#Click here for Factory Flooring

[factoryfloorings]

Unveiling the Art and Science of Factory Flooring: A Comprehensive Guide

Are you standing on solid ground in your factory? No, I'm not talking about metaphorical stability. I'm referring to the often-overlooked foundation of industrial prowess – factory flooring. Imagine a symphony where each instrument plays a vital role. The factory floor is the stage upon which your machines, workers, and processes harmonize, creating a masterpiece of productivity. In this article, we'll dive deep into the intricate world of factory flooring, exploring its nuances, types, and the crucial role it plays in optimizing your manufacturing endeavors.

The Foundation: Understanding the Importance of Factory Flooring

You wouldn't build a mansion on shaky ground, would you? Similarly, a robust manufacturing operation requires a solid foundation – enter Anti-Slip Safety Flooring. This unsung hero bears the weight of heavy machinery, foot traffic, and the unpredictable dance of manufacturing processes. So, why does it matter?

Ensuring Stability and Safety

Think of factory flooring as the bedrock of your operation, providing stability in the face of constant movement and activity. A slip, trip, or fall can not only halt production but also lead to injuries. Investing in quality factory flooring ensures a safe environment for your workforce, minimizing accidents and maintaining operational continuity.

Enhancing Efficiency

Picture a well-designed chessboard where every square serves a purpose. Factory flooring, when strategically chosen, becomes your manufacturing chessboard. From smooth surfaces for seamless material flow to anti-fatigue mats for worker comfort, each element contributes to the efficiency of the production game.

Longevity and Cost Savings

An often underestimated aspect of factory flooring is its impact on equipment longevity. Just as the right shoes can extend a marathon runner's career, the right flooring can prolong the life of your machinery. It's a preventative measure that saves you from the hefty costs of frequent repairs and replacements.

Types of Factory Flooring: Unveiling the Options

Now that we've established the pivotal role of factory flooring, let's delve into the plethora of options available. Choosing the right flooring is akin to selecting the perfect paint for your masterpiece – it sets the tone for everything that follows.

Concrete Flooring: The Sturdy Canvas

Concrete flooring is the classic choice, akin to a reliable black dress in your wardrobe. Robust, durable, and able to withstand heavy loads, concrete flooring is the go-to option for many factories. Its blank canvas nature allows for customization, from polished finishes for a sleek look to textured surfaces for enhanced slip resistance.

Epoxy Coatings: Adding Flair to Functionality

Imagine concrete flooring donning an elegant coat. That's what epoxy coatings bring to the table. These coatings not only provide a glossy finish but also add a layer of protection against chemicals, stains, and abrasion. It's like giving your factory floor a suit of armor, ready to face the challenges of industrial warfare.

Rubber Flooring: The Comfortable Cushion

If concrete is the backbone, rubber flooring is the supportive cushion beneath. Particularly beneficial in areas where employees stand for extended periods, rubber flooring offers anti-fatigue properties. It's the ergonomic touch that shows you care about your workforce's well-being, akin to providing them with ergonomic office chairs.

Vinyl Flooring: The Versatile Virtuoso

Like a chameleon adapting to its surroundings, vinyl flooring is a versatile virtuoso. Resilient and easy to maintain, vinyl comes in various styles and colors, allowing you to customize your factory floor aesthetic. It's the pop of color in an otherwise industrial landscape, adding a touch of personality to the functionality.

Anti-Static Flooring: Guarding Against the Unseen Foe

Static electricity is the invisible nemesis of electronic components. Enter anti-static flooring, a superhero in the world of manufacturing. Just as a lightning rod redirects electrical energy, anti-static flooring safeguards sensitive equipment from damaging static discharge. It's the unsung hero preventing potential disasters in your electronic orchestra.

Navigating the Decision-Making Process: Key Considerations

Choosing the right factory flooring is no trivial task. It's a decision that echoes through the halls of productivity for years to come. So, how do you navigate this labyrinth of options and make an informed decision?

Assessing Operational Needs

Before diving into the sea of flooring options, take a moment to understand your operational needs. Is heavy machinery constantly on the move? Does your manufacturing process involve chemical exposure? Knowing your requirements is like having a map in an uncharted territory – it guides you to the right destination.

Considering Maintenance Requirements

Just as a sports car demands regular maintenance, different types of factory flooring have distinct care needs. Concrete floors might require periodic resealing, while rubber flooring might need special attention to retain its anti-fatigue properties. Factor in maintenance requirements to ensure a smooth ride on the manufacturing highway.

Budgeting Wisely

Ah, the ever-present elephant in the room – budget constraints. While it might be tempting to opt for the most cost-effective solution, consider the long-term implications. Investing a little more upfront in quality flooring can translate into significant savings in repairs and replacements down the road. It's the difference between a sprint and a marathon.

Industry-Specific Considerations: Tailoring Flooring to Your Niche

Not all factories are created equal, and neither should their flooring be. Each industry has its unique demands, and your choice of flooring should align with these specific requirements.

Food and Beverage Industry: A Dance of Hygiene and Durability

In the food and beverage industry, hygiene takes center stage. Epoxy coatings and tile flooring are stars in this production. They not only resist spills and stains but also provide a smooth, easy-to-clean surface. It's the choreography of durability and hygiene, ensuring a seamless dance of production.

Automotive Sector: Bearing the Weight of Giants

In the world of automotive manufacturing, heavy machinery reigns supreme. Concrete flooring emerges as the hero, standing resilient against the weight of colossal machines. Think of it as the unyielding foundation beneath the automotive giants, supporting them through every twist and turn of the production line.

Electronics Manufacturing: Guarding Against the Silent Foe

When dealing with delicate electronic components, anti-static flooring takes the spotlight. It's the guardian angel against the silent foe of static electricity, ensuring a harmonious symphony of electronic production. Imagine it as a force field protecting your electronic orchestra from potential disruptions.

Future-Proofing Your Factory Flooring: Adapting to Change

In the dynamic landscape of manufacturing, change is the only constant. Your factory flooring should be adaptable, ready to evolve with the ever-shifting demands of the industry.

Modularity for Flexibility

Just as a LEGO set allows you to build and rebuild, consider modular flooring options for adaptability. These systems can be easily reconfigured to accommodate changes in machinery layout or expansion. It's the flexibility that ensures your factory floor remains in tune with the evolving needs of your production.

Integrating Smart Technologies

Welcome to the era of smart manufacturing. Incorporate smart flooring technologies that provide real-time insights into floor conditions, maintenance needs, and even worker movements. It's like having a conductor's baton that orchestrates the symphony of your factory, ensuring every element plays in harmony.

The Final Note: Orchestrating Success on Your Factory Floor

In the grand orchestral performance of manufacturing, your factory floor is the conductor, guiding the various elements to produce a harmonious masterpiece. From the sturdy foundations of concrete to the versatile virtuosity of vinyl, each flooring choice contributes to the symphony of productivity.

So, the next time you step onto your factory floor, envision it as a stage where every step matters, and every material choice plays a crucial role in the overall performance. The art and science of factory flooring are about more than just aesthetics – it's about creating a resilient, efficient, and safe environment where your manufacturing endeavors can reach their crescendo. Now, go ahead, orchestrate success on your factory floor, and let the manufacturing symphony begin!

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [9] - Engagement

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A marriage decision leads to an honest conversation about expectations.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, he gawked at you in complete silence before he managed to pull himself together.

“You—you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Please don’t ask me again because I have this feeling that I’ll change my mind if I think about it longer than a second,” you stated and he nodded fervently.

“Right,” he said. “Sure, I…wow. Okay, we’re—we’re getting married then.”

“Don’t say that either, I am not ready to hear it out loud,” you said with a sigh but before he could answer, a soft voice reached you both.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment as he scrunched up his face and you turned your head to look at the top of the stairs where a pretty girl in an oversized shirt –his shirt, if you had to guess— was leaning to the steel handrail.

“Hi,” she said. “Um, who are you?”

“His fiancée,” you stated, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy in your stomach and her eyes widened.

“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I when I woke up today,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Can you leave us please?”

“Sure!” she said as she rushed back to what you could only assume was the bedroom and Bucky shot you an apologetic look.

“Charm I’m sorry, if I knew…”

You walked past him, looking around the huge living room. Even you had to admit it looked incredibly beautiful and sleek, and the clear view of the city that you could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows was absolutely breathtaking. It was exactly what you would come up with if someone asked you what Bucky's apartment would look like; luxurious yet dark.

It didn’t mean you would tell him that though.

“I’m not moving in here by the way, this place is a dump,” you forced yourself to say, “If I wanted industrial interior, I’d buy myself a factory.”

“Right, sure—”

“That could be a fun project though,” you muttered more to yourself as the girl appeared at the top of the stairs again, and rushed downstairs, grabbing her coat off the rack.

“Sorry again,” she said without looking you in the eye and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a deep sigh.

“None of this will be happening from now on by the way,” Bucky said in a haste and you rolled your eyes, then turned around to look at him.

“I don’t care about you enough to have that conversation with you,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck, but you’re not going to make me look like an idiot in front of other people so when it inevitably happens, you’ll keep it a secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” he said, his voice firm and you crossed your arms.

“So then,” you said. “I feel like we should both talk about the conditions before taking it to the families and the lawyers and everything.”

“I’m good with your conditions,” he said and you shot him a glare.

“You don’t even know my conditions.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You kept your eyes on him, a slight frown pulling your brows together before you took a deep breath and took off your coat to throw it over the couch.

“Either way, I think we should talk about it,” you insisted and leaned on your hip. “So do you have actual booze in here or are you going to pull out a homemade barrel or something?”

He smiled slightly.

“Take a seat sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“And put a shirt on!” you said as you made your way to the table, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat. “This is a business deal, honestly. There has to be a dress code.”

                                            *

When Bucky came to the table, he did in fact have his shirt on and he was carrying a bottle of wine with two glasses. He filled one and handed it to you, then filled his own and sat down. You took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the taste and lowered your glass, leaning back.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me your conditions.”

You swirled the wine in your glass, deep in thought.

“Well first of all, we need to have a time table,” you said. “I don’t want to stay married to you for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you share the sentiment.”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips but he didn’t comment on it.

“But we can’t get a divorce as soon as I take over because that will lead to a lot of questions and I won’t have the time for distractions, the taking over process is chaotic enough,” you said. “I can’t be making any mistakes, especially considering I already have a rival.”

“Calling Ian a rival makes him sound more important than he actually is,” Bucky commented. “But I agree. We already know some of the families can disagree with this idea.”

“Stark?” you asked and he nodded.

“At least,” he said. “We have Steve and Sam’s support, my family and your family of course, but the rest…”

“You think Romanoff would disagree?”

Bucky thought for a moment.

“Probably, but I can talk to Nat I think,” he said. “She’d hear me out.”

“Barton?”  

“Barton is not going to do anything Nat disagrees with,” he said. “If we have Nat, we have Clint.”

“So that leaves us Stark,” you said, pursing your lips. “Who talks to him, you or me?”

He shot you an apologetic look.

“I mean we may try to sell it as love but at the end of the day, everyone will think about the business side of things,” he said. “It could be better if your father talked to him actually. He already dislikes me enough, and we’re changing the power balance in the city by doing this.”

“Alright,” you said. “My dad could do that.”

“Next?”

“I want your word that I will be included in everything,” you said. “None of the bullshit the earlier generation pulled. I will be in every meeting and I will be included in every single decision.”

He nodded. “Yeah, figured as much.”

“I mean it Bucky,” you said, looking him in the eye. “We will be equals completely.”

“We will be,” he assured you. “I swear on my honor.”

“And I’m not changing my surname.”

He threw his head back. “Charm…”

“Out of question.”

“Charm if I’m going to get you into those meetings, you need to have my surname,” he insisted. “You know the rules. We need to give them an actual reason if you can’t be there as an heir.”

You thought for a moment and cleared your throat.

“Hyphenated it is,” you said. “I’ll keep mine and add yours.”

“It’d be better if—”

“I can’t take over my father’s territory if my last name is Barnes,” you pointed out. “I’ll use both, it’s fine.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled even though his tone signaled it was anything but fine. You sipped your wine, leaning back.

“Goes without saying that we won’t have any children in the meantime so should we even talk about it?”

“I think we should,” Bucky said, a small smile curling his lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” you repeated and he rolled his eyes.

“It’ll be on the prenup just like everything else,” he reminded you. “And our families will see those prenups, so it’d be better if we covered it beforehand.”

You huffed out and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” you said. “The usual, right? The first born is the heir…”

“The second born is the spare, yeah,” Bucky said. “Although, if you’re keeping your surname…”

“Our children would as well,” you finished his sentence for him and let out a dry laugh. “So then, is the firstborn yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’ll be twins,” he joked and you shook your head.

“We’ll say that the firstborn rules both until the second born is ready, and then divide my territory and yours accordingly,” you said and Bucky raised his brows.

“But until then, both territories?” he asked. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“That person doesn’t exist and will not exist,” you reminded him. “It’s just gonna be a hypothetical article in the prenup, that’s it.”

“And if we want a divorce—”

“When we have a divorce,” you corrected him and Bucky hummed.

“Any specific reque—”

“The weekend house,” you cut him off and he let out a small laugh.

“How long have you had your eye on it?”

“Oh, so long,” you said with a grin. “It’s really pretty.”

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “It’s yours then."

“I mean I know I can’t just get it without giving something in return so how about you? What do you want in the divorce?”

“Nothing.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“You want nothing?” you asked him. “Bullshit. Say your price.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re going to get me in the business and help me take over and you want nothing?” you insisted. “No fucking way. What is your game here?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you asked with a frown. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Bucky…”

“But I do have one request now that you mention it,” he said and you nodded your head.

“Yeah tell me. What is it?”

“Throughout the time we stay married,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “No sleeping with other people.”

“…I’m not going to sleep with you,” you managed to say after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re going into war with an outsider while pushing you to the top,” he said. “Any kind of issue in our marriage, including a whisper of a rumor could work against that. We need to present a united front to all the other families and our people. Can’t fight a war on that many fronts, you know that.”

As much as you hated to admit, as it turned out, Bucky was actually smart when it came to how things worked in business. You nibbled on your lip, trying to put your thoughts in order before sticking your nose in the air.

“That’s a two-way street,” you told him. “If I’m behaving like the perfect wife, you’re going to behave like the perfect husband.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your mistresses.”

“Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your boyfriends,” he replied and you took a deep breath, then downed your wine and stretched out your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said and he chuckled, then reached out to take your hand into his, sending a pleasant warmth from your hand to your whole body.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s make you the queen, princess.”

                                              *

 You and Bucky decided to tell your family about your decision that weekend at their favorite restaurant. It would at least give you some time to get your story straight and you figured it would play into the lie; that you and Bucky had something for each other all along and once you got together you didn’t want to lose any time to get married.

Of course your closest friends were going to know about it, it would be impossible to keep it from Becca, Sarah, Steve and Sam because they’d had the first row to every single fight whenever you were within each other’s sight not to mention heard about how much you two disliked each other for years now.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, it was the happy ending to a decade long crush on both parts.

That night, you decided to stay in a hotel until the weekend. Not only did you not want to talk to Ian or your father, but it would also work in your favor; it was Bucky’s favorite hotel, it was in his territory and he would make sure to stay with you in the honeymoon suit every night until the weekend so you were pretty sure the rumors would reach your families way before you told them.

Your bodyguards were still on your father’s payroll after all.

You sipped your champagne, your feet propped up on the small coffee table across from the couch you were sitting on, the fluffy bathrobe wrapped tight around your body as you changed the channel on the TV but the knock on the door made you turn your head. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and went to the door, then put a bright smile on your face and swung open the door.

“Finally!” you exclaimed, then gasped at the huge bouquet of roses Bucky was holding. “Oh my God!”

“Hi beautiful,” Bucky said with a smirk and you stole a look at both your father’s and Bucky’s men in the hallway, then turned to him.

“You shouldn’t have!” you giggled as you grabbed his arm to pull him into the suit, and closed the door behind him.

“Flowers are a nice touch,” you commented, the lovesick smile disappearing from your lips even if your heart did a happy flip and Bucky winked at you.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said as you took them from him, then walked to the open kitchen to pour water into the empty wine decanter before putting the flowers into it.

He leaned back to the kitchen island. “Did you talk to Becca yet?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I slept the whole day away today, barely did anything. Must be the stress after yesterday.”  

“Is she serious with that girl by the way?” Bucky asked you. “Leila?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about Becca.”

He tilted his head. “You and I are going to get married—”

“And she’s my best friend so she’s still above you on my loyalty list,” you pointed out. “Marriage is one thing, friendship is another.”

“Should I at least threaten the girl so that she doesn’t break her heart?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, Leila is a sweetheart,” you said as you walked past him, then threw yourself on the couch to grab the remote. He followed you and rested his hands on the back of the couch you were sitting on, the closeness of his body making your stomach do a pleasant flip for some reason.

“So what are we watching?”

“We are not watching anything,” you said, trying to focus on the screen. “I’m watching The Bachelor.”

He let out a groan. “Seriously?”

“There’s another TV upstairs, go watch whatever you want to watch there,” you said, grabbing your champagne glass again and tilted your head back so that you could look at him, and Bucky shot you a mischievous grin.

“Marriage requires quality time together, Charm.”

“Who told you that lie?” you asked, turning your glances to the TV and he chuckled.

“Steve sent me an article about it today when I told him the news.”

“Not Sam?”

“No, Sam sent me the address of a great psychiatrist,” he said. “For couples therapy and marriage counseling.”   

“That’s much more useful than an article,” you pointed out and he squeezed at your shoulder making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he walked to the hanging stairs and someone knocked on the door, making you frown and look at Bucky over your shoulder.

“Room service,” Bucky answered before you could ask. “I already know your favorite so I ordered for both of us.”

“How do you know my favorite?”  

“I pay attention,” he said as he started climbing the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t open the door yet though, will you? Wouldn’t want my men to think I last five minutes.”

“I’m sure that would be an improvement for you,” you said with a scoff and he tsk tsked.

“If you want to see just how wrong you are, all you gotta do is ask nicely princess.”

“That will never happen!” you called out and slipped a little on the couch when you heard him close the bathroom door, then heaved a sigh.  

“Great,” you muttered to yourself as the water started running. “My honeymoon should be so much fun.”

Chapter 10

[eyelambspider]

𝟎𝟐. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚 || 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠

Day Two of Kink/Creeptober! Here is a list of my prompts & event terms!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : könig x gn!reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : The two of you were sent in the dead of night to check up on a supposedly vacated enemy facility. Strange reports and sightings of men had worried KorTac, they couldn't afford to have someone occupy the space. Turns out, the scary Colonel hates 'supernatural' stuff. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.4 k 𝐚/𝐧 : shane & ryan duo ifykyk 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : fluff? funny/comedy?, horror, mentions of guns, swearing, reader is sarcastic, cryptid (mothman appearance :)

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

You groaned softly. An exaggerated sound that made the Colonel hit your shoulder with the butt of his gun.

"Keep quiet, there may be enemies," he scolded you quietly, having to glance down at you with those disapproving eyes of his. The two of you had just barely touched the door and you were already complaining.

"This fucking sucks and you know it," you whispered back harshly. The two of you chose a respective side of the metal door to stand against. Lowering your guns only for a moment to finally lower the night vision goggles onto your faces.

König only grumbled again, muttering curses and German under his breath like he liked to do when you pissed him off. A sound that made you huff in response to him.

He acted like you were the irrational one. But the fact was: Every thermal scan of the facility reported nothing. And the old building was monitored day and night since local reports came in of 'shadows in the window'. No one on watch duty reported seeing anyone or anything come in or out of the doors. Any of them.

This was bullshit. It just sounded like a squatter to you, but the Austrian Colonel—who you had been paired with to double check the situation personally—was all protocol.

"Don't," he warned, turning his head towards you and pointing a gloved finger His night vision goggles already peering back at you through the darkness. You didn't even need to say it for him to know what you were thinking.

So you didn't, waving your hands up in sarcastic surrendering gesture, strapping your own goggles to your head with a huff. Waiting for him to take the lead then.

So he did, opening the metal door quietly. An actual wonder for how rusted the hinges were. You had to give it to him at least- König was a good fucking soldier. Just... this whole mission felt like a damned excessive ghost chase. Yes, there could be enemy presence back in the facility... but there was a better chance of seeing a rat scurrying around.

König led the way through the darkness, your eyes on the green light casted from his back. The night vision working perfectly. Watching his back and peering around for any sign of life.

The facility was some sort of old textile factory, or you supposed, was one back in the industrial era.

The roof was beginning to cave in, water dripping over concrete and metal railings, rusting everything in its path. Long ivy's crawling up the walls. Only remnants of dust and the occasional scrap of fabric had been left since KorTac had cleared it out over a year ago. It was a wonder you didn't see some sort of zombie wandering around making little clicking noises.

An amused sound slipped from your lips and König stopped dead in his tracks in front of you. Standing up straight, merely glancing over his shoulder in warning. The green glint of his goggles giving you a look that said 'Keep quiet.'

Yeah, yeah. You waved his concern off. There was a job to do despite protests.

The two of you continued on quietly, stalking through the darkness, sweeping the first floor with little to no problems. Guns held close, strapped to your vests and held tightly. The green ghoulish glow of your visor reflecting everything back to you in an eerie way. But nothing seemed out of place. No activity, not even a sound besides the crystal clear clink of water dripping from somewhere overhead.

König reached a hand up to his right ear, speaking quietly into his ear piece. "First floor clear." His voice, echoed softly into your own comm link.

"Continue to secure the building," a tired voice spoke back from the base. Operators watching the small sweep from the cameras on the left side of both of your helmets. Seeing what you both saw, hearing nothing except the staticky feedback through their screens.

Protocol.

With the first floor cleared, the second one seemed like it would go without a hitch too. There was no sound except the soft huffs of your breathing and the rustling of military uniforms as you both continued down the decrepit hallways. Up the rickety metal stairs, the two of you cringing as it groaned and tapped under the weight. Boots on metal, guns clutched a bit closer now that the two of you were making noise. Just a little bit more alert than a few seconds prior.

It was like the air had suddenly changed. No shift that the operators back at base could see, but König could feel it on his skin. Goosebumps prickling up his pale neck as he finally reached the crest of the staircase.

When he stopped, you waited patiently for the Colonel to move. Through the visor, all you could see was him standing there, clutching his gun and looking acute around as if something was wrong. Nothing you could tell though, no matter how much you tried to follow his eyes.

Left to right, there was only the pitch black hallways filled with faded paperwork and offices. It was so quiet in fact, you could probably hear a pin drop from down the hall.

"Colonel," you whispered almost imperceptibly, waiting for his move.

He seemed to tense as soon as the sound left your mouth, but he stayed firm. Only able to see his back and the hand he lifted up, finally signaling you to keep following him with a curt wave.

You got out of the stairwell, the pair of you moving more cautiously. The air swarming with uncertainty as König stopped at the corner, peaking around just to tense up at what he saw. The sound of his gun clinking in his hands as he squeezed it.

It made you tense too, readying your gun and holding the sight close to your eye.

König didn't say anything, just stood frozen with his back against the wall. His chest rising and falling a bit more obviously than it had been a moment ago.

"Colonel! What is it?" you whispered, almost frustrated. Never in all your years of working with him, had he ever frozen.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you whispered again, a bit more loudly before he grabbed your bicep to stop you. Squeezing so hard it made you grit your teeth.

If he wasn't going to move, then you were.

You shuffled quickly around him, your side brushing his front as he stood there. And despite him still trying to stop you, you peaked around the corner, gun at the ready.

"What the-?"

There were little flecks of fine... dust? floating around the end of the hallway. Glittering and reflecting back into your visor, green and a bit... odd.

You stepped out from around the corner and began walking curiously towards it. Only a step out before König tried to stop you again. "Halt um Gottes Willen!" he whispered, trying to grasp at you before he stopped, as if the corner had an invisible barrier he would not cross.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You whispered back, turning to glance over your shoulder at him.

When he had nothing to say, you sighed and continued on without him.

He tried to call out your name to stop you, watching as your form began to go deeper and deeper towards the swirling flecks.

You lowered your gun curiously as the little cloud of dust enveloped you, swirling around from the disturbance. There, on the wall was a dark smear, as if someone had wiped the finest ash over it. You reached a gloved hand out, only to stop when König scolded you again from down the hall.

"Bist du verdammt dumm? Don't you dare touch that!" he ordered, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

"Come over here and stop me," you called back, finding yourself smirking at that. "We have a fucking mission," you reminded him. The two of you quietly shouting in the hall now. "Its protocol to sweep the area. Now get your ass over here!" you waved, trying to coax him out.

He couldn't argue and you both knew it. The building had to be checked, and despite his gut telling him otherwise, he rounded the corner and made his way towards you slowly. So tense he seemed to be moving mechanically.

You took your glove off finally and tucked it into your vest, running your fingers through the inky smear. You gasped quietly, rubbing the fine dust between your fingers. It was the softest thing you'd ever felt. And the strange material flaked off your skin, becoming a part of the little cloud that surrounded you.

What the hell was it? Just dust?

König finally came up next to you, watching over your shoulder with the same bad feeling in his stomach.

That's when the soft sound of scuttling startled the both of you.

Your gun shot up and König nearly jumped out of his skin. The two of your looking up in comical sync just in time to watch a shadowy figure crawl along the ceiling and disappear down the corridor in an instant.

"Was zum Teufel!" König yelped, a cold shudder running through his body like lightning.

You kept your aim forward, gun trained now towards the ceiling. The sight only enticing you to take a step further and investigate whatever the fuck that was.

"Stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" König was now visibly shaking, not even clutching his rifle anymore, instead reaching out to stop you. There was no doubt he could just throw you over his shoulder and get the two of you out in less than a minute.

"I'm going to clear the area," you said in confidence, like it was the most obvious answer you'd ever given.

The more you moved towards the darkness, the more König tried to stop you, his hands clamping down on your shoulder to swing you around the other way.

"Stop! I said stop! Halt! You damned lunatic!"

"Colonel!" You hissed, stepping towards him before he even had a chance to grab you. "This is a fucking mission, pull yourself together," you reminded him. Yet, he still looked like a damned deer in the headlights, trembling, and too afraid to move in the darkness. Glancing at you with a nervous uncertainty.

Then, he watched as a smirk slowly began to spread over your lips. The green-glow of the night vision making you look more like the imp he envisioned you to be in the moment.

"Colonel? Are you... scared?"

He didn't like your tone, and his grip tightened into a white knuckle grip on his rifle.

He was fucking terrified.

"Come on," you huffed, relaxing as you led the way down the hall, following after the shadowy form. And fuck if König was going to be left alone with that thing roaming around the building.

With you leading the way, the two of you stalked through the next hall. König's breathing was coming out in short puffs, and although it felt like his legs struggled to bend, he followed anxiously. The small flecks in the air getting denser, more frequent the further you went into the building.

The roof was still leaking, but the tip of your gun traced a particular drop. More viscous and stringy than water, dripping down from the ceiling in a long gossamer strand, forming a bubbly puddle on the floor. It-It looked like spit.

Another deep fluttering sound emanated deep from the last room in the hallway. Something clattering to the ground with a resounding boom. Your gun instinctively pointed towards the noise.

"Gott im Himmel erbarme dich..."

The muttered sounds of German had you quickly glancing over your shoulder. König was dead frozen, his gun rattling in his hands, unable to move further, only shaking his head back and forth as if he couldn't believe it.

"Are you... Are you praying?!" You asked quietly, mind torn between disbelief that the man who dominated in warfare was fucking cowering behind you and the animal that was in the room.

You turned to König, putting a hand on his shoulder, your eyes still pointed cautiously towards the door.

"König, you're almost seven foot tall and have the biggest gun I've ever seen in your hands," you began quietly, trying to smack some soft words to reassurance into his head. "You'll be fine."

Even though he nodded, his legs still had that tremor in them.

This was reality, you told yourself, nothing but a fucking raccoon or stupid flock of pigeons fumbling around in the dark. The boogeyman didn't exist.

You lifted a hand to your ear, pressing the piece to speak quietly, relaying back to base. "Going in, hold."

"Copy Bravo."

König couldn't even protest, the words, nothing but German-English gibberish tumbling out of his mouth. Watching in sheer horror as you continued on, his feet moving on their own accord to stand behind you. To afraid to be left behind, too afraid to leave you behind.

Once you made it to the withering doorframe, König held his breath, feeling like icy had shot through his veins as you rounded the corner sharply.

In an instant of horror, your eyes landed on it, shuffling in the corner of the dark office. Fuzzy like a blot of ink, writing against the breeze that hushed through the broken window and picked up the tattered curtains.

Soft kissy sounds came from it, and the thing wrung its neck to glance at you. Green orbs, as big as your head peered back through the night vision goggles locked onto your eyes. Its massive wings, like sails, fluttered like a military drone. Goosebumps lurched down both of your bodies as it dropped from the ceiling and stood up so tall that it hunched to fit the room.

Before you could see anymore, you turned on your heel and ran, grabbing König's arm to get his ass moving. "FUCK THAT!"

Only screams filled the quiet room back at base, the operators watching in collective confusion as the pair of you ran for your lives in a blur of sheer hysteria.

[kiss-me-cill-me]

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: After spending a few days holed up with a rugged stranger, you finally can't take the tension anymore. Things get a little more complicated when he walks in on you.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (f), Emmett walking in on you, quiet sex, biting, begging, one fleeting thought about breeding, some fluff, light angst

A/N: Emmett was honestly the start of my whole descent into Cillian Murphy madness, so I'm really searching for my people with this one lol. He's my sad, scraggly boyfriend and I love him <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

It’s strangely beautiful, in an overgrown way. Vines hang off of the chain-link fence as you push carefully through the jagged gap, just big enough for a person to pass through. The long grass reaches well above your ankles, and plants seem to spill out from the negative space of every structure littering the lawn.

The air has a cool, muted hue; it looks like rain later. Eyeing the building in front of you, you decide to stop here for the night. 

One step, and then a pause. Something feather-light brushes against your ankle. You look down to see a tripwire, and back away slowly in the direction you came. Interesting. It has been a long time since you’ve seen anyone else alive out here. Though the owner of the tripwire could be long gone.

You take a second look at your surroundings, this time scanning for any sign of a human presence. It’s quiet, but of course, everywhere is quiet now. Delicately stepping over the tripwire, you continue on your path toward the large building. Its looming, brick facade is featureless except for long stalks of ivy tumbling from broken windows, and as you advance you can’t help but feel that the building is watching. The sensation of eyes on you is made even more unnerving in the silence.

You pick your way across the lawn, careful to avoid shards of broken glass and open bear traps. This abandoned factory is quite the fortress, if anyone actually lives here. You reach the end of the grass, and step through a huge, weathered green door, left open on probably-ancient and squeaky hinges. The air here smells of cobwebs and must.

Inside, dripping water echoes faintly, somewhere from deeper inside the building. It’s cold by the open door, and it doesn’t get any warmer as you walk down the hallway, still keeping a careful eye out for anything waiting to meet you.

You turn a corner, and there he is, unexpected. Unexpected to you at least; the man in front of you seems quite prepared as he levels the sights of his rifle.

Instinctively, your hands fly up. The man’s face is covered, except for his eyes, which look to be the only part of him that’s still alive. Even his handling of the gun seems driven by muscle memory, as if he’s a sentry with no programming beyond, simply: “Defend.” You don’t breathe as he looks you over; relaxes a bit as he realizes you’re a lone woman, unarmed except for the hunting knife at your belt. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly - it’s hard to when you’re pointing a rifle in someone’s face. But he also doesn’t look like he really wants to hurt you. More that he just wishes you weren’t here in the first place.

As a show of good faith, you point to your knife, and then to the floor. You nod at him, questioning. He nods back. Slowly, you lower your hands to your belt and unclip the knife. The faintest click of steel against concrete is audible as you lower it to the ground. Straightening, you point to the man across from you; his gun.

Now you.

Just as slowly, the man lowers his weapon to his side. You point at your knife on the floor, expectantly.

Go on…

He’s reluctant, but after a moment of tense silence, his gun joins your knife on the ground.

You smile; hope that you look thankful and not threatening, like he’s just fallen squarely into a trap you’ve set for him.

Thank you, you mouth.

Beneath the bandana that covers his mouth and the hat that shadows his face, the man’s expression is impossible to read. His eyes, piercing blue even as they regard you more casually, move over your whole body once again. Checking you for weapons, though you don’t have anything else on you. When he’s done, you take a gentle step toward him.

Stop.

The man’s right hand flies out in front of him, fingers splayed. You freeze in your tracks. Desperately, you want to tell him that you mean no harm. You just want a place to stay for the night. There’s a cold fear soaking in the corners of his body; you can feel it all the way from here. You hold out your own hands, palms forward, telling him to stay calm. Nobody's going to get hurt. Keeping one hand in front of you, you reach around to your back pocket, intending to pull out the pad of paper you keep on you for the rare occasions you need it to communicate with someone.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall. There’s a strong hand clamped around your wrist; an arm pressed flat against your chest, restraining you. And the man’s face is inches away from your own, his eyes wild with panic.

The dust settles around you, and the echo of your body being slammed on the bricks fades away. You drop what’s in your hand and nudge your head to point at the pad and pencil, showing him. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he realizes - maybe exasperation at you, or maybe frustration at himself for reacting so recklessly. He starts to move away from you-

Click.

A familiar sound comes from just outside the factory door. It’s one of them.

Shit.

The man mutters something, barely audible through the bandana, and then he’s running. Deeper and deeper into the building, his hand in a vice grip around your wrist, pulling you along after him. You feel like a mess of  awkward limbs and flapping skirts as you try to keep up. The thing behind you is in the building now, crashing carelessly through the hallways in its pursuit. Your weapons are both forgotten - not that they would be any more useful here than they are back on the ground where you left them. 

Ahead, the man has let go of your wrist and is now running at a dead sprint, trusting you to either keep up or be killed. He clearly has somewhere he’s going. You blindly follow him, out of any other options and brain too high on adrenaline to think about where he’s taking you. The hallway has opened out into a room, and now you’re weaving through huge pipes and tanks. Your lungs are about to explode. You can’t keep up with-

Suddenly, the man veers sharply to the left and smoothly jumps into a metal structure. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing to do but follow. You breathe deep and hold it to stop from screaming as you jump in after him.

Dust. It’s in your throat and your eyes as you fall into whatever is piled at the bottom of the drop. You need to cough, but you fight hard not to. Before you can get your bearings, you’re yanked to your feet and thrust in a direction that seems random, until you reach the lip of the metal tank. The man all but throws you inside even as he’s climbing in after you, and then the heavy metal door is shut and the only sound is of two people breathing.

He tears off his hat and bandana. You watch, mesmerized, as the man’s chest rises and falls, struggling to push enough air into his lungs. Then, he utters the first word you’ve heard him say clearly.

“Fuck.”

The man’s name is Emmett. This you learn as you sit, huddled together but separate, in his makeshift bunker. 

You also learn that he doesn’t want you here.

“Please.” 

Your voice feels tight and painful; jagged around the edges from disuse. It catches sharply in your throat.

“No,” he replies.

The timer on his watch goes off, and Emmett opens the door. His chest is still heaving.

You both step out, listening carefully for any noise above you. The creature, thankfully, seems to have moved on. Emmett stands a little straighter as he turns to face you.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.” His voice is a whisper, and has the same rusty, unused quality as your own.

“I just need a place for one night.”

You beg with your eyes, and Emmett turns away. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by you.

Later, when it’s - almost- sure to be safe, the two of you go together to collect your discarded weapons. The sky outside has turned an awful gray, and sheets of rain pound into the earth. The sound is louder than anything you’ve heard in months, and the wind howls from all directions. 

Emmett sighs heavily, though he makes no sound. He looks up, seeming to question who would have the audacity to do this, and then turns to you.

One. Night. he mouths, holding up a finger for emphasis. 

He looks at you seriously, and you nod seriously in return. You follow him back down to the lower level, and settle in on opposite sides of the room.

One night, of course, turns into two, and then three. It’s nice to have company. Even Emmett seems to soften a little as the days go on. He doesn’t mention anything about you leaving after that first night, and you take care not to prompt him to. Emmett teaches you how to hide in the huge metal tank; explains the timer and watches you try it with your own alarm a few times to make sure you can do so safely. You busy yourself with mending a few things - broken backpack straps and holes in his old sweaters. He thanks you softly as you hand them back to him.

You catch Emmett looking at you a few times, barely getting a glimpse of the strange expression on his face before he turns away. You catch yourself looking at him too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen another person, but even if it hadn’t been, there’s something magnetic about him. His eyes are like spots of fresh ice against his weathered face. 

“I have something,” you say, over the meager dinner you’re sharing.

You go to your backpack and rustle around, moving slow so as not to make any noise. Finally, you pull out a bottle, its dark glass glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Cream soda,” you whisper, with all the thrill of a child showing off an ill-gotten prize from her mother’s cupboard.

The bottle hisses as you open it, and you both perk up, quickly alert for any sound of a threat above you. Safe. You pass the bottle to Emmett, offering him the first sip. It’s simple, but a rare treasure in this broken world.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asks, the barest hint of a smile drifting over his lips.

You watch as his mouth wraps around the bottle's opening, and as he gingerly tips it back to drink. He takes two quick swallows, his throat bobbing twice, then hands the bottle over to you. You take it, fingertips brushing against his for just a moment, and take a quick swig before you can think for too long about how his lips were just touching the rim.

“It’s just nice to have a treat sometimes,” you reply, shrugging. 

You hand the bottle back and Emmett takes it by the neck, letting the edge of his hand linger against yours for several seconds. You make no move to pull away. 

“It is,” he agrees. “Been a long time since I’ve had anything sweet.”

In the very back of your mind, you wonder if he’s still talking about the soda. No - stop that. You don’t need to go ruining the good thing you have going.

You had asked Emmett, on the morning of the second day, if he was alone. He’d paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes… Well, I mean… Yes.”

You'd decided not to prod any further. 

Now, as you look down at your hand ghosting against his, you notice again his wedding band, firmly wrapped around his finger. It's hard not to notice, and it's even harder to ignore the dozens of sketches that litter the room, pinned and draped on every surface. All of them show the same young boy. He could be a son, or a nephew, or just some random kid that something terrible happened to - you haven't wanted to ask. Everyone is beyond traumatized in this new world, and far be it from you to question whatever brings anyone comfort. Suddenly feeling guilty, you let go of the bottle and look away as Emmett takes another sip.

"Hey," he whispers. Your head snaps back up to look at him. "I have something too."

Emmett puts the soda down between you, methodically clears the table, and pulls out a very weathered deck of cards.

"You ever play Gin Rummy?"

The next morning, Emmett is up early. You stay in your sleeping bag, pretending that you haven't woken up yet, and watch him pull on his hat and boots. He slips on a pair of heavy leather gloves. You stir, "waking up," and Emmett walks over to you.

"Gonna go check the traps," he explains, kneeling down. "I'll be back."

You're struck by the way the moment feels almost domestic; as if he's promising you he'll be home for supper. Your eyes trail over him lazily, taking in the firm shape of his bare arms and the way his hands are abruptly covered by the work gloves. The thought of him roughly grabbing you by the waist flashes through your mind; the material rubbing your skin as his fingers sink into your sides. You swallow heavily; blink a few times.

"You should wear a jacket," you whisper.

Emmett has already started to walk off, but he turns around and smirks at your words. For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something. But it passes, and then he continues in the direction he was headed, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

Once Emmett is gone, you have the place to yourself. Scant sunlight filters through the opening in the ceiling, giving you just enough light to read by. You pull out a well-worn book from your backpack, and settle into the chair Emmett's jacket was on to read it.

Quickly, the words start to swim on the page; falling forgotten into the margins. You can't get your mind off the image of Emmett leaving, blue eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat as he looked back over his shoulder. Had there been a teasing look to them, or was that just you imagining things again? Your mind flashes to an image of Emmett giving you his jacket, wrapping it around you, tight and safe. Pulling you close to him, and-

Okay, time to be honest. Emmett has been driving you crazy the past few days. And not in a bad way, but in an "imagining him tangled between your legs" kind of way. You know you shouldn't think like that. Your relationship with him is undefined and shaky at best; you shouldn't go risking it. But it's getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reaching out and snaking your fingers through his hair; against the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve; sliding them down past his belt and-

Stop.

You practically have to bite your lip as you beg yourself. You listen for a moment to the silence. Emmett should be gone long enough. And under three feet of solid concrete, you feel safe to relax a little. You desperately need to let out some frustration.

But still, it feels too open out here. Too exposed. Even if you are alone, you just want some more privacy.

Your eyes drift to the steel bunker.

Okay, you can be quick. You have your watch and can time it and be careful. With how horny you are, this shouldn't take long at all. And in the worst case scenario, Emmett will be back soon and can let you out if you get stuck. This is a perfect idea.

You climb inside, set your watch, and close the door. Keeping your head by the entrance in case you need to rush the exit, you don't waste any time getting started.

You touch yourself, shocked at how wet you are already. Might as well take advantage of the sound-proof tank. You hiss as you slide a finger between your folds, finally not bothering to keep quiet.

"Oh, fuck, Emmett."

You desperately wish these were his fingers instead of your own. You plunge two inside yourself immediately; revel in the delicious sting. Legs squeezing together, trapping your own hand, rutting up against your palm. You imagine him hovering over you, blue eyes staring into yours as he watches you fall apart.

"Oh, fuck!"

Above your head, the door swings open. You freeze, hand still plunged sinfully down the front of your pants and hips bucking halfway off the steel floor. Next to you, your watch alarm beeps, calling more attention to your shame.

You look up, and suddenly Emmett staring back at you isn't a fantasy anymore.

"I'm… uh," you stammer in a hissed whisper, searching for any words. But the power of speech has left you. It seems to have left Emmett as well.

His mouth is practically hanging open, and after a moment of shocked panic, he quickly tears his eyes away. 

Taking the opportunity, you sit up and try to arrange yourself - although it's impossible to look presentable after you've just been caught fucking your own fingers to the thought of the man standing in front of you. 

"I'm sorry," Emmett whispers, frantic. He’s pacing; tears off his work gloves and throws them to the ground. Tosses his hat onto a table and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought something happened, and I wanted… well I didn't think - not that it's anything to be ashamed of. Everyone has urges."

"Do you?"

The sound of your voice shocks even you, despite the low volume you're speaking at. Your legs are dangling out the open door of the bunker, and you watch as Emmett stops in his tracks. 

“What?” he whispers.

“Everyone has urges,” you echo, placing your feet on the floor. “Do you?”

“I don’t know what you…”

You stand up, taking a bold step toward him. Emmett takes a half step back. His eyes are blown wide, fear and confusion, as you take another step. This time he stays.

You place a hand on Emmett’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath.

You’re only inches apart. One more step and your body would be pressed flush against his, just like you’ve been thinking of these past few days. From this distance, you can hear the shakiness in his breathing. 

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a dare; a challenge; a bald-faced lie. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stay quiet. To not stop you. To keep going. 

“Tell me to stop.”

You’re on your tiptoes now, lips hovering right in front of his. Emmett swallows hard, and you can feel it reverberate through his whole chest. Looking you right in the eyes, he shakes his head.

No.

Emmett pulls you the rest of the distance. His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you like you can stop him from drowning. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it. Emmett has to hold you to keep you from falling to the floor. 

Gently, he eases you down. You’re desperate, pulling at him, trying to bring him to you faster. Your legs open to wrap around his waist. God, you’ve needed this. 

Emmett is scrambling to take off his jacket, and even though it only takes a few seconds, it is an eternity. To exist without his body pressed against yours. You hastily unbutton your pants, and Emmett tears them the rest of the way down.

There’s a pause, and you look up at him. Emmett is transfixed, but seems to quickly snap out of it when he notices you - embarrassed. You lean up on your elbows, but Emmett stops you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious. 

Be quiet.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Emmett straddle you; reach his hand down between your legs. 

Oh, fuck.

His fingers are even better than you’d imagined. Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Emmett’s face is stoic with concentration, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him. 

After teasing your entrance for a moment, Emmett slips a finger inside you. There’s that weightless feeling again; it’s like being drunk. You could ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you.

Desperate, you scramble for something to hold onto. There’s nothing on the stone floor. Emmett is your only lifeline, and you grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers. 

Panting. You’re actually panting as he pulls out of you, instantly missing the way his fingers curled up inside of you. You’re still holding onto his t-shirt for dear life, and he gently removes your hand. You can’t see straight, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper loosening. When you look up again, Emmett is hovering over you, his body planted between your legs.

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you.

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s plunged into you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache.

“Please, Emmett.”

The fingers on your waist tighten, digging into your side. For a second, you worry you’ve upset him, but then he looks up at you, eyes blazing with lust. He looks like a man about to lose himself, and you smile as you move your hands up to his chest, gripping at his collar to pull him close as you whisper again. 

“Please.”

Emmett is pounding into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Emmett lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck, Emmett.” 

You whisper in his ear, breath brushing the strands of hair that fall around his face. Emmett brings his own lips right to the side of your cheek; his words tickle as he continues to fuck you.

“You know, you have a dirty mouth,” he tells you. “And here I thought you knew how to stay quiet.”

You whimper, and a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Emmett leans in to whisper to you again, devilishly. 

“Bite down if you need to.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you.

Emmett is grunting, softly, as he fucks into you just a little bit faster. The sound of him coming undone is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down onto his hand, muffling the sound of your cries as you orgasm. 

If he’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. Emmett continues to rut into you as you bite the side of his hand, trying desperately to stay as quiet as you can. You want him to hold you down, breed you, spill everything into you with no care for the consequences. Emmett pulls his hand away and plants it on the ground, trying to balance himself.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

His words are breathless; you love hearing him like this. You bask in them, arching your back against the floor, not answering.

“Where do you want me to- Fuck!”

Emmett pulls out of you, trying and failing at the last second to cup a hand around himself. Cum gets everywhere, dripping from his fingers to the floor, coating the insides of your legs. He looks down at himself for a moment; shakes off his hand before wiping it on his pants, still halfway on in his rush to be inside you. 

“Now you decide to be quiet, huh?”

He’s leaning over you again, whispering teasingly in your ear. He pinches your waist and kisses your cheek before pulling away, showing you the mischief in his eyes.

Somewhere above you, there’s a crash followed by a loud screech. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Shit.” Emmett yanks his pants up and pulls you both to your feet. The sounds of something getting closer are clearly audible. You should be scared, but instead you’re excited.

“Let’s go.”

You tug at Emmett’s wrist as you lead him toward the bunker. Two minutes and thirty seconds - that’s how long you have before the timer goes off. You tumble, pulling him in after you. The door closes behind you with a soft thud.

You want to hear him scream.

[mikkomacko]

a request for mob boss Nico, is there ever a time where the boys call y/n for help because they trusted her and didn’t want to upset Nico?

Oh definitely it happens all the time. They use her to soften up blows to Nico when they mess up or help clean them up if things get out of hand.

The first time they realized they could call her though was when her baby Holtzy needed help

——————————————————————

Alex Holtz joined the Devs after he got into legal trouble back home and reached out to Jesper for help. He had been disowned by his family and was living on the streets, and he made a mistake that was gonna haunt him forever now that he was aging out of being a juvenile. So Nico and Jesper brought him in, sent out the private jet and moved him to Jersey where he moved into a loft with the Hughes boys.

Bad idea off the bat but they’re all young and Nico thought they’d click (They do, a little too well).

Late on a Friday, you and Nico were sprawled out on the living room floor with piles of Lego pieces between you. You were racing to see who could build their set the fastest, not that it mattered because there was no real prize, but you two loved the competition.

Nico was finishing up one of the succulents on his set when a ringing phone interrupted the romcom you’d put on the background. Assuming it was work phone based on the hour, you went about your business until Nico fumbled with his silent phone and looked at you in confusion.

“S’yours baby.” He catches your attention, and you look over to the coffee table where you left your phone. Sure enough it’s vibrating across the glass, the screen lit up with Alex’s name.

Quickly, you grab the phone and slide to answer.

“Hi Holtzy, you ok?”

Immediately you know something is wrong. You can hear it in his breath, how it shakes and quivers. And you can hear the frantic voices in the background, whatever boys he went out with tonight obviously panicking.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s the matter?”

By now Nico is on his knees, watching you with concern. You can tell he’s ready to jump up and run, to fix whatever is going on. But Alex didn’t call him, he called you.

“I-something happened,” his voice is small and weak through the speaker and it makes your chest ache. “I didn’t mean to, I just-“

He’s cut off by a sob, one so shattering you can feel it in your own chest. “Ok, it’s ok. You wanna tell me where you are? I’m gonna come get you, ok?”

“Nico will be mad, he won’t want you here. I shouldn’t have-“

“Alex, he doesn’t care. We care about you, kid. Tell me where you are and I’m gonna fix it, ok?”

And Alex has always been good at responding to authoritative tones, better than any of the other boys that are his age. But he’s let down a lot of grown up’s in his life and you know how scared he is to do that to you and Nico.

He mumbles out an address not too far from the loft, telling you he’s in the lot out back with Jack and Luke.

“Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

Alex sniffles, chokes back another cry. “No, no drive safely. I can be ok.”

“I’ll be there in ten, don’t move and don’t touch anything ok? Unless someone’s gonna hurt you, you stay put.”

Mumbling his agreement, you tell him you’ll see him soon and hang up. Nico, having picked up on the conversation, has already collected the keys to the Range Rover and his gun, his feet tucked into his shoes.

“Where are we going?” He asks you and you pull on a jacket and shoes. Taking the pocketknife he holds out to you, you tuck into your pants.

“I’ll give directions.”

~~~~

Whatever Alex and the Hughes boys had been doing, they ended up outside an abandoned factory in a lot that is closed off.

Not that it stopped them seeing as the gate has been pried open and Nico is able to drive into the gravel covered lot.

You can see the Hughes boys kneeling over something on the sidewalk, barely illuminated by the street light. Alex is sitting a few feet away, curled into himself against the brick wall of the building. Before Nico can even stop the car, you’re jumping out.

Whatever scold Nico shouts after you is lost.

Jack and Luke look up at you helplessly when you jog up to them, panic stricken in the poor light. It only takes you a second to see why.

There’s a man under them, one that’s strangling out breathes and covered in blood. He doesn’t appear to be awake, but you realize the two brothers are both pressing their hands into the wound on his abdomen.

“Oh fuck,” you mumble, crouching down to feel for the man’s pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there so you rise again, wipe the blood on your finger onto your pants.

“Keep holding, I’ll be right back.”

Jack and Luke call after you but you don’t hear them. You’re too busy approaching Alex, sinking down to your knees in front of him. He doesn’t lift his head out of his hands until you gently touch his knees.

The sight of him almost has you in tears. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks splotchy from crying and he’s matted his hair with the blood that was on his hands.

Somehow, he looks even younger than he actually is.

“Alex, are you ok? Are you bleeding?”

He shakes his head, a fresh set of tears streaming down his face. “I don’t know what happened, one minute we were joking around and then he was talking shit and shoving Luke and I-“

“You did what you had to,” you assure him, reaching for his hands. “You were protecting family, Alex and that’s what we do.”

You stroke over his knuckles, nod along as he tells you about how he just went blank, he was so angry he couldn’t even see anything and then the man was bleeding and they didn’t know what to do.

So Jack dragged him into the empty lot and told him to call Nico. He couldn’t though, he couldn’t let Nico know that he messed up so badly already.

You wait for him to finish talking, push his hair off his forehead. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” you assure him. “You did exactly what you were supposed to. You were smart and you were quick, and you protected Luke.”

“Nico told us to protect you,” he mumbles sadly “I shouldn’t have brought you into this but he’s so scary sometimes. What if he sends me back?”

You squeeze his fingers, make him look at you. “Holtzy, you’re a Dev.” You say firmly, “Nico knows what that means, we all know what that means. You’re here, you’re with us no matter what. And if you think me being here is putting me in danger, you’re wrong. It’s my job to protect all of you.”

Finally he relaxes, shaking as you rise and help him to his feet. You cup his face, wipe away the tear tracks on his face before pulling him down into a hug. He squeezes you back, grateful.

“Go to the car, there’s clothes in the back.” You instruct, nudging him towards the parked vehicle. “Ignore Nico, he’s just a driver tonight, ok?”

You can see the reluctance in his eyes but he nods anyway and drags his feet to the car. Taking a deep breath, you join Jack and Luke again, and Nico who’s now crouched down with them.

“He ok?” Nico asks you, glancing towards Alex. You nod, rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie. Accepting the answer, Nico hands you the med kit he’d brought out from the car.

“Didn’t know the plan,” he tells you “you gonna fix him or are we leaving?”

Jack and Luke look between the two of you, and then at each other. They’re obviously thrown by Nico’s behavior, and it’s then that you realize this is the first time one of them has called you in crisis.

“Fix him,” you decide, flipping open the large box and digging out everything you’ll need to clean him up and stitch him. “And when he wakes up, you’ll make sure he forgets everything.”

Nico’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised and impressed with your answer. “Yeah?”

You nod, pulling on some gloves. “But make sure he knows that if he ever touches Luke or even thinks about Alex, I’ll personally be undoing all the hard work I did on him tonight.”

You don’t miss the smile that rises on your boyfriend’s face, how his eyes crinkle and dimples sink into his cheeks. “Sure thing, boss.” He agrees, moving around you so he can pull your hair back for you and tie it up.

Pressing a kiss to your head, he rises to his feet and moves towards Alex and the car.

“Nico,” you stop him, and he turns to look at you. “He’s shaken and he’s sorry. Be a friend.”

Biting back another grin, he nods. “And clear out the backseat, these three are coming back with us.”

He nods and turns on his heel, doing as told. Certain that he’ll listen to you, you get to work on fixing up the man below you. And you swell with pride when Jack and Luke follow your lead like obedient soldiers.

[ohbo-ohno]

hear me out: ghoap x reader (noncon) in an abandoned factory. Reader only has an unreasonably short amount of time to escape before they get to keep her and do whatever they want to her

1k game here - no more please! im trying to get through these but they're slow going because im incapable of writing anything less than a thousand words apparently

1.8k of ghoap (mostly ghost) x reader chasing very scared reader through a factory :/ this is very similar to everything else i've ever written so nothing new here folks. (aka noncon!!!) btw this one is just pwp, nothin else much here to see

Your breaths heave out of you in pants, almost violent in their intensity. You feel like you can hardly breathe, but it doesn't matter. all that matters is running, getting away from the monsters chasing you.

You can hear them. Or, one of them at least. Johnny - the Scottish one, the one you'd been stupid enough to follow out of the bar in the first place. His partner - either Ghost or Simon, Johnny had called him both - your sure is silent as he moves. He'd blended into the shadows for so long when you first woke up, and you know he's doing it again.

You can't think about them. If you think about them for too long you'll spiral, and that is the last thing you need.

No, you have to run.

The old factory is a creepy place, cobwebs and dust covering everything, random creaking noises from machines, lights flickering on and off with no rhyme or reason. It takes all of your willpower not to scream when you feel a roach crawl across the toe of your heels.

The shoes are something you're still not sure if you made the right choice on - you can't walk silently in them, but you have absolutely no idea what you could possibly step on. The last thing you need is to somehow give yourself tetanus while running from your possible killers.

Still, the way you click-clack along the concrete floors makes you wince with every step.

"Where are you, bonnie?" Johnny echoes nearby. You've been trying to track him by listening to how many times his voice echoes, and he sounds very close now.

You duck into the first room you see, shoving yourself along a dark wall and fumbling around in the pitch black. The room must be windowless because there isn't even a hint of light, nothing that lets you see even vague shapes in the room.

Still, it's silent. You hear loud footsteps approach the door, and breathe out a large sigh of relief when they keep walking. Johnny shouts something indiscernible, and his voice fades into the distance.

You go limp against what you're sure is a wall, letting yourself breathe as heavily as you want now that you're sure there's no chance of being found.

The adrenaline makes your hands shake. Your lungs ache from the strain you've put them under, and you feel a little lightheaded from fear. But you try to shove all of that away - all that matters is that you stay away from your pursuers until morning.

The door opens.

Any peace you'd managed to find disappears in the blink of an eye, and you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle your whimper. The door opens inwards, and whoever steps in can't see from around it. You're safe until he lets it fall closed behind him, plunging the room into darkness.

It's got to be Ghost. Even without knowing them all that well, you know Johnny wouldn't be able to resist taunting you. You hadn't seen much more than a silhouette, but you're sure this is Simon.

You can't try and move. Your shoes are too loud, and trying to kick them off would be just as loud as walking. Your only option is to stand still and pray he doesn't find you.

He's silent as he moves. You can't hear breathing, or footsteps, or even if he brushes over something. The room is as quiet as it was before he found it. But you can't relax. Your legs are tensed in preparation to run, and your heart beats so loudly you're sure he could hear it if he came close enough.

But he doesn't. The room is silent, and he doesn't find you.

There's a point where you're nearly convinced that he never came into the room at all. Is it possible that you hallucinated him? That your exhausted and terrified brain conjured up a threat that isn't real?

It takes a long, long time, but eventually you start to relax against the wall. It must've been nearly ten minutes of dead silence now, surely you've just started seeing things. No man could stand that still, stay so quiet, for so long.

You let your arm fall from your face, puffing breaths into the slightly musty air. Another few minutes, and you'll move again.

"Boo," a voice whispers in your ear, from directly next to you.

You scream, leaping away from the sudden wall of heat at your side. It doesn't let you, a hand snapping out and grabbing you by your upper arm before you can fall. You scream again as he pulls you closer, don't stop screaming as he turns you around and pins you by the chest to the wall.

He's all man and heat as he presses himself to your back, lips hovering by your ear, breaths ghosting over the sensitive shell.

"Got you," he whispers, nipping at your ear. "Stop your wailin', you're alright."

You do not, in fact, stop wailing. It feels impossible to swallow the sobs spilling from your throat, like if you close your mouth they'll choke you. So you stand pinned to the wall, tears already spilling down your cheeks as you blubber mindlessly.

Ghost laughs over your shoulder. "Little crybaby, aren't ya? That's alright, doll, I don't mind a few tears."

You can feel him undoing his belt behind you, and that only makes you more panicked. You throw yourself back against him, desperate to get him off, but you're nowhere near strong enough to do anything.

Ghost grunts over your shoulder, using one hand to force you flush with the wall again.

"Stay," he grunts, naked hips brushing against your ass as he flips your skirt up. "Unless you want me to get a little rougher? That what you want, love? Want me to throw you down and fuck you until you bleed?"

You keen loudly, shaking your head as best you can with your face forced into the wall. "No, no, nonono, please, please, you can't- oh God, please don't-"

He laughs lowly, rocking his hard cock between your thighs. "Just Ghost will do, love. Now, let's stretch you out a bit, hm? No need for blood when you're good for me."

You're bone dry between your thighs, no room for anything but fear in your head. Simon doesn't seem to mind, slowly stroking over your clit until your body betrays you.

"There we go," he murmurs as you first start to leak onto his fingers. "Little more for me, love, c'mon."

You've got no choice but to obey. It's like Ghost has a manual on how to make you feel best, stroking over all the parts that make your cunt drool, using just enough pleasure to keep things feeling horribly good.

You sob against the wall, pressing your forehead so hard into the rough surface that it hurts. All you can do is stand still and take what he gives you, forced to bear witness to your own destruction.

He's silent as he slips one finger, than another, inside of you. You whine against the intrusion, the slight sting a horrible pleasure.

"Hush, love," he soothes, rutting himself against your leg. "You're almost ready, won't be much longer now."

That only makes you more distressed, and you sob into the wall.

He's true to his word and doesn't spend much longer fingering you, his own intent seeming to be to spread you out enough to take him. You hope the fact that he only used two fingers means he isn't too large, but the size of each finger tells you otherwise.

You can't help but cry out when you feel his warm head rest against your entrance. Your hands fist against the wall as you fight back every urge to lash out, knowing that'll only make everything worse.

Ghost laughs over your shoulder, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Still for me now, good girl. Won't make you do any of the work, just gotta stand there and take it for me." He speaks as he pushes slowly into you, raising his voice enough to be heard over your sounds of pain and pleasure.

He's thick, so much thicker than the two fingers he stretched you with, and there's a moment where you think he really has made you bleed. The pain isn't sharp enough for that though, just a never ending push into the clutch of your body.

"There you go," he moans when his hips meet the meat of your ass, as deep inside of you as he can get at this angle. "You feel like heaven, doll, never felt a cunt this tight, fuck."

"Pl-please," you splutter, breath shaky. "Please don't, it hurts..."

"Oh yeah? It hurts?" He coos, hands stroking faux-comfortingly over your hip. "Poor thing, 'm just too big for your little hole, huh? You'll just have to relax, then, I'll make you feel good once I'm finished."

A little heartbroken noise slips from your throat, but you do your best to listen. There isn't much else to do but bear whatever he chooses to give, so you try to relax your muscles, letting the wall take your weight.

"Good girl, good girl for me," he breaths, grinding his hips deep into you.

You feel him inhale deeply against you and try to mimic the pace of his breathing, bracing yourself as he pulls out.

Mercifully, he's silent as he fucks you. He seems to be lost in your body, shoving his face into your neck and running his teeth over the thin skin over your pulse.

It feels almost dream-like, to be taken like this. You can't move with how closely he has you crowded, and the room remains the absolute pitch black - you can't even see the outline of Simon's form over your shoulder. It's like what's happening is stuck in only this room, and you tell yourself that when it's over, when you leave, you'll be able to pretend this never happened.

That illusion is ruined when the door opens, flooding the room with light.

You get another look at Ghost as he pulls his head away from your neck to look over - he's sweat-slicked and flushed, eyes narrowed as he looks to see the intruder.

"Aw, you started without me?" Johnny whines, leaving the door wide-open as he trots over to where you're pinned.

Ghost huffs a laugh over your shoulder, continuing to fuck you at his same pace, leaving you wracked with pleasure. "First come, first serve, Johnny - shoulda been faster if you wanted to play with her first."

Through teary eyes you can see that Johnny doesn't look all that upset as he leans on the wall next to you. He plants a hand in the center of your chest, pushing you back into Ghost to make just enough room for him to squeeze between him and the wall.

You're left using his body to hold yourself up, instinctually gripping his arms to keep from collapsing.

He nudges your chin up with one hand as Ghost starts to really pound into you, leaving you drooling onto his thumb.

"Don't worry, bonnie," he winks. "I don't mind sloppy seconds."

[midnight1nk]

So, that WOTFI 2024 trailer...

TRAILER REACTION/ANALYSIS (+BINGO)

[Spoilers below cut]

I did not expect the trailer to be released this soon, color me surprised! Kinda scared to click it tbh. (If you're gonna watch it on YT, just a heads up: tw for flashing images)

Okay... 3... 2... 1... LET'S-A GO!

REACTION & ANALYSIS

[To simplify things, my reaction input will be in blue & bold and my analysis will be in orange & italics. Cool? Coolio 👍]

It starts off showing the carnival grounds.

Presumably, it takes place in the same time frame as the last episode, because of the sun setting. And in the background, you can hear a creepy, carnival-themed rendition of "Silent Night"(???). Oh, nevermind, it's a music box cover for "Rock-a-bye Baby" (link here). Oooh, very scary....

I know it's not much but at least this scene (and surely more later on) gives us some insight into what mini-games were chosen for WOTFI.

Here we have the Ferris Wheel (please be my challenge OMG), The House of Crazy, and the Arcade. And also that strange office building on the third scene I pointed out in last week's episode review. Seriously, what is that building?

We then get this shot of the carnival entrance as the song cover gets interrupted by the next scene.

This looks very much like the background picture used for the WOTFI website. Oh hey look, the cutout of Mr Puzzles wearing Meggy's Western Spaghetti hat is still there.

Cut to the next scene of the camera getting closer to Didney's Engine Room doors with the next scene of SMG4 and Mario running. Huh, correct me if I'm wrong, but the corridor where they're at doesn't seem like the same one that leads to the Engine Room....

And of course, a shot of Leggy with a creepy smile, staring at the camera. It honestly reminds me of Four from the Meme Factory mini-Arc. WE'LL SAVE YOU MEGGY DON'T WORRY!

Then, we got... KAREN HI!

Yup, Karen's here, jumping through a hoop on fire. She would be great in this, considering that she's a former assassin. And she seems to be in this indoor kiddie playground so maybe House of Crazy??? Or just another attraction we haven't seen yet.

More of the camera gets closer to the engine room before we see Bob on one of those bumper cars (likely the one he was strapped in) from the last episode, driving away from a monster.

I'm literally going through this frame by frame and it looks like Bob is in the scary cart ride attraction as spotted in the last episode (left, top-ish corner on the image I put here). I feel bad for Bob omg look how scared he looks.

[Welcome to Puzzle Park // time stamp 2:55]

Closer to the engine room...

Then there's... SAIKO MY GIRL! She's on a tightrope with a pole in her hands, balancing over a floor of lava.

Hold up, where the hell is this? Somehow we're inside of a cave, with pink crystals mind you, and for there to be lava. I don't know if it's just me but it's giving the pit from the 'Let's Go Visit Peach' episode vibes, idk I might've gone insane...

More of Four and Mario running with determination (LOOK AT MY BOYS)

closer to the Engine Room...

And SMG3!!! SOMEONE RESCUE MY BOY ;^;

This reminds me so much of the Puzzlevision waiting stream where Three, Four, and Tari were stuck on the Wheel of Fortune. Also, these scenes are a nice callback to the 'SMG4: The Very Safe & Legal SMG4 Show' episode.

FOUR, GO SAVE YOUR BOYFRIEND

Then... TARI NOOOOO!!!!

OMG IS THAT HER SCREAMING? That is exactly how it went down last episode where she got pulled into the duck pond game.

Now, we should really start to get scared because I predicted that someone would be killed off during WOTFI, and while Mr Puzzles is a likely choice, it might be Tari. Listen, I DON'T WANT HER TO DIE BUT THEY PULLED SHIT LIKE THIS BEFORE, I'M TERRIFIED DUDE.

Closer to the Engine Room...

Oh, Leggy... hi....

Then there's... MELONY!! WE HAVE TO SAVE THEM [*rattles the gates*] LET ME INNNNNN

It looks exactly like the scene from the last episode, the one of the carnival attractions coming to life and chasing Four and Mario around the grounds.

Curious to see Puzzles' head also one of the things that they are chasing her. Not exactly sure where that is but based on the lit screens in the background, she may be on the carnival grounds. Or just inside an attraction we don't know about.

Closer to the Engine Room...

Next is LUIGI!!! This is giving Luigi's Mansion vibes...

And those clown(???) dolls are the same ones that are chasing Melony. It could be that they are in the same place or they used the same assets. Speaking of Luigi's Mansion, this could be the House of Crazy. My poor boy Luigi :'(

Worried about Boopkins, though. He hasn't shown up in the trailer...

Ok, can we finally talk about what's the deal with these two scenes?

Throughout the whole trailer so far, we've seen Four and Mario running, either away from something or in determination to save their friends, but you can't say these happened in the corridor for the Engine Room. If you look in the background, there are bricked columns, carnival-striped poles, and stars.

Meanwhile, the Engine Room corridor has concrete walls with graffiti plastered all over it, and far dirtier compared to the first running scene. Plus, the lighting is completely different.

Seems like the first running scene takes place on the carnival grounds, could be a refresher from the chase scene from the last episode. THEN, they ran again through the Engine Room corridor. Just a repeat of the last episode.

It makes sense honestly because if you think about it, people who aren't catching up on the episodes one by one would look for the WOTFI 2024 arc videos and possibly skip the trailer entirely. Without watching the trailer, they don't miss anything. The cinematic trailer works more as a recap of the last episode while giving teases for WOTFI. So, it works for both passive and active viewers of the show.

Anyway, our Classic OG duo made it to the Engine Room, a play-by-play of what happened at the end of the last episode. And find Mr Puzzles holy shit....

Just like I mentioned last time, Puzzles is very much giving Zero vibes. And also Wren, let's not forget that. Death flags, anyone?

His legs are completely gone, being replaced by wires. He took off his button-down shirt and gloves, revealing his synthetic arms that are connected to even more wires. They are literally plugged into his arms oh my spaghetti gods.

Puzzles manically laugh as some wires wrap around Four's and Mario's legs before being dragged out of the room.

Well, seeing that Mr Puzzles merged himself with the power source, Didney's only rating star, he has control of everything. So it isn't surprising to know that he did that. Would he put them under his control? Or force them to participate in this year's WOTFI? We don't know. But regardless, they don't have a choice. They're the 'missing pieces' of Puzzle Park after all.

No no, actually, WHAT ABOUT THE KIDS? I CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE, RIGHT?!?!?! (if you have no idea what I mean, here's the link)

Oh, and the "Rock-a-bye Baby" tune just came back.

Mr Puzzles: "Oh, leaving so soon? The ride's just starting..."

Why exactly did he refer to this as a "ride"? I've analyzed trailers before and I know from experience that this could be a line said during WOTFI. Puzzles could be telling this to someone (not necessarily to Four and Mario) while this person (or people) are attempting to get off a ride.

It could also be a reference to the phrase "rollercoaster ride of emotions" which we the audience have yet to see. Basically, the channel telling us, "Oh you thought you got enough trauma from Meggy forced to turn back into Leggy, and Puzzles merging himself with the power source? You're about to get something way worse". Chat, we aren't ready I swear...

WOTFI LOGO OFFICIAL REVEAL! I KNEW THEY WERE GONNA DO THAT!!

For the past week or so, it was only on the show's account banner, a tiny little version of it. And the one you can download from the website isn't fully in color. Glad to see it fully in color with dramatic lighting :)

AND THE OFFICIAL DATE!

I knew some people were lucky enough to screenshot the banner with the release date on it before the channel quickly replaced it with "COMING SOON". It was speculated that it was gonna be around the 19th but we now have confirmation that it's true. WOTFI's NEXT WEEK, let's gooooooo!

We, of course, have to dress up for the occasion! If you have something carnival theme, put it on! SMG4 Cosplay? Put it on! SMG4 merch? Put it on! Some comfy pajamas with a pair of fun socks? Put it on!

Anyway, for the moment you've all been waiting for...

WOTFI 2024 BINGO

Well, in the 'SMG4 and SMG3 come up with an episode' video (y'know the same one they "hinted" at the carnival coming into the showgrounds), Three proposed the idea of Bingo Night happening in the episode narrative he and Four were making.

Since I've made bingo cards before for my favorite shows...

(Mario, do the thing!)

OUR VERY OWN BINGO CARD FOR THIS YEAR'S WOTFI

AND YOU GUYS WILL HELP ME FILL IT UP!

Comment on this post or drop a suggestion in my ask box, and I will put it on our card! It could be predictions, theories, or people that we will potentially see in WOTFI.

If you want to, you can explain your reasoning as to why you think your suggestion should be on the card. Also, let me know if you want to be tagged for your submission when I post the final product of the card!

OTHER STUFF/UPDATES

As of right now, writing this post, the website is still allowing mini-game submissions, so hurry if you plan to put one in.

Meanwhile, on Twitter...

I FUCKIN KNEW IT I SWEAR-

Then, there's Shadow...

Transcript for audio:

Shadow: "Really quick, I just wanted to drop this before anything else get out of hand. I noticed that everybody saw the trailer for this year's War of the Fat Italians... and well, obviously I can't say much on it but, uh, y'know, I think you guys will love what me and the team got going on right now. The only thing I will say, really though, given with everything's going into it..." [*chuckle*] "I do hold (or hope?) that you guys will enjoy the ride." [*starts singing*] "Come with me and you'll be in a world of pure imagination..." [*sinister laughter*]

...Shadow, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?!?!? YOU GUYS CAN JUST DO THAT

AND Y'ALL WITH THE ;) AGAIN, I'M GOING INSANE

For the account banners, they finally changed from "Coming Soon" to "October 19th" and of course, each account posted the trailer.

Brace yourselves, my dear fellows, 'cause it's going to be one hell of a ride...

[fidothefinch]

the water is fine

cw: natural disasters, scarcity of necessities that follows read below the cut (or on Ao3)

There were bodies floating downstream.

The announcement barely caused a ripple through the convenience store. Everybody was too tired, too numb. They clutched their allotted case of water bottles like they were afraid someone would take it away.

“Next,” the cashier called.

The line of refugees, which reached out the door, shuffled forward.

Jason tugged Damian closer to him, squishing the kid’s backpack between them. He looked to be on the verge of collapsing, not that he would ever say anything. Tim stood beside them both, carrying their case of water. He stared blankly ahead.

“That’s terrible,” the woman behind them moaned. She wore a backpack on her front and one on her back, and dragged a duffle bag along through the mud. She had said, earlier in the line, that she was avoiding looters. “Where do you think they’re coming from?”

Her companion was older, and her hair was pulled back into a greasy braid. The hem of her jeans were stained the same color as the floor. “Probably the Narrows.”

The first woman gasped. “You think they got hit hard?”

Someone else chimed in, then. “I could see it from my roof. The Narrows is gone.” He swept a hand through the air, miming the flood waters that had risen so quickly. “Woosh,” he said, deadpan.

The first woman’s voice cracked. “I have family in the Narrows.”

The man shifted his hold on his water. “I’m sorry.”

It was how most conversations ended. Rumors spread wildly – they were turning away search and rescue volunteers because there were too many bodies; accounts of houses floating down the river and the people who cried for help from inside; the old carpet factory by the docks that didn’t even tell its employees to evacuate. Every bridge and tunnel into Gotham had been washed away, and every road in the city was impassable. There was no radio, no cell service, no internet. No way to contact the outside world or the others stuck in the city.

No way to verify what was real. No way to find out who was still alive.

“Next,” the cashier called. His voice was dry.

The line shuffled forward.

“I want to look,” Damian whispered. “I’m going to find everyone.”

Jason and Tim’s eyes met, both bloodshot and cradled by dark circles.

“It’s not safe, squirt,” Jason said. “The floodwaters are still up.”

“I can swim,” Damian huffed, without heat. They had had this argument before. Damian had yet to win it.

“This isn’t the kind of water you can swim out of,” Jason had shouted. “The boat will flip, and you’ll be swept downstream like everyone else.”

“I can’t just sit here and watch people drown,” Dick growled. “I’m going to help, or die trying.”

It was the last they had heard from him.

“Next,” the cashier called, and it was their turn.

Tim dropped the case of water bottles onto the counter. Jason fished cash out of his pocket. No cards – that would require power.

“This, too,” Damian said, throwing a tube of triple antibiotic on the counter.

“We don’t need that,” Jason said.

Damian clicked his tongue. “Drake is hiding an injury.”

“No he’s—” but Jason stopped at the very brief, very subtle dirty look Tim shot to the youngest in their group. Not brief enough. “Tim,” Jason bit out, tone sharp.

Tim dropped a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change,” he murmured to the cashier, already grabbing the case of water to go.

Jason watched, but he couldn’t find evidence of any injury. He followed Tim’s quick progress out the front doors, past the line of wide-eyed, lost-looking refugees. The ground outside was rough terrain, the road washed away in places and buried in a thick layer of mud in others. Bricks and wood were scattered throughout the mess, like chunks of the city had been put through a blender and spilled onto the streets. Broken glass twinkled under the hot sun in an ironic twist since the storm. Murky, fetid water still flowed in a steady stream from somewhere further up what used to be the block.

They were lucky. They had made their way to the high ground. Walk a block in any direction, and the city was submerged under feet of rushing floodwater.

Jason grabbed Tim by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. “Where are you hurt?” he growled. “And why didn’t you say anything?”

Damian caught up a moment later, bringing the ointment with him. “There was blood on his hands this morning,” he said, accusingly. “I do not know where it came from.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tim hissed. “Damian, that medicine could have gone to someone who really needed it.”

“Nuh-uh; nice try.” Jason stepped between them. “You’re too tired to deflect.”

“It’s true,” Tim ground out. “That antibiotic isn’t going to do me any good.”

Something in his tone gave Jason pause. “What do you mean by that?”

Tim’s jaw twitched. “I. . . .” he trailed off, eyes downcast. “C’mere, Damian. Get some water.” It was the first clean water they had found since their old supply ran out the day before.

Damian accepted the proffered bottle, but didn’t open it. “Drake?”

Tim ran a dirty hand down his face. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”

His tone scared Jason. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s my leg.” Tim brushed some debris aside with his foot and sat heavily. “It’s just a small cut.” He rolled the hem of his pants back, revealing dirty shins and bruised knees. Jason dropped down to inspect further. There was a slice across his calf, maybe an inch long, and not too deep.

“When did this happen?” Jason asked, brushing some dirt away from the sluggishly-bleeding wound. Damian had said he saw blood this morning, but that was hours ago, and surely it wouldn’t still be bleeding now?

Tim closed his eyes. “When we crossed into Old Gotham. Yesterday.”

When the realization hit him, Jason sucked in a breath at the impact. Crossing into Old Gotham consisted of traversing waist-deep still water, with the aid of a rope someone had installed to keep balance on uneven ground. The water had been brown-orange with dirt and had an iridescent sheen from the oil it had picked up on the way, and it had smelled like the subway.

Damian, thinking along the same lines, opened his bottle passed it to Jason, who rinsed the silt from around Tim’s injury. It revealed puffy, pink skin.

One tendril of dark pink reached two inches up Tim’s leg.

“The water was contaminated,” Tim whispered. “Infection was imminent.”

It was the word the emergency warnings had used. Flash flood warning – seek higher ground immediately. Dam failure imminent.

Jason tilted the bottle, and Tim gripped it before any more water could spill out. “Save it,” he snapped. “Don’t waste it on this.”

“It’s not waste, you cretin,” Damian interjected. “We must clean the wound.”

“The infection has already spread to my blood,” Tim stated cooly, like it wasn’t his death sentence. “I don’t have a spleen, and all of my antibiotics have washed into the Atlantic.”

Damian still had the tube of triple-antibiotic ointment. He squeezed it hard enough the tube warped into a mold of his fist. “We will get you more medicine.”

“Where?”

“We will find a place that is open.”

“Pharmacies are gone. We don’t have cash to pay for it. There’s no way off this island, and as far as we know, there’s no help on the way.” Tim’s voice got louder as he spoke, his posture stiffer.

Jason recognized the fear, underneath the anger. He placed a hand on each of Tim’s shoulders. “Look at me, Tim.” He waited until Tim peeled his gaze off the muddy ground to continue. “We are not going to let you die here.”

Tim’s mouth pulled into a tight, flat line. “You aren’t letting me do anything. It just is what it is.”

“It is what I say it is,” Jason countered, forcefully enough even he almost believed it. “And I say you’re going to get through this. We’re going to find everyone else, we’re going to clean up the city, and Bruce is going to have new gray hairs to name after you for years to come.”

One corner of Tim’s mouth cracked upward, briefly, at the last comment, but fell away again almost immediately. “Okay.”

He didn’t sound like he believed it.

That was fine. Jason had enough belief for the both of them. “Get up, loser.” He hefted Tim up off his feet, and hefted a squawking Damian onto his own back.

“We’re going shopping.”

[echantedtoon]

Angel

What happens when you combine the Heather's song with Poppy Playtime? This apparently.

(Warning for yandere like content, mentioning of death.)

@lavenderdropp

Black heels clicked on the hard floors as she ran.Her lungs burnt, her throat dried up, and her body ached...But, still she ran. Down this hallway. Down that way. Left. Right.Straight forward. she lost track of where she went. She was dead lost. It didn't matter though. As long as she escaped those horrible monsters.

"ANGEL?!

She froze.

It was him. Somehow he managed to figure out which way she went.

"ANGEL, COME BACK!", He shouted closer.

She ran. She couldn't believe the situation she was in. From the day he was made, when she was first introduced to them,she knew something about him was off, but non the less they became close. Very close. But after awhile, he started acting....strangely. If he wasn't with the others he was with her. Whether it was giving her acting advice, dance lessons, or just plain talking. And he started acting more affectionate. It started with small pats on the back to playful hugs and kissing her hand, to playful flirts and blushes..until finally his confession and gosh did he look so nervous when he told her that he.

That he loved her.

She wasn't that shocked though.He made it pretty obvious from the way he was acting and so...it was. His angel. So kind until the factory during its hour of joy.

"Angel. You're...alive?,"he had said to her. Trembling so much he might've melted.

"You!" His focus soon turned to everyone else. Sharp teeth replacing his smile. "You...You lied to me! You said she died! I'm gonna kill you for what you did!"

She could still hear Henry's last words to her."Alice,run! Hide! Go! And don't look back! Run! Run!"

And that's exactly what she did.

"ALICE!"

She was starting to question things in her head. What did they do? What happened the others?What really happened to the children? Why was Dogday like this? Was he gonna hurt her? Would she ever escape this madness? She stopped, breathing heavily. Eyes scanning for a hiding place, escape route, anything. Spotting an open door, she rushed in and quietly closed and locked the door. Panting like a dog, she leaned against the door and fell to her knees. She felt like crying, but remained silent with the exception of her soft breaths. A few minutes of silence went by. No sounds except for her breaths and the natural sounds of the creaking building and storm outside. No signs of anyone.

She sighed and leaned back in a moment of relief. Then began wondering what to do next. Should she try to find someone?...No. They caused all this, and was most likely dead. She could try talking to him, but she was just too terrified. She decided that the best thing to do was to climb out the nearest window. There's no windows here. But she recognized this room and knew the one next to it did. It seemed simple enough. Just quietly sneak into the sneak room, barricade the door, then jump out the window and RUN like crazy. The only problem was that a possibly mad, creature was looking for her and probably wouldn't like the idea of her trying to leave. But her other options were to just hide here until starvation killed her or Dogday found her. And neither of those were appealing.

She was about to get up, when she heard a voice. "Angel...Are you here?"

Her hands flew up to her mouth. She couldn't move. How could she not have heard him coming? Soft footsteps kept coming down the hallway. Her heart sped up and she could feel it in her throat. They stopped in front of the door and her stomach dropped. She felt him gently try to open the door, and shook it a bit. He then kicked the door, causing a terrified squeak to escape her throat.

"Angel," he said sounding pleased and relieved.

She mentally hit herself for that.

"All is forgiven,Baby! Come on out! You're my dance partner to the apocalypse tonight!,"he said in his old voice. The one she loved.

"They chucked us out like we were trash. For that they are all dead."

A hand flew up to her mouth in utter horror.Tears on the edge of falling.He killed them?

"And our careers gone in a flash! We've always been mislead. Those liers were the key. They were keeping you away from me."

Maybe for a good reason, she thought.

"They all lied. They said you died."

I wonder what else they told him?

"BUT NOW YOU'RE HERE WITH ME!!"

Which is scary!!!

"You left me and.....I fell apart. I punched the wall and cried."

She felt like crying herself. He then proceeded to ram into the door a total of six times. Each time she thought the door was gonna break and let him in. It didn't thankfully, but she had to throw her hands over her ears to keep out the noise.

"But then I got smart and figured out they had Lied!,"he shouted panting from the physical effort,"And so I killed them all! Let their final curtain fall! I personally made them see.....IT'S ALL THEIR FAULT!"

She couldn't hold back the tears anymore. She let them flow. Her hands flew up to her ears, trying to block out his voice. But no matter how hard she tried, his voice pierced through like the sharpest knife.

"I was made to be yours. We were created as one. Don't hold back on me now. Finish what we've begun. You were made to be mine designed to be perfect to me."

She was made for him? She was paid to interact with him to help him. Guess she did something wrong.

"He doesn't deserve to survive! Abandoned us in our time of need."

That's not true. Well....not entirely. He tried to help her. Spare her from this madness. Didn't he?

"ANGEL. Open the door please,"he begged.

She didn't budge.

"ANGEL, OPEN THE DOOR!"

She could hear him splinter one of the wooden door boards. Terrified, she backed away from the door.

"Angel, can we not fight anymore, please? Can we not fight anymore?"

They were fighting? Itwas more of a predator/prey situation if you asked her. The door was forced apart and DogDay's hands could be seen trying to part it. The door creaked and strained.

"Angel, I just got you back so....please don't make me go."

Cracks began to show on the door.

"Angel, can'tcha come out now?"

Finally the door gave away. Letting the monster in.

"It's time to start the show."

The world turned fuzzy and dark. She thought she heard herself shriek, but she couldn't tell.The last thing she heard before blacking out was his voice....

"My Sweet Angel."

[reobsessed]

Sickness In His Care

Pairing: Reader X Karl Heisenberg. Content Warning: 18+, Mentions of sex but no actual sex in the story itself, Reader X Karl Heisenberg fic, slight humour. Can't think of any other warnings but please let me know in the comments if I missed anything. Summary: You'd been seeing Karl Heisenberg for a while now and had since started staying in the factory. However, one day you come down with a fever. Expecting him not to care you do your best to avoid him but you find yourself at a loss for words when he tries to take care of you. This is just a short one, inspired by my current illness. Wanted to write about a sick reader being taken care of by Karl =p Hope you enjoy! Might add more one-shots to this series later. Thanks again to Suri for editting and reads!

Your body was racked by coughs and splutters, occasionally drowned out by the sound of heavy machines whirring. You did your best to fall asleep but the oppressive heat of both your fever and the humid factory air wouldn’t allow for that. How Heisenberg worked in this, day in, day out boggled your mind. You had a lot of questions concerning that man.

With no such luck in drifting off, you flung your legs over the side of the makeshift bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself, for modesty’s sake. You made your way to the main elevator and adjusted your underwear while you walked.

Despite their inability to see, you felt intimidated beneath the many dead eyes of the factory. They’d long since had the life and humanity extinguished from them, but much like a porcelain doll, their eyes followed you across the hall.

Unfortunately you weren’t wearing any shoes either. They’d been discarded halfway across a room, (you couldn’t remember which) when he’d accosted you from behind several nights before. He did that sometimes, he’d enter a room irritated, ranting and raving about his ‘life’s work’, Mother Miranda or some other insignificant event. Then as he would throw his coat to the floor he’d come up behind and bury his face in the crook of your neck. It was his silent plea for attention, the only release in his life that didn’t coincide with destructive violence.

Things would get rough sometimes. Tumbling around with shrapnel and a dirty man who never left his basement certainly had its risks; but at the end of it all, nothing ever went outside of your comfort zone. Cruel and ruthless Lord Heisenberg was capable of some decency, if only in that regard.

Memories of the prior night filled you with excitement. You brought your hand to the swollen cluster of love bites mapped across your chest and neck. You’d returned the favour, and left a colourful array dotted across his neck, ensuring they were in full view of any who encountered him. You hoped to God he got called into a family meeting sometime soon. With an impish giggle you clicked the button on the elevator and ascended to the top floor. You hoped he was anywhere but his office, but unfortunately your luck had run out around the same time you’d met him.

As soon as you opened the door you were greeted by his side profile, head in hands, slumped over a diagram on the table. Probably sulking again.

“The fuck are you doing in here? I thought I told you not to bother me while I’m working.” He let out a puff of cigar smoke. Didn’t even have the decency to look at you. Dick.

As per your usual pettiness you ignored him and made a beeline for the door at the back of the room. Suddenly you toppled backwards as a thin chain of metal wrapped itself around your wrist, not intended to hurt you but to stop you from going any further. However, he’d miscalculated and hadn’t noticed your sickly state until after you’d begun to tumble backwards. As you fell to the ground, he steadied you with more offcuts of metal.

“The hell is wrong with you?” he raised his voice, a combination of tiredness and confusion. 

Metal clattered to the floor as he stood up. With a rough grip, he pulled you upright and turned you to face him. He studied you intently, glasses slipping down past his nose. You stared into his eyes, watching as anger dissipated into uncharacteristic worry.

Heisenberg was never good at concealing his emotions, especially not his anger and now this too, apparently.

“I just wanted some fresh air,” you croaked.

Cigar smoke choked your already irritated throat and you began another coughing fit, you tried your best to turn away but his burly arms held you in place. You were shocked that he didn’t seem to mind when you spluttered all over his stained work shirt but then again, you’d covered him in worse things.

“Forgot humans get sick, haven’t been sick in over forty years.”

“Certainly starting to get sick of you.” 

You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blackened glasses, but you knew he was rolling them.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” He grabbed your arm and shook it. “What do you do when one of these gets sick?”

“Well, I was hoping to avoid you turning me into one of your new toys, but I guess that’s up in the air now,” you sniffed, swallowing a large glob of phlegm stuck at the back of your throat.

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he sneered at you, now holding you away from him at arm’s length.

“I can’t help it,” you spat, attempting to pull yourself free. “And besides, have you smelt yourself recently?”

“Wait a minute, I have something for this!” His grip slipped from your wrist and fell into your hand. You let out a nasalled grunt as he dragged you across the room to his desk. After rummaging around with one hand he pulled out a dusted bottle from the bottom drawer. “This should do the trick.”

Your nose wrinkled when you looked at the awaiting bottle. It was covered in a thick layer of grime and much of the writing had worn off the label a long time ago, based on the few remaining letters you assumed this used to be some kind of ‘medicine’. You turned it over to see the date ‘1923’ printed along the bottom.

“Yep. I’ll be better in no time with this.” You swivelled the bottle, watching as black ooze splashed against the sides. He had a triumphant grin on his face and you couldn’t bring yourself to ridicule him further. “Right, well I’m going outside.”

“Dressed like that?”

“What are you, my dad?”

He pulled the blanket around your shoulders and touched a gloved hand to your forehead.

“You’re cold.”

Stifling yet another cough, you laughed softly. 

“How can you tell? You’re wearing gloves, you buffoon.”

He wrapped you in an embrace, only when held in the stillness of his arms did you realise that you’d been shivering this entire time. Had your fever turned to chills? With his arms still around you he pulled you over to his chair and sat you in his lap, presumably so he could keep working.

“So… you not gonna turn me into a Soldat after all?” you laughed nervously.

He brought the cigar to his lips. “Bad materials.”

You slapped his chest playfully and turned to nestle yourself in his arms. Usually after sex you’d push him away, the man radiated far too much heat in the already sweltering factory, but you were currently thankful for the warmth. It must have been awkward trying to work around the mass of your body, but he didn’t complain. As the two of you sat together you came to the realisation that he wasn’t doing any work at all, and that in reality, all he wanted to do was sit with you in his arms while you recovered.

Fuck.

Somewhere along the way the two of you had lost yourselves. What was supposed to have been a one-night stand had spiralled into weekly hookups, and from there it had turned into shared space and something akin to actual concern for one another. You were filled with a sense of dread, but you pushed it down in favour of sinking further into his chest. Before you drifted off, you could have sworn you felt the brush of his lips against your hair. 

A bitter sweetness churned your stomach. You felt a unique longing, beyond anything you’d ever felt for anyone else. Sex and desire had become secondary in favour of a new want; if only you had more time to spend in comfortable silence together.

[rotworld]

23: Wetwork

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you begrudgingly work for a task force that neutralizes breach lifeforms, dangerous interdimensional predators with a habit of fixating on specific prey. the most dangerous thing you have to deal with isn't your targets but your own partner.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, surreal gore, workplace harassment/degrading language, gun violence, tentacles, terato, hard vore/cannibalism.

.

.

.

The support team didn’t read the briefing. 

Skimmed it, maybe, glanced down for the keywords confirming they’re playing second fiddle to somebody else today and tossed the rest in annoyance. You can tell because the perimeter they’re supposed to be holding has devolved into a gossip circle. They’re at their posts, sure, strategically placed around the cavernous interior of an empty factory complex with a clear view of the gaping abyss taking up most of the concrete floor, pacing the proper patrol routes, but they’re too relaxed. The comms channel is clogged up with useless bullshit and questions they should know the answers to. They’re giving you a hard time because you’re an easy target, the only part of the insertion team left behind to set up a stabilizing field. Obvious egghead in a room of mercenaries. Blood in the water.

They wouldn’t do that if they’d read the briefing. They’d stay as far away as physically possible and try to pretend you weren’t there.

“You must be a pretty big deal,” the guy next to you says. Somebody called him Talbot earlier. You don’t learn names because you don’t want to be here and you hope you never see these people again, but it’s best to keep track of potential problems. Talbot looks the same as everyone else, an imposing silhouette of black tactical gear, featureless and near faceless with just his eyes visible through a balaclava. The patch on his shoulder is a green rectangle with a golden keyhole. Epsilon-Green—colloquially, “Locksmiths.” Being relegated to lookout duty must be frying what little patience he had to begin with. 

You ignore him. The stabilizing field generator is a finicky piece of equipment that needs constant attention if you don’t want the breach opening any wider. Talbot seems to take this personally.

“Don’t think I’ve even heard of you guys before today. Theta-Ultraviolet?” He slaps the patch on your shoulder just a little too hard for the gesture to be friendly. It bears the silhouette of a ship stitched with silver thread on a dark purple background.

“We’re specialists,” you say. 

“So are we,” Talbot says. Utterly disinterested in a dick-measuring contest, you go back to turning knobs on the generator. “Don’t think I’ve seen you around back at base, either. Must be new.”

“Looks nervous,” somebody else says. It’s one of the guys up on the catwalk, arms crossed over the railing. Leering at you. “Probably should be. Your whole team violated protocol and jumped right in before we even got here. They’re in deep shit if they get out alive.” 

Your team did not, in fact, violate protocol, not that they’d know without reading the briefing. “Do you need something?” you ask.

“Just making conversation. Not much else to do.”

The generator lets out a chime and a green light comes on when you’ve got everything configured right. There’s a burst of static on the comms as physics realign and the bottomless darkness in the floor rejoins reality, no longer stranded on the other side of a schism in some impossible un-place. It makes the floor shake and the factory groan all around you. It also brings the insertion team back into comms range. You hear the click of reconnection and then the sounds of a nightmare.

There’s something viscerally upsetting about breach lifeform vocalizations. Before they’ve fully coalesced and mastered the imitation of other species, the noises they produce are something you hear with your whole body rather than just your ears. It’s the stomach-churning chills of nails on a chalkboard without the shrillness, fight-or-flight given a voice. It doesn’t quite sound like shrieking or wailing or laughing, but it feels like all of those things; loud, distressing and mocking. It dances just at the edge of what your ears are capable of detecting but it completely fills your head. 

The operatives of Epsilon-Green visibly recoil. You hear some quiet curses and prayers over the comms. More comprehensible but no less worrisome are the sounds of carnage—the crunch of blunt force pulverization, flesh ripping and tearing. Bone creaks, cracks, snaps loud and ugly. Gunshots are rare—solitary, precise, a muffled bang before the squelch of organic unmaking becomes unbearably loud again. It sounds like mastication; like the abyss is a hungry maw churning everything inside into meaty paste.

“Holy shit,” Talbot says. He leans forward just a bit to peer into the pit. “Your guys alright?” 

You wouldn’t check unless you were required to. “Come in, Theseus,” you say.

Static. More disgusting, sticky noise. A gunshot. Then a deep, gravelly voice. “Still alive. Aw, were you worried?” 

You frown tightly. “Sitrep?” 

“Twelve total, mostly concentrated in the lowest chamber. They’re partially coalesced. A bit hard to kill.” Something scream-cry-snickers, abruptly cut off with a sound like a hammer tenderizing meat. “I’m expecting a reward when I climb out of here.” The words are ambiguous but his tone is oozing innuendo. 

“You’re on shared comms,” you remind him, but the damage is already done. Epsilon-Green’s operatives are eyeing you with a combination of interest and amusement. 

“So that’s how Theta-UV does it, huh?” Talbot asks. “Guess I’d be more efficient, too, if I had something nice waiting for me. How many on your team, Theