they turn around. Don't think about him gently reaching around to set his fingers on their throat, not a chokehold but just resting the tips of them on their skin, tilting their head up to make eye contact while unintentionally giving them bedroom eyes. -🐸

I’m definitely not thinking about that 🐸 anon… but if I were to—

CW: mentions of sex, masturbation (König), Tipsy!König, real Loser!König energy with this one ngl

can you really blame König when people notice how smitten he is with you? he can hardly help it, Maus. the poor man looks like a lost puppy following you around base! can you blame König when you smile up at him, talk so sweetly to him - it’s not his fault that his heart twists with affection and heat settles in his gut when you’re around

he’s just absolutely taken with you, someone who treats him - the feared and respected Colonel, a man who towers over everyone at KorTac - with seemingly unconditional love? well, König thinks it’s love, whether you’re feelings reflect that or not. he’s so starved of affection that simply looking in his direction gets his palms sweaty

he can’t help it that his teammates, let alone other soldiers, catch on to his infatuation. he’s oblivious to his own behavior - constantly staring, trailing behind you - looming over your figure, trying to get your attention. it’s almost comical watching the man crush on you

and he’s crushing hard. he can’t get you out of his thoughts - how cute would you look wearing his shirt? what would you look like sitting on his lap? would you like his room? his bedsheets? what’s hidden beneath his mask? can you really blame him when he’s under his covers thinking about you - strained against his boxers despite his desperate attempts to sleep

hearing your voice is enough for him to get him hot and bothered, and when you’ve touched him in passing? he’s thankful the mask hides his flushed cheeks, if only he could stop his blood from flowing south. it’s innocent — your fingers grazing his when you pass something to him, but the contact has his veins on fire! just that fleeting moment, barely feeling your skin against his, has shame burning in his chest as he palms himself

would your hands feel soft against his - wrapped around him? would he be able to smell your shampoo if he held you close - face pressed to your neck as he ruts into you? it feels like he’s been submerged, sounds muffled like he’s underwater, he’s drowning, being pulled under by thoughts of you

it all comes crashing down like waves when he lets out a strained gasp - he’s coming up for air as he ruins his underwear. if only it wasn’t a regular occurrence, the thought of your thighs around him, nails digging against his back

but, when König hears that you like him? he’s nearly shaking down the soldier he heard it from - wildly seeking confirmation that it’s true. his jaw practically goes slack when he’s told it’s common knowledge around base - it’s not, a few soldiers thought it’d be funny to prank the intimidating Colonel that has an obvious soft spot for you

it’s really not his fault, Maus, not when those soldiers talk about it like it’s a fact, lying through their teeth with their full chests - maybe it’s their confidence that sells König, or maybe it’s that burning hope flickering in his chest. he wants to say something to you, he needs to hear you say it - and he wouldn’t be able to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth

Ich liebe dich

but he can’t, not with his heart pumping - the sound ringing in his ears. his nerves are set on fire again, different this time. and unlike when he’s alone in his room, putting the embers out by hand, he turns to liquid courage

he’s half a bottle deep before he decides he can do something, just a push to make small talk. that all flies out the window when he lays eyes on you - dressed in civvies, walking away from your friends and pulling your phone out. he’s already crossing the threshold, legs moving with a mind of their own

the soft thud of his boots against the floor go unnoticed by you, too distracted to care, or too used to the idle sound of chatter and people moving around. suddenly, veins that were running hot feel ice cold as he stands behind you, eyes half lidded as he brings his hand up

a gruff chuckle rumbles in his chest when you jump at the contact, his palm pressing to your neck. fingers carefully wrapped around your throat - he groans a little when he feels you nervously swallow, thumb grazing your jaw. “Liebling.”, accent thick, whether it’s from the booze or not, the need in his voice is evident

pointer finger tucked under your chin, he carefully nudges your jaw upwards. head tilting up, he ever so slightly squeezes your throat - icy gaze cast down at you, a satisfied hum resonates in his chest, “I think we need to talk, Maus, ja?”, voice low as he cocks his head to the side

”Mm, such a little thing—“, he coos, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb halfheartedly placed against your cheekbone, “Die Dinge, die ich mit dir machen möchte, Süße.”, he softly murmurs

he catches the confused glint in your eyes when he speaks, your eyebrows knit. just when you’re about to question him - are you okay? König, what’s wrong? you’re cut off before you can even speak. “Oh? You don’t understand me? Das ist schade.”, he tuts, lightly patting your cheek

“Why don’t we practice some German, ja?”, smiling under his mask, he gently tilts your head back a little more, “Speak for me. Say ‘Ich liebe dich’ for me, Maus.”

[prentissluvr]

waking up to sam gently kissing where your jaw meets your ear to halfway down your jaw, arm gently holding his arm around your middle. little ‘good morning honey!’s and nuzzling your hair. wedges his leg between yours and gently squeezes you, places a kiss on the top of your head. if you turn to look at him he has his soft puppy eyes and a gentle smile. gentle sam <3

also having thoughts about him being a gentle giant specifically i’ll get back to you soon :)

ARGHHHH DO YOU WANT ME DEAD ON THE FLOOR ???? i need a cigarette.

oh my god anon i need him SO bad and i need this so bad and gentle sam is legitimately my favorite ever in the whole wide world and i love and need him so bad and i don't think i can form a coherent thought around this and i'm so :,)

someone take my tumblr privileges away i can't keep going like this

the way his heart is bursting with affection for you first thing in the morning. the way that he laid there for several minutes without waking you just so he could take in the sight of you, soft and asleep and vulnerable and trusting and safe in his arms and he's so :((( because he loves you so so so much and would do literally anything. and then he's just overrun with adoration that he has to do something about it. and he knows you won't be mad if he wakes you like this, he knows that it's not too early and that you'll be sleepy and pretty and content in his arms once you're awake.

so he kisses you so soft and light and lovingly, from the side of your neck and behind your ear to your jaw and your cheek and his breath hits your skin when he sighs in contentment the moment you begin to stir. he feels your hand that was resting limply over his forearm close around it, your grip still soft and weak with sleep.

"good morning, honey," he murmurs into your skin. and when you turn, movements groggy and slow, he could combust with how cute and lovely he thinks you are. and to be greeted with his softest and sweetest and most authentic puppy dog eyes first thing in the morning is like getting stabbed through the heart with all the affection and endearment and love in the world.

screaming crying i'll go insane when you send gentle giant sam thoughts and i'll sob on the floor and i'll eat it up so much wow thank you anon i'm sobbing rn and i need him more than anything

[meo-eiru]

Hihihiii :3 Hope you're having a great day author!

This is my first direct interaction in this website generally speaking, so what better way to start than rambling my head off about the twink slutty baby? YES. Lavi. That cute whore that's been on my mine for a good while now...I want to kiss him, want him to cuddle me so bad grrrr I want to rim his pretty ass and use it as my only life source for the rest of my mortal existence. I want to follow every single one of his instructions on how to please him while he guides me with that shit eating smug grin '>:3'. I totally see him as a power bottom, riding my strap effortlessly while he pins me down telling me how much of a pathetic virgin I am and how fortunate I am to even be touching him, how lucky I am that he's willing to teach me how to make him feel good, how he'd laugh once I'm exhausted and he keeps nonchalantly bouncing still with his endless incubi stamina...MMMM...But also, I want to hit his ribs each time he throws an annoying tauntrum, or make him whimper each time he breaks something expensive, I want to sneak into his phone and watch just all the dozens of porn he has in his gallery along with his search history, I need to make him cry so hard until we're both doubting who's the real pervert here...I NEED to peg him. I NEED to spank his cute jiggling ass until it's red and sore. I need to make him deepthroath my strap and perhaps give me head. I NEED to grope his cute small chest and nurse on his rosy nipples while he tries to make a teasing remark only to be interrupted by his own lewd moans. I NEED to watch how all that lube and cum slowly leaks out of his puffy hole with profane sounds while spreading his supple asscheeks further apart as he whines and mewls begging for more. I NEED to cuddle him from behind while I finger his thight whorish asshole, I NEEEED to give him some genuine, gentle love-making while kissing his pretty face and cooing sweet nothings into his ears while he grabs onto my neck thightly saying shamelessly how good it feels.

I want to give him goodnight kisses on the forehead, cheeks, nose, eyes, tummy and finally his soft lips. I want to feel him clinging onto me with his limbs (and tail of course) while we sleep, even better if he craddles my head on his chest. I might even forgive his murders if he promises to be a good boy with a pretty pout even though he'd probably be crossing his fingers behind his back. I want to do each other's hair and nails. I want him to listen to the music I listen to (Rabbit Hole by DECO27 would be SO him). I want to see his deadpaned and disdainful face when I tell him all my bad jokes. I want to go out with him at those aesthetic cafés and buy him everything he wants even if I won't be able to buy anything else for a while. I want us to get matching couple cheesy things. I want us to do lovey dovey stuff together and maybe a kiss that doesn't end up looking out of a hentai. A wholesome one. I want him to live on my lap. I want him to try make him wear decente clothes from time to time. I want to see his reaction once my mortal life comes to an end. (If he cries and gets depressed he'll look so pretty but if he laughs he'll also look so pretty). I want to show him off to my friends even if I know he's probably the type that types 'uwu', ':3' or 'nya~' either satirically or not. I would bear the cringe for him. I want to send him memes and reels and, overall, just hear his laugh because I'm sure it would be gorgeous just like him. <3

He literally lives rent free in my mind this is a call for help. I crave for more Lavi content.

I'm not horny. You are.

Anyway, thanks for the constant posting! I love how you write your characters and draw/paint! You're one of my favorite artists. Eat well and have a good day/night. :)

Oh my dear GOD this was a ROLLER COASTER

I don't even know where to start. Alright so first of all, this is so deliciously written omg??? You made me put Lavi on a plate and eat him I bet he'd taste like cake. The contrast between the wholesome parts and the extremely unholy parts were crazy I felt like I was in a car that randomly speeds up and down

Rabbit hole is indeed very Lavi, the animation fits him so well as well. If I knew how to make them I'd definitely draw a Lavi version. And yes he's definitely the type who'd type "uwu" and ">:3" unironically

THE DRAWINGS ARE SO CUTE AS WELL!! HE LOOKS SO ADORABLE LOOK AT HIS CUTE LITTLE FACE AND CUTE BUTT

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Could you please write a Regina x Femme!Reader where the reader is short and a bottom (doesn’t have to include smut, but can) and Regina can’t help but tease her about it (playfully) and Reader gets all shy and flustered

Can't Focus?

|| Regina George x fem!reader

|| Warnings; light smut, regina teasing reader, short drabble

i really can't think of any other warnings but if y'all catch one please lmk cause i feel like i'm missing something

|| Summary; Regina and reader had a study hall period together, though Regina's distraction doesn't lead to much studying.

