#spent mine. sleeping for like 15 hours. (:

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[byanyan]

byan, hands wrapped around the throat of a fellow student who referred to them as yeong-hwan: what do you mean I have a temper problem, I'm totally chill

[geekwiththeglasses]

...

[ladyylesbian]

Sorority Rules (18+)

Pairing: top!wandanat x bottom!fem!reader

Summary: ‘New Year, New Me’ can start in September...right?

Warnings: MINORS DNI! Pet names, mommy kink, daddy kink, reader has a name? (Honestly idk anymore, tell me if I missed something?)

Word Count: 11.2k

A/N: This really was just me proving something to myself, but I hope you enjoy it all the same :) Continuation of this story is on AO3

you do not have permission to translate/repost my works anywhere! all mistakes are mine and mine alone. likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcome & appreciated <3

Freshman year left you beat down on the floor. You had been roomed with a girl named Hela. The two of you had hit it off instantly. In fact, you spent so much time together that everyone would know if they found one of you, then they could find the other nearby, definitely helped that you somehow had the exact same class schedule. By the end of the first semester, Hela asked you out and one week later, she asked you to be her girlfriend. 

What was the happiest month turned dark and lonely. Hela spent more and more of her time focused on her sorority since being officially accepted. She had set completely insane restraints on you. You had to text her every hour whenever you were apart, it didn’t matter that she wouldn’t acknowledge your messages. She even would rarely show up at the dorm room to sleep, claiming that the sorority house was where she needed to be, but demanded a picture of you in bed every night. 

You had long since given up expecting to see her anywhere but during classes, however, when she sat down with the other girls in her sorority looking you right in the eyes as she did, you finally broke. That was your time together and she was so obviously picking them.

That only snowballed into her eating lunch in the quad with them too. She took you to a few sorority parties and introduced you to her ‘favorite person’ and sorority big sister, Carol. The two were attached at the hip which quickly left you to nurse a drink off in the corner. 

You didn’t have the backbone to say anything, blindly hoping she would realize how much she missed you and run back.

It wasn’t until right before the end of year finals that Hela had stayed back in the dorm room once again. The two of you would study nonstop and laugh and joke. Everything you had spent months wishing for was happening. The girl you liked was back.

After finishing your last final before Summer break, you waited for her in the hallway. Less than 15 minutes later she pushed open the classroom door and stepped out. You locked eyes and she rushed up and gave you a hug. “Thank you so much, Madelyn. I really could not have passed these finals without you.”

Smiling warmly at the raven haired girl, “Always. It’s you and me all the time. I couldn’t show up to sophomore year without you next to me.”

Her eyes fell downwards before slowly reaching yours again. “About that, Madelyn, I think we should end things. You are just in such a different place than me and I am changing my major, so we won’t be in the same classes anyways. Not to mention, you can really blow up my phone and I am just not into that. But thank you so much for the help this year.” You can’t help but stare at her wide eyed, blinking repeatedly as you try to process her words. She pats your cheek before turning around and walking down the hall “Have a good summer!”

The only thought running thought your mind is ‘what the fuck.”

-

You cannot believe this day is finally here, sophomore year of college. After a thoroughly disastrous freshman year, you are determined to completely turn your life around. A new roommate, new classes, if you can be picky, then hopefully a solid friend group will be thrown in there too. 

It was still a few days before the actual first day of classes, but you wanted to get into your new dorm and settle in. There were quite a lot of other students with the same idea, all unpacking their parents cars that were stuffed full. You quickly paid the taxi driver and hopped out the back seat. He opened the trunk and lifted your suitcase onto the road. 

Dragging your bag up the sidewalk and settling in the line waiting for the booth to find your new dorm room and collect the room key. You look around, wondering if your new roommate is in this same crowd, thinking if her parents are holding back tears as they hug her goodbye. 

Thankfully, before you can stumble too far down that path, you reach the front of the line. “Name and year?” 

“Oh, uh, Madelyn Andrews. Sophomore.” She flips through the pages and finds your name with ease. Looking down into her organized box of keys, she picks up on set, “Room 616.”

With a soft smile, you accept the key and head towards the sophomore dorms.

Thankfully, there’s an elevator in all the dorm buildings once you’re no longer a freshman. You always joked that it was the university’s way of hazing the entire freshman class. 

The slow elevator had you wondering if you could have walked the stairs and ended up there faster, but eventually, opened onto the sixth floor. You held your breath as you walked up to your door. 

Pressing your ear against the wooden surface and straining to try and hear any movement. It sounded completely empty inside. With a quick ‘thank you’ to the skies above, you push the key into the lock and turn, opening the door. 

Unsurprisingly, it is the same layout as your freshman year dorm, not that you were superstitious, but in the spirit of completely turning your life around you opted for the bed on the right this time.

It didn’t take more than an hour for you to put away your clothes and set up the small mementos of your friends from back home. Walking back over to your suitcase, you pull out a small blanket that barely is long enough to cover your legs and hide it under your pillow. 

Laying on your new bed and scrolling your university’s Instagram page, trying to find something to do that can pass the time. That’s when you see there is an early bird trivia event being hosted at the student center in ten minutes. 

Taking a second to think, you come to the conclusion that this is the perfect chance to meet new people. Reinvent yourself as someone social, someone beyond only one friend turned girlfriend. 

Softly pushing yourself off the elevated bed, you walk over to the shared closet and pull out your favorite white crew neck in case the temperature drops after sunset. With an unbalanced turn, you spin around and pull on your black and gray checkered vans. Hopping over to the mirror to give yourself a fast once over then heading straight out the door.

It’s only a short walk to the student center from your dorm this year, which you’re thankful for, perfect for meeting new people. 

Remembering how heavy the student center door is, you pull hard on the handle. The universe must be laughing at you because that seemed to be the wrong choice. The usually heavy door was light this year and you have just thrown the door as wide as it would go, causing a decently loud sound. 

A few students near the door look at you, but thankfully the other students further into the building haven’t seemed to notice a thing. Which is where the trivia is being held, so you awkwardly walk through the doors and inside.

“Hello, welcome to early bird trivia: musicals. Are you joining a team or registering a new one?” states a wide eyed brunette woman. 

“Oh, I didn’t know we had to have a team..” you begin to look around for anyone you might vaguely recognize. “Not a worry, dear. We have another girl looking for a team too. You two can partner up.” She starts to wave over a blonde, who’s smiling bigger than you would think possible.

She continues, “This is..” she pauses waiting for you. “Madelyn.” 

“And she needs a team as well. So, what will the team name be?”

Before you even have a moment to think of something clever, the blonde speaks up, “Mac n Cheese Lovers.” You cannot help but snort at her abruptness. The brunette hands you a paper and pencil to write down your answers on, “Good luck ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers.”

Following the blonde over to a table near the smoothie bar along the left wall, as she sits down she introduces herself, “Hey. My name is Yelena. I hope you like Mac n Cheese or this team name will be super awkward,” she snickers.

You shake your head slightly, “The name is perfectly fitting. I’m a huge fan,” you laugh, “My name is Madelyn. It’s nice to meet you. So what year are you in?”

“Sophomore,” the blonde replies, “How about you?”

“Same, sophomore.” The two of you continue with small talk for a couple minutes until you hear the game host start speaking. He gives a quick introduction of his name and lets everyone know he’s the student activity director, so he plans all university approved events. Which leads him to a quick warning that means no drinking or drugs at these events since he’s required to report them to the Dean. Then, he gets into the trivia rules.

Once he finishes, Yelena leans over to you, “We have to win. Or at least beat my annoying sister and her girlfriend.” 

You raise your eyebrow at the woman, “If you knew people, how come you didn’t team up with them?”

She waves off your question before pointing them out, “See those two redheads? That’s them. They are insufferable at any sort of competition. We need to show them up and win, so I hope you’re a musical lover because I am most certainly not a musical theater major,” she chuckles as she finishes her sentence.

“They do look insufferable,” you agree with the blonde, “and lucky for you, while I am not a musical theater major, I am a lover of Broadway, so get ready to kick some ass.”

Yelena claps you on the back and laughs, “I like you, Madelyn. Let's do this.”

“Okay, everyone, first question. What musical movie has the song ‘It's the Hard-Knock Life’?”

You quickly write down ‘Annie’ on the paper next to the number one as he repeats the first question.

“Second question, the musical Hairspray is set in what American city?”

Once again, you write down ‘Baltimore’ immediately next to the number two as he repeats the question. 

And the process repeats itself all the way to the end. You, unsurprisingly, knew every answer, besides two. Thankfully Yelena seemed very confident in the answers, which led you to learning that while she was not an overall musical lover, she was obsessed with ‘SIX’, claiming ‘they all should have just murdered that idiotic king’. 

By the end, you and Yelena are laughing together and being shushed by other teams around you trying to think. Yelena pays them no mind while she tries to watch and see if her sister and her girlfriend are guessing the answers correctly by the way she’s writing. You tried to tell her that would be impossible to know, but the blonde paid you as little mind as she did the surrounding teams. 

Finally, the host announces for everyone to settle down and starts going over the list of correct answers. Yelena is practically levitating off the seat with how excited she is. Your team got every question right. “Okay everyone, count up your total of correct answers.” He waits a few seconds before beginning again, “raise your hand if your team got more than five correct.”

Faster than lightning, Yelena's hand is in the air, yours follows quickly. “Raise your hand if your team got more than ten correct.” Three other teams' hands go down. “Raise your hand if your team got more than fifteen correct.” Another two teams’ hands lower. Leaving your team, two other teams, and Yelena’s sister’s team, much to the blonde’s annoyance. 

“Raise your hand if you got more than seventeen correct.” One team puts their hands down. “Raise your hand if you got more than eighteen correct.” The other team drops their hands. Making the final two teams, ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’ and ‘Traitors’, if you were to believe Yelena. 

“Looks like we have a tight race everyone, how exciting, keep your hands up if you got all twenty questions correct.” A moment of tense silence falls over the room, the redheads slowly lower their hands. A loud, piercing scream sounds off beside you, “Yes! Ha! I won! So much for ‘Yelena you don't know anything about musicals. Go find your own team’.” The blonde begins doing her victory dance as you laugh. She grabs your hand and motions for you to victory dance with her. And how could you say no when you are equally excited about the win.

“We have our winners, everyone congratulations to..” the host drags off his sentence.

“Mac n Cheese Lovers!” the two of you say while laughing and dancing together.

“Congratulations to ‘Mac n Cheese Lovers’. Thank you to everyone for coming out and starting off this year with a bang! I will see you at the next activity!” Slowly everyone staggers out of the student center and into the night as you’re exchanging Instagrams with Yelena and saying your goodbyes. 

Not even three steps away from the table, you hear someone speaking to Yelena, “Clearly, you didn’t win with your own lack of knowledge. So, what’s her name?” Not wanting to look back and have them know you’re listening, you keep walking as you hear Yelena reply “Madelyn. Why?”

Cursing yourself for not slowing down because now you’re too far away to keep trying to listen, you look over your shoulder right before walking out the doors. Locking eyes with two pairs of green eyes staring back at you.

-

Spending most of your days walking around campus and figuring out the quickest way to each of your classes, then finding a second route.., and a third route, just in case. Eventually making your way to the cafeteria since it’s the only food place open on campus until classes begin and sitting out in the quad people watching as more and more people arrive. You haven’t met up with the blonde, or the two mysterious redheads, you met at trivia since. However, you are often sending memes back and forth which you take as a small step towards your first new friend of the year. 

It’s officially one day until classes start and you still haven’t met your roommate. You have considered walking back to the welcome booth and asking if you even have a roommate since it’s extremely uncommon to not be moved into the dorms by this time. 

As much as most people would love to strike luck and get a free single, that is the absolute last thing you want. 

The universe finally seems to answer your silent worrying and wishing as you hear someone fumbling with the keys outside your door. Quickly, you hop from the bed and rush to open the door. Coming face to face with a dark haired brunette.

“Oh, good, you’re moved in already!” Taken aback by the woman’s words, your focus shifts between her and the large number of boxes next to her in the hallway.

“Do, uh, do you need help?”

“That’d be great. My name’s Kate. You’re Madelyn, right?”

A wave of shock hits you at hearing someone you’ve never met know your name. Seeing the look on your face causes Kate to laugh. She starts to shimmy inside and you hurriedly move to the side, so she can walk in easier. Once she’s in, you step out of the room and pick up one of the boxes. “It is, yeah. So, where do you want this?”

“You can just throw everything on the bed.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to move everything into the small dorm. Laughing as you both try to move around with the now limited floor space since Kate’s bed was quickly filled up with boxes. 

After an offer to help the brunette unpack her things, you figure out she is quite uncaring about her clothes, but she is very particular about her bow. You learn she joined the school archery team last year, but already stands to make captain for her second year. 

She tells you about how last year, on a dare, she hit the bell tower with an arrow. “So, you were the one who caused the crack in the bell tower?” Covering your mouth to try and hide your laugh. She looks at you with wide eyes, “I can’t confirm or deny which clock tower it was.”  

Which only causes you to lose all control and laugh wildly out loud. 

-

Successfully surviving the first four weeks of your second year in college, you get to celebrate at the first football game of the season. Thankfully, Kate is not into the sorority scene like your ex was, so you can go to the game together rather than alone.

With your back against your bed and your feet up the side of the wall, you’re waiting for Kate to get back from her archery practice. She made captain last week which led to you both sneaking out of the dorm at midnight and walking to the nearest pizzeria for a celebratory pizza. Your memory was promptly interrupted by the door slamming into the wall, “Shit. Sorry.”

Laughing at Kate’s mumbled apology to the girls next door who always complain about you two being unnecessarily loud. The brunette throws her sweaty t-shirt at your face which you quickly launch back at her as she softly shuts the door. 

“Hurry up and get ready, Bishop. The game starts in thirty minutes and you smell like a wet dog.”

“Your words are so sweet. Dipped in honey I would say,” Kate’s words laced with sarcasm as she playfully flips you off while kicking off her shoes. 

“Only in honey? You don’t get the soft rose petals or melted chocolate too?” Your words only earn you a deadpan stare from the archer. With a grunt, you push yourself off the wall and sit upright, “Don’t forget that tonight is a black out game, so you need to be in all black to show support.”

“Oh yes, I would hate not to show support. Unfortunately, all my black clothes are currently dirty-”

“I know, which is why I took the liberty of doing our laundry earlier today. Your outfit is laid out on the bed.” You say with a smile and move to make your fingers into the shape of a heart.

Kate can’t help but roll her eyes and laugh, “Of course, you did.” Walking up to her shower bag and picking it up, she heads to the door. “I will be back in no less than 10 minutes, Sargeant,” winking at you, knowing you hate the nickname, before quickly mumbling out, “and thank you for doing my laundry. You’re the best.” and walking out of the room.

Rushing a quick ‘You’re welcome’ out before the door shut. You begin getting dressed yourself, deciding on a black halter top and some black jean shorts with your black high-top converses. Throwing your hair up into a high ponytail, then pulling out your baby hairs so you don’t look like an egg.

True to her word, Kate walks back in 10 minutes later as you put headphones in and stare at the ceiling, you give your roommate privacy to get ready. 

Feeling your headphones ripped out of your ears causes you to face the archer as she smiles, “How do I look? Andrews approved?” Kate stands in front of you in black long sleeve cropped top and blacked ripped jeans.

Jokingly, you raise an eyebrow at her, faking a moment of contemplation before returning the smile, “You look hot. You will definitely grab whoever’s attention you want.”

“I don’t want anyone's attention, '' the brunette scoffs.  

“Sure you don’t and I don’t hope that my 7am professor is sick on Monday,” you retort.

“I don’t even think she is gonna be there,” Kate starts pulling on the sleeves of her shirt, “I don’t think football games are her thing.”

You take a moment to consider what to say. It’s been months since you had a crush on anyone and wanted to try and impress a girl. When you first found out your roommate started crushing on someone, you had been relentless in attempting to have her confess who it was. But as stubborn as you were, Kate was also head strong in keeping her secret. 

“Her loss then. We can post a picture and she’ll see everything she misses out on by skipping the game,” you wink. Linking arms, you and Kate walk out of the dorm and head to the field. 

The first stop you both make is the concession stand since food is the top priority any time the two of you leave the dorm together. Ordering you both an ICEE, yours being coke flavored and Kate’s cherry, and a hot dog each. 

Once arriving at your seats, you turn around and ask the girls behind you if they could take a picture for you. You both hold up your ICEEs, smiling as you cheer for the picture. 

Kate posts the picture on her Instagram, tagging you, and captions the post ‘I’m only here for the ICEEs’.

Quickly commenting ‘and my amazing company’ under her post. Then posting the picture onto your story with hearts underneath.

It’s not until the third quarter that you both finally relent and head to the bathrooms. While standing in line chatting about nothing and everything, the archer tenses beside you and presses herself between you and the wall, “what are yo-”

Kates proceeds to shush you and shrinks further into her hiding spot. Looking around to try and see what has your roommate acting so strange, you come up short since you don’t recognize anyone.

That is until you glance over to the concession line and notice Yelena, who you met your first day back on campus. Quickly turning around to Kate, “Oh, Kate. Do you remember how I told you I met this hilarious girl my first day back?“ You point over to the blonde, “She’s right there. Her name is Yelena.”

The brunette’s face pales suddenly. Worry rushes through you and your eyes immediately start scanning for what’s upset your friend so badly. Until it clicks, “Kate…Oh, Katie,” you start to whisper, “ is Yelena who you have a crush on?”

Her eyes met yours and you can tell you’re right. “I totally know her. I can introduce you if you want. Granted, I haven’t actually spoken with her for over a month, BUT we regularly exchange memes.”

Before Kate could give any response to you, you feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around.

“Madelyn, I thought it was you! How have you been?” Yelena says with a big smile on her face.

“I’m great. Settling into my classes and wishing I didn’t sign up for a 7am lecture that I completely don’t understand and will need to find a tutor for, the usual. How about you?”

As the blonde opens her mouth to reply, she notices Kate, “Bishop? Madelyn and Bishop? You two know each other?” .

“Roommates,” You both say at the same time before you continue, “We’re roommates. How do you know Kate?”

“She’s my lab partner,” she leans around you and looks at the brunette, “We have a project coming up and I’ve been meaning to reach out and figure out a time that works for you,” she runs her fingers through her blonde hair nervously.

A sneaky smile goes across your face, realizing that Yelena also seems to have a crush on Kate.

The archer stands up suddenly at her crush’s words, “I have archery practice most days, but I’m free on Tuesdays after 3pm, if that works.” 

Yelena simply smiles back, “Tuesdays are great, except, I’m in class until 4. How about you come to my apartment, it’s five minutes from campus, and we can eat and start our research?”

“Off campus?”

“Yeah, my sister and her girlfriend wanted to have a secluded place away from the sorority and invited me to stay there too.”

You nod, listening to the two speak while also trying to give them privacy by looking anywhere else in the slowest moving restroom line.

Suddenly, Yelena’s phone goes off, “Speaking of the devil,” she answers.

You can’t hear whoever it is super well over the crowd cheering at what must have been the best touchdown of the game but once they quiet down you hear that voice again from trivia night, the redheaded sister of Yelena.

The blonde turns over her shoulder to look near the concession line she just came from, “I just want a coke.” You look over in the same direction as Yelena, “No, I don’t want anything else. I will be right back. I was just saying ‘hey’ to Madelyn and Bishop. Get your underwear out of a twist. I’m heading back now. Bye.”

Your heart leaps out of your chest when you finally notice the redhead in line. Making eye contact with her deep green eyes for longer than normal which causes Kate to nudge your shoulder as it’s finally your turn to walk into the restroom.

“Sorry,” you mumble to your roommate before turning back with one final look, receiving a wink from both women.

Kate gives a quick goodbye to Yelena before she walks away and then pushes you through the door.

Your roommate tries to ask you about it in the restroom, but you firmly shut down that topic and turn the conversation around on her. If you had known her crush was on Yelena, then you would have tried long ago to set them up on a blind date. Which is probably why the brunette didn't say who she was spending her days thinking about.

Making your way back to the seats, thankfully, without running into anyone else, you try to wipe the redhead’s face out of your memory, feeling incredibly embarrassed for your behavior when seeing her. 

The last quarter of the game passes in a blur that you aren’t even aware the game ended until you notice the football players celebrating on the field and groups of people moving around you to leave at the same time. You glance up to the scoreboard and see the score, 30-28, your team winning.

Pulling out your phone, you swipe to pull up Instagram and post the scoreboard to your story, ‘our blood, our sweat, your tears’.

Linking your arm with Kate to make sure neither of you get lost on the way out of the stadium, the cool fall breeze whips at your shoulders the second you make it outside, but you welcome it after squeezing against every sweaty jock trying to get out of the stadium at the same time.

The two of you quietly laugh together when you look back to see people squeezing through the doors you just came through. 

Neither of you are paying attention and accidentally bump into someone, to your dismay it was Yelena’s sister. Your body goes rigid at the sight of her. A scowl on her face until she settles her eyes on you then she gives you a soft smile.

“So, so, so sorry about that. We should have paid more attention.” The redhead’s smile slowly grows bigger as you continue talking. “Sorry again.”

You go to turn away and drag Kate along when you feel a warm hand softly wrap around your bicep, “No, I should be ashamed for not giving you more attention when you’re around,” smirking slightly at you.

A small blush rushes to your cheeks, opening and closing your mouth a few times before giving a gentle nod to the woman before turning around again.

Once you are out of hearing range from the redhead, Kate starts laughing, “Oh, you’re like a fly trapped in the spider's web.”

With a quick glare to your roommate and a prompt slap to the arm, “Shut up.”

-

As you lay on your bed, winding down your night time routine, you decide to scroll Instagram. Liking posts from your roommate and best friend, Kate’s, account. You didn’t think you would get as close to the girl as you had, but the two of you got along surprisingly well. Usually, you would be watching a new episode of Grey's Anatomy together tonight, however, Kate finally gathered her nerves and asked out Yelena, her lab partner, on a date. 

Squealing and bouncing in your tiny dorm room bed, “Shut up! You did it? You finally admitted you have a crush on her?”

“I wouldn’t go that far!” The brunette laughs in response, “I just asked if she would want to go out to the new ax-throwing bar that just opened up.” She throws herself down on her back onto your bed, frowning and sounding much more somber. “But, Madelyn, Yelena asked if we could go this Thursday. She has to go to the sorority party this Friday.”

Moving around until you're laying down shoulder to shoulder with her, “Psh. Don’t even start, you are going and maybe even getting a second date for Friday.” Wiggling your eyebrows at her and shoving your body slightly into her. 

“If that happens, then you’re coming with me. You need to get out and finally move on from your ex.” Placing your hand over your heart, you playfully scoff and wave off a mumbled agreement, trying to steer away from another possible conversation to find out who your ex is.

Smiling as you recall the memory, you suddenly hear the door to your dorm unlock. 

Kate whispers to someone in the hall, who you assume to be Yelena, “Of course, I’d love to. See you tomorrow.”

Quickly, she walks in and immediately places her back on the door to close it. A wide grin on your roommate's face as she looks over to your bed. First kicking off her shoes, then running to jump into your bed. You stare at her, waiting for her to begin.

Kate sighs before exclaiming, “SHE ASKED ME OUT TO THE SORORITY PARTY TOMORROW!” Wrapping your arms around your friend as you jump together over the great news.”Get ready, Madelyn, you and I are going to a party!”

“Wait, Kate,” You pull back to look at her wide eyed, “I thought you were kidding.”

-

The party started at least an hour ago, but because of your indecisiveness on what to wear, which ended up just being a simple v cut blue dress with white high tops. As you both walk up, you stare at the brick house bursting with music. You hear Kate talking, “Party Rules 101. Don’t forget not to go upstairs with anyone. Do not accept a drink from anyone who is not me. I know you will want to leave early, so do not go without telling or texting that you’re heading out either. Okay?”

You blink a few times before you recognize she wants a reply, “Got it.” She smiles at you and takes your hands before walking up the porch steps.

Kate knocks on the white door. You wonder how anyone would be able to hear the knock inside with how loud the music is playing, but not even five seconds later the door is open. The sound of the music makes you take a step back. Anxiety washing over you instantly as you look down. You don’t even hear the words spoken between your friend and the redhead opening the door. 

Kate’s hold on your hand tightens in hopes to reassure you before she pulls you along to step inside. It isn’t until Kate’s other hand waves to get your attention off the floor that you look up and realize both girls are staring at you expectedly. “I’m sorry, what?” you say softly.

The redhead chuckles and repeats herself, “Hi, I’m Wanda and the Vice President here. We have two bathrooms downstairs, one by the kitchen and one by the laundry room. Also, two upstairs just in case. Drinks, of course, are in the kitchen or the backyard. Is there anyone you are looking for that I can direct you towards? Or anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’m looking for Yelena actually. Do you know where she is?” Kate quickly replies. “She’s in the living room playing beer pong,” Wanda points over to her left, “Go right through there and you will find her.”

With lightning speed, Kate drops your hand and rushes off to find the blonde. Your mouth hangs open as you stare off in the direction she flew. 

The redhead laughs as she looks at you before offering her arm, “Can I escort you anywhere?” Glancing around the foyer, you can't recognize anyone, so you nervously agree and link your arm with hers, “I don’t think I know anyone else here, so anywhere you want to go is fine with me.”

A bright smile spreads on the Vice President's face as she guides you out of the foyer and into the backyard to watch someone attempt a keg stand. You can’t help but look stunned as you watch the girl drink. “Would you like to try?” Wanda startles you with the question. Shaking your head no with absolute certainty that you could never have arm strength or lung capacity. 

After a few moments more of watching, she slowly guides you over to the pool. The redhead kicks off her shoes and motions for you to do the same. The two of you sit down along the edge and place your feet in the water. You start to mindlessly kick your feet along to the music that is playing throughout the speakers. “So, am I allowed to ask your name?”

Multiple memories come to mind with times the Vice President has heard your name, “I’m pretty sure you know my name.”

Wanda’s tongue drags underneath the bottom of her teeth, “Oh, I do, but I want to hear it from your pretty, little mouth.”

Your breath catches in your throat at her words, taking a moment to settle your racing heart, you slowly speak, “Madelyn.”

Deciding to try and control the conversation you cut her off before she could say anything else. “Do you usually take interest in random people that show up to your sorority’s parties?”

She chuckles at your question, “No, not usually. But I would not say you’re a random person. Plus I have never had the pleasure of someone as captivating as you walk through those doors.”

“Yeah, right.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the redhead. 

She grabs your chin and makes you look up at her, “Oh I didn’t take you for the bratty type.” You could have sworn that her eyes sparkled when she said that. 

You shutter, trying to think of a reply. Your brain is completely lagging at the touch and sound of her voice. Wanda’s thumb moves and pushes between your lips, “Is there anything even going through that little head of yours?”

A small groan rips it way out your throat and your eyelids droop slightly. The redhead pushes down slightly onto your tongue.

Mumbling around her thumb, “Yes.” 

The Vice President’s smirks at your reply, “Yes,” She mocks you, “Yes, to what?”

You shift your eyes back to her as you take in the specific color of her eyes, a sparkling green, this time a soft moan comes out of your lips, “Please..”

You think Wanda must take pity on you because suddenly she drops her hand from your mouth. Everything about her seems to return back to when you first walked in the house. She’s back to being sweet and polite, it makes your head spin. “What brings you to the party tonight, Madelyn? Well besides escorting Bishop, of course.”

This was a question you didn’t know how to answer. Why were you here in the backyard of your ex’s sorority spending time with her Vice President? Glancing around the backyard, noticing that you still don't know anyone here, you sigh, “Honestly, I’m not sure. Kate said I needed to come if she got a second date because, apparently, I need to move on.”

“And do you want to?” She looks at you expectantly, “Move on, that is.”

“I don’t even know what I would have to move on from. It’s been months since we broke up. And she didn’t care about me long before that anyways.” You let out a dry laugh, “I don’t even think she liked me. She just liked sex with me.”

The look on the redhead’s face makes you stop your ranting, “Sorry, that is not proper party conversation,” you force out a laugh, “way too depressing.”

She smiles, dragging her eyes down your torso and onto your legs then pulling them back up before landing her eyes back on your face. “How would you like to find something to drink?” 

Thankful for her change in conversation, you smile slightly, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The two of you make your way through the house and into the kitchen, “What will it be? Beer? Vodka?” walking around the kitchen as you listen to her talk. “... Or maybe a juice box?” 

Whipping your head around, you glare at the Vice President, scoffing, “I’m not a child. I can drink alcohol.”

Right after you speak, you hear someone laughing from the archway. “Oh, Wands, what a delightful surprise,” she steps further into the small kitchen, “Tell me you were able to get us this cute little thing to play.”

This makes you snap your head quickly around again. A rush of arousal runs through you when your eyes lock onto the redhead, “And who the hell are you?”

The cheshire smile on her face makes it clear she remembers you, she moves towards you before gently lifting up your hand as she bows her head to place a soft kiss on it, “To you, Madam President.” 

“What the fuck.” You snatch your hand away and look towards the sparkling green eyed woman before returning your gaze in front of you.

“Oh, what a dirty mouth, I will have to clean that out.” The redhead smirks at you. Another wave of arousal hits you, gulping as you maintain eye contact, “Like you’d get the chance.”

Wanda speaks up, breaking the growing tension in the room, “Darling, wouldn’t she just be…” walking up and placing a finger under your chin, her voice dropping, “...divine?” 

You shutter at her words. Eyes bouncing between the two redheads suddenly much closer to you than before. Realizing they have successfully surrounded you, your arousal spiking but you choose to mask with slight panic. “So what is this then? Two spiders trapping someone in their web and then going in for the kill?” Puffing out your chest slightly, trying to gain back some more control. “You think the President and Vice President would require consent.”

Wanda chuckles in your ear behind you, “Oh dear, we do.” Bringing her finger up to brush some hair behind your ear before speaking softly, “We only accept enthusiastic consent. Absolute begging.”

Your knees wobble slightly at her words. “A little archer told us that you needed to move on, and typically we wouldn’t do rebound sex, but you…” The President takes a sharp inhale through her teeth, “You are too special to pass up.”

“So what do you say, baby, want to be ours for the night?” Wanda whispers.

A million thoughts race through your mind. Most importantly, the fact you’ve never had a threesome or sex with people you don’t really know. You look around the kitchen and notice how nobody else even acknowledges the two redheads circling you like prey. 

“I say,” You gulp, mustering all the fake confidence you can find. “I say show me a good time first and we will see.”

The two women share a sinister smile before they each drape an arm around you and walk you out of the kitchen and into a room that only stores a pool table and some chairs. 

“We have the next game.” The President says to the small group finishing up their game before walking you over to the side of the room. She lowers her hands to your hips and lifts you with ease onto the barstool behind you.

Shock fills your face at her actions before you glare at her, “Excuse you. I am perfectly capable of sitting in a seat by myself.”

The redhead simply smiles at you before moving to stand next to the side of your chair, absentmindedly running fingers through your hair. 

“Hello? Earth to you. Usually, when someone speaks to you it's polite to respond.” You huff and cross your arms over your chest. She gently turns your head to look at her. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m sorry, baby. I won’t do it again.”

“Madelyn, I have a name and it’s not baby.” You scoff, “What is your name anyways?”

She winks at you before smirking, “I told you. To you, it’s Madam President.”

“That’s not a name. That’s a title. What’s your name?” Your eyes met the redhead locked in a standstill. You already know you won’t last long. Her eyes trap you in endless pools of deep green. They are powerful and unmoving, you huff, “What’s your name, Madam President?” 

The President lifts her hand and holds your lower lip before pulling it down and out slightly, causing you to look through your lashes to maintain eye contact, the action making you feel as if you’re losing the last shreds of your control. The redhead presses down the slightest bit more before pinching your lip and releasing it, “Natasha.” 

Wanda, who has been repeatedly running her fingers from your shoulder to the knee, leans over you slightly if only to be in your personal space, “Natty, it’s our turn now.”

You go to hop down, but yet again your hips are grabbed and you’re picked up and put down by Natasha’s hands. You give her a glare even as a blush starts covering your cheeks.

“Tsk, tsk. Don’t be like that. I would hate to have to spank that gorgeous ass for the first time surrounded by all these people.” Your blush deepens with your embarrassment at the volume the redhead spoke. The heat pooling between your legs only causes you more confusion. 

The three of you walk towards the table. Natasha moves to rack the balls and Wanda takes you over to pick out a cue stick, grabbing one for Natasha as well. 

It’s decided that you will be on your own team, which you tried to protest by saying you have never played a game of pool in your life, but your complaints fall on deaf ears. 

Wanda starts off by breaking the balls, officially starting your unfair game. She gets a solid into a pocket, “That makes you stripes, baby.” She says in a sickeningly sweet voice before getting two more solid balls into pockets. 

Standing there with your mouth open, you begin to complain, “This is so unfair. There is no way I will be able to even get close to hitting even one of these balls in!” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you in the first round,” Wanda says, holding up her hands. She walks over to you and shows you how to bend down and how to aim your cue stick. You lean down like she showed you but still, you feel her hand press down between your shoulders as she speaks in your ear, “Like this, darling. Eyes level with your target.”

Acutely aware this position has almost completely folded in half on the pool table, you pull back the stick and then push it forward with a decent amount of force. 

And you completely miss. 

To make matters worse, you got one of their balls closer to the pocket instead. Groaning, you stand up and look unamused at the two redheads who are both trying to hold back their smiles at your reaction, “This game is stupid.”

Natasha comes up to the table, leans down, noticeably higher than the position Wanda moved you into. She breathes in and out, then hits the cue ball, causing it to sink a solid ball into the nearby pocket. She glances up at you, smirking, while still leaning down. Causing a completely automatic eye roll. The redhead arches her eyebrow at you before moving to a new spot. She leans down, breathes in and out, and.. misses. “HA!” You cheer as your stripe ball goes into the pocket instead of the solid ball that was next it. 

You walk up to the table for your turn and glance to Wanda for her help again. Natasha subtly shakes her head, which you don’t notice since she was behind you. Wanda simply gives you a nod of her head, encouraging you to try by yourself. So you lean down and focus on which ball you’re aiming for and what pocket is your goal.

Breathing in and out a few times before pulling back your cue stick on your inhale and pushing it forward on your exhale. As the stick connects with the cue ball you feel a stinging on your ass. You immediately stand up and spin around with a glare, “Hey! That’s not fair.”

The President laughs as she looks over your head, “Well, it seemed like good luck because you got the ball in.”

Spinning around again to see if she was lying but there, clear as day, you see your stripe ball missing from the table and sitting in the pocket. “Don’t think for a second that I won't punish whiny, bratty behavior though, baby.” Natasha whispers in your ear, her front flush against your back, “Now, say thank you.”

You shiver at her words. The logical part of your brain can’t stop wondering why you should thank her for spanking you, but when you feel her hands on your hips as she pulls them closer to her own, that part of your mind goes blank. The heat between your legs grows even hotter and you let out a soft sigh before fingers hook under your chin and guide you to look up at Natasha, “Say thank you.” She softly growls. 

“Thank you.” It comes out more as a pant than actual words but the redhead is pleased enough.

The rest of the game crawls by slowly as each redhead tries to work you up with innocent touches and whispered words. Your head becomes fuzzy in the best way, but even in this state you are completely aware that every other stripe ball that’s gone in is because of Wanda and Natasha simply trying to keep the game going. 

With all solid and striped balls now off the table it’s down to whoever can sink the 8 ball in the game. 

Wanda glances at you before smirking, “What if we make a little bet out of this?”

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Are you joking? This whole thing is already a game of if you two can get me into bed.” Natasha licks her lips at your words, causing your cheeks to blush even more than they were. 

The Vice President ignores your reply, “Great! So I was thinking, if we sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show,” you arch your eyebrow at the redhead, “and if you sink the 8 ball, then you give us a strip show.” She winks at you. 

“That’s absolutely-” You're cut off by Natasha speaking, “Deal.”

“Deal?” You shriek as the two redheads shake each other's hand, “You two cannot agree on this without me also agreeing.”

They both come up to you and place a hand on your cheek, “And do, baby?” Wanda mumbles into your ear. Right after Natasha says, smirking, “Wanna make a deal?”

Your skin flushes at their voices, your mind hanging onto their every word. You slowly close your eyes and your head falls back slightly. Wanda lowers her head to breathe along your neck, occasionally brushing her tongue against it while Natasha’s fingers tangle around your hair, pulling it back. 

A soft moan hits your ears, shocking you when you realize it came from you. Suddenly coming back to yourself, you lightly push off the women, clearing your throat to try and fake your control over yourself once again. “If I sink the 8 ball,” you take a deep breath, “then I decide the next time you touch me.”

Both redheads simply nod their heads in agreement before extending their arms to allow you space for your shot. Looking over the table and considering all the choices you quickly realize that you absolutely have no shot at winning. Ignoring every other reason besides the obvious one, you didn’t want to win.

But you wouldn’t make it apparent to the President and Vice President. 

So you lean down, “Corner pocket.” You spend a considerable amount of time figuring out your angle and practicing the strength of your hit. With one more inhale, you pull back the cue stick then exhale and strike the cue ball.

You hit the 8 ball but it stops just short of falling into the pocket. You give a shy smile to the women before stepping back. 

There’s a silent conversation going on between the redheads before Wanda nods and steps up to the table. “Corner pocket.” She winks at you before aiming at the cue ball and without any delay she strikes. The 8 ball disappearing into the corner pocket. 

Without even a second to think, your feet are suddenly lifted into the air and over Natasha’s shoulder. Wanda comes up to grab the cue stick from you and places it on the pool table.

Once you realize the redhead plans to walk out of the parlor room with you over her shoulder, you begin to protest, “Wait. Wait. I can walk. You don’t have to think I’ll back out of the bet.”

You feel a soft hand brush the back of your thigh as the sparkling green eyed woman steps into your view. 

“Oh, baby, we know, but Natty here is a very proud winner and wants to show you off,” her thin fingers smoothing down your hair. You stare at her dumbfounded as she swipes her thumb across your lower lip, “If you’re a good girl then we’ll give you an extra special reward. Can you do that for us?”

The Vice President allows you your time to process as you blink a few times before nodding your head. 

A swift smack to your ass has you gasping as Natasha corrects your action, “Words baby.”

“Yes.” Another softer smack to your ass. “Yes, I can be a good girl.”

Both redheads make a pleased humming sound before walking out of the room. You try to avoid eye contact with all the partygoers. The blush across your face and chest only grows at your slight embarrassment. 

It isn’t long until you're walking up to the stairs. Suddenly stopping right at the bottom, trying to turn your body at the sound of Kate’s voice. Mortification slams into you when she leans around the redhead holding you to look at your face. 

Her tone relentlessly teasing, “Now, I thought I told you not to go upstairs with anyone,” the memory of her words at your arrival pulled to the front of your mind.

Rolling your eyes at your roommate only caused her to laugh further at your predicament. 

Yelena speaking prompts the brunette to move back into the circle of conversation with her and the redheads, “Don’t kill the poor girl. It would severely ruin my chances with Bishop.”

Natasha laughs at her sister’s comment, “Please, the only thing she’ll get is mind altering pleasure,” pinching your ass when finishing the sentence. “Now, I’d love to chat, but I have a bet to cash in on.”

Wanda leading the way up the stairs, pausing as Kate speaks, looking up at your roommate, “She has a study group tomorrow morning at 10am! She can’t miss it!”

The redheads laugh, continuing up the stairs, the President turns slightly as she walks and salutes to the brunette, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Less than fifteen steps later, you’re carried into a large room. Your heart stopping completely at the sound of the door closing and locking. As if noticing the slight pure panic, Wanda stands by the door twisting the handle, “It locks from inside, so if you twist the handle, then it’s automatically unlocked,” then she relocks the door.

Nodding your head in thanks and understanding of her words, she gives you a reassuring smile in return.

Then, Natasha lightly throws you onto the bed, a grunt leaving your lips, leaning over you, she smirks. Wanda comes up to sit beside your head and gently rubs your forehead with her thumbs.

The deep green eyed woman locks her eyes with yours before placing a soft kiss on your chest, then throwing herself to the empty side of you. 

“Now, don’t keep us waiting,” you turn your head to see sparkling green eyes looking at you.

They wait a few seconds before both women have another silent conversation. Suddenly, you startle the redheads by standing up.

Standing with your hands on your hips, stilling your voice and shifting on your feet, “Well, this will be rather awkward to do in silence.”

The President smirks at you before pulling out her phone and playing ‘Supermassive Black Hole by Muse!’ from her speaker. 

Slowly you begin to sway your hips and drag your fingers across your chest. Kicking your shoes off as sexually as you can. You let the song play for about twenty seconds before you lean down and run your nails up your legs stopping where your thighs meet your center. 

Turning around, you hook one finger under your right strap and pull it down, staring directly into sparkling green eyes. Then, turning your head to face the other direction and repeat the action, but slower, as you look into the deep green eyes.

Your dress only stays up from pushing out your chest. You continue to dance around until you slowly sit down onto your knees. Rolling onto the ground, your head closer to the women,  arching your back as you begin to spread apart your knees. Never looking away from the redheads as your knees hit the floor. Watching as both women tighten their grips on the bed sheets. 

Straightening your legs and bringing them back together, slowly using all your core strength to sit up rather than using your hands. You turn around and crawl over to the bed, standing before placing one foot on the President’s thigh.

She brings her hand up to gently hold onto your calf before digging her nails in. Biting your lip at the minimal pain before moving your hands across your chest, breathlessly Natasha speaks, “God, don’t be that much of a tease. Let Daddy see.”

Grabbing her hands, you bring them up to your chest, she squeezes before pulling down your dress exposing your breasts, strangely thanking yourself for foregoing a bra tonight.

The cool air in the room feeling amazing on your burning skin.

Lowering your foot, you walk over to the Vice President and bend how she showed you earlier during your game of pool. A loud hum of approval leaving her mouth.

Keeping your position, you gather the material at the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. Leaving Wanda staring directly at your covered center. Her finger gently travels up the inside of your thighs, never reaching the apex.

Noticing the dark patch on your light gray underwear, she speaks mockingly, “Do you want Mommy and Daddy to take care of that for you?”

A small moan slips out as you feel two different fingers suddenly press against the dark spot. 

“Words, baby,” both women huskily say at the same time.

“Please, please,” you’re all but moaning.

A smack on your ass that you can tell was from Wanda by the feeling of rings soothing the sting, “Be specific, baby.”

You breathe in and out a few times before roughly swallowing, “Please, take care of me.”

The redheads, losing their lack of control, slowly decide that your answer was good enough for now, for the first time.

Natasha walks around to face you, her hands find your shoulders and makes you stand up. Wanda moves further back on the bed, removing her shirt and bra before leaning against the pillows.

Grabbing onto the President’s face, you stand on your tip toes and connect your lips to hers. She eagerly begins kissing you back, nipping at your lip. Moving her hands to your ass, smacking your ass lightly, so you’ll jump into her arms.

Continuing to kiss you as she walks to the side of the bed and places you down. Ending your kiss, a low whine comes from you. Sealing your lips quickly but both women have already heard you and have lust flashing through their eyes. 

“Now, go ahead and make Mommy feel good while Daddy makes you feel good.” Nodding your head at the redhead’s directions, you turn around and crawl up the bed and between Wanda’s spread legs. She holds up her hands and guides your lips to her nipple.

Natasha begins to massage your ass and tease your slit over your underwear, soaking them further by the second. 

Sucking and pulling on the Vice President’s left nipple, bringing your right hand up to roll her right nipple between your fingers. You continue this while feeling the unending teasing around your clit.

Popping off Wanda’s left nipple, you drag your tongue across her chest until you can wrap your lips around the right nipple, twirling your tongue around the nub.

On the first suck, you feel a rush of cool air hit your center as your underwear is pulled down your legs, moaning loudly at the sensation. Without even a second to spare you feel the redhead’s tongue lick up the wetness on your lips before softly pushing her tongue inside your entrance.

Your jaw slacks at the feeling, your head falls away from the needy nipples in front of you. The redhead pulls you back against her nipple, “That’s a good girl. You’re giving Mommy so much pleasure,” holding you close to feel every sound come from your lips, moans of her own filling the room.

Natasha licks her way up to your clit. Giving soft licks before wrapping her lips around your clit, humming, then pulling softly on the bundle of nerves.

Your knees start shaking at the pleasure, causing you to fall further onto Wanda. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble around the nipple.

Bringing her fingers up to your clit, rubbing circles, “Come on, baby. You're such a good girl for us.”

Her fingers slowly push into you, curling slightly against your velvet walls. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. Let Daddy make you cum, alright?”

A truly unholy sound fell from your lips, clenching around Natasha’s fingers, Wanda lifts your head slightly, so you could reply, “Please, make me cum.”

Lowering her mouth back to your clit as she sucks, licks, and nips all over while her fingers continue a relentless pace. Wanda brings her own finger to your nipples and begins rolling them between her fingers. “God, everything about you, baby. Everything is perfect,” pulling at the nubs blurring the line between pain and pleasure.

“Fuck,” your voice cracking at exclamation. Shaking from the stimulation, the coil in your stomach tightens more with each second.

Wanda leans her head forward next to your ear, “Come for Mommy, baby. Come all over Daddy.”

A simultaneous pinch from the Vice President's fingers on your nipples and the President's pinch on your clit has a wave of pleasure crashing over you, a scream rips from your throat as you cum all over Natasha’s face and fingers and fall on top of Wanda.

Dragging out your orgasm not stopping until she's pulled every sound from your lips does she begin to lick up all traces of your orgasm, sitting up and moving towards the other. You look up just in time to see them share a deep kiss, each moaning at the taste of you on their tongues. 

Breaking apart, deep green eyes look at you, “Do you have another one in you, baby? You came hard enough to drown me,” lust shining in her eyes.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just make me cum that hard again,” your eyes pleading. 

Smirking at you, Wanda moves you to scoot down the bed, tapping your thighs. It takes a second for you to realize where she wants you, but you quickly move to hover above her face. Natasha settles between her girlfriends thighs, removing her skirt and underwear in one pull, “Now, this will be a sight to see,” lowering her mouth immediately, sucking the redhead’s clit into her mouth the way she likes.

Biting your lip at the sight, you sit down, your eyes connecting with the deep green ones between the redhead’s thighs. Allowing the Vice President to move you where she’s most comfortable. Feeling her tongue push into your entrance has you arching your back.

Natasha’s fingers move to Wanda’s clit, rubbing at a brutal pace. Below you the redhead sucks in a sharp breath. Moving to drag her teeth along your clit. 

Your hips arch at the feeling, soft grunts passing from your lips, “Shit.”

Pulling you back against the redhead’s mouth, “Tsk, tsk, where do you think you’re going, baby girl?”

Rutting your hips against the face below you. Moans and pleas mumbling out of your mouth at the suction of your clit. Natasha sits up, keeping her fingers on Wanda’s clit, and leans towards you. Digging your nails into her shoulders, as she begins to leave soft bites along your chest before kissing up your neck. 

Inhaling sharply as her teeth sink into your pulse point, sucking harshly on the delicate skin, “Such a dirty mouth.” 

The pleasure on your clit increases, building up your orgasm quickly. Moaning as you drag your nails down the redhead’s back.

Wanda becomes sloppy underneath you, hinting at her own release coming soon. “Mommy’s getting close. Come with Mommy, baby,” Natasha mumbles against your neck, pushing you right to the edge. 

Sucking your earlobe into her mouth and biting down on your soft skin, “Seeing how you ride Mommy’s face makes me wonder how well you would ride Daddy’s dick,” her words sending both you and the woman beneath you over the edge. 

The Vice President slowly licks your cunt to clean you as the President drags her finger through her girlfriend’s release. Bringing them up to your mouth, “Be a good girl,” and pushing them between your lips. 

A sinful moan escapes both of your lips, though for different reasons. Exhaustion riding through your body allows Natasha to gently lift you off Wanda’s face and leans you against the pillows.

Your eyelids fight too close to receive a moment of rest, quickly winning over your desire to stay conscious. Both women get off the bed walking into the en-suite and cleaning themselves up quickly, returning with a towel for you.

Noticing your sleeping form, the two exchange a look before Wanda’s soft hands spread your knees and gently clean you up. 

“She’s perfect for us,” the President whispers.

“She is, but how can we convince her of that,” the Vice President whispers back.

As a plan forms in her mind, the redhead smirks, “We will just have to show her.”

Wanda throws the towel aiming for the laundry hamper, but misses, before laying down into the bed next to you. Natasha follows suit, listening to the music thrum downstairs while closing her eyes.

-

Groaning and swatting at the air when you hear the familiar sounds of a phone alarm going off.

Your messy morning hair is removed from your face, startling you into opening your eyes. Confusion flashing through you until you see two pairs so similar yet different green eyes.

“Wha-,” you begin, but are cut off.

“I would have let you sleep in more, baby, but we need to get you dressed for your study group. The last thing I need is my little sister trying to murder me for ruining her chances with the archer.” 

Blinking a few times, begging for your brain to catch up, yet all your mind can think of is, “Her name is Kate.”

The redheads smile at you, “Yes, of course, we apologize,” Wanda says sincerely.

With a pat on your thigh, Natasha sits up, “Now, I don't think you want to go to your study group in that little blue dress you were wearing last night, so you can borrow something of ours.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can just run to my dorm. I need to brush my teeth anyway, so it’s okay.” However the looks you receive fills your mind with doubt, “What time is it?”

“9:45am,” Wanda grimaces. Your jaw falls open at the realization that you will definitely not make it in time unless you go straight there. Cursing yourself for not understanding your math course better and needing to go to the study groups in the first place, with a deep breath you look up at the women, “Show me the outfit.” 

Standing in the mirror you can’t complain. It was a simple pair of medium washed jeans, though slightly too long since you are shorter than both women, they have been cuffed and paired with a loose long sleeve shirt sporting their sorority name and logo. You felt a bit like a walking advertisement. The worst part, yet best part, was the sports bra Natasha gave you to wear. 

Cringing as you put on your soiled underwear from the night before, you throw on your shoes and tie your hair into your best messy, not messy, bun. Hurrying down the stairs towards the front door. To your surprise, the redheads follow behind you. Thinking they must be the type to walk out guests, you say nothing. 

Reaching for the door handle, you're cut off by Wanda’s ring-covered hand opening the door for you, extending her arm in an ‘after you, ladies first’ motion. 

Arching an eyebrow at the action before turning to face them, “Thank you for the clothes. I’ll return them washed by the end of next week, swear,” beginning to turn back around before stopping and facing them again, whispering, “and thank you for last night too,” then rushing down the steps of the porch.

Stepping out of the doorway both women laugh before replying, “Now, that you don’t need to thank us for.” Trying to hide your blush from the redheads as you speed walk down the sorority's front lawn, checking your phone for the time, seven minutes to get there, thinking ‘I can do it’ as you break out into a run across campus. 

[tripleyeeet-archive]

MY LOVE IS MINE, ALL MINE (15)

SUMMARY: Astarion insists that you rest.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,987

WARNINGS: Brief mentions of death and dissociation, a whole lot of fluff and comfort as an apology for all the angsty chapters. :^)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ha-ha, hey do people still care about this fic? (Sorry I went MIA, my brain got bad)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST

-

It feels odd having Astarion around.

For days, his hands are almost always attached to you in some way. Gripping tightly onto your arm as he guides you out of the bed, drawing patterns into your back each night he quietly lays next to you —anything to make you feel like he’s some sort of extension of you. As if he’s another set of limbs there to help you heal. 

It’s nice, at first. Comforting. And for a while, as you exhaustively lay amongst the sheets and pillows, tucked against the side of his torso, it helps you forget about the world around you. How just beyond this realm of soft looks and tender touches, there’s a war raging on, developing day by day as you tirelessly drift from bed to bath and back again, trying your best not to get too restless.

Which is easier some days than others. 

For example, the first few felt like a breeze. Nothing more than a collection of hours that quickly whizzed by before you could even blink. With Astarion there to distract you, time seemed to slip from your grasp entirely. Exiting your mind in the form of lengthy naps spent latched onto your partner’s frame. 

It was blissful. A much needed break from all the chaos but it was obvious it wouldn’t last. Nothing more than a blip in an otherwise more momentous event, you could feel the restlessness of the future seeping in. Taking hold of your mind, ripping through the cavernous well of missing information that occurred during your death. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. How the group managed without you —how Astarion managed.

Based on the lack of space given during the healing process, you assume badly. Considering he’s never touched you like this —like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever placed his hands on as if at any moment one wrongful slip of his fingers might shatter you all over again— it’s apparent something within him changed. Shifting in a way that, even now, nearly a week later his presence is still stagnant.  

And for the most part, it is nice. A welcomed change amongst all the bullshit. Having him there with you —seeing the lengths he’s willing to go to make sure that you’re safe is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever felt. A dream within a plague of nightmares lulling you to sleep each night he holds you close, telling you that everything’s fine. At least, until it isn’t. Then it feels like suffocation. Like his once-loving hands are now wrapped around your throat, reminding you of what little time you have left. Forcing you to realize that, instead of lying around living in ignorance of the task at hand, you should be helping —working alongside the rest of the party to complete your common goal. 

“I need to move, Astarion,” you tell him. Almost angrily, you press your hands to either side of his face, narrowing your eyes, watching the way he rolls his own and frowns.

“Zamrie said—“

“Oh, my Gods, forget what Zamrie said!” Before he can even protest you’re on your feet and moving towards the door, ignoring the way he huffs in response. Blocking out the sounds of his angered protests as you begin to pull on your boots. “I swear, if I don’t get out of this room I’m going to go insane!”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t do anything other than try to talk you out of it. Relaying each point of criticism with facts to back up his claims, watching the way your face twists in annoyance the longer you realize he’s right. 

Because despite mentally feeling alright aside from the lack of stimulus, you’re still exhausted. A feeling you hadn’t anticipated to take so long to recover from. Assuming you were under the hindrance of any other common illness, you figured you’d be back to normal in a few days tops. No longer feeling numb or shaky. But then again, you were dead. And for a while too, so unfortunately it makes sense as to why as you finish tying your first boot you’re already out of breath. Heavily panting against the warm air of the inn’s top floor as you glance to see Astarion’s smug look. 

“You know I’m right,” he says, and all you do is awkwardly walk back to the bed with your boot still on, collapsing face-first into the mattress with a groan. 

“I’m so bored.”

“And what do you want me to do about it?” 

In response, you merely grumble, feeling him roll you over so that he can untie the laces of your shoe, kneeling at the edge of the bed for better access as you let out a huff, unsure what to say.

Because really, there aren’t very many options left. Already you’ve read every book your party has and then some thanks to Gale and his lengthy trip to Sorcerer’s Sundries, as well as exhausted all your conversation topics. At this point, there’s nothing left but card games and sleeping and Astarion frequently cheats which leaves you with the most boring option. The one you’d rather suffer through the pain of activity than submit to, prompting you to look at Astarion with pleading eyes, praying that just this once he’ll give in. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

You narrow your eyes and wiggle your foot as he eventually discards your boot, quickly moving to kick his face in annoyance only to have him catch it before you make contact.

“If you don’t stop I’ll cast hold person on you,” he threatens then, moving to grip your knee and pull you towards the edge of the bed. Smirking at the sound of you squealing in amusement at the sudden shift in position. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you tease, but all he does is slowly maneuver himself above you, slotting his hips between your already spread legs. Ignoring the way your face contorts to showcase the sudden nerves that erupt. 

“I would because then you’d actually rest.” 

“But I am resting.” 

“Hm, are you?”

“I’m laying down aren’t I?”

“That’s different than resting, my love.” 

“Is it?”

Somehow he’s managed to distract you with conversation long enough for you not to notice he’s looming above you. Pressing his palms against the spaces next to your head —shifting the lower half of his body to lightly press against your own. 

Upon noticing this, you swallow hard and try not to smile. Forcing down the anxiety of Astarion’s mischievous gaze exploring your features —taking in the obvious temptation that’s begun to surface. 

“You don’t seem very tired,” he tells you. Teasing you in a way that has you rolling your eyes, allowing it to happen because, while you’ve exhausted a lot of options to entertain yourself, sex isn’t one of them. Considering the two of you have been too busy reuniting and making sure everything about your resurrection continued to go smoothly, the thought really hadn’t occurred to either of you. 

Far too lost in the simple touches of each other’s company, up until now it felt more important just to coexist. To relax and monitor rather than jump into something that could only result in complications. 

Which is a thought that sits at the back of your mind. Even as he leans down, nudging your nose with his —saying something flirtatious that you completely miss due to the passing thoughts that stroll through your head— you can’t help but wonder if it’s a good idea.

“Are you sure we—“

He cuts you off with a gentle kiss. One that lingers for a couple of seconds before it’s over and he’s grinning above you, moving to glide his thumb along your cheek. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.“

“No, I just —is it right?” 

He scrunches up his face, looking at you in confusion. Making you realize how offensive your words probably sound. “Sorry, I don’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

You take a minute to put together your thoughts, ignoring the way he longs for your answer. Feeling him shift slightly backwards in anticipation of your inevitable rejection. 

“Is this the right time to be doing this?”

He raises his brow and sort of laughs. “Do you mean that morally or?”

“Kind of?”

“Kind of?”

All you do is scoff in embarrassment, moving your hands to cover your face. “I just mean that… should we be having sex while the others are doing all the work?” 

Astarion really laughs at that, his voice practically rising a full octave as he swats away your hands, watching your annoyance only increase at his actions. “Seriously? That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“I feel like it’s a valid concern.” 

“Well, it’s not.” 

“Okay but I think—” 

He steals another kiss, ignoring the groan of protest that hits his lips. Opting to instead grab your cheek again, gliding his fingers against your skin. Feeling the way you almost immediately settle into his touch the moment he pulls away. 

“Darling, you and I both know the other’s don’t give a shit what we do. So long as it’s somewhat legal and doesn’t disturb their sleep.” 

Moving your hands to his torso, you practically sigh in defeat, pinching his hips with frustrated fingers as you lean up and kiss his chin. “I don’t know. I think Gale might be jealous if he comes back and sees us.”

As you fall back down he chases you instantly, enveloping your mouth in his a third time, knowing then that you’re surrendering. That instead of fighting the urge to make excuses, you’re allowing yourself to enjoy what he’s offering. To experience that connection without the added baggage of not knowing whether or not there’s feelings involved. 

Because now that you’ve admitted it —now that both of you have said those three little words, it feels completely different. After travelling and talking and experiencing that unfortunate blip of separation there’s a whole other dynamic that takes place.

For example, somehow his touch is gentler. And not because of your current physical setbacks. No, there’s something tender about it. As if the care he has for you has extended from his heart to his palms, guiding them in ways that make your chest tighten with newfound anticipation. Against your flesh, his fingers are delicately placed, slipping to grip the back of your neck, sprawling out to cover as much surface area as possible. 

Sighing into him, your thoughts wander to different positions. Imagining all of the ways the two of you might end up, you can feel your stomach twist with excitement. Your mouth curling up into an empty-minded smile, unaware of the joy that radiates between you. Too distracted by the happy sound he makes when you grip the waistline of his pants. 

“Does this serve as a good enough distraction for your boredom?” 

You hum and kiss him, eventually pulling back to nod. “Only if it’s okay.” 

For a moment he pauses, his expression turning from playful to serious. His eyes softening at the weight of your words, realizing that you mean it. That for once in his life he’s in control of his own pleasure. 

“I promise you, I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t,” he eventually tells you, and all you do is beam. Moving your hands to his face, you look at him with affectionate pride, running your thumbs along the highpoint of his cheeks —pressing down as you pull him back to rest his forehead against yours.

“I love you so much,” you say, closing your eyes, hearing him softly hum in a way that rips the air right out of your lungs. Feeling the way he stiffens before he ultimately melts beneath your touch, allowing the full weight of his body to press against yours. 

“You mean the world to me,” he responds, moving to kiss your cheek before moving to the other before you open your eyes again to see him hovering above. “When I lost you I—“

You don’t interrupt him. Instead, you just press your lips together and offer a nod, watching his mind work through the blockage. 

“Losing you felt like losing hope. Like I was being shoved back into that blasted mausoleum all over again.” He pauses to swallow, watching you stare into his eyes, refusing to break the contact even though it’s obvious he wants to. “I don’t want to feel like that ever again. I can’t —I won’t.” 

Your hands move towards his shoulders, slowly weaving their way around his neck to pull him close. To let him feel the pounding heart inside your chest and how its pace quickens because of him.

“I know it may seem like I’m ungrateful a lot of the time —that I’m brash or unkind but don’t think for a second I take for granted what you feel for me.” His lips press against yours for a second before they’re separate again. “I love you and I won’t let anything more happen to you.”

As soon as he finishes you can’t help but pull him against your chest, placing a kiss to the crown of his head before resting your chin on top of it. “Mm, you really have a way with words don’t you?”

All he does is chuckle. “I would hope so after all the mindless chatter I’ve done over the last two centuries.”

“I’m sure you’ve swept your fair share of feet with that beautiful voice of yours.” 

He cranes his neck to look up at you. “My voice is pretty beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s like music to my ears, darling,” you tell him, partially mocking him as he scoffs in response and reaches for the nearest pillow to smother your already giggling face.

 “Don’t mock me.” 

Awkwardly moving to shove the pillow aside, you feel him shift against you as he sits up, grabbing both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. “Actually, you know what, I take back what I said —I actually hate you.”

“No you don’t.” 

You scrunch up your face in fake annoyance as he leans down again, giving you a chastising look. “I do. So much so that I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.”

“Oh, really?”

While nodding your head, you try your best to get him to release your wrists but to no avail, eventually sighing in response. “Yeah, I’d rather take a bath instead, I think. Get you to wash my hair or something.”

Without even protesting he just kisses your nose and rises from the bed, readying the bath. Taking it upon himself to focus on the task at hand rather than your lingering eyes staring at his dishevelled hair and the way his clothes have shifted out of place thanks to your roaming hands. Something that shouldn’t annoy you but does as you crave his attention. Finding yourself wanting desperately to keep him connected any way you can. 

Because despite knowing he’s here with you, sometimes he isn’t. Instead, sometimes he’s lost in far-off lands, travelling by himself in fear, trying desperately to get back. Behind his eyes, you can always tell when he’s absent because his eyes sort of shift out of focus, dismissing whatever’s directly in front of him in favour of relieving whatever awful memory’s been triggered. 

It breaks your heart. Ultimately spurring you to stand and move behind, wrapping your arms around him as he finishes up the bath. 

“C’mon, get it before it gets cold.” 

Despite wanting to playfully protest, you listen. Taking a reluctant step back while releasing his frame, you slowly begin to peel off your clothes, feeling his fingertips reach for your stomach as you throw your tunic over your head.

“Can I help you?” 

Looking down at his hand, you see his fingers draw patterns into your flesh. How they practically dance their way down to your waist before his other hand slips to the buttons of your trousers. 

“Other way around.”

You look at him, confused, prompting him to laugh. 

“Figured you could use a hand with these.” He tugs the button through the hole with one quick swipe, causing you to bite back a smirk and roll your eyes, allowing him to slowly drag the fabric down your legs. Watching as he moves to his knees along with it. 

Once there, he motions for you to step out of each pant leg, discarding the fabric entirely. Grinning up at you once you’re left only in your underwear. 

“Gods, you’re…” He doesn’t finish. Instead, he just kisses the inner portion of your thigh as he plays with the edge of the fabric, looking up at you with pleading eyes. The kind that you merely nod at, suddenly feeling nervous.

Because it’s been a while since he’s seen you like this. And even so, it continues to feel different. More intimate somehow as he moves at a leisurely pace, kissing your skin while exposing your sex. As it happens, you have to look away and take a breath, feeling everything shift past your thighs and knees, eventually moving to your calves and feet before there’s nothing against you. No fabric or hands or lips —only the suffocating air of the inn hitting your bare skin, forcing you to uncomfortably squirm as you look down. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters, and suddenly it feels like your heart is bursting against your chest, watching as he leans forward to pepper a few kisses along your upper legs, reaching for the scars that line your stomach —ignoring the way they twitch beneath his fingertips as he traces over them. “How about we get you into the tub before the water gets cold, hm?”

Almost nervously you nod, feeling him grip your hips for support as he moves to stand before guiding you into the tub without another word. 

-

TAGLIST:

@poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo @jjfchk @idiotsatan @bluestuesday @bloopthebat @art-by-greenie @heneralmoon @sukunababe @dreamingaboutyousworld @ranfithegood @haniscrying @liadamerondjarin @the-lake-is-calling @marina-and-the-memes @rookieoftheyear @zraloci-cpr @kaetmo @snickerdoodle-daydream @wowowwild @d1anna @raswiet @conniesbbymama @venus-wrts @demonicthorns @kihten @sanscas @spammypasta @leighsartworks216 @rose-gold-blue @p1ssmagg0t @hellish-writes @ghostinvenus @otayz @sexysquatch @sleepyeclair @colorful-anxieties @alina-exe @lillifer @girlwiththepapatattoo @acelin-ginsberg @pinkuranium @catrad0rable @scarletrosesposts @qwnamidala @itsrosebabe @bunnyperi @queenofcarrotflowers-s @tatumadams20 @spkyxszn @chlort @f3v3rs @awkwardwookie @joy-the-reader @warm-milk-with-honey-blog @vertigocrime @iyis @wildpiper @pebblethestone @tillywasneverhere @bex-03 @revemiya @staticspouse @itzagothamcitysiren

(taglist continued in reblogs)

[hamiltonaf]

Hi bestie, can i request how lewis would help you when you have insomnia? Mine is really a pain in the ass this week, could use a distraction

Night Owl | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: None

A/N: Hello loves ! Apologies for the delay in writing requests…I fell really ill over the week and was so out of writing :( but I’m back. Thanks anon for requesting, I hope you enjoy. Requests are still open .xx

Another night that I found it hard to sleep. It was like this for over a week because of stress and anxiety. I don’t even have anything to stress about, it’s just how my mind works when my brains thinks I have so much to do and I won’t complete everything I want to do in time.

It wasn’t that big of a deal to sleep at early hours of the morning all alone because I didn’t have Lewis with me so I’d wake up late. However, now that Lewis is around, I feel the need to sleep and wake up at a normal time so that we could do more things together as a couple since I hardly see him anyway.

Once in a while I’ll experience an adrenaline rush in the middle of the night and I’m so full of energy, I could literally eat a whole meal, probably even host my own fake concert and I still wouldn’t be tired till around 4 or 5am.

I joined Lewis and his family for the start of the summer break before Lewis was off on his boys trip. I was over the moon to see Lewis after a whole 2 weeks. Doesn’t seem that long but felt like a lifetime for me.

We spent the day with the family catching up and playing with Kaiden and Willow. We played countless rounds of Uno and spent most of our time out in the sun. Watching Lewis with kids and spending time with him had me thinking about him leaving on his boys trip soon - anxiety trigger because the thought of us being apart again soon.

I swear I’m not selfish… we video call everyday and I physically see him every weekend or every second weekend, but with our schedules clashing I can’t even spend time with him when I’m free because I’m working. Race weekends also fly by so quickly, before you know it, it’s already Sunday and I’m on a flight back home whilst he takes a flight to another race.

I just would’ve wanted to spend some more time with him during this summer break and it could make up for the lost time.

I didn’t even realise I was daydreaming until Lewis snapped his fingers in front of me. “We’re at the hotel… you’ve been so quiet for the past 15 minutes. Is everything okay ?” He asked softly. “Oh yeah. Uhm everything is fine… don’t worry” I faked a smile and exited the car. He followed behind me back to our room, it was quite evident to Lewis that I wasn’t my usual self. When we reached our room, he grabbed me by my hand and pulled me flush against his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay ? You seem off. Is something bothering you ?” He raised a brow.

“I’m fine really” I gave him a soft smile then pecked his cheek. Just as I was about to leave his grasp, he held me tighter. “Babe I can literally tell when you’re lying. You pull that fake smile on me when something is bother you” he pointed out. I immediately felt embarrassed. “What ? No” I scoffed and giggled. “And you do that as well” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Okay well I’m not in the mood to discuss it right now, maybe later” I trailed as I pecked his lips and walked over to the bathroom. I had a shower and to my surprise, Lewis had fallen off to sleep. I on the other hand was full of energy, but might as well try to sleep.

I got into bed and cuddled up close to him. In hopes I would fall off to sleep, unfortunately I was too restless and ended up turning from side to side. I know he’s a light sleeper and I felt bad at the thought of him waking up because of me. A whole hour of trying to sleep and I gave up. I jumped out of bed and went to our lounge to watch something to pass some time. About half and hour into the movie, I got a shock when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

The movie I was watching had me in a depresso mode where I was bawling my eyes out. “Oh my- love are you okay ?” He asked concerned. “Oh my god. Babe you scared me” I screamed as I placed a hand on my heart. “Didn’t mean to scare you, if anything, you scared me… why did you leave me alone in bed ?” He pouted as he jumped over the couch to sit right next to me. “I can’t sleep” I sighed. “No worries, I can help” he smiled. “Lew it’s not one of those nights where I randomly can’t sleep, I have insomnia. It’s much harder to sleep when you’re an insomniac” I pouted and laid my head on his shoulder. “Well what’s keeping my girl up ? You didn’t tell me earlier, I wanna hear it from you now because I’m concerned” he said as he turned to look at me.

“Okay don’t take this the wrong way. My brain overthinks the smallest of things, when normally I couldn’t care. We’ll blame it on some chemical reaction on my brain, maybe lack of serotonin I think-“ he cut me off. “Babe. You’re rambling. Calm down. Deep breaths and tell me straight up how you’re feeling” he smiled as he cupped my face. “Look, you know how much I love you and it hurts me how little we see each other. My mind for some odd reason isn’t its normal self because all my mind thinks about is how little time we actually spend together …” I said embarrassed. “Look I’m all for you going on your boys trip, but I had to be honest with what’s on my mind” I gave him a soft smile.

“Aww baby you’re so cute. You want me all to yourself ?” He smirked and raised a brow. “Low-key yes, but no” I said as I then slapped my forehead in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry that sounds so dumb” I covered my whole face with my hands. “Darling, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about” he said as he pulled my hands away from my face and caressed my cheek with his thumb. “I’m just glad you’re honest with me. Sorry babe for hurting you, why didn’t you tell me sooner ?” He cooed. “I thought it was stupid and I was just being dumb” I shrugged.

“Never. Your feelings are valid, always. Consider me all yours for the rest of the summer” he smiled as he pulled me in for a short kiss. “Wait, what ? Lew no ! You can’t not go on your boys trip” I argued. “This is not a debate love” he grinned. “But Lew, you can’t not-“ “End of discussion. Let’s go” he cut me off as he stood up and carried me in his arms towards our bedroom.

“Now I definitely won’t sleep, you’re making me feel awful as if I’m holding you back which I’m really not. My mind is just racing at the thought of how quickly time is going and how we’re barely together, this has nothing to do with your mates by the way because I think they’re all amazing. My brain is just not braining these past few days” I pouted as he laid me in bed and jumped in to cuddle me closer to him.

“Babe just don’t worry about it, that’s the least of my concerns right now” he said as he nuzzled his face into my neck. “Lew !” I groaned. “You need to sleep and I’m doing my best to help put an end to your insomnia” he smiled into my neck as he snaked an arm around my waist. He placed soft kisses along my shoulders before turning me around in his grasp. “I really love you” he smiled. “I really love you too Lew Lew” I felt my cheeks flush as he pulled my face closer and connected our lips.

I felt so at ease in his embrace knowing he’s right with me after quite a while of being apart. I guess all I needed was a goodnight kiss.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 10

It was the era of the Polaroid and the beginning of videotape. He was the director and I his star acting out fantasies. We dressed up and undressed, played and wrestled, told stories, acted out our fantasies, and invented scenes. Whether it was dressing up in my school uniform and playing at being a sweet, innocent schoolgirl, or a secretary coming home from work and relaxing in the privacy of her own bedroom, or a teacher seducing her student, we were always inventing new stories, and eventually, I learned what stimulated Matt the most.

Almost every night I made quick trips to the local drugstore to buy considerable amounts of Polaroid film. Some of the cashiers knew me, and I wondered if they suspected what we were doing.

I put on dark glasses to “disguise” myself, but ended up looking even more conspicuous as I’d sweetly request twelve packs of Polaroid film while making excuses like, “Gee, the others must have been defective. I just can’t seem to get them to come out right,” or “You’re not going to believe this, but someone stole my film.”

Making it in and out of Graceland was no easy feat, either. I’d pass Mr. Stall at the gate at odd hours of the night, smiling and waving hello, returning shortly with the same smile and the same wave. I was sure he harbored some suspicious thoughts about what I was doing.

Matt laughed when I told him. “It’s all in your mind. He’s no more thinking anything than a dog sleeping.”

“Well, what if he starts spreading rumors, like I go out at night?”

“It might create some excitement around here. This town’s dead. Boston needs a little gossip!”

Matt and I both loved creating these sexual fantasies and it seemed to bring us closer together. I had no previous sexual experience to compare with his inventive sexuality and I was ready to indulge him any way I could. Being in the fast lane, he was exposed to every pleasure available in life. Ordinary thrills sometimes were not enough, especially when he was under the influence of powerful drugs.

At first I was totally open to Matt and many of his ideas. I lived for those moments we were alone. I was careful to say little that might jeopardize my bond with him. I fulfilled his needs, and his beliefs became mine. Under no circumstances were his ideas or playfulness perverted or in any way harmful.

A few days after he came home, he led me to his long black limousine and we sped off to one of Boston’s most exclusive boutiques on Union Street for some after-hours shopping, just as we’d done in Las Vegas. While the boys milled around the shop and the store’s sales staff tried to look nonchalant, Matt got a big kick out of having me model dozens of stunning dresses and suits and coats that were so stylish I was doubtful I could wear them. I was still an insecure teenager.

“Matt,” I said, wearing a sexy gold lamé gown that clung to my every curve, “these clothes are too sophisticated for me.”

“Sophisticated?” he said, regarding me admiringly. “What’s sophisticated? You could go around wearing a feather and that would be sophisticated.”

“Well, bring me a feather then.”

We spent four hours at that shop and during that time, I had a personalized lesson in the Matt Sturniolo Fashion Course.

As I tried on dress after dress, Matt delivered a running commentary on color. He liked me in red, blue, turquoise, emerald green, and black and white—the same colors he himself wore. He liked solids only, declaring that large prints took away from my looks. “Too distracting,” he said. He hated browns and dark green, colors inextricably associated in his mind with the Army.

Exhausted and a little confused about my new look, I walked out of the shop dressed in a sleek black linen suit with four-inch highheeled shoes to match. With Matt sitting proudly beside me, the guys loaded the trunk of the limo with armfuls of packages, and I felt very special.

Back at Graceland he had me model all my new clothes again for Grandma, who patiently sat through a long two hours of changes. I was Matt’s doll, his own living doll, to fashion as he pleased.

It was the early sixties, when clothes and makeup veered to extremes. Women’s eyeliner was heavier, their hair more teased, and their skirts shorter than ever before. All the rules I’d learned about dressing and applying makeup (less is more, the simpler the better) were being broken, and men seemed to love it. Matt certainly did. If I went a little light with the mascara or black eyeliner, he’d send me back upstairs to apply it more heavily.

Matt liked long hair. When I’d cut mine without asking his permission, he was shocked.

“How could you cut your goddamn hair? You know I like long hair. Men love long hair.”

He wanted it long and jet black, dyed to match his because, as he said, “You have pretty eyes, baby. Black hair will make your eyes stand out more.” He made a lot of sense to me and soon my hair was dyed jet black, like his.

The more we were together the more I came to resemble him in every way. His tastes, his insecurities, his hang-ups—all became mine.

For instance, high collars were his trademark, not because he especially liked them, but because he felt his neck looked too long. He never felt comfortable unless he was in a customized high-collared shirt, though in a pinch he’d turn the collar up on a regular shirt as he had when he was in school.

When he told me that the collar I was wearing on a particular blouse was too small for my “long, skinny neck,” I too began wearing high-collared shirts. Why not? My sole ambition was to please him, to be rewarded with his approval and affection. When he criticized me, I fell to pieces.

The Pygmalion nature of our relationship was a mixed blessing. The most fundamental thing at this stage in our life together was that Matt was my mentor, someone who studied my every gesture, listened critically to my every utterance, and was generous, to a fault, with advice.

When I did something that wasn’t to his liking, I was corrected. It is extremely difficult to relax under such scrutiny. Little escaped him. Little except the most salient fact of allthat I was a volcano about to erupt.

There were evenings when he’d send me back upstairs to change clothes because my choice was “dull,” “unflattering,” or “not dressy enough” for him. Even the way I walked came under review; he told me to move more slowly, and for a short while, he had me walking around the house with a book on my head.

I appreciated his interest, but I hated having to hear him remind me of my shortcomings so many times, and each time having to promise him that he’d never have to tell me again.

Would I ever be able to live up to his vision of how his ideal woman should behave and appear? She had to be sensitive, loving, and extremely understanding, meeting unusual demands any average woman might reject. This included being left behind when he made spur-of-the-moment, questionable “business” trips.

She had to be pretty and she had to possess an offbeat sense of humor to survive all the joking at Graceland. Often I’d walk into Sunday afternoon football gatherings and hear inside jokes about the cute all-American cheerleaders. Eventually I found myself thinking like one of the guys. “Nice tits and ass,” I’d say to myself. “A little heavy in the thighs, but the face makes up for it.”

Matt had a strong aversion to wearing jeans. As a poor boy, he had no choice but to wear them and he never wanted to lay eyes on another pair. That applied to everyone in the group.

His firm ideas on my wardrobe didn’t make it easy for me to go out and buy clothes for myself. One day I came home proud of a dress I’d just bought and couldn’t wait to put on. I knew he didn’t like prints, but this was a blackand-white flowered silk that I thought very special.

The first words out of his mouth when he saw me were: “That dress doesn’t suit you. Does nothing for you. Takes away from your face, your eyes. All you see’s the dress.”

As he tore me apart I started to cry. “Are you quite finished?” I inquired. I didn’t give him a chance to answer, bolting for my bathroom and slamming the door.

A few minutes later I heard his voice from the other side of the door: “You gotta keep away from those large prints. You’re a small girl, Sattnin.”

I opened the bathroom door and snapped, “Okay, I’ll return the fuckin’ dress.”

Matt fell to the floor laughing; eventually I joined in, unable to stop myself. Once again I’d compromised my own taste.

He ignored no aspect of my appearance, including my teeth. He took me to his dentist, told him to clean my teeth and give me a thorough examination. He was to look for probable cavities only and should I need any fillings, they were to be made of white porcelain. To him a mouth loaded with gold or silver was an eyesore.

He was equally fanatical about posture. If I slumped, he’d straighten my back. When I’d look up at him and wrinkle my forehead, he’d smooth it out—or tap it—telling me not to get in that habit. I didn’t like him rapping me, so I learned that one fast.

When we came home from the movies one night, I was getting ready for bed and he was in his office playing the piano. I came in to listen, propping my foot on the bench where he was sitting. He looked down at a small chip in my nail polish and I immediately withdrew my foot from the bench and started making up excuses about why it wasn’t fixed. “I’m going to have my pedicure tomorrow,” I promised.

“Good,” he said, “cause that doesn’t look like my Little Girl’s. You should always keep them looking nice.”

I was leading a double life—a schoolgirl by day, a femme fatale by night. Our evening appearance downstairs usually resembled a grand entrance. Even when our only intention was to have dinner, we always dressed for the occasion. Matt might wear a three-piece suit with a brocade vest and a Stetson hat. Under his coat he always carried a gun. He’d given me a small pearl-handled derringer and I carried it in my bra or tucked it into a holster around my waist. We were a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.

Matt loved films, and we went to the Memphian almost every night. He was still renting the whole house after regular hours since he couldn’t attend a movie without being mobbed. One of the guys always lined up several films in case Matt didn’t like one of them or decided to see as many as three or four in a row. We usually arrived around midnight, our limousine pulling around to the back of the Memphian. From there we’d proceed into the side door like a royal couple leading their court.

Already seated in the theater were the usual crowd of thirty to fifty local friends and fans. Matt always sat in the same seat—with Nate Doe to his right, me to his left.

Before calling “Roll ’em!” he looked around the theater to make sure everyone was seated. He was an acutely aware person and could immediately spot any unwanted or unfamiliar faces. If any new faces were sitting too close to him, Matt suggested they move elsewhere. He was more lenient with the girls. He might not demand they move but he certainly wanted to know who they were, and should they object to being asked for this information or smart off in any way, he would not hesitate to have one of the boys escort them out, telling them never to come back.

There were times Matt rented the entire Boston Fairgrounds after closing and we all  spent hours on our favorite rides. We tried such daredevil feats on the roller-coaster as seeing who could stand the longest with both arms outstretched as it whipped and twisted around the track again and again.

Matt loved the bumper cars and would team up with the entourage against some locals. They’d spend the night seemingly trying to kill each other, laughing and bruising themselves like tough little boys while we girls watched and cheered them on. After several hours my own enthusiasm waned.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - hope u enjoyed this chapter!!🎀

[turvi]

Darling Mine

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

She exhaled as she cracked her knuckles. Her body grew more tired as the hours passed. Today was the final OWLS exam and although Y/n was confident that she would get excellent marks, she was exhausted because of the hours she spent in her dorm preparing for the exams.

She pushed herself to complete the answers as her exhausted mind had enough of this exam and wanted nothing but rest. She flipped the pages revising and checking the answers. Tears brimmed her eyes as she yawned again. She felt like she could pass out right now on the desk if the Professor had not announced that the time was over.

She rested her face on one hand as Professor Filch collected the papers. She closed her eyes and told herself she would take a power nap of 15 minutes as Professor Filch collected answer sheets. But as soon as Professor Filch moved to the next row, Y/n went out like a light.

George saw this and sighed. He sat down beside her and admired how peaceful she looked right now. Her eyebrows were rid of the usual frown. His heart stirred when her lips twitched in her sleep.

He could describe their relationship as complex. Ever since he first saw her he knew she is there to stay in his life. He noticed she was in deep slumber. He picked her up and took her to his dorm.

He made coffee as she slept peacefully on his bed. She looked so exhausted...just so she could prove to her parents that she is brilliant. They were also the reason why Y/n never even looked George's way even though her heart ached for him.

The L/n's had a reputation. They were not as powerful as Malfoys and Blacks but they were still honored members of the pureblood society. They had warned her when they saw her giggling with George that they will disown her if they ever see her with him again.

George was heartbroken when Y/n would not look at him. He knew how much she loved him. There was no doubt about that. His siblings especially Fred would try to convince him to move on and he would have if he had not seen how much she cared for him even if she tried not to show it.

How George would find a blanket on him if he fell asleep on the common room couch, or how he caught her charming his tea to remain hot on a chilly night, or how after a rough quidditch match she patched him up and stayed with him till morning.

George barely hated anything. Hate was a strong word for him. But he hated how fate was trying to keep him apart from someone he truly loves. But he can't really fault fate, after all, it is because of her he got to know his love.

Y/n woke up when she felt someone caressing her head. She opened her eyes to a familiar red-headed twin to whom she had lost her heart. She had finally admitted to herself how she longed to stay like this in his arms, to be called his. She wished she was brave like him, brave enough to fight her fate just to see him look at her like this.

Her heart fluttered when he leaned in. He was so close yet so far. She whispered "George"

"Shh. Just please let me see you properly"

She couldn't deny him. His brown irises tried to store this moment. He hoped he could remember her this vividly. She finally smelled the coffee on the nightstand. She smiled as she looked at him "When were you going to tell me-

He couldn't take it anymore. His lips crashed on hers. His hand gently held her jaw. He felt her hand on his chest. She whined as he kissed her with more fervor. She gasped as they finally broke apart. Their chest heaving as they look into each other's eyes. No words were spoken. Like they were meant to be there.

"George..you know I can't do this" Her view of her love blurred as tears clouded her eyes. Pain is evident in her e/c eyes. George wonders how long she has been holding this pain in her heart?

He knew how her parents disapproved of him and how much she loved him but had to let go because she preferred to live in pain rather than see him get hurt by her parents.

"I love you Y/n...and I know you do too"

She was about to speak up when he spoke up again "Marry me"

Her jaw dropped but butterflies stormed in her stomach. She could not believe what she was hearing. She knew her parents would marry her to a man who was older than her father only for money and position.

George held her closer, looking deep into her e/c eyes, hoping she could see how much he craved for her. "We can marry in secret. They can't separate a married couple. We can go far away from here and spend our life together."

He desperately held her hand. She smiled loving the idea of spending life with George Weasley. She got up from his lap and caressed his cheek. "I know how much your shop means to you. More importantly, I know how much your family means to you. That is why we can't be together George. You deserve something better"

He shook his head holding her shoulder, afraid if he lets go she might go away. "Do you not love me?"

Tears finally dropped down her cheeks. She sat on his lap and took his hand and placed it on the left side of her chest. He could feel her heart rate increase.

She sobbed "I love you, George...please I really do. But I don't want my parents to harm you or your family because of me"

Their lips made contact again. The lovers not wanting to say goodbye to each other. "They won't be able to. Just be mine and I will always protect you." He chuckled "You will be one of the Weasleys. I won't let them take you away from me"

She smiled and nudged his nose "I have always been yours. And if you are by my side I can fight anyone who is against my love"

George planted kisses all over her face, her giggles encouraging him more. "Thank you, thank you. I love you so much Y/n L/n"

"I love you so much, George Weasley"

He giggled "Mrs. Weasley. Suits you"

She kissed him ready for the obstacles she knew she was going to face to love, George Weasley. But she didn't mind. Not when the idea of spending life together with him was a reality now

A/N: REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED

[desomniis]

to ask for your hand (I just pray that its mine) | Chapter 4 excerpt

After clinching his third career win at the Vegas GP, Carlos wakes up to a wedding band on his finger and his teammate, Charles, wearing the exact match.

WIP | 4/5 | 28,797 words | Accidental Drunk Marriage in Vegas AU | Fluff | Angst | Drama

Down below, the circuit was a bright outline against the night. Another season, another gruelling race in Singapore.

The skyline was an architectural marvel. It was stunning during the day, but at night? it looked like a rare jewel sparkling against the black velvet night. To witness such magnificence on top of the Marina Bay Sands—dipped in the infinity pool, no less—with no one else around was a indeed privilege.

In his mind, he traced the track, imagining his car passing through Anderson bridge, making the tight left at 13 to the Esplanade Drive. Then the apex at 14, then 15, 16—a splash from the other end of the pool startled him. Charles?

Carlos was pretty sure it was Charles, the rookie this season. They never really ‘talked’ before. Their conversations always happened in passing, going along the lines off, ‘How are you? Good? How’s your car? Not good on the tires.’ He knew little about him—only that he was from Monaco and that he was set to replace Kimi at Ferrari next year. A rookie replacing a world champion. Unheard of. This kid must be a huge deal.

“It’s a beautiful city, no?” Carlos ventured. He winced inside, remembering Papá's advice about small talk and F1 drivers.

Charles jolted, his hand flying to his chest, accidentally splashing water to his own face. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

Carlos chuckled. “You’re quite jumpy, eh?” he teased, settling on the ledge next to him.

“A little,” Charles admitted with a sheepish smile. “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late, no?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I didn’t get much sleep on the flight here.”

“Tell me about it. 20 hour flights are no joke.”

“True,” Charles said. “Any tips for tomorrow? I’ve never raced here before. My first time. So, I’m a little nervous.”

A smirk crept up Carlos lips. “Have you passed out in a race before?”

“Uh, no? I don’t think so.”

“Well, here, try not to. It’s almost guaranteed.”

”What? That’s impossible.”

“Also, you might drive blind on some corners.”

“Why—”

“Don’t even get me started about the rain. Singapore is a totally different race if it rains.”

Worry flitted through Charles' eyes, swallowing a lump on his throat. “Oh yeah?” he said, trying to hide his discomfort.

Carlos held onto his laughter. He nodded seriously, “yeah. Seven DNF’s last year.”

Charles visibly got more anxious, the horrors of last year’s race flashing in his eyes. “Ah, putain,” he muttered under his breath.

Carlos’ laughter eventually bubbled forth.

“What? Why are you laughing?” Charles questioned, his brows knitting together.

“I was kidding. It’s not that bad, I promise.”

“I—Oh… you were trying to scare me.” Charles smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Making fun of the rookie, I see.”

“Don’t worry,” Carlos wiped the tears from his eyes. “Vettel and Fernando did it to me in my rookie year too. Except they waited a day before telling me it’s not that bad. I remember not sleeping that night.”

Charles laughed, and Carlos was struck. There was something about his laugh that resonated deep in Carlos’ chest, like the melody of his childhood summers spent racing bicycles down sun-dappled streets, the wind tousling his hair as he pedalled faster. It was the echo of his first karting victory, the taste of victory sweet on his tongue as he stood atop the podium, trophy held high, amid deafening cheers and applause. It was Miguel’s call, on his last day, asking him to meet at the lake so that he could steal another kiss from Carlos. There was something in Charles’ laugh that made Carlos yearn to hear it more.

“Well, I guess I’ll consider myself lucky that it was not Vettel or Fernando then,” Charles said.

“Yeah. Lucky. Just sleep well and drink lots of water before the race and you’ll do fine. I’ve seen you drive. You’re good. I trust that you can make it.”

Charles's eyebrows lifted, his head tilting slightly to the left like a puppy hearing something strange. “Really?” he asked, “you think I’m good?”

Carlos can count in one hand the amount of times he complimented another driver. It wasn't that he didn't recognise talent in others—if he was being honest, there were plenty of drivers far better than him. But he rarely voiced such acknowledgements. It’s like offering your enemy an edge.

So when he did compliment Charles, it surprised him, almost catching him off guard. There was no logical explanation for it.

Perhaps it was because Charles was young and it was his first year in F1. He could vividly recall his own struggles as a rookie. Maybe, in his own way, it was him trying to help his younger self.

Or perhaps it was how easily Charles just opened up to Carlos. Paired with his dimples, the sheepish smile, and those earnest blue eyes pleading for advice. Carlos felt an instinctual urge to protect Charles.

Or perhaps, it was something else entirely.

“You don’t?” Carlos dodged the question.

"I do. It's just that... It's rare to hear it from another driver. Everyone else says I'm good, you know? 'You're so talented, Charles. So fast. You are destined to be in F1,'" he recounted. "But they say it from the outside looking in. They don’t really get it. But when another driver say it, it means a lot more. Because they understand. You understand."

Carlos nodded slowly, the weight of Charles' words settling on him. He knew that feeling all too well. The constant need to prove his own worth, that he deserved to compete with the best of the world, that it wasn’t all because of a privileged upbringing.

“Of course,” he said idly. “So, how does this feel? All of it—the hype, the pressure, the Ferrari seat next year?”

A hesitant smile touched Charles' lips, fleeting as the Monegasque breeze. “When I drove for practice for them last year, I felt like I was going to explode in the car. I felt buzzing in my ears and my hand couldn’t stop shaking. I thought I would crash. I’m quite happy that I didn’t.

“But what’s interesting was how it all felt strange to me. All my life I’ve dreamed of driving and winning in that red car. Not only me, my father and my godfather too. I carry all their dreams with me. Now that I have the chance to do that… it’s…” Charles trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Overwhelming," Carlos offered, a hint of longing creeping into his voice. "Being in that red car… it’s something else."

The last sentence hung heavy in the air, the weight of his secret, of his father's expectation, sat heavy in his gut.

Charles chuckled, a soft, nervous sound. "Yeah. It's like everyone expects me to be a champion overnight. But then there's the pressure from myself too, you know? Like I have to live up to all these expectations, not just mine but everyone else's too." He ran a hand through his hair, anxiety swimming in his eyes.

Carlos leaned back on the ledge of the pool, studying Charles. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that surprised him. This young prodigy, who seemed to have it all figured out, was wrestling with self-doubt just like everyone else.

"Hey," Carlos said gently, "You'll be alright. You're here for a reason. You have the talent, the drive... you'll get there eventually.”

A flicker of gratitude sparked in Charles' eyes. "Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate that. Coming from you, it means a lot."

The compliment hung in the air for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Carlos couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about Charles disarmed him.

"Are you hungry?" Carlos finally asked, surprising even himself with the question. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Charles’ eyes sparkled and his lips curved up, making Carlos’ chest feel warm, like it was about to blow open. Whether it was a good or bad sign, it didn’t matter because there was only one thing he was sure of:

He wanted to see Charles smile again.

Read the whole chapter here. Ask me questions!

[ohnomytummy]

Urgh... I have the stomach flu. I caught it at a 3 day festival I went to.

The first day was fine, I set up our tent and spent the whole 24 hours listening to the artists and having fun. I do remember noting that the nurses station was quite full.

After I went to bed on the second day, I woke up feel queasy. But I shook it off and went back on the dance floor.

A couple of hours later, some dude leaned over and puked right in front of me. This made me loose the fragile grip on my stomach that I already had, along with a number of others. I think all up, there were about 15 people uncontrollably vomiting.

I went back to the tent where I just got worse. I tried to sleep but I just kept getting sick from both ends.

They ended up finishing the festival 12 hours earlier then was planned because literally everyone, even the artists, had caught it.

Now I'm at home, still being sick from both ends. Yet somehow, even with the pure liquid that is coming out of me at both ends, my stomach is somehow rock hard??

So I'm curious. What would you do if you were with me? Would you catch it too? If not, what would you do to my poor tummy?

(Quick note: I'm into tummy torture and humiliation as well :)) )

😳🥴 I’m sorry…this sounds like a fantasy I didn’t know I had???? Wowowowow…how do you hold in such a kinky situation when everyone else is so…*gulp*sick….

Anyways….fuck…okay…

I have never gotten a stomach bug in my life. Not a bad one anyway. So I’m gonna pretend, if I WERE to be there with you (moans), it’d be as an innocent bystander. Maybe I don’t go with you, but I see you from across the tent and think you’re cute. I’m already turned on from watching people get sick all around us. Poor babes. Such poor tummy’s. So weak…not strong like mine ;)

The music is loud, and despite the chaos, I’ve been watching you wrestle with your tummy for the last hour. I’ve been paying attention to your stomach slowly bloating, the heave of your chest as you hiccup and burp, the way your hands brush innocently against your gut. I can tell you’re either clueless about your belly ache, or lying to yourself.

When the stranger hurls his insides in front of you, I remind myself to thank him if I see him because I know you’ll soon have your first trip down the hurl train to. And of course, I’m right. I watch you puke all over your shoes, barely missing the guy who puked on you. Using the moment as my opportunity, I approach you quickly and encircle my arms around your waist.

“I’ve got you, don’t worry. Let’s get you back to your tent,” I whisper in your ear. I rub your sides as we walk, you wipe your mouth every so often, but otherwise your arms are wrapped tightly around your belly. I feel your belly gurgle and the hiccups build. You softly moan, the short trip making you feel worse.

When we get to your tent, I gently strip you. “We’ll keep your clothes for when you’re well. You’ll mess them in this state, and then what will you wear?” Each movement you make causes a cramp and painful gas, making you pause, but you do as I say. Despite not knowing each other long, you’re already begging for me to rub your sore tummy, to pop the sick bubbles and let up the gas trapped inside you. Your shyness is nowhere in sight. You’re blinded by your horrible infected belly.

“Where are your trash bags?” You point with a soft moan. In the quiet of the tent, we can both hear your belly’s sick groans and gurgles. I grab a bag and hold you in my lap, opening the bag in front of you.

Without warning, I press into your rock hard belly. You gag and a flow of sick comes up and into the trash bag. “I knew you needed to release. Your tummy can’t even handle a little stomach bug. Look,” I put my hand over your lower tummy. “You’re already filling back up.”

Over the course of the night, you go back and forth from my lap puking, to crouching over a hole, clutching your stomach and moaning or praying to god to make it stop while I tease you and press hard into your tummy, making matters (and the mess) worse.

Must’ve been one hell of a festival…shit

[bittencandy]

Tyki Mikk relationship headcannons

♠️ He has a tendency to wander when he's drunk. He had taken you to Portugal for vacation during a festival when you first learned of this little quirk.

The two of you had spent the day gorging yourself on local street food, walking the streets while drinking and admiring the festivities and your activities had carried on well into the night.

Both of you were drunk. And while Tyki's tolerance is admittedly higher than yours, he had been drinking a lot more than you had.

You were busy admiring a string of floats being carted down the street. A prism of colors and flower blossoms, making the street look like a rainbow. And when you had turned to gauge Tyki's reaction you were struck with the startling revelation that he was gone. He had just been next to you. Where was he?

After about fifteen minutes of weaving through the crowd of people and hopelessly calling out to him over the rancorous laughter and chatter, you found the man digging around in some dumpster for a reason that only God knows. His face has lit up like you were the stars incarnate at the sight of you and it was almost enough to dampen the panic and fury in your chest. Almost.

" Hey, babe! I've been looking all over for ya!" He had slurred while dangling from the lip of the dumpster.

That had earned him a smack on the back of the head.

♠️ Rubs his feet together when he's getting ready to go to sleep. It's almost like a ritual for him. If he's completely honest, he doesn't even realize he's doing it half the time. He didn't know how frequently he did it until you had pointed it out to him one night. Once his body makes contact with the mattress he's out like a light.

♠️ He's not much of a morning person but he's used to waking up before dawn to go work the mines when he's with Eaze, Momo, and Clark. But he's also out well past midnight when hunting Exorcist for the Earl, so all in all his sleep schedule is non-existent.

So, when he finally has time to see you he's either falling asleep and crashing for hours on end or he's waking up before the sun can peak over the horizon out of habit. One time he passed out for nearly 15 hours straight and you had to press your ear up to his chest to listen for his heart beat to make sure he was still alive.

He is a bed hog though. Often splaying his arms and legs out like a star fish until you have no choice but to sleep on top of him. You're pretty sure it's intentional.

On the nights where he can't sleep and insomnia kicks in, he'll train smoke through a pack of cigarettes until he gets tired enough to go back to bed and pass out.

You've caught him like this on several occasions. Waking up well past midnight to see his side of the bed empty and cold.

It presses you to leave the comfort of your bed. And you'll find him in the kitchen, sitting at the small table in your pitifully sized dining room.

The window cracked open letting the smoke from his cigarette coil outside into the delicate night air. Tyki will be gazing outside, a set of heavy bags under his eyes. No doubt tired from the long " business trip" he took for the Earl or his little reunions with Eaze, Momo, and Clark.

You'll sneak up behind him (or so you like to think. He'll know you're up as soon as he hears the bed creak from down the hall) and wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing the crown of his head.

It doesn't take much to coax him back in bed. He's quick to snuff out his cigarette on the ashtray and follow you out of the kitchen as soon as he feels your warm arms around him.

♠️ I see gift giving as one of Tyki's love languages. Much like how he gifts Eaze the silver buttons from the uniforms of slain Exorcists, he likes to pick up random trinkets from the countries that he passes through.

You now have an entire shelf in your house that's devoted to these little nick nacks.

It sits above your writing desk and you often find yourself staring at them when there's a lull in your inspiration.

There's a shell that he had found off the coast of Italy, cream and strawberry pink,

a gorgeous pale lavender lace fan from France, a kaleidoscope from Berlin. Not to mention the time he came back with the Kamasutra, the bastard. You may or may not have tried out a few of those positions. One especially adventurous position resulted in a pulled muscle and the two of you laid out on the floor in a heap of tangled limps, bodies shaking with laughter.

♠️ This man falls in love all over again whenever you cook for him.

You know that saying, "the way to a man's heart is through his stomach"?

Well that's Tyki 100%

Just the thought of you making a meal FOR him is enough to make him feel loved.

It doesn't even have to be perfect.

Is it a little burnt? Doesn't matter.

Slightly undercooked. He'll still eat it.

( He might give you some shit for it, but it's all in good fun)

You have to remember, unless he's attending a family meeting with his fellow Noah, or is at Sheryl's, he's most likely with the boys at the mines. Most of the time he's eating a slice of tough, musty bread or some salted pork while he's on lunch break down in the dark, gritty shafts. He's also used to visiting soup kitchens in whatever area he's currently visiting. Drinking down greasy soup that's usually seasoned with enough pepper to make someone choke as a way to mask the weak watery flavor.

Whatever you make doesn't have to be perfect. He's just appreciative that you had taken time out of your day to make something for him.

If there's ever any left over food that you can't finish, he'll eat it for you. He's literally a bottomless pit.

♠️ Physical touch is definitely one of his love languages. This man is very handsy.

He needs to be touching you in some sort of way.

A hand on your waist, an arm slung across your shoulders, having you sit in his lap. You get the picture.

When he's been gone for weeks, if not months on end his next priority is you. No matter where you are or what you're doing he's finding you and pulling you into his arms and smothering you in kisses.

And the kissing and the desperation after being apart for so long is usually a combination that leads to more physical activities.

He's been gone for a while and he needs to feel you. To familiarize himself with your body again. Your scent, your taste, your voice and the sweet sounds that you make.

He wants to hear how you've been and what you've been up to since he's been gone.

For the remainder of the day he's going to be your shadow.

On this note, please bathe or shower with this man. It doesn't even have to turn sexual (not that he's complaining if it does).

There's just something so intimate about the whole experience.

Help him wash his hair. He'll die and go to heaven at the feel of your fingers combing through his hair and massaging his scalp.

♠️ Loves to speak to you in his native tongue. Even if you don't understand him.

He caught on pretty quickly on how you to the sound of his voice rolling and pronouncing Portuguese words.

He practically purrs when he does it.

Watching you get all flustered over it strokes his already massive ego.

And now that he's discovered this little Achilles heel of yours he makes sure to exploit it whenever he can.

Loves doing it to you in public so that he can watch you try and hide how flustered you really are.

He gets a huge kick out of it.

♠️ Definitely jealous and possessive.

Not because he doesn't trust you. It's everyone else he has an issue with. They should know that you're his. Not theirs.

He will absolutely litter your neck in purple and red blemishes unless you tell him he can't. He'll comply, but he's not above pouting about it. Grumbling under his breath with a pinched brow while running his hands through his hair in an irritated tick.

If you do let him, he's over the moon.

Pinning you down underneath him and sucking on every available inch of skin until you're squirming.

He knows how you're conflicted about how you feel when he gets visibly possessive in public. But there are times when he can't help it.

Because someone is flirting with you despite how obviously disinterested you are. Either because they're dense or simply because they choose to ignore your rejection.

He tries to be on his best behavior, he really does. But once someone TOUCHES you, all bets are off.

He's pulling you out from under their grip and behind his body like he's a shield and looming into their space. All of the Noah Clan have a threatening aura to normal humans in general. But when Tyki's pissed, it's jacked up to 100. You would imagine that it feels similar to how looking at a black hole would be. Massive, alien, oppressive. Like being pulled in by a magnetized web.

There's something old and primal in your bones that tells you that you're in the sight of something that's beyond your understanding. That looks like a human, and talks like a human, but isn't.

That maybe you're out of your depth.

And you can't help but be happy that you're on the opposite end of that aura. Those eyes aren't flashing gold like a warning because of you, but for you.

As soon as you see that amber glint you know it's your que to get Tyki away from whoever's responsible. Unless you want to see someone get an organ removed.

Which has happened once before and you'd rather not see something like that again.

Your memory of it is a vague mess. One minute the man was giving some sleazy one liner and was about to rope his arm around your shoulders and the next minute he was collapsing on the ground, gurgling on crimson. Tyki was grinning down at him with maniacal glee and a human heart still pumping grotesquely in the palm of his hand.

" Oh my God!" You had exclaimed once your mind had finally caught up with reality Though it still wasn't functioning at its best. " Put it back!"

Tyki had blinked at you, a little confused. " Eh . . . I'm not sure that's how that works."

♠️ He taught you how to play poker. And by play I mean cheat.

It makes it interesting when you both play against each other, considering that he taught you his tricks. Well, not all of them.

Fortunately for you, Clark and Momo were both generous enough to extend their own little sleights of hand to you.

Tyki was appalled when he first learned of this. He's never fully recovered from the betrayal.

♠️ He takes you on all kinds of dates whenever he's free to.

As both the aristocrat and the vagabond. Reservations to expensive restaurants and trips to high class retreats in some of the worlds most popular cities and counties.

He'll buy you whatever you want, nothing is too expensive when you're dating a relative to the Millennium Earl.

Clothes from the finest fabrics, jewelery made from rare diamonds.

If you want it, you got it.

But his favorite dates are the ones without all the glamor and money.

You both often frequent pubs, getting drunk well into the night and waking up late into the evening the next day with a story to tell (if either of you can remember).

He'll take you on picnic dates out by a pond, so he can fish while you snack on little sandwiches and cheeses and fruits, just basking in each other's presence.

The ocean has a lot of sentimental value to him and he wants to share it with you. So, beach dates are frequent thing.

You'll make a day of it. Sunning yourself atop the warm sand and chasing waves.

He's horrible about splashing you with water or vanishing underneath the blue and snatching you up from bellow to hear you shriek out in surprised joy.

[ihavenocarinsurance]

ObeyMe! angst

I cannot sleep and have suddenly been hit with some unreal motivation and dedication

CHARACTER: Lucifer

GENRE: angst

READER: genderneutral

CONTEXT: established romantic relationship

WARNINGS: none

EXTRA INFO: this is my first time writing for ObeyMe! and as always I am open for any criticism ♡ I wrote that like months ago and forgot- I can't remember writing this; At first I was convinced that this isn't mine...

Lucifer

Lucifer, a demon with a high status is expected to be a busy one. From managing RADs school events to signing an endless amount of papers is all entrusted to him. Responsible, stoic, dedicated and reliable. That is the Lucifer everyone knows.

But in your eyes, when it is just the both of you he becomes a Lucifer only you have seen before. He becomes a compassionate, romantic and loving Lucifer. He becomes yours truly. You Lucifer, recognised in both worlds.

However, both worlds need him and while you do your best to be understanding and support him doing what brings him happiness, the heavy feeling of loneliness in your chest is undeniably strong. Most of your days have faded into an excruciatingly long repetitive routine, almost tiring you to sleep while everything around you seems to have lost colour. One would assume you were simply under the weather. You on the other hand were very well aware that this was simply a result of your unmet desire to be with Lucifer. You simply wanted to spend time with him, to feel him. And most days would pass exactly like that. If you were lucky you'd see him during breakfast and dinner, exchange smiles and kisses but your chances of meeting him fell all the way to 0 once you left HOL in the mornings.

On days where you did have the chance to meet Lucifer it was mostly in forms of a dinner date. And while the entire week was spent looking forward for that single dinner date it was worth waiting for once you finally got to wrap your arms around him and finally feel him embrace you in a hug in return.

And today was finally the day.

"I'll see you for dinner then" you kissed his cheek to which he pulled you closer by your waist, placing his other hand on your neck. "I can't wait, my love" he replied before you left for RAD.

The day went by smoothly, faster than usual and the excitement was hard to contain.

Once you arrived at HOL you immediately got ready, no longer being able to hide just how excited you were and soon enough you were seated at your reserved table. You had messaged Lucifer about your whereabouts on your way aswell as once you had arrived at the restaurant. So far you hadn't received any reply. It was safe to assume he was presumably on his way.

And just like that the first 30 minutes passed. With no call neither any new message in response to your previous ones.

After 15 more minutes you started typing more messages, asking about his whereabouts; if he was alright. No reply.

Throughout the next hour the stares of the customers and your waiter became hard to ignore. Each and every pair of eyes took its turn in sticking to your silhouette, sitting by itself.

He had stood you up. And as embarassing it was to admit you seemed to be the last person in the restaurant to realise.

And just like that, the world was once again drained of any kind of colour it previously had. Your messages still unopened and unseen you made your way home.

I don't remember writing this and neither do I think did I ever save that heart gif up there....but here we are?? my alzheimers is becoming worse

[cow-stealin-gal]

More general ideas

Dream parts [9-13]

[9]

Dear diary, it’s been so long since my last entry about the caves.

I have been writing about other things throughout a month, like the time that I’ve carried a large cake home for my sister’s birthday. I nearly fell many times, but it was delicious.

Oh right, there were a lot of relatives and friends that came over. It was a party for my younger sister’s 15th birthday.

That’s why the cake was large.

Embarrassingly enough, almost everyone knows about how I spent a whole day in the pitch black cave.

Some of my cousins and uncles boast that they could survive for much longer, teasing me for crying during the time I got lost.

My aunts gave me way too much food, telling me that I must’ve been starving for so long. Even if I ate lunch earlier.

One other thing, my room was swarmed with younger relatives and a baby sleeping on my bed.

I couldn’t write anywhere.

But the music was fun, I was dancing a lot, a few girls were dancing with me for some reason.

But I finally managed to find a quiet spot to write this diary entry.

Anyways, I’ve been planning another trip to the cave for one reason.

Some time ago, I’ve had a dream…ok a nightmare….a weird nightmares.

I couldn’t quite remember what it was about but the part that still stayed with me was the sparkling lights that rushed past me, then the wheel.

The different pieces were spinning around until stopped one by one, almost as if I was trying to solve them.

But when I was getting close, the wheel shook and quivered with dust falling everywhere. I felt like I was going to get crushed.

And then I was woken up by my siblings.

“Levántate, Luis”, my older sister said.

Now that my dream was interrupted, I couldn’t remember nor understand what the letters on the wheel said.

Worse still, is that I had to clean the stable. Where the horses were.

Yuck.

The smell was horrendous.

On the bright side, I managed to hide the map from my parents. I uhh…buried it behind the stables.

Oh right!

Speaking of which.

I had to work so many hours getting the money to pay for a new replacement oil lamp because after I broke it during my panicked running spree.

Not to mention that the oil lamp was an expensive tool that my father needed for work.

Which was part of the reason why I was grounded for a month.

The amount of work required to felt like it took forever…

I often came home tired and sore.

My hands have had bumps on the palms, my older sister told me that they were “callousness”.

Whatever they are, they didn’t feel bad. But I often see them when my hands are hurting.

Anyways, I’ve been keeping track of the amount of time I have left before the grounding ends.

It ends in like four days!

I’ll see you soon!

— to be continued -

[10]

Dear diary,

I made a horrible mistake.

Remember the party I mentioned?

Because when I was dragged back into the party because I have to be in the picture, I spotted a blue and white vase.

All I managed to see were blue blob-like shapes on the vase as I am forced to stand next to my sisters for a group photo in fancy clothes.

After the party, I took a closer look at the vase.

It was tall and thin.

The blue blobs were actually flowers painted onto the vase, they were probably as big as my hand.

Based on the assumption, I tried to place my hand as close as I could.

However, a relative of mine immediately stopped me, somewhat harshly telling me about the origin of the vase.

In her words, the vase was crafted by our grandmother when she was 14, but the painter was our grandfather who was 15.

This vase existed for decades, peacefully 'living' with them.

But our grandparents decided to gift my younger sister the pretty vase as a 'blossoming gift'.

I didn't know what it meant.

In my eyes, it was either an antique or a hand-me-down treasure.

But my sister loved it, she hugged them with all her might.

I thought it was boring and went to pick up stick to play with.

That's the backstory, I'm getting butterflies as I'm writing this...

Twos day after my last entry, I was running around chasing my younger sister in a heated game of tag.

I was THIS close to tagging her to the point that I tried to jump over a table and knocked the vase onto the ground.

It made an ear-splitting shatter.

I stared at the pieces in horror, I didn't know nor did I understand how much it mattered to my sister or my mother until I looked back at her gaze.

She had an immense amount of tears streaming down her face, she was trying hard not to choke on her sadness.

Upon the sight of such despair, I couldn't utter a single word.

I was such a shock that I couldn't hear my mother running into the kitchen until she yelled at me to move aside.

I still couldn't utter an word, even after she gasped at the sight of the now shattered vase.

At this point, she began screaming at me.

For five minutes.

Later on, as she picked up the pieces, she began to shed tears as well.

Then when my dad arrived, he also shouted at me.

Then he dragged me into the kitchen where he berated me repeatedly, then he told me.

At the time, I couldn't begin to comprehend what he was telling me.

"If you don't do something for this family, we might as well forget you. Huh? Look at the gift you broke."

"It was made with love. But you, I can't even begin to describe you."

"Starting this morning, you better get a job to pay for the most elegant vase to replace it. OR, make your own vase to replace the one you broke."

Right now, as I'm writing this under the moonlight, , the only words that I'm writing are as follows:

"pinche pendejo"

"burro"

"a mistake"

"a burden"

"burro"

"pinche pendejo"

"forgotten"

"never existed"

"I shouldn't exist"

All that I'm thinking about is the fact that I may never be able to fix this.

We didn’t have a lot of money to spend.

Which makes the mistake I did even worse.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to it better.

Now I have to work and I’m grounded even further.

Why did this even happen?

Why am I so dumb?

Is it because I’m different from the others?

I'm crying right now.

I'll just leave this here.

For now.

- to be continued -

[11]

Dear diary,

I’m exhausted.

It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve had more than enough time to write this passage.

I started my jobless journey running around town looking for someone to hire me.

But I was turned down by five shopkeepers in the town within the first three days.

I honestly wish I didn't know why.

Word had got out that I broke a beloved family vase, which piled on top of their comments about my condition that made me "different from them".

The constant ramblings had drained me immensely to the point that I just had to loaf around the rooftop of the local library with my favorite fantasy series, Grounded in Basalt.

On top of being my favorite past-time, it became the most personal to me because I was granted permission by the librarian, who was one of the few people kind enough to give me a quiet spot with a few books to read.

Anyways, the series is about a young goat-folk who swore to defend their homeland, an island that held a gentle volcano, from the destructive trespassers from far away countries.

I had caught up to the part where the goat is struggling to rally an army to rise up against the oppressors, who wielded large cannons from their ships.

I had taken a break from the book at the time.

I looked around the town, taking in the sight of all the houses and shops that I could see.

But I began to harbor a bleak outlook on the view, "I really don't want to keep searching for jobs", I said.

It's bad enough that people didn't understand me, but the fact that I've overheard gossips about me makes it worse to the point that the shopkeepers actively avoid making eye contact.

The librarian on the other hand had allowed me to volunteer to make a small portion of the paycheck that libraries are able to muster, which wasn't a lot.

That being said, I've also been drawing a few sketches of the wheel...

By that I meant, I drew a circle in the middle with three more circles surrounding it, I then turned the circles into chunky rings by widening the inner circles and adding lines going to the center circle.

To keep myself from getting confused, I drew the lines with the same pattern as wooded planks, no "x" marks.

As for the letters or symbols...I didn't draw them.

I could hardly see them when I first arrived, so i had no chance of drawing a close picture of the gigantic wheel puzzle.

However, I still had this burning question to find out what symbols went on which wheel, so I picked up my books and returned to my volunteer shift.

Three hours went by as I stacked shelves with the books that people returned or left behind, making careful inferences about the correct sections that the books belonged to.

Going from floor to floor, I went through various aisles, skimmed countless labels, and double-checked every book I returned in order to properly return them.

After my hard work was finished, I asked the librarian for any references about strange symbols.

He made a friendly gesture that was akin to thinking hard before he asked if I could elaborate.

At first, I told them of the dream I had with the wheel and explained the rotation of three of the wheels, the glow of the strange symbols, the colors, and the background.

To be honest, I think I was pretty close into telling him that I found the underground wheel from my trip, even when I said that it was dream.

They nodded with a warm smile and told me that they may have a book about ancient symbols that were "dated" to be about hundreds of years old.

They sound beyond old.

I will stop here for now.

-to be continued-

[12]

Dear diary,

Last time we spoke was five days ago, where I managed to land a job...seven blocks away from the town entrance.

It's soooo long.

For starters, I landed a job in a small grocery store, where I cleaned the floor, put away vegetables (or produce I think), and carried crates to and fro the trucks.

It was way more exhausting than the comments that I've received.

I also can't help that the owner had only let me work for him because of a selfish reason.

There were other people working for him every day.

They were more taller, sweatier, meaner, and most of all, they told me to pick up the pace every time I was trying to understand how to do things.

They've tried telling me to ask the boss for a pay raise, but I've ignored them ever since I saw their faces turn to laughter as I turned around in confusion from my first attempt.

Speaking of which, when I first asked him, he scoffed at me and told me, "kid, do your fuckin job first."

After that, I've been following their orders with silent disdain for them, thinking to myself, 'I care not for them, I care not for them".

After I finished my weekly shift, I was handed a letter by the boss.

"That's your pay, do what you want with it" he muttered.

That was it, a plain letter with a red circle.

As I left the store, I kept an eye on the co-workers to make sure that they didn't do anything.

Once I got onto the street, I held the letter with my hands close to my chest as I made my way through the crowded street.

As I bumped around the people, I felt some eyes following me, so I ran laps around the block to shake the feeling.

I looked around the block and decided to run to a walking guard to keep them from attacking me.

I looked up at the muscular man in silver armor and asked them if they could take me to the exit.

"Beat it, kid," they said at first.

But I told them that I feel like I was being followed.

He looked around, then gave a long sigh.

"I don't see anyone," he spoke with a slight frustration.

From a last ditch effort, I showed them the letter.

Upon seeing the letter, they let out another long sigh, then told me to follow them.

The short trip was tense to say the least, but the guard kept people from stealing money from me.

Overall, I got home to count my money.

And I found out that I was given....$60 [in fantasy money ].

I jumped around with my newfound money, because it felt like a lot.

I ran to my parents, saying that I got $60.

I must've had so much joy in my eyes because what they said next deflated my entire view.

"Ok, you made money. Still not enough to fix the vase."

I went back to my room to sulk.

That's it.

[13]

Dear diary,

I'm so mad.

I'm furious.

I WANNA SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS.

Here's what happened;

After another long week of cleaning, carrying crates, and putting away stuff to sell, people are STILL not easing up on my mistake.

Customers were on my back about precious vases, my co-workers made jokes about family honor, and my boss still scoffs at me.

Day after day, the comments began to drive me mad, I nearly punched another worker about their distasteful comments.

But on one particular day, I overheard another co-worker talk about how much they've been to afford just from three weeks.

I looked at my letter in my left hand and felt the chunkiness of the bills inside the letter as I walked around and daydreamed about the number of things I could buy.

But as I carried my letter of money through the busy street with ideas of glamour, a group of teens surrounded me to get their hands on my letter. My money. My hopes.

This whole thing snuffed out all of the ideas I had, haunting my mind even now.

It started like this:

"Whatya got there?" a boy with a green hat asked.

"a letter" I said.

"We know you have a letter, stupid. But what's inside?" the same boy asked.

"Nothing." I said.

I figured that they were ones following me and tried to steal it earlier.

Of course I wasn't going to give it, so I tried to walk away.

But one guy put their hands on my chest, saying, "where are you go-"

I immediately punched their face.

Shocked at my own fist, I looked at the other boy...

Their nose had begun to bleed, where the blood began to trickle onto to their lips.

And then I ran like hell, shoving him as he tried to grab me.

But the others grabbed onto my arms.

As two boys tried to pull the letter from my hand, the other two began punching and kicking.

AS I FELT MY GRIP SLOWLY BEGIN TO LOOSEN, I REELED MY ARM WITH THE LETTER AND CHOMPED ON THEIR FINGERS.

"OOOOWWWW!!!" they screamed.

Once they immediately let go from shock, I ran like hell.

Even before my trip to the caves, I didn't have too much trouble running for a long time. But with the kicking and punching, I ran with less speed than before.

Still, I ran around the bustling street, brushing past ladies and gentlemen, some of which nearly knocked me over, all in a desperate search for a guard.

But as soon as I found one, he took one look at me and immediately scowled at me.

'Beat it" he yelled.

I stared at him in disbelief, I was aching, I had a letter with a circle, and he's still telling me to get lost?

So I trudged back to the exit where the guards took one look at me and gave me a towel.

I stared into their eyes for a solid moment.

All that I could say was a muttering 'thank you'.

After the walk of pain, I was greeted by half-pity and some relative care for my stomachaches.

I've told to them how it went and they went, 'ok, then fight better.' my dad retorted.

"Fight better? Why do I need to fight better? Why do they go after me for money that's not theirs?" I said.

"Look, you got money. They don't. They want your money because you just have it in your hands." He said.

"But I don't have a bag" I said.

My dad got up with an angry sigh, walked to their bedroom and then came out with a bag.

"Now you have one" he announced.

After this, I've tried talking with my younger sister...who simply told me that she hated me.

I hate this day.

-to be continued -

[cressida-jayoungr]

Only Dreaming of Peace

(Note: I am neither the original author nor the translator of this piece. It is a favorite post from my LiveJournal days. The original post, by LiveJournal user Lilan14, can be found here.)

I know I still have my vacation report to finish, but that will have to wait, as I saw this wonderful real-life story in one of my LJ friends' journal. It was originally posted to ru_cats, a Russian cat-lover comm, by a mystery book writer, and her style is just as excellent as the story itself. So, sit back and enjoy! Oh, and make sure you're not eating or drinking something while at it, for your own safety...

The translation is mine.

Only Dreaming of Peace...

I've been recently asked to post to LJ a story of uneven struggle of Man with Cat for the right to sleep where they want, without the risk of dying shamefully underneath a cat's butt. I am doing this and hiding it behind the cut. Let it stay here as a reminder to posterity and the desperate ones who will decide to get a Maine Coon and a bed with a wide headboard.

Part One

Dear ru_cats people, I am here asking for advice.

There's a cat. The cat weighs ten kilograms. There's a bed. The bed has a tall soft headboard 10 to 15 cm wide. There are also the cat's owners, who sleep on the bed.

At night, the cat leaps onto the headboard and walks on it. The cat has a night promenade. However, since the cat was a cow in the previous life and transferred certain peculiarities to his present incarnation, during his fourth or fifth go he loses his balance and plops down. If I'm lucky, the cat lands beside me. If I'm not, the ten kilograms of the cat land onto my head, and always butt-first, for some reason.

Question: how to make the cat drop the habit?

Have already tried:

duct tape spread on the headboard. (As a result, we spent half the night taking them off the crazed cat, nearly scalping him).

the cat's hated smell of ylang-ylang. (The cat didn't care it was hated).

tangerine peel in large amounts (The cat swept the peel onto my head in disgust, following it in the process).

What else can be done? I've already slept with spray under my pillow. The cat runs away, then comes back.

The cat's picture enclosed for realizing the scope of the problem:

Part Two

Two days ago, I posted this cry for help to the comm: http://ru-cats.livejournal.com/19218540.html Got a lot of replies. Two were used at once. Reporting as promised.

I like simple and easily implemented ideas. That's why the suggestions to attach a shelf to the bed, to the cat, to my head, so that it would be comfy for him to fall onto, were postponed.

First I took six balloons from the kid, inflated them and placed them between the wall and the bed. It all looked very pretty. Husband and I admired them and went to bed.  

In the middle of the night, there was a bang. In my sleep, I thought husband had shot the cat (even though the only weapon in our house is a water pistol). When the lights were turned on, the cat was sitting on the floor amidst bits of a blue balloon, squinting disapprovingly. He got kicked, the balloons were moved, and we went to bed again. This was our strategic error, proving how little we knew about cats.

He exploded two more balloons about twenty minutes later and ran away, making derisive sounds. Husband insisted that I take everything away and be done with experiments for the night. While I was putting the balloons away, the cat sneaked up to the largest one and smacked it with his paw.

Results: minus four balloons, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nerve fiber per two adults. Plus cat entertainment.

Then we went for Plan B. The entire headboard was covered with several layers of foil, so it would rustle loudly. I assured husband he could now sleep in peace: the cat would definitely be afraid to step onto the foil.

Well, I was almost right. The cat showed up a couple of hours later, when we were asleep. He jumped onto the foil from the wardrobe. The foil rustled, the cat freaked out, leapt into the air and fell onto husband.

Results: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of sedative per two adults. Plus cat entertainment.

This is how he was looking at us in the morning, while we were trying to make breakfast with shaking hands.

I will try the shelf tomorrow.

Part Three

After the foil and the balloons failed, I started to think in a different direction: how not to let the cat into the bedroom at night.

First I used cat repellent. Unfortunately, the cat did not get it was repellent. However, husband did; he winced, sniffed and finally asked me to air the room. So I now have husband repellent; if anyone needs it, I can share.

The washbowl full of water turned out to be just as stupid. We placed it counting on the cat splashing in it and forgetting the bed (he loves water).

We had counted half-correctly: the cat did splash, but he didn't forget the bed. At night, he hopped back to us, shaking wet paws. In my sleep, I thought he had twenty-two of them. He used ten to step on my face, the rest to run on the sheets. Finally, he kissed husband soundly on the nose, nuzzling him with a wet face dripping with water.

After that husband said screw the interior, he agreed to the shelf.

In the evening, he brought a polished board, spent two hours with it, cursed the innocent bed, and, finally, attached it. I wanted to say that I preferred the cat rather than that thing falling onto us (no one would get from under it alive). But I looked at husband's face and decided to keep it to myself. Okay, I thought, so we'll sleep with it one night, and then I'll take it off.

In addition, the kid ran it before bedtime and left her toys on it. I waved it aside and didn't scold her, because I was thinking which relative to pick to raise our child, should we be buried under the shelf.

(I have to say my worries were silly: as it turned out, husband did a quality job with it.)

In the middle of the night, the cat stepped onto the shelf. He strolled nonchalantly halfway along the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw.

It turned out to be an interactive Zhu Zhu Pets hamster.

From the touch of a cat paw, the hamster turned on. It cried out cheerfully "Abuzuuuuuuuuuzyyyyyy!" and ran toward the cat, glowing with love.

I would gladly tell you about what happened next. But I won't lie: we didn't see it. And we didn't see the cat until morning. The hamster reached the edge of the shelf and committed suicide lemming-style, jumping off a rock into the full washbowl.

Result: we took off the shelf. We have a guard hamster sitting on the headboard now. The cat does not go into the room. If he happens to notice the hamster through the open door, he swells to manul size and retreats in horror.

Here is our hero and rescuer:

[blubushie]

RANT/NSFT/SOME TRAUMA-DUMPING INCOMING

Sometimes I think about how I could just suddenly decide to make this a Sniper roleplay blog one day and not tell anyone and no one would notice because nothing would change.

"Yeah nah I'm out in New Mexico for a job–" I've already been to New Mexico for work. Expected.

"This month's target is–" Sometimes I do have specific targets. Sometimes I take bounties. Massive razorback that's already gored 2 sheep to death and wounded a third? Gonna pay me $500 to kill him? I'm on it. I'll bring the bastard's hide back in two days.

"Dad's yelling at me about my job again. Mum's begging me to come home. I've always been an other in my own country. I've never fit in. My own country doesn't want me." All me, baby.

There'd be no difference.

And sometimes people forget that this is my life. That I'm not a roleplay blog. Sometimes people kinda romanticise the whole bushman thing. They only see the upsides and don't see the downsides. I've been involved with some rough crowds. I'm damaged as a human being. I've done some bad things to survive. I'd done bad things because I wanted to. I've lost my head a few times too many. I've almost lost my life a few times more.

How do I look into my father's eyes and expect him not to see the person I've become? How do I hold my mother's hands and expect her not to see the blood on mine?

What people think my life is like—maybe that's my fault. Maybe I talk too much about the fun bits. Maybe I preach too highly of the stars, or the sunrises and sunsets, or the summer storms, or the beaches, or my encounters with the wildlife. Maybe I don't talk enough about how terrifying Australia can be. What it's like to wake up to the smell of smoke and be forced to outpace a bushfire with a smoking engine and a terrified, screaming dog next to you. How I'll wake up in the middle of the night to thunder in the Outback and I'll get Misty and leave because I'm not going to be caught in another tornado. How I've had my windscreen shattered with hail the size of billiard balls. How I've been chased up trees by angry pigs. How I've been caught in floods. What it's like to feel the moisture evaporate off your tongue as you die of dehydration. How I've been so thirsty I've drank my own urine. How I've been so hungry I've eaten dog kibble.

I can't read social situations. I'm autistic, so that's always been difficult, but I've lived in the bush since I was 19. I have spent most of my adult life without human contact. I've tailored myself to Australia's wildlife and that makes me act strange sometimes.

I piss in jars so I can pour them out near my camps to keep dingos away. I think I could take a dingo, but I'm not going to risk the safety of my dog.

I have a tendency to stare because when you stare at dingos and keep eye contact it's a territorial challenge. Stand your ground and they won't attack you. I find myself doing this to people that are no threat to me. It's the clerk at the servo, an old man at the shops, the lady across the street. I've been told it's creepy, and I can't help it.

I've forgotten how to act around people. I've built up this façade all my life to mask the autism because it's ostracised me, so I can appear more "normal," and it's funny how 15 years of masking can be thrown out the window by 3 years alone. Combine that with gradually going more and more feral over the past 3 years and is it any wonder why I can't hold conversations?

I don't smile with teeth because showing teeth to a predator is a challenge. I wake up at every little thing that goes bump in the night. In a house—a house, it's been years since I've lived in a building—sleeping out on the porch is the only way I can sleep. It works until someone drives past the street and I hear tyres and then I'm awake, and it's another half hour until my heart calms down enough to sleep again. I can slow my heartrate by force to get a good shot, but it doesn't work for waking up in a panic because I can't hold my breath long enough to make it work.

I have to sleep with a knife. Usually it's one. If I've had a rough day it becomes two or more.

There's things you see in the bush that change who you are as a person. Things you can't unsee. It's not all peaceful campfires and stargazing and pretty sunrises. There's things that are out there that people know are out there but no one talks about. That other people would call you crazy for saying you saw. Sometimes you'll meet an old blackfella in an Outback town who'll talk to you about it. Most won't, but every now and then there's one that will. It's no consolation. He'll just give you a name, something muttered under his breath that you probably don't catch and definitely can't pronounce, and he'll clap you on the back and tell you that it happens, and if he really likes you he'll give you a tinny and offer to shine your boots "to get the bush off." He'll act like he understands but then he'll turn to the bloke beside him, the one who's just listened in silence the whole time, and say "He's crazy" in words he doesn't know you understand.

Chihuahuas are popular in California. They sound like dingos, and I can't take my dog to the dog park.

I can't sleep. I wake up in cold sweats like I've been running a marathon. I dream of eyes watching me from the darkness, always the same dream. They get closer and I'm trying to keep some pitiful little fire going but it always goes out. I grab my torch, and the battery dies. I hear howls. I wake up. My dad's neighbour has huskies and they let the dogs out every morning at 5:30 on the nose and I can't sleep.

I don't know how to be intimate with people. My clothes stay on. My hat stays on. My sunnies stay on. I treat it like a job. I do my part, and I leave. I've never pursued someone. I've never approached someone first. I don't know what people see in me. I've never let someone kiss me, but I dream about it.

I can't sleep unless I have my back to something. I always have to face the door, see the door, when I'm in a building. I'm left-handed, so my left hand is always empty. I carry four knives on me at all times, or five if I'm in the bush and you count a machete.

Touch was never an issue with me before. Now it is. What few mates I have know not to stand behind me. I have to be approached like a horse--don't approach me from behind and if you do, make sure I know you're there.

I don't show emotion. I express it through touch—hands, or arms, or shoulders. I communicate love like I do with my dog, my best friend and my only companion. I feed her. I provide for her. I pat her head, I pat her back, I run my fingers through her fur, I share my meals with her. I hope she knows I love her. Matilda is my home, and I tend to her carefully. I wash her windows. I keep her petrol tank topped off. I keep her clean and tidy. I fix her flats myself, I never curse her when something goes wrong, I keep her parked in the shade when I can so her engine doesn't overheat. I hope she knows I love her. My rifle is my lifeline, and without her I am useless. I clean her every night, even if I don't use her. I buff out her scratches with a gentle hand, I handload the ammo she fires, I polish her walnut stock. I've memorised her serial number. I know her better than I know myself. She knows me better than I know myself. She's seen me at my worst and at my best. I hope she knows I love her.

I hit a low point last year. I saw a therapist in Melbourne for three weeks. I hate the cities. She wouldn't call me Blu. She called me by my legal name. Strike one. She asked me too many questions about my job, about where I go and what I do. "You said you live out in the bush. It's the 21st century. What are you doing out there that makes you flinch when a car backfires? That makes you so untrusting of people?" Strike two. "You have PTSD symptoms on par with a veteran who's seen combat," she said. "I want to refer you to a doctor who can get you on medication for your anxiety." I've been put on it before. I asked if it'd make my hands shake. I can't shoot with shaking hands. "Living in the bush isn't any way to live. You should sell your guns-" I hate that term, guns. She's a rifle. "-And move somewhere permanent. You should reacquaint yourself with society." Strike three. I never went back.

I can't communicate well through words. People forget that, or maybe they aren't aware to begin with. I'm a good listener, I've been told, but don't expect an articulate response.

Too many people think that trauma is just "something bad that happened to me." Bad things happen to everyone. Most people don't have any kind of trauma. Most people do not have PTSD.

It's one of those things that really bother me. It's usually just edgy teenagers going "oh I'm so traumatised" or just people on social media proclaiming their trauma when it's just "bad thing happened" and not actually trauma. It's been downplayed to a detrimental degree, to a point where any bad thing that happened is now trauma and so nothing is. This also applies to things like intrusive thoughts. I have intrusive thoughts. They're not random impulses like you hear people talking about on TikTok—they're obsessive, disturbing thoughts that you can't stop thinking about. That's what makes them intrusive. Oftentimes they include violence toward yourself or others. Sticking your hair in a bowl of pasta is a random impulse—it isn't an intrusive thought. Seeing someone walking down the street and picturing their dead body is.

One thing about actually having trauma is that you become really good at picking up when people actually have trauma or when they're just saying shit to be edgy and get a reaction out of you. Here's the tip: if they're constantly bringing up their trauma, fair chance they're lying. The thing about trauma is that it's traumatic. It's traumatic to remember, it's traumatic to think about, and you don't want to talk about it. You might bottle it up so much that you end up screaming into the void like I'm doing, or if you really feel safe with someone you might be willing to discuss it, but you don't talk about it unless it's really eating at you. You don't bring it up out of nowhere all the time to remind people of how traumatised you supposedly are. That's attention-seeking, edgy behaviour.

I had a mate dump some pretty heavy stuff on me without warning a few days ago, about some violent thoughts they said they have. That's another tipoff: people who actually have violent thoughts are ashamed of them. They don't talk about them unless very prompted, they don't bring them up out of the blue. I'd only been talking to this person for a month. They were the edgy type, but they're overall kind. I was edgy as a teenager too. I was hurting and I wanted someone to listen. I understand where they came from. I grew out of it, but I understand.

That said, I've got my own stuff going on in my life. Stuff that's happened to me that I don't talk about. Stuff I've done that I don't talk about. I've got my own secrets that I'll take to my grave. I don't have the mental capacity to really handle more. Sure, I can take some venting. I can even take some trauma dumping if you warn me first and don't blindside me with it. If I know someone well enough I can make the effort and try to figure out how to smooth things over, but most of the time I'm at a loss. I am not the person to come to for an emotionally compromising conversation. I am not a therapist.

I told them this and they laid into me. "Can't I tell my friend how I feel? I'm not a therapist either but I listen to people I care about." I reiterated that it's a discussion for a therapist and I'm not one. I was uncomfortable with this conversation. I told them I'm not good at handling emotional stuff. Their response?

"My advice? Fix that. No one will stick around with someone who can't even pretend to care. It took me a long time to learn but I did. I help even when I'm at my lowest. I listen and I care, or I pretend to." I've pretended my whole life. I'm tired of pretending. It's exhausting. "Whatever, you can't help people who don't want help."

People wonder why I don't open up, why I'm stone cold, and that's why. Because when you open up, people will use that shit against you. My job's taught me to be ruthless. I must fire true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.

And sometimes there's a crack in that façade I've made. Sometimes the soft parts seep through like the solder in a bad weld. Sometimes it drips through my fingers, or my mouth, or my eyes. The difference is that in my line of work it's not something I can let people see. It's a weakness I can't afford to have. But I think the desire for companionship is human. To desire to be intimate, to form friendships, is to be human. My hands were made for holding more than rifles and cartridges. I have more of a purpose in this world than being an equaliser. I'm more than the weapon I've made myself to be.

But then I hear things like that. I hear the parting words of a mate I've lost—"With this attitude you will go on being alone in the bush"—and I wonder if I've already stopped being a person. If I've just solidified the other I've always felt I've been.

I think I lost my humanity a long time ago.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Kinktober 2022 - Prologue 

Summary: Max and you had been married for 12 years but after stressful years in his company that left you, frankly a little neglected you decide it's time to spice things up, hacking into his outlook calendar to make sure he had time for you every single day through out October.

Pairing: Modern!Maxwell Lord x Wife!Reader

Wordcount: 670

Rating: E

Warnings: guilt, neglecting, discussions of kinks, flirting

Masterlist Kinktober 2022

Prompt List by @absurdthirst

He frowned as he scrolled through his outlook calendar. 

Max had a long day at the office. Not the first long day at the office. He couldn’t remember the last time he went home at a reasonable hour. 

His guilty conscience came back full force whenever he thought of you, waiting for him at home. 

Maxwell and you had been married for almost twelve years. 

You had started out as his secretary (what a cliche right?) but now you were a businesswoman on your own with a very successful jewellery brand that made millions. 

He was beyond proud of you. 

But things had been hard in the last couple years. Black Gold was struggling and Max did everything in his power to save the company. And finally it seemed that his efforts were paying off. 

Black Gold was number three state wide in the renewable energy sector.

But he had to admit. It was hard to pull back from working 15 hour days for years to getting back to normal working hours. 

And he could finally afford it. To take time for himself. To take time for you. 

But there was always something left to do. Always something to take care of. An email to write, a phone call to make. 

He had to seriously change his priorities. 

He wanted to cancel the meeting with Carter tomorrow morning to have the whole day free to spend with you when he found that the meeting was already cancelled. He scrolled through his calendar, noticing several hours blocked in red, marked with private, everyday throughout the month of october. 

He was about to ask his assistant what this was about when an email arrived from you. 

Mr. Lord,

In my position as your wife (and former assistant, you really should change your passwords honey) I took the liberty to block time throughout the month of october to spend with me, your wife. You may ask yourself, why october? Why different amounts of hours? Why on different day times?

Well first, because these times worked best with both of our schedules. 

And…

Can you remember the last time we had sex? Because I can’t and I’m getting tired of using my hand. So to save my sanity, libido and get some… spice into our marriage we will try something called kinktober where we try out a new kink everyday throughout october.  

I love you and I want to be with you and not just sleep in a bed next to you when you come home after work exhausted. I love you for what you accomplished with your business in the last years, but now it’s time to take some time for us. 

I already chose the kink for tonight but we’ll decide together for the rest.

Your safe word is strawberry. Mine is peach.

I’ll see you when you get home. I’ll be naked.

Xo

Your wife

Max couldn’t stop the small tugging on his lips as he read your message. 

It seemed like both of you wanted to spend more time together. And you were right, he could not remember the last time the two of you had sex. 

Real sex. 

Not the rushed five minutes before he had to leave or you being so tired at night you fell asleep beneath him (his ego had taken a while to recover from that)

He clicked on the list you added, his eyes getting big as he read through all the kinks you had already marked your favourites from. 

You also had added some notes and he smiled, adding his own notes. 

He looked at the clock, noticing it was almost midnight already. He had spent the last three hours writing back and forth with you instead of going home. 

Leaving the office now he texted you. 

I’ll be waiting for you naked in our bed you texted back. 

He chuckled to himself, grabbing his stuff before he made his way out of his office. 

October was going to his new favourite month.