Requests open!

Started; septmeber 21st

Finished; september 22nd

~~~

The bell rang, but you were already in the library for study hall. Looking down at the computer screen in front of you. You'd gotten here right at the end of your last class to get a head start on a project, so you'd only been here about fifteen minutes and all you have done is the title page. Any thoughts you had had on the project prior to getting here just seemed to be lost in your mind; floating around somewhere in the back but never coming to the surface.

With a heavy groan, you laid your head just in front of the keyboard. Arms stretched out on either side of the computer as your fingers danced along the wooden desk table.

You thought about how you could be doing so many better things with your time but instead you're stuck here. It's stupid.

You were so lost in your internal rant that you hadn't even notice your girlfriend coming up behind you, she wrapped her arms around you in a way that let them rest just below your chest. Her lips brushing against your neck.

"What's wrong, baby? Can't focus?" Regina asked in a murmur, her nails tracing the skin on your arms in a way that made your whole body shudder. Her nails always seemed to have that effect on you. Regina loved that about you. You were so easy," bet it's even harder now~"

"Regina..." You started to protest, but leaned into her. Letting her get away with it as your cheeks flushed. You knew there was no point in resisting, you'd done that before but she always wins. She knows how to get you where she wants you.

"Yes, baby?" She said, her tone laced with innocence but everything about her actions proved she knew what she was doing to you.

Your fingers tapped at your keyboard, saving your project. You'll just save that for home. You looked at Regina, who had a victorious smirk on her face as her hand slowly slid down your arm. Then to your thigh and all the way to your knee.

"I hate you." You murmured, though there was no real threat to your words. She knew that.

"No you don't~" She teased, kissing just below your ear lobe.

"No I don't." You sighed, trembling lightly under her touch. Her fingers played with your hair as she adjusted herself to be seated in your lap.

You usually liked to work in the more secluded end of the library, which meant no one could see the two of you.

"You don't take much convincing, do you, baby?" She continued to tease you. Her fingers moving from your hair to your jaw. Nails gripping at your chin to pull your lips closer to hers.

"I've learnt to just accept it," You murmured against her lips as she kissed you. She started it slow at first, but then it got a little more heated before she parted. Leaving you wanting more.

"You say that like it a bad thing," She whispered, eyes half lidded as she gazed into yours.

"It really isn't." You assured her, of course she already had a feeling that would be your answer; but hearing you say that...

Well, that just made her think about everything she wanted to do with you when the two of you got home.

[afyrian]

line two - earbuds in and out m.list

    tapping your pen against the table, your lips part in surprise. the second line is filled with ramblings of a man who cheated on his partner, trying to get advice on how to convince his partner that it isn't a big deal. listening to him talk, you look over towards the sound booth, blinking rapidly towards sakusa. hoping to show him your want to break free from the conversation. however, he’s looking off into the distant. 

  "okay, line two, so you cheated.. that's a hard fact. and for a lot of people, it's also a dealbreaker," you start, spinning the end of the pen around on the old wooden table. before you can continue your 'advice', he starts talking again, trying to defend himself.

  the man breathes loudly into the mic, "yeah but it wasn't personal or anything. it was just a one night stand, which in a way isn't really cheating if you think about it. cheating is usually emotional, between two people who have residual feelings.”

  "dude cheating is cheating. if you even kiss someone romantically and your partner isn’t okay with it, it's cheating. it doesn't matter if it was personal or not. and i'm here to give you advice. if you don't want to hear advice you might not like to hear, then don't call in," you bite your lip, glancing back towards the sound booth, watching as sakusa finally looks up.

  his eyebrow is quirked, intrigued by the conversation at hand. turning back to your laptop, you stare at the music choices, hoping to find a song to play that gives you a moment away from the mic. "now, do you want advice, or should i answer line three?" your voice suddenly becomes firm, knuckles growing tense from holding the pen so tightly. 

  the line clicks, the caller likely hanging up in an attempt to flee from the situation. pursing your lips, you look over to sakusa again, noticing him clicking something on his setup. narrowing your eyes, you wonder if he was the one to end the call. "well listeners, guess that guy didn't want to talk it out today... how about we listen in to 'off she goes' by bad suns and relax before listening to line three's woes?"

  leaning back in your seat, you nod along as the song begins. taking off your headphones, you bring your hands up to your head, resting them above your hair. a part of you knows that a new cup of coffee could be nice, but really all you want to do is rest and sit back to the four free minutes you have. 

  very rarely have you had to tell a caller to back off, indirectly or directly. and yet every time you do, you can feel the energy drain from you. closing your eyes, you sit for a minute, memorizing the melody that plays effortlessly in your head. a minute passes as you start to grow anxious. sakusa hasn't said a word...

  peeking an eye open, you look towards the sound both, towards him. looking in his direction, you furrow your eyebrows. earbuds rest comfortably in his ears as he nods along to the song playing. you're used to the comfortable hum of your last sound engineer's talking. the way he would let you sit with your eyes closed, talking about whatever nonsense he could think of.

  now, everything's just so silent. once the music starts, it fizzles out, and all you need is a little bit of chatter. yet it's not there. fully opening your eyes, you sit up, restless. "how are you liking this position so far?" you ask, raising your voice enough that you hope he can hear.

  he looks up from his soundboard, pulling out an earbud, "what did you need?"

  "oh nothing- i was just letting you know we're starting soon," you nod, tapping anxiously against the wooden table, shrugging your shoulders.

  nodding, sakusa slowly inserts his earbud again, grabbing his phone to look at something. grimacing, you bring your head forward, resting it on the table. the wood is smooth, cool to the touch. the warm fan of the laptop being the only thing keeping you from getting goosebumps. breathing in slowly, you count for five seconds, breathing back out.

  it's the last technique you could think to use now that your support system is gone. feeling the jitters quietly leave your body, you finally sit back up. biting your lip and resting your headphones over your ears, you notice the thirty seconds left. "would you-" you start, wondering if you could get lunch with him after work sometime. 

  however, you can see him focusing on whatever is on his phone. sakusa's attention is grabbed, and instead of prying anymore, you shake your head. staring down the clock, you watch until it reaches one second left. "hello everyone, thank you for listening and hopefully loving one of my favorite songs. now, let's give it up for line three. what would you like to talk it out with me today?”

  leaning up towards the mic, you don’t notice the look resting on sakusa’s face. he’s smiling to himself, a smile that just barely graces his lips, listening to you introduce the next caller.

taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@jadeoru @yessimo @lale-txt @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sugacor3

@quikhs @todorokiskitten @mollyrolls @honeyfewr @pookiebearcave

@phoenix-eclipses @madiexuberant

[nitrowyverine]

I think I write dating sim/VNs/etc reviews now? Anyway,

LOST IN LIMBO REVIEW/THOUGHTS

This VN piqued my interest, so I gave the demo a shot! This review will follow the same general format as my Obscura/Touchstarved review, except there's 7 (!!!) romance options.

Since I totally loved this game, I'm going to put the conclusion promo up here too: if Lost in Limbo interests you, consider playing it Here, Here on steam, and/or backing it Here!

ALSO! THIS REVIEW CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE DEMO!

My (long winded) thoughts are below:

(Banner image courtesy of the Ravenstar Games tumblr account pinned post. Individual character pics courtesy of tumblr posts from the studio. Individual posts are linked in character titles.)

Gameplay design thoughts:

the plot immediately sucked me in, I'm pretty invested in whatever the hell is going on with the protag, the realms, the lords, etc. I think the setup/land are deep enough to draw me in, but not so intimidating in it's depth that I'm afraid to explore more.

I always enjoy a little bit of nightmare fuel in my games, so the voidbound are perfect. They're so gross and horrible, but not just a stock zombie/nightmare creature design. Whenever the voidbound pop up, it makes the back of my neck itch, which is perfect.

I have no idea whose route I'll pick first. Usually I have one candidate that I can pick out as number 1. This game however? I go back and forth all the time, since I love all of them. I do think I have bias for Ara/Gael/Amon/Envy, maybe?

I really want to design an MC to doodle for this, but I feel like I don't know enough about other people in the realm. (Mostly, I'm assuming that standard humans don't have pointy ears? how close to our reality is the regular world?) I might say "screw it" and design an MC anyway (with some speculative clothing for once they get cleaned up)

The backgrounds have been great set pieces so far. Sometimes I catch myself just kinda staring into space at them. They've got a fantastic flavor.

Misc. Thoughts written during a replay

Fun touch to have Evie's rock image from the beginning fortune shop scene line up with the 7 LI's color schemes.

Each of the VA's does a lovely job with their voices. I've been turned off of certain dating sims because of bad voice acting, but the acting in this game is superb so far. It really helps set the richness of the story.

I have a theory that the LI's (and possibly people in Limbo in general) experience pain differently. The characters seem largely uninterested in the MC's stabbed, weakened state, beyond a "Oh that sucks....we'll clean you up later" mentality. I wonder if they have different pain tolerances, or are just less attached to such things. (Then again, Amon and Raeya have full missing limbs/eyes, so they probably have a decent perspective on pain altogether)

What does wielder/non-wielder mean? Xal says the MC "Can't wield, can't see." What do the LI's see that we don't? Ara mentions that the MC seems "Completely normal". Many mysteries.

I need those monster forms like crazy oh my goodness. Please devs PLEASE SHOW THE MONSTER FORMS

Now, to the lovely love interests!

Amon

WHO LET THIS MAN BE OVER 7 FEET TALL? PRIDE YOU HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO

I only just noticed he also has a few freckles, *chefs kiss* (Waaaiit do all of them have little freckle skin textures??? Oh this is a glorious day.)

It's hard not to love a big friendly guy. I was honestly relieved when he first showed up, because I did Envy's route first, and I was thrilled to see a friendly face in the big dark scary woods.

This does not mean, however, that I'm not excited to see what this guy turns into when he's mad.

I like that he has pity for MC when they first show up, but I do worry it makes his resolve weaker. I'm not as confident that he could handle society/reality breaking down as well as the others. Can he put aside his affable nature for when shit hits the fan?

Question: What level of fight had to happen for Amon to lose his eye? He's already huge, and has some sort of telekinetic powers. My theory is that he was taken by surprise, maybe by someone close to him.....(Envy I'm looking at you)

RIP Amon you would have loved Hawaiian shirts

Conclusion: Most likely to be the camp counselor who hurts his back from always giving piggy back rides. Least likely to keep his composure during a badly timed pun/dad joke.

Raeya

I'm fighting for my life whenever shes on screen good LORD

Similarly to Amon, I GOTTA know the story behind her prosthetic arm. Its so rad looking, but how did she lose a whole arm? (I am also considering that she was also not born with one)

Playing the demo again, she makes a specific comment about the monsters having not "infected a limb" of the MC. My bet is that's how she lost her arm.

I wish I could have spent 1:1 time with her, but it wasn't offered in the demo. I'd love to have like, a sit down discussion with her about history. (Well I'd be fine getting lectured about history and drinking tea and hanging out)

Out of everyone's motivations, I think I understood Raeya's the most. Even if she was against MC, I think her concerns are completely valid. If an alien fell out of the sky from a different reality to earth I'd ALSO be taking every precaution

She and Amon have matching ear chains, that's adorable....

I hope I can take her on a nice date and spoil her and let her relax in the full game, pretty please. Nothing bad will happen right???

Conclusion: Most likely to gently remind the waiter that you said NO pickles with your order, thank you very much. Least likely to admit to being the one who farted in a crowded room.

Envy

every other line from him is "UGGGHHH" and i love that for them.

After playing, I think I've finally realized that I've got a soft spot for grumps. just grumpy lil friends with their pouty faces

I want (vivi's) Envy's nails SO BAD. I need him to do my nails because theirs are perfect. Envy, envy PLEASE

They pretend not to care, but are already getting attached to the MC by the end of the demo. I can't wait to see what they're like when they actually DO get attached

Elephant in the room, what could he have possibly done to get himself demoted so severely? Everyone seems to be fine with him being demoted except Amon, who sheepishly vouches for him when he can.

I just wanna wrap him in a blanket burrito like you do with a spicy kitten. and then give him little smooches

Conclusion: Most likely to be they guy who gets one drink at a party and sits in the corner with the dog/cat all night. Least likely to allow their partner to willingly boop their nose with any regularity.

Pride

Old man yells at cloud? No....old man IS cloud.

The dev's tumblr has mentioned that he's a pathetic old man, but for now at least, I am afraid of his authority and power. since hes like. yaknow. the big god of this world

The VA did some fabulous work for his voice. I definitely got actual chills in certain parts. 10/10

Okay, so WHAT is this guy's deal with mirrors? He looks great, why is he worried about it. I sincerely doubt he's just 52 though, if he's a god. (as a note for all these interests, I have a feeling that the ages are their physical ages, and not their actual ages. Or at least, age relative to ours. I think they're much older in our years than in their years.)

We also didn't get any 1:1 time with Pride in the demo, so I'm fascinated to see what alone time with Pride would be like. Is he quiet? a chatterbox? Just a guy??? does he only play piano and not talk to you. (power move)

Conclusion: Most likely to show up WAY over-prepared for Parent-Teacher conferences. Least likely to understand and survive the cinnamon challenge.

Ara

Certified CUTIE PIE

We got a pretty clear demonstration of everyone's powers in the demo, except for Ara. Unless it was too subtle for me to realize, I'm not actually sure what her cool powers are yet.

If she DOESN'T have plant powers I'd be very surprised.

I keep wanting to think things like "I have to protect her" or "keep her safe at all costs". But then I remember she's likely absolutely terrifying, and I honestly should be actually afraid for anyone who gets in her way.

I would like to remind/inform everyone that so far, she is the only member of the cast who is visibly armed at all times. (Raeya doesn't count even if her arm claws look really really sharp.)

If I have to pick anyone to party with, it's probably Ara. I know she'd throw an absolute rager, but would also make sure you stay hydrated. I wanna hold her hand too. Please?

I'll go butch for her, i'll do it if thats what she wants. I'm weak

Conclusion: Most likely to be able convince you to give her your kidney. Least likely to let you skip a bloodthirsty game of monopoly because you "Have a headache"

Gael

where did he find pants long enough for him.

Okay. So its HIS fault that Amon has the deepest V-cut since time immemorial. Do you think Amon and Gael had an extensive argument about the minimum amount of clothes Amon has to wear at any given time? Because I do.

His powers certainly did not. Awaken anything in me. Nope.

he has the shortest and most perfect arc from stranger -> friendly -> ???? -> BETRAYAL

I am MASSIVELY curious about his dissociation/spacing out during the demo. He was 8 million miles away in the tower for some reason, and I HAVE to find out why. I just KNOW this man is doing some questionable shit with good intentions and I can't wait to find out what it is.

So, he has SOME issue with touch. No idea what it is, but I can't wait to find out what it is. Also noting he's the only one with full-coverage gloves in the cast. Interesting...

Conclusion: Most likely to cry after being sent those sad FB/insta animal stories. Least likely to let you open your own car/carriage/etc door under any circumstances.

Xal

He looks so soft. I have to bully him, in a good way. (Like grim from Date with Death)

I am fascinated as to why he would lie for MC. That's such a great hook to his character. What does a guy who so desperately wants to be left alone have to see to stick his neck out for a stranger?

SOMEONE get this man a NINTENDO DS POST HASTE

THIS GAME HAS TO GET FUNDED BECAUSE XAL SAYS HE HAS A CAT AND I WANT TO SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will do it, I will be the one to tuck him in when he is too eepy. I will carry him to bed and kiss his little head good night

Wait, if he can "Figure something out" by touching it, he could be like, the worlds greatest doctor. Xal please get off the couch and help me diagnose mystery ailments in a medical sitcom

Conclusion: Most likely to injure himself rigging up a Rue Goldberg machine to scratch his back. Least likely take it easy on you once he learns how to play super smash bros. (He's a fox/falco main)

Concerns:

What the Ravenstar team has already been able to accomplish is incredible. I'm worried that with 7 whole love interests (with a possible two more on the way if the kickstarter goes well), i'm worried the devs are taking on a whole lot of work. I think they're fully capable of taking this on, but I hope they don't burn themselves out in the process.

I'm pretty happy to see the kickstarter is moving along, but there's always the chance that something happens, and/or the kickstarter goal isn't met. BY THE TIME I FINISHED WRITING THIS IT GOT FUNDED LETS GOO!!! I still hope this project makes it all the way to completion beyond the kickstarter. Things can always happen, so Ive got my fingers crossed for the Ravenstar team!

OVERALL CONCLUSION:

I loved the demo, and I have now backed the project! The team is trying to hit stretch goals now, so share Lost in Limbo with your buddies! I crave content for this game like nothing else.

[shirayuricky]

sinful relief | zhang hao

(dividers by @cafekitsune) (requested by anon)

- apart of shirayuricky's 100 followers event -

pairing: zhang hao x fem! reader

genre: smut

warnings: fingering, dirty talk, pet names (baby, darling)

prompts used: 25 - "open up." , 27 - "already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?"

word count: 0.6k

a/n: tried so hard not to scream while writing this. anyways, hope you like it, 🪽 anon :)

hao got back home from dance practice, feeling slightly tired. he sat on the sofa beside you, head leaning on your shoulder. "tough day?" you asked. "not tough, just a little tiring." he said. "then let's go to sleep." you suggested. "i'm not sleepy, darling. i just needed something to regain my energy." he responded. "what do you need? fruits? your favourite drama?" you asked.

"i don't need any of those, y/n. i want something else." hao said, staring at your lips. you got the signal a few moments after. he wants you, right now. you looked at his lips for a brief moment before leaning closer. "so you need me right now?" you asked him for confirmation. "yes, darling...want you so bad." he said, pulling you to his lap.

you nodded, signalling him that you want it as much as he wants it. he slowly closed the distance between your lips, kissing you softly and gently. the kiss felt like sweeter than a lollipop or any sweet candy you'd usually find in convenience stores.

slowly, the kiss starts to get intense, his hands start to roam all over your back, occasionally caressing against your hips. you held onto him, encouraging him to continue with the touches.

then, you felt his finger tapping your cheek as he breaks the kiss. "open up." he said. you opened up and hao slid two of his fingers into your mouth. "suck on it, baby." he whispered into your ear.

you started sucking on his fingers, his other hand caressing your covered entrance through your leggings. that itself made you softly moan against his fingers. your cheeks are slightly flushed in red, your moans muffled by his fingers. "already? do i really have that much of an effect on you?" he asked. you nodded shyly as a response.

after he rubbed your covered core, he slipped his hand into the waistband of your leggings and caressed your wet folds, before slipping two fingers into your soaking pussy. your moans became slightly louder as he thrusted his fingers in and out of you.

your cheeks became redder and your sounds became louder. you couldn't deny it. his fingers are fucking you too good. "you like that, baby? you like me fucking your wet pussy with my fingers?" he said. you let out a muffled "yes" to respond to his question. your mind was clouded with pleasure and how he keeps on rubbing that sensitive spot inside of you.

"such a good girl, taking my fingers like this. you wanna cum for me, hm? cum for me, baby." he whispered into your ear. and those words itself sent you over the edge, your walls throbbing around his fingers. he then pulls his fingers out of your pussy and licks them clean.

"taste so sweet. couldn't get enough, baby." he said, kissing you deeply as he makes you taste yourself on his mouth.

slowly, the blush on your cheeks fade and your breathing is stable. "you've been a good girl, darling. i'll reward you something big, tomorrow morning." he said.

"mhm. let's go to sleep." you said, standing up from the sofa. "alright, let's go." hao replied, standing up as well. the both of you went upstairs to your shared room, cleaned yourselves up in the shower and finally slept.

you wonder on what kind of reward will he give you the next morning the both of you wake up. but that's for the next morning.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Don't Blame Me A Matthew Knies Fanfiction

Summary: Back home for the summer, you and your bestie hit up the neighbor’s pool party. In attendance is your sister’s ex boyfriend, Matthew Knies – but he’s only got eyes for you. Kinks & TW: sister's ex-boyfriend, age gap (older reader), sexual acts in public, car sex, sundress season, unprotected sex (pull-out method but make it sloppy), masturbation, drug and alcohol consumption (marijuana) Word Count: 6.4k+

The base dropped, and your stomach went with it. You could physically feel the music as it pulsed through the home. From the speakers, the music vibrated the floor, you could feel it against your feet and how it reverberated into your bones. You couldn’t hear the laughter that slipped from your friend’s lips after a bad joke, nor could you hear the clinking of glasses as someone made a toast to the host, Phillip, that was happening nearby. 

Hell, you couldn’t even hear yourself think. Which wasn’t the worst thing, since it was your first weekend back home after a brutal semester of grad school. You had spent the last 10 months grueling over your degree. You should have been letting loose like everyone else at the party. Instead, you found yourself sidelined, clutching a neon pink drink your best friend had greeted you with as a peace offering for accepting the role as her wing woman for the night. 

The target? You hadn’t heard his name, but you didn’t need to hear him to know that he was exactly her type. Tall, brunette, and, as she so often described, her ideal man, medium ugly. He was a goner the moment she walked into the party, and he seemed to accept his fate with a smile - which made your job a lot easier. You just had to smile and hope he had good looking friends. 

Taking a long sip of your too-sweet drink, your eyes peered up over the rim of the glass, watching the crowd as it swarmed like bees in a hive. Bodies distorted by flashing, colored lights as they danced, others used the darkness to conceal a secret kiss - and where it was brighter, that’s where the real chaos ensued. You couldn’t see anything more than the fluorescent glow from the kitchen, but you could hear it, even over the blaring music. The hoots and hollers that could only mean one thing. A frat boy’s favorite pastime; beer pong–

“Hey!” You flinched as your best nudged you with her elbow to pull your attention back to her. “You’re so tense, you’ve got to try to relax. We’re back home! Have some fun, for once!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, trying to smile, but you lost it as you brought your drink to your lips. You took a bigger gulp, feeling the sugary alcohol burn as it went down, and didn’t stop until the cup was empty. Maybe, if you drank enough, you’d finally loosen up. 

Being back home, you were supposed to feel at ease–free even. But you couldn’t be, not as long as you were in the house surrounded by strangers mixed with familiar faces that you hadn’t seen since high school. It left a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach, a little thankful that your best friend had you hiding along the walls and away from the rest of the party. This had you dreading having to leave to get yourself another drink. 

You held up your glass, dandling it playfully in front of her face playfully, “where can I get another one of these?”

“The kitchen.”

Fuck. 

“Come with me?” You pouted, and just in case that wasn’t enough for her, you bat your eyes at her too. “I’m sure your man will be here when we get back.”

Her smile was mischievous as she leaned into her man to speak directly into his ear. He seemed to melt beneath her words, his jaw slacking and his head nodding along with her words. Then, with the promise that she would return, you were both free. 

You walked together arm in arm, and suddenly you were the center of attention. All eyes were on the two of you as you pushed through the crowd, and with the attention, you became all too self-conscious. Were your pants too tight? Did your makeup look alright in dim lighting? Your mind raced with insecurity, and it only got worse as you reached the threshold of the kitchen. 

It was there you paused mid-step, your best friend’s stride trying to tug you in after her, but you were an anchor, unmoving. 

There was a mess of bodies in front of you, all crammed into the kitchen like sardines. You had never seen so many people in one palace, their bodies colliding and voices loud as they took turns tossing the ball across the table. The splash of the ball into a cup sent the pale amber beer splashing from the cup and down onto the table. A large hand encompassed the red cup, near crushing it, before he brought it up to thin lips and chugged with such desperation that left the drinker gasping when he was through. 

You could only lick your lips as you watched beer bead down the man’s lips and chiseled jaw. The movement of your tongue mimicking his before you could even realize what you were doing or who he was. And when that moment dawned on you, you were ready to run out the front door. 

“Is that…” your best friend muttered just loud enough for you to hear. She didn’t leave your side, but she did lean in, squinting her eyes as if she didn’t have perfect vision. Then she gasped, confirming the sight that you had hoped was just a drunken mirage. “Holy shit, it is.”

There, at the center of the crowd - a crowd that you were only now realizing was the next worst thing after frat boys: hockey players - with the front of his shirt now soaked with beer as he chugged back another cup, was Matthew Knies, your sister’s ex-boyfriend. 

He looked almost the same as you remembered. Just a bit taller, and with a build that could have only been accomplished with the help of a coach or personal trainer. But it was clear he wasn’t the lanky kid that had broken her heart all those years ago.

They hadn’t been together long, maybe a half a year, but your sister was convinced she was in love. What sixteen-year-old in her first “real relationship” didn’t feel that way? She had gone as far as to plan to move to Nebraska to be with him after she graduated, but he had other plans. He hadn’t had the guts to break up with her before he left. He had been a dumb teenager, but that didn’t stop you from resenting him. 

“Let’s just make a drink and get back to the real party,” you spoke through grit teeth, your gaze dropping to the floor. 

Together, you and your friend pushed around the roster of hockey players and made your way around to the makeshift bar on the kitchen counter. She made your drink for you, just as she had done before, and just when you thought you were in the clear, she whispered to you, “he’s coming over here.”

“Shut up,” you hissed as you took hold of your drink and gripped it tight. 

Before you could fully brace yourself for the interaction, Matt was standing in front of you. Towering over you and smiling. He looked good, annoyingly good, with a casual confidence that only made you more irritated. 

Thankfully, before you could say something you would regret, your best friend took the lead. She offered him a sickeningly sweet smile, her arms opening up wide to greet him with a casual hug. They had grown up next door to one another and had been the reason your sister had even crossed his path. Yet, she masked the annoyance she held in solidarity with you, and greeted him with soft pleasantries, “we didn’t think you’d be home. I thought that’s why your brother was hosting.”

“He’s around,” he replied to her with a smile. Then he looked directly at you. 

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, your eyes narrowing as you leaned your neck to look up at him. “She’s not here,” you bit out at him, your words so sharp and bitter you had to wash them down with a sip of your drink. 

Matthew stared at you, his eyebrow raised and head cocked to the side - and you could have sworn you could see him smile as he spoke. “Nice to see you, too.” There was no hint of malice or annoyance in his tone. Instead, they oozed with pleasure, as if he were happy to see you. 

It made your teeth grit. 

Glancing at your best friend, she met your stare, the two of you silently planning your escape route from the kitchen - from him. Which left his movement unnoticed to you until you could feel the heat of his body radiating against your side. In the crowded space you were backed into a corner, trapped between his broad and towering body and the bar as he mixed himself a drink. 

Your skin prickled with a mix of anger - and something else you didn’t want to identify, or didn’t have the time to, because as Matthew was pulling back with his fresh cup, his elbow knocked your arm. The contact sent the pink liquid of your drink splashing down the front of your white shirt. You gasped, the cold liquor sticky on your skin as it soaked through the fabric and revealed the bra you wore beneath it. 

“For fuck's sake,” your words were a hiss through your teeth, “you neanderthal!” 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he spoke quickly, his hands reaching for an expensive dish towel. Matthew draped it over your arm and dragged it up and over your shoulder in an attempt to dry you off, but it only frustrated you further. Lurching away, you glared up at him, and he stared down at you wide-eyed and mouth gaping, “I can make you another drink—”

“I don’t need another drink,” you bit back. “I need something to wear.”

Putting your empty cup down on the bar, you pinched at the stained white fabric of your shirt and pulled it away from your chest. It was sticky, see through, and his teammates were staring.

“Run back home,” your best friend’s voice pulled your hardened stare from Matthew’s oblivious one, “let yourself back into the house. Chance, and I’ll catch up with you later.” She punctuated her words with a wink, and before you could respond, she was off, walking back into the glamouring glow of the party - back to her medium ugly man of the night - and that left you alone with Matthew. 

Fantastic. 

Forcing a smile, you turned to leave, pushing your way back through the crowded party and out into the front yard. You stumbled down the steps, sneaking past people who had stepped out for a cigarette or just to escape the noise. The gust of night wind was welcome on your face, though it chilled your body. But you were only cold for so long. The touch of a large hand grasping your elbow heated your body and left you spinning in place at the bottom of the steps. 

Your hair fell across your face, obscuring your view of the person who still had his grasp on you. They weren’t quite holding you back, nor were they trying to stop you from leaving. Their touch was a mere attempt to let you know he was there before he spoke. “Hey, what did I do to deserve the third degree?”

Matthew. 

For fuck's sake. 

“You mean besides ruining my favorite shirt,” you shot back, trying to shake him off as you marched across the lawn.

While he dropped his hand, he continued to follow. His footsteps echoed you, his body your shadow as you unlocked the door and stepped inside your best friend’s home. You knew its layout better than your own home. You didn’t bother turning on the lights, and instead navigated through the living room and up the stairs to the second story bedrooms. Matthew tripped and fumbled in your wake, only to find his composure behind you as you disappeared into the bedroom door. 

Turning on the small lamp that rested on the bedside table, you used its glow to rummage through the suitcase you had yet to unpack. Articles of clothing became strewn over the bed, something you surely would come to regret later when you were hopefully too drunk to even get out of your clothes. At the bottom of your bag you found exactly what you wanted, a linen sundress in your favorite color. You almost smiled at the sight of it, holding it up with both hands as you admired the clean, dry fabric. 

Fingers let the fabric fall to the bed before your hands retreated to your shirt, only to pause. Sighing, you looked back over your shoulder to find Matthew standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched you. Maybe if you gave the answers he was looking for, he’d finally leave you alone. 

“You know what you did,” you told him, your voice laced with years of pent-up frustrations. 

His features seemed to glow with the realization of just what you were referring to. It was like a lightbulb finally glowing bright after hours of flickering. “That was five years ago,” he exclaimed, punctuating the sentence with your name. 

You huffed, your body burning hot with anger. It left sweat to bead down your back, and your hair standing up on end as you grew impatient with him. Turning in place so that you stood with your back to him, you stripped yourself free of your sticky shirt and jeans. You left them in a heap on the floor, standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but your bra and panties for a moment before pulling the dress on over top. When you were done, you glanced at him as she stood there, waiting for something. 

“Stop staring at me,” you muttered, a single hand reaching down and pulling your bra out from beneath your dress like some sort of magic trick. It, too, soaked with liquor, became lost on the floor. 

“Forgive me and I’ll leave you alone,” he proposed. 

You scoffed, pushing past him as he stood in the doorway. 

He followed you back out onto the lawn, his body so close to yours you felt his heat, and his legs caught the fluttering fabric of your dress. His presence only infuriated you further. 

“We were sixteen,” he said, pleading with you as you reached his driveway together. 

“She loved you,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “and you broke her heart.”

Matthew was scoffing now, his frustration seeping into his tone. “We didn’t even know what love was back then. We never even–”

You stopped dead in your tracks, the implication of his words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Are you seriously telling me you dumped her because she wouldn’t sleep with you?” you asked, disgusted but not surprised. 

“No!” he answered quickly, as if he had fumbled the very conversation. He took a deep breath as he reached for your arm, taking it gentle. He seemed surprised when you let him, his hold careful as he guided you back to sit on the hood of the car in the driveway. There his head hung low, his long shaggy hair falling into his face, and his hand left your body only to prince the bridge of his nose. He took a long, deep breath before he spoke again, his voice quieter now. “It wasn’t like that.”

You scoffed, your eyes rolling as you continued to demand more from him. “Was she not good enough for you or something?”

But while you escalated, Matthew remained calm, composed. “Something like that.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your knuckles going white, as every fiber of your being was ready to explode. “You’re lucky I don’t hit you for saying that,” you spoke slowly, your eyes on the ground as you tried to breathe through the anger. To hit him wouldn’t be the sweet revenge your sister deserved, but it would be a start-

“She wasn’t good enough because the person I wanted was you!” Matthew blurted out, his voice raising just enough to stop you from interrupting him. 

Yet, you didn’t think you heard him right. You couldn’t have. Matthew wanting you? It was simply unbelievable… comical… and the longer you sat there simmering in his confession, the harder it was to believe. Then, without warning, you burst into laughter. It was so absurd, so completely ridiculous, that you couldn’t help it. You laughed so hard your stomach ached in the best way and it forced you to lie back carelessly on the hood of the car. There, you let your head lull to the side, your hair falling into your face as you smiled at him. 

Matthew, however, met you with a soft yet firm stare. He wasn’t joking, and that terrified you. This man was delusional. 

Slowly, he slid off the hood of the car and took two slow steps to stand in front of you. His hand raised first in surrender before coming to rest on each side of your body. They were flat against the hood, trapping you in place. “I’m serious.”

You sat up, a single hand reaching up to push the hair from your face. You wanted him to see the near hysterical look on your face as you challenged him. “You’re delusional.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “But you’re still incredibly sexy.”

Your body flushed with heat, and your brows furrowed. His words weren’t supposed to affect you like that, and sitting there with his hands so close to your thighs, you convinced yourself that they normally wouldn’t. But there, sitting on the hood of that car that cost more than you could even fathom, with the heat of his body between your knees and that heavy, almost vacant stare, you were weak for him in every inch of your body - but you still had your mind. 

“I’m too old for you,” you retorted, trying to keep your cool. 

“Are you?” he challenged back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“I finished undergrad before you were even drafted,” you pointed out, searching for any excuse to push him away when your hands wanted nothing more to reach out, grab him by the shirt collar and pull him in. 

“So what? That doesn’t change anything,” he scoffed. 

“I don’t know if this is some kind of fetish for you,” you started, desperate to regain control of the conversation, “but you really should be hitting on girls your own age.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, his tone casual, as if there was nothing wrong with the attractions he felt for you. It was with that question you made the mistake of meeting his eyes. You saw the intensity there, and it made your heart race. 

“Why?” you raised a brow at him, “because they wouldn’t be your ex-girlfriends older sister.” You leaned in just enough to emphasize the allure of your proposition. "You have a house full of young, pretty girls who haven’t sat through awkward family dinners with you at the table."

The two of you shared a small smile that made your words seem more like an inside joke than a good idea. He laughed, though it was more of a chuckle, as he leaned in just a fraction closer. “And they wouldn't be playing hard to get.”

“Oh, that’s what you think this is?” you asked, your voice finding a more teasing, jovial tone. 

Matthew laughed again, his hair falling into his face. He reached up to push it back, but when his hand retreated, his touch found your cheek. His fingers caressed down the angles of your face, ghosted the corner of your mouth, and found your chin. Matthew took it gently between his thumb and forefinger and tilted your head back oh so slowly. You held your breath as he looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the very first time. And then, without warning, he leaned in. You felt the warmth of his breath before you felt his lips. It plumed over your face with its sweet intoxicating scent, as if to pull you in that last breath of an inch to his thin lips that meshed with yours in a slow, tentative kiss. 

For a moment, you were too shocked to react, so you just sat there, his lips grazing over yours so lightly they barely touched. You were sure he could feel you breathe out the shudder that coursed through your body. It was only then, as the innate part of you threatened to take over, your brain caught up with it and you pushed him away with both hands and looked at him wide-eyed and breathless. 

“What the hell?” you stammered out, wiping the ghost of him off your lips with the back of your hand as you tried to make sense of what just happened. 

Matthew just stood there, his expression unreadable, as if he was waiting for you to make the next move. 

And for the first time in a long time, you had no idea what to do. 

You sat there on the hood of his car, unmoving. The warmth of him radiated against the inside of your thighs, his hands so close to the curves of your hip as he stood there, his body still so close to yours and his lips so close to returning to your lips. Yet, he held such restraint. You could see it in his eyes as he stared at you, waiting desperately for more. But you couldn’t give it to him. Not Matthew. 

Too handsome for his own good, Matthew. 

Your sister’s ex boyfriend, Matthew. 

Could be fucking any other girl at the party, Matthew. 

Far too young for you, Matthew. 

Your mind was made up. Dropping your eyes to the ground, you let your body slide off the hood of the car. The skirt of your dress inched up your legs and Matthew’s hands reached out to grab you before he flinched back in retreat. But that subtle touch was enough to knock you off balance, your feet stumbling as they reached the ground. It was then your body collided with his, the friction like striking a match–And in an instant, the decision to leave him there in the driveway was gone. Instead, your mind was clouded, hazing with only one thing. Not a thought, but a need. 

Matthew. You needed him. 

Cursing yourself under your breath, so quietly not even you could hear yourself as you pressed up onto your toes let your lips find his. There was no hesitancy in the kiss that found you, his kiss desperate, almost in fear that at any moment you might change your mind. Matthew’s large hands cupped each side of your face, his thumbs releasing the tension in your jaw and coaxing your mouth open. You almost moaned at the taste of his tongue with little care to anyone who may hear you… or see you. 

Anyone could have been watching as the two of you stood there, his larger, towering body trapping you between himself and the car. From most angles, those enthralled by people watching might not have known you were there, Matthew’s body so much bigger than your own that he hid you behind him. They wouldn’t have noticed how his hands left your face when they no longer needed to draw you into the hunger of his kiss. Of how they traveled down your throat, unleashing a desperate gasp against his lips that you were left to choke on as his hand continued to travel down. Down over the swell of your breasts and curve of your waist. Up and over the swell of your hips, and down again until he found the fluttering hem of your sundress. Slowly, a single hand found its way up your dress, his thick fingers dragging over the sensitive skin of your thigh, and he didn’t stop until he was stroking over the thin cotton of your panties. 

Your eyes almost rolled as his fingers grazed so lightly down there that you were sure that he was lost, clueless, that he didn’t know where to put them like almost every other man. But then he surprised you, his hand falling flat against your mound to palm at your clit through your panties. Instead of rolling your eyes, you shut them as your lips pulled away from his to let out a heavy breath that was laced with a single word, “fuck.”

Legs went weak at the feeling, your body ready to fall into him, and he knew it. His free hand dripped into his pocket, and as discreetly as you can unlock a sports car - the front and rear lights flashing brightly in the night - he invited you into the back seat. 

Stomach jumping into your throat, you looked back at the car and all you could hear was your own heartbeat in your ears. Matthew stepped away from you, the hand that was up your dress, reaching for the door handle and drawing it open. He stood there, his body draped over the door, watching you with soft eyes, and s stupid crooked smile as he waited to see if you would accept.

You should have hesitated - or panicked - but you didn’t. You didn’t even look back at the front door to see if anyone was watching before you rounded the back of the car and climbed into the back seat. 

It was cramped, your head almost hitting the hood as you climbed in, and you quickly realized that there would be no sprawling out in the back seat of his car - and especially not as Matthew climbed in after you. He made his body small, sitting in the seat to close the door with a soft thud before he was stretching out over you. The light above you both slowly dimmed, and he smiled a smile that was all to telling. 

This was something Matthew had daydreamed about for a long time. You could see it in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft as they took in every little detail, and his touch lingering on the back of your knee as he propped one leg on the headrest before sliding down the back of your thigh. It rested there once he got you positioned just right, your head resting against the car door, your back on the seat and your legs spread with him between them. Matthew kneaded the soft flesh of your thigh slowly as he leaned in to kiss at the skin of your neck. 

You had half the mind to tease him when you felt the beginnings of a hickey on your neck, but every time you thought you had found what witty words you wanted to say, he was doing something that left you breathless. 

Matthew’s teeth would grave over sensitive skin. 

Heavy breath. 

His tongue tasted the angle of your caller bone. 

You trembled.

His finger coasted over your panties, dipping lower and lower until his fingers were between your legs. 

You couldn’t breathe, your lungs burning for air that you couldn’t bring yourself to take as his thick fingers hooked onto one side of your panties and pulled them to the side. His knuckles dragged over your wet cunt, coating them in your arousal, and he didn’t say a word. There was not a single attempt to be sexy, or some disgusting comment about how wet you were. Instead, there was only the sound of his breath hitches as he let his fingers slide into the eagerness that was your core. 

With your head spinning, your back arched off the seat to angle your hips down, taking his fingers deeper into your core until he was knuckle deep. And when he pumped his fingers in and out of you in uneven thrusts, you thought you might have completely lost your head. Not once in your life had you imagined this happening, nevermind it feeling so good. 

Yet, you wanted more than an adolescent finger fuck in the back seat of his car. 

Both of your palms found the strength of Matthew’s chest, pushing him back carefully. They remained there as he sat down in his seat and you contorted and scrambled to straddle his lap. Your panties still pushed aside, you reached down and unbuckled his belt. His eyes went wide, as if the magnitude of what was about to happen hit him. His hands met yours, as if them bumping into one another and fumbling made freeing his cock come any faster. With the button of his pants undone, you grasped each of his hands and directed them up to rest on each of your hips. 

“Relax,” you smiled, leaning in slightly, “let me.”

He smiled in return, his head nodding slowly as he watched you. 

Your hand left his once you knew he wouldn’t move them, and you let them drag down the strength of his chest slowly. You could feel every one of his muscles through the wrinkled fabric of his t-shirt and you hated that you let yourself indulge yourself in him so fully. As weird as it was to be so close to fucking your little sister’s ex-boyfriend, you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want to…You stroked your hands up and down the length of his chest, working your way lower and lower each time as you leaned in to kiss his neck. There, you heard him gasp in your ear as you let your hand glide down to his cock. You grasped it with one hand, awkwardly stroking at it as you were careful not to hit your head on the roof as you pushed a little higher on your knees to get the angle just right. 

You worked him slowly with your hand, each reaction making you all the more eager to take him between your legs. Yet you waited and watched as his head lulled back on his shoulders. Matthew's eyes shut slowly as his law slacked, and the beginnings of a groan slipped from his lips. That was when you carefully guided him to your core and eased your walls around him with the careful bend of your knees. 

Mentally coloring yourself for how much pain you would be in later, you rode him. Your hips rolling and you carefully bobbed up and down the length of his cock. Quickly, your leg muscles burned, your hand reaching out to the headrest on each side of them as you pushed through the discomfort and focused on the pleasure of his cock inside you. 

His feet pressed firm to the car floor, Matthew's hips raised to meet you. And each bump displaced his kiss as it traveled from your lips to your neck, then the tops of your breasts that threatened to spill over the flimsy fabric. If he had the time and the space. Matthew surely would fuck you right out of it. But now wouldn't be the time - not as you were left biting your tongue to fight back the moans you didn't want anyone to hear; not when one casual glance into his back seat would leave you both exposed if it wasn't for the fabric that flowed down over his lap. It concealed everything you wanted to see. His cock and how it parted your walls with such ease. How your arousal dripped down him, leaving his cock and balls glistening with the satisfaction of pleasuring you. The sight alone would have sent you over the edge right from the start. But it would be his sudden need for control that pushed you over the edge. 

Matthew wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist tightly, hugging your breast to his face as he took your weight and lay it back down over the seat. He struggled for a moment, trying to get the leverage and the position just right before he braced himself on both of your hips. Matthew plowed into you the best he could with the little space you had, the force of his body shifting your body inch by inch across the seat and sending your head into the car door. 

Reaching and up, you braced yourself against the door, your hips raising to meet his every thrust as he arched over you. Matthew's sweat drenched t-shirt hung heavily away from his body, and you could feel beads of sweat rain down you from the angles of his face. You tasted him as it fell onto your lips, your tongue licking it away as your eyes fell shut. You focused on the taste of him, the warmth of his body between your legs, and the pleasure of his cock inside you. It left your body hot and your toes curling in your shoes as each repetition brought you closer and closer… so close–

“Ah, fuck,” Matthew cursed, and your eyes shot wide open as his cock throbbed inside you as he came undone. His face was soft like melting butter as he eased back, his hand quickly dropping to his cock as he pulled from you. He stroked himself quickly, shooting ropes of his cum against the inner flesh of your thigh and the cushion of the seat. 

Selfish prick, was what you wanted to groan. Instead, your hand left the door and dropped between your spread legs. You found your clit with your fingers, rubbing in quick, messy circles that felt more like a figure eight, pushing yourself back towards the peak of your pleasure that Matthew had left you on the very edge of. Your breathing became shallow and hastened as it crashed over you like an ocean wave. Between your legs, your core clenched, and you could feel Mathew’s cum slip from you. It made your legs tremble, your feet struggling against the seat to give yourself the room to close them around your own hand, but Matthew was still between them, his softening cock in his hand and slaw jawed as he watched you writhe in his back seat. 

“Enjoy the show?” you breathed out to him, your finger pulling your damp panties back into place. 

“Sorry,” he spoke quickly, sounding like he was on the verge of stuttering. 

“Don’t be,” you shrugged, sitting up slowly and carefully to avoid getting cum on your dress, though you were sure some had already found its way there, “I get it.”

Matthew fixed his pants around his waist in silence after he wiped his hand clean on his boxers, and after a quick glance and a smile sent back towards you, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. He stretched when he was free from the confines of his back seat, a single hand pushing his hair back out of his face before he offered it to you to help you out of the car. 

“Are you coming in?” Matthew asked you, not even breathless, as he slicked his hair back with the simple motion of one of his hands.

Fucking athletes. They always made you feel out of shape. 

“I need a minute,” you sighed, feeling very much your age. You could feel the ache of sex everywhere in your body. From your fingers to your toes, you felt the epitome of relaxed and tense at the same time–though, part of it could have just been in your head as it raced trying to remember the last time you had sex in the backseat of a car, and when or if your body had ever contorted like that before. 

“Do you need anything?” He’s polite enough to ask, but it makes you want to hit him. Instead, you wave him off with the simple wave of a tired hand. Matthew smiled, “find me later,” then, he was gone, lost beyond the front door of his house to continue his night as a good host. 

You remained in the driveway, your tired body leaning up against the hood of his car. There was a chill in the night air that left the beads of sweat on your skin, feeling like cold raindrops. You shivered, suddenly wishing you had a sweatshirt to pull over your dress. But you quickly had the next best thing, the arm of your friend draping over your shoulder as she leaned back against the car beside you. 

She hugged you tight with that single arm before it slipped away from you to delve her hand into her pocket. When she pulled it out, she had a lighter and joint in hand. How it hadn't been crushed during the hug or during her flirtations over the course of the night was beyond you, but you were relieved. As you were slowly coming down from the high of your climax, your mind racing with the thoughts of what you had just done. It both excited you, and left you feeling nauseous. Smoking a joint with your friend seemed like the perfect solution.

You watched as the tip of the joint glowed red as she took a long drag. When she finished taking another, the smoke leaving her mouth in wisps that were caught by the night breeze; she handed it to you. You took a long drag; the smoke suffocating your lungs and only did you exhale when the burning reaching your ears and the smoke left your lips in a harsh cough. But that didn’t stop you from going in for a second drag before you were handing it back to your friend. 

“I’m bringing Joseph back home with me tonight,” she told you, your fingers barely grazing as she took the joint from you. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, go crazy,” you encouraged as you leaned back against the hood of the car. You took deep and steady breath, the daze of the high already beginning to fog your brain. You smiled as your tight muscles relaxed, a satisfied hum leaving your lips that was maybe a little too loud. 

“Careful,” your friend cautioned, a sense of urgency in her tone, “you know how men get with their cars.”

Your shoulder shrugged carelessly. “I don’t think he’ll mind. I already ruined his back seat.”

Gasping, she lay out on her stomach, her limbs hanging over the hood of the car awkwardly as she gazed in through the windshield. When she gasped, she shot upright, her hand reaching out to hit you playfully as she exclaimed, “you slut!” It was said with great love and endearment. You both laughed.

TAGLIST: @mp0625 , @starshine-hockey-girl , @wingedwheelprxncess , @kurlyteuvo , @couldawouldashoulda50

[missmonsters2]

Heya, i was wondering if i could ask a question about Under the light/you found me?

I'm assuming after under the light yn started her physio again and got better since it seemed she didn't have a limp. But I was wondering if it left any permanent scars? As I was wondering after their first time having sex after the break, wanda might have asked about it while they were in bed? Or when yn was undressed at some point had her back to wanda, she noticed the scars and delicately touched them?

I'd like to think she def had yns body memorised so seeing all the new marks made her want to etch them into her mind. But she also felt guilty, not being there in her time of need (even tho yn didn't want her to see anyway).

So yeah I was just curious whether wanda talked or focused her touch of them after she made love to yn?

Under the Light || You Found Me

Hiii!! This is a mix between explaning and partially written behind the scenes!!

Yes, Reader finished her weekly physio in california and keeps up with her regular stretches and exercises to prevent her legs from getting bad. She still goes to physio monthly.

As for scars, there are definitely some on her legs. Particularly, there's one that starts mid-calf and goes up her thigh to her hip. It's completely healed over but the the scar healed as whatever lighter skin-tonned raised bump.

Reader typically never feels self-conscious about it, but the way Wanda gazes upon her skin, her fingers tracing over the scar can make Reader feel slightly uncomfortable in an insecure way.

"I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours." Is all Wanda ever says when she notices you're uncomfortable.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

They've talked about it a few times late at night when the world is sleeping but they're just basking in each other's presence in bed. The sheets rest just below their shoulders.

"I don't know," you say quietly. "I don't hate the scars, per se. I don't love them either. They're a reminder that I survived." The implied words that your best friend didn't hung in the silence.

Wanda nods because she feels the same way. "I understand. I feel the same way. Not because I think they're gruesome or anything. I love them because they are a reminder you survived and I'm so, so thankful. But they're also a reminder that I was a bad girlfriend—that I was a coward and neglected to notice."

You brush a stray strand of hair behind Wanda's ear.

"I think the way you look and touch them every day has more than made up for it."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There are times when you are in a mood, one that can't quite be explained.

It's your own fault really. Sometimes you neglect your daily streches and miss your monthly physio appointments.

Your legs hurt and you're cranky, and you just don't want Wanda to know.

"Why do you insist on hiding it from me?" Wanda scowls at you.

"Why are you always in my business?" you scowl at her back.

Wanda doesn't engage further, knowing that it'll only lead down to a horrid fight with you that ends up with the two of you feeling guilty.

"Lay down on the couch," Wanda jerks her head towards the couch and walks off to grab some icy-hot lotion.

"It's fin—"

"JUST LAY DOWN!" Wanda yells from the kitchen and you purse your lips before doing as she says.

"Just lay down," you mockingly whisper to yourself as you lay on your stomach.

Wanda comes with the lotion and hovers of you. She debates taking off your shorts but decides to leave it be since they're short enough.

Once Wanda's hands start working in slow motions, massaging your calf and slowly making her way up, and the lotion slowly warming up your muslces, you relax.

It's only about 10 minutes into the massage that you turn your head and watch Wanda's focused face but her eyes filled with concern and love that guilt wracks you.

"Sorry," you mumble. "Thank you."

Wanda eyes merely moves to look at you while she continues working. She looks back at your legs, her eyes trailing the long rasied scar. "I love you. You're beautiful. You're mine and I'm yours."

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

SUCROSE

Sugar Daddy!Older!König x Organic Chemist!Civ!FReader [NSFW, 4.3k]

You're an organic chemist that sugar babies for a laugh, because your days are dull and long. König is an old, battered soldier of fortune that has been sugaring you with an intensity bordering on religion. Neither of you are going to say the quiet part out loud.

CW: unprotected vaginal sex, doggy style, descriptions of nuclear annihilation, descriptions of the opioid crisis, criminally emotionally constipated adults. Barely edited.

König’s place is Spartan. Most things about him are. But he tells you to do whatever you want, you've got his black card if you want anything, and you raise a brow in question.

“Anything, huh?”

He gives you a dry look. “Anything. Literally, I do not give a shit.”

Almost sounds like a dare.

You don't make yourself too-too at home. This thing is still new—the arrangement, the dynamic, the thrill. You know better that it could burn out at any second and leave you all the way hanging. Not a worry, because you are in charge of yourself, and this is only for fun. 

You've been too abrasive for too long to have faith in the idea that others will look out for you. That's always been your duty to yourself. It's sacred. It's safety. 

But he breathes you deep, wanting you in a way that feels like need. 

He likes it when you just come over to his place, because you don't invite him to yours. He likes it when you don't wear anything fancy in particular. He likes it when you put on his boxers and his t-shirt and crash on the bed with him. 

“Bad work day?” he asks, gaiter pulled up over his nose, hiding his face while some bullshit plays on the TV and his fingers rub tenderly behind your ear. 

“Hm.” It's a huff of a laugh. You stay resting on his chest. Your fingertips have only just slipped under the waistband of his sweats, resting on the small paunch at the bottom of his belly. “Didn't want you getting too comfortable alone.”

“Never been,” he laughs in return, a low and rough haa. “The sentiment is appreciated.”

You feel bad for trying to make the joke. You've never been comfortable alone, either. “It's just something you learn to live around,” you further, hoping like hell he understands, because you lack the words otherwise. 

“Yeah,” he hums, his arm tightening where it wraps around you, because he does. “Yeah.”

There are the quiet nights like those, when he just likes having you pulled tight to his body, running your hand over his stomach, ignoring the litany of scars—surgical, and violent, and otherwise—marring his hide. 

Then there are nights where he's a nightmare, and it is a riot to play with him. 

+

There's no preamble, only action. He sends you money for dinner, and the moment you're done, you're asked over to his place. 

“Do you want me to pick anything up for you? To eat,” you clarify, standing on the curb outside of the first restaurant he ever took you to—it's become a regular in your rotation. You're still in your work clothes. You don't even feel particularly human, just functional. 

Fuck's sake, you didn't even expect him to call tonight. 

“No,” he says, his voice tense, even on the phone, “just you. Now.”

You're barely able to knock on the door before he's snapping it open, gaiter pulled up, wearing Dickies and a fleece. 

“You g—?” You don't even get to finish asking, body in flight.

You yelp in surprise as he snatches an arm around your waist, the other sliding up your sensible, frumpy skirt, curling under your thigh. 

He picks you up like you weigh nothing, and your stomach flips at the bizarre, alien sensation. You've never been small. Delicate. Petite—what a vile word, an ideal adored by many, one that you've never embodied, and never could. There is no amount of plastic surgery or product that will ever make you desirably little. A stupid and furious bead burns down into your sternum, one that turns its face from all the boys and men that moaned for you, buried balls-deep in your tight cunt, only to spin a tight 180° and bitch that they wanted a woman they could toss around, manhandle, feel powerful for moving. 

They would fuck you, and want you, but only at the demand of curiosity, lust, novelty. Who would claim you. Who would ache for you. 

König pulls you onto his hip, gripping your ass cheek tight in one hand, and carries you to the bed.

“On all fours,” he growls, turning and swallowing hard, fishing out his wallet, and as an afterthought catches up with him, he adds, “please.”

Your heart is racing from the way he'd bodily executed his decision with you. Your brain is shocked into a standby state, working on intuition and instinct. You arrange yourself on hands and knees, ass up in the air, and pull your panties down, hobbling your knees. At least those kinda cute, and you have the thigh high hose on, sheer and black with lines down the back. 

You thank every fucking deity you know that you hadn't done your laundry and had clean long-johns to wear under baggy jeans today. 

He drops things in front of your face. Papers.

“What,” you grunt, not a question, a complete incomprehension. 

“Read those.” As if that wasn't clear. He hooks his hands under your hips, making you grab for the papers when he drags you to the edge of the bed. There's popping and a grunt as he gets on his knees behind you, and you barely tighten up your throat enough to catch the bark that wants to escape. 

“Fuck—don't!” you snap, frenzied, but he licks a hot, wet stripe from your clit to your asshole, about ready to bury his face. 

His fingers keep your ass spread open and they tense with frustration when he snipes back, “Vas? What the fuck could you—”

“Just fuck me, I'm already good.” You hear another sound of frustration out of him, something that feels like don't be dumb, since you both know exactly how fucking big his cock is, even for your well-played cunt. “You already got me going,” you hiss, shifting your hips, hating that you feel you have to admit this at all, “you—when you picked me up. That did enough. Just—it's time to fuck.”

His hands relax, sliding to push your ugly skirt up over your hips. “Just from picking you up?” he asks, as if that should be impossible. 

“Yes, just from picking me up,” you shoot back, this close to hiding your face in your arms. “I don’t get picked up. I don’t get—moved. Whatever. It was new. That doesn’t happen to me, unless you’ve somehow missed how I’m fucking built.”

All the air goes out of the room as you pull the admission like pulling your own teeth. A crack in the careful facade. A hairline fracture. You are not perfectly unflappable. You are not wholly without insecurity. You are as weak and human as everyone else. 

What a strange, ugly feeling to allow passage through your chest; a slow, inky swimmer swooping around your lungs and stomach, turning everything it touches to ice. You’re supposed to be untouchable, aren’t you? You’ve gone years without that odd, festering jealousy rearing its head. You’re not sure why it does so now.

König just taps the papers again, his breathing strained and heavy, bending to kiss your neck, just below the spot behind your ear that makes your skin snap with static electricity. “Let me eat your pussy while you read those. Don’t like condoms. Don’t want to use them anymore,” he grunts, the teeth he presses into your neck making you realize that he’s pulled down his gaiter.

It’s a weird enough request that it resets your brain. It allows you to read, your head fogged with discordant lust and curiosity as he sinks back behind you, bathing your pussy in heavy, slow attention with his split tongue teasing your clit.

It’s paperwork. A clean result from a recent STI test, and the discharge paperwork from a vasectomy. For your high-geared mind, it has taken an embarrassingly long time to click. He doesn’t like condoms, and doesn’t want to use them. The papers are assurances to you. He’s clean. He won’t get you pregnant.

In the five percent of your brain that is not being used to process the complete annihilation of your soaked pussy with pleasure, there’s a floor-rolling bout of hysterical, giddy laughter that has taken up residence, darting through the fine links of your firing neurons. 

This is a romantic gesture. He is a frightening, stone-faced man, who is twin to you in strangeness, and this is outpouring of bizarre softness and startling understanding. Is there anyone else in the world that has fucked you, let alone exists, that would know the way you find comfort and security in medical results and discharge papers on official letterheads?

If there is, you’ve never met them, and you don’t think you will.

Between his moves—a filthy, slurping plunge into your cunt, figure eights around your swollen and throbbing clit with the halves of his tongue, and almost delicate, sucking kisses that puff your labia—you still find the energy and wherewithal to bust his balls, even as he’s making you so wet that it slicks your thighs, “Alright. So, how do you know I’m clean?” It is a sentence you can barely manage as your body shakes.

There comes a laugh, rumbling and serrated, as he nips your shaking thigh with his teeth, paired with a familiar clap on the ass like you’re a breeding mare prized not for progeny but sentiment and a fondness for your rotten, crank attitude. “You’re mean as a fucking snake, Schatzi, but I know you’re not mean enough to let me tongue-fuck you if you had something.”

You maybe should not laugh at such a succinct round-up of one of your most defining character flaws, but you are, and you grin sharply looking back over your shoulder at him as he rises. His hands—huge, warm, coarse, careful—slide over your hips to savor your shape.

“Further up the bed,” he coaches you, leaning forward just long enough to press a heavy kiss to your mouth, pushing his tongue past your lips so you can taste yourself mixed with his natural metallic tang. 

One of your hands comes to his jaw, pulling him back in when he tries to move away, for just one selfish moment more, swirling your tongues together, needful of his heat and his closeness and the feeling of your noses crushes together as clumsy as college freshmen set loose in a wide, free world.

“You don’t do fuck-all in half-measures,” you mutter, hand finally sliding away, your lids clicking open crisp. You love seeing the scars mutilating his mouth, the way that flush brightens the coppery tint of his skin. The silver in his hair seems brighter, and the gold of the wheat-colored strands giving the silver a home seems deeper, more molten. 

He is a beautiful man. He is a beautiful, beautiful man, and the look he gives you reads weakness.

What a rotten old soldier. What a battered old war dog. 

You don’t want to think about what it means if the weakness isn’t a figment of your imagination. If it is symptomatic of a larger trend; an oncoming crisis, a trend that sweeps and fells and swallows up entire communities, with a bent toward becoming endemic to the local culture, and almost impossible to kill forever after.

+

The opioid epidemic has always come in greater, and greater waves. 

The first in the nineties, off natural and semi-synthetic painkillers, a slow swell beginning with easier manufacturing, laxer laws, and gargantuan pharmaceutical conglomerates pushing-pushing-pushing the easy writing of prescriptions on countless doctors. Generational seeds buried in families, in communities—germinating at inhuman rates, weaving addiction into the DNA.

The second came with the second decade of the new millenia. A resurgence in heroin, when the world began to come down on doctors with fat Rx pads and quick-writing fingers. When you cannot find a fix legally, you will find it illegally, and it comes at much higher a cost. 

There were always more waves, and different ones, and quieter ones. There were always synthesizers, cookers, designers, manufacturers—legal and illegal alike. 

Fent, roxie, percs, bars. Heroin, krokodil, bath salts, flakka. Uppers. Downers. Barbiturates, benzos, phenobarbital. 

It all ties into dopamine, and the ancient, pointlessly leftover biological mechanic of addiction. The sizzling, bumpers-and-bells-and-bright-lights screech of a reward center well-fed. 

König is a beast of a man, and his brain is brutally hardwired for addiction. He's an alcoholic in on-off recovery, he's a medical req amphetamine junkie. He no longer chases adrenaline like most men chase tail, but he sprints after it in his tense, jerking dreams. 

He's just a dog, with wet sad eyes, and his heart chases after trucks that will never see him around blind turns. His surety that the next roaring beast coming around the switchback bend will finally love him back is the thing that is going to kill him. 

+

König can't spell for shit, and his grammar is a barely functional mess of punctuation and weird spacing, but he has a terrifying mind for numbers and nuclear engineering. He's told you before that it takes 10^-20 seconds for an atom to split to kickoff nuclear fission, the process that powers atomic bombs.

You're a doctor, and it didn't at all feel stupid to ask, “Fuck. How can you even comprehend how fast that is?”

You walked side-by-side with him in winter coats. He shrugged at the time, and said, “Hm. Alright, you're at the market. You're looking at apples, or arugula, or fish, or whatever the fuck. We don't know who hit the button, but the missile carrying the warhead is going twenty-four thousand K-P-H. Fifteen thousand miles per hour. You're in Berlin. As soon as the launch is registered, everyone starts launching.”

He stepped closer, elbow bumping yours. When he registered your hard swallow, he slid his arm around your neck and pulled you into his side. 

“So the bombs are launched,” you prompted him, tucked into his side. “When do I die?”

“You died ten minutes before World War III ended,” he hummed, pressing his nose into the spot before your ear, brushing his gaiter-covered lips over your cheek and ear lobe, “you were turned into pure carbon staining the ground, and you never knew there was a bomb.”

10^-20 seconds for the bomb to perfectly obliterate any and all existence of your entire life. Annihilation so utter, there would be no DNA leftover. 

Bombs, destruction, drugs, addiction.

Control. Control. Control.

König will never know that you passed through the eye of the needle in close to the same fucking unfathomable shard of a second, fighting tooth and nail to choose between launching off the bed, denying his low-simmering feelings, and black listing his entire existence in your memory—versus embracing the insane, helpless plummet, releasing your death grip on the demand of understanding and autopsy of everything unknown. 

Your hand loosens on that chain.

+

“Yeah, fuck it. Fuck me,” you say, recovering from the staggering out of body experience. 

He leaves you ass-up in the cold of his apartment, windows open, and returns with his laptop and his black card, throwing them down in front of you. His hands clap your skin as they land on your hips, anchoring him as he pulls himself into place behind you, stroking his cock needlessly because it can't possibly get any harder or fatter.

“Buy whatever you fucking want. You've got ten grand. You don't spend it, you don't cum,” he grunts in a hoarse voice, and that's every bit of warning you get before he plunges his cock in your soaked, swollen pussy, bucking and grunting as you spasm around him and try to scurry away out of instinct. His hips slam against your ass, hands dragging you back against him, and you feel and hear the noise ripping in his throat like the gut-growl start of a chainsaw.

There’s a wolverine in your throat—something, perhaps, that fought hard, and died even harder than that in another life—and it does not take kindly to being bossed, bucked, bitched. It bares its fangs through your mouth, goading you to turn your head, to catch König’s eyes and lock onto them like you’ve caught him in unkind crosshairs. 

“Do I still get to cum if I just make one big, fat buy?” you ask hoarsely, the silver of your teeth flashing between your lips like a threat, eyes wild and too-bright. “Maybe I buy you a decent fucking couch? A good dining table?”

That mauled mouth of his curls into a smirk, and his hand skates up your back—turning threat and  tenderness into a single entity—gripping the back of your neck firmly, but not cruelly, as he redirects you to the screen. 

“You could. Of course, you fucking could. I’m not a liar. But.” He bends low, snapping a sharp and sweet love bite against the skin of your neck, in a spot that your collars will barely hide. “That would be fucking boring. I don’t think you’re boring.”

The tone begs you to tell him he’s wrong in a challenge.

You laugh, backed into a clever corner, gripping the sides of the laptop, dragging it closer as he starts a slow, rolling rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of you. Just taking his sweet time, warming you up all over again, getting those stiff hips of his to unlock, too—more used to marching and storming, now, than fucking.

You start by faking him out as he stretches your wet, throbbing pussy with his grappling-to-relax rhythm, pulling up a Tiffany Co. hardware necklace selling for $4,100.00. Its greatest sins are that it is not only ugly, but, far worse, it is boring. 

“Schatzi,” he growls, fingers tightening on your hips, and, good fuck, it makes you laugh. That earns you the slam of his hips flush to your ass, stealing the air from your lungs, and his huge hand tightens in the back of your hair, bringing your eyes back up as your head swims and your stomach jumps.

“Got the hint,” you wheeze, clicking off the tab, trying to focus on anything but the size of him inside you, pounding you like a brutal metronome. His breathing is tight, and every stroke of his cock sails him straight across your g-spot. Makes your brain shimmer like the bath bombs and body lava you load your carts with. Makes your guts feel filled with poured platinum, same shade and shine as the teal sapphire pendant earrings you purchase.

The orgasm builds in your lower belly—a broiling heat, a ten-ton tightness, driving your pelvis down with its demanding weight—and König stays steady fucking you, relentless with his perfect, unerring rhythm. Somehow that makes it so much more difficult to withstand. 

The first time you had fucked, he had lasted so long you thought he wasn’t going to fucking cum at all, but, no. He was just beastly in bed, sweat pouring down his temples and chest, eyes smirking over his mask until you ripped the fucking thing down and kissed him. He’d tasted, wonderfully, of your pussy and pleasure.

The stamina of a maniac, and the patience he professes that his younger self could’ve never maintained.

At $8,370, your focus gives, and you almost collapse, elbows sliding out from under you. You bury your head in the blankets beneath you, smelling his cologne and the faint odor of his sleep sweat, and it turns your stomach into a cyclone. You’re kissing the razor’s edge of finishing, so close you feel it flooding your blood like the skull-crack cold of a fresh IV line of saline on a hot, sick stomach.

All at once, he stops, one hand heavy-spread across your lower back, the other tight around the shape of your hip.

“H-huh, f—fuck,” you moan, pathetic and brainless.

“You done?” he asks, breathing hard. He grunts like the grit of a stone mill when you nod your head, then shake it, body too confused to settle on an answer. “Think about it. You’re almost there. Tell me how much you have left to spend.”

You turn your head in the blankets, taking a sideways glance at the screen. It’s hard to tell. His hand slips lower, between your legs, cupping your pussy and applying pressure, though he doesn’t play with you. 

Simple math. You’re a doctor. This should not be difficult. But Sisyphus would have an easier time pushing his damned boulder up his hill than you are with basic subtraction.

“One—one-six-three-nil.”

“Mm. Mhm. Sixteen hundred. I’m almost done, want you to cum, too. Get creative.” His voice is hoarse, tight with restraint, and even in your stupor, you can tell he’s struggling as much as you are.

With a sluggish nod, painfully conscious of his cock sitting heavy and throbbing in your cunt, you pull yourself up on one shoulder, slumping as close to the laptop as you can manage. The next page you go to belongs to his bank, and his fingers knead into the small of your back as you one-handed type his account information (the gift of an obscene amount of trust, or the hallmark insanity of a man who simply does not have a spare fuck to give).

Takes ten seconds to transfer a solid two grand into your checking account, and König doesn’t even chuckle. 

He fucking moans. A weak, broken-legged sound that shakes his entire body so thoroughly it rings through yours like church bells.

His grip tightens, and he muscles you onto your back like an afterthought. Slops your legs back open and drops all his weight on top of you, burying his face against yours as he fucks right back into you. He’s done dicking around (you would laugh at the stupidity of your own thoughts, had your brain stem not been atomized by this exact man), hitting a nightmare rhythm of thrusting and grinding that rubs your clit, and just tosses what’s left of your mind in the damned incinerator.

The build is so fast and reckless—a nigh-on lethal vent of pressure that leaves you half-blind and shaking, finally allowed to sprint after what felt like a lifetime of restraint—that you’ve already started to cum, and your mind is only just now catching up with your body. König’s breath is furnace-hot, rolling over your skin like the lungs of a bellows press, your cunt spasming and clenching his throbbing cock wildly. 

When the world finally takes back control of your facilities—putting a fading, slow halt to your paint smear perception of reality—König is crushing you with his weight. His hands grip at the underside of your thighs, and he breathes into the hair behind your ear. “Will move, soon,” he assures you, but you shake your head. 

“Stay put. Your weight feels good,” you respond, chest beautifully crushing under his body, and it calms your heart with the comfort of pressure. 

Lazily, and without much thought, you graph out chemical sequences across his back. Prolactin, dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins, serotonin. All the good shit, overwhelming your blood stream.

+

You're the one to get up for water, calling him ‘old man’ in a snort that earns you a swat to the bare ass, and another gravel-grit laugh. He looks grateful for it all the same—that small measure of care and familiarity. 

Dog, dog, dog, your mind chants. He's just an old dog aching for a fleece bed and a kind hand. The stone in your stomach sinks heavier, and you turn your thoughts away from it. 

When you return, you collapse in the bed beside him after handing over the glass. He's propped himself against the headboard, legs splayed wide and lazy, the heaving of his chest from exertion shallowed by rest. His profile is harsh in the unfiltered light of his side table lamp, and the cold air blowing in through the cracked windows is a relief on your friction-chafed skin.

His skin is gold in this light, like his lightning-streaked hair. His form is sleek and powerful, even in repose. The bulk of him eats up half of the king-sized bed, dressed in barebones linens, and you think of tragedies. How perfectly-built demigods always came with a fatal flaw that became their death, and how nature couldn't figure out a way to give stronger hearts to massive creatures. 

Their bodies simply demanded too much fuel to keep alive for too long. They are powerful, undeniable, and gone so very quickly.

But looking at König, maybe god is too magnificent a term for him. You know he'd despise it. Bomb is a better fit. 

Yeah, no. That is the better fit. The type of man he is? One with his nature? He'd be dead before he even realized he'd detonated. And he'd kill as many people as he could with the blast radius. 

“You ever think about going back to school?” you ask in a fucked-out rasp, as your lips cut into a lopsided half-smile, and he laughs, smirking.

“I fuck you stupid, or…?” he teases, his teeth glinting in the light of the room, eyes pale and calm like cold water.

‘No,’ is the real answer, and it continues, ‘I have only just discovered the fear that comes after realization, and I have let myself pass through the keyhole to the other side. I have never seen this place, one where there is enough room for another person besides myself, and it frightens me. It could be filled, and it could be emptied, and I know that I do not have the resilience to live with that void.’

“Shit. I think you did,” is what you snort instead, pulling the sheets up over your hips. “I'm going to doze for a little while. Then, I'll call an Uber home.”

König says nothing, making an unsure noise of thought in his throat, but you know he won't pursue his offer, because you will turn it down, and he is fragile when it comes to rejection. 

Coward that you are, you allow the invitation to spend the night die in his chest, cemented by him leaving the bed shortly after to shower.

You are not ready to admit to even yourself that there is room for him. What else is there to do but run from it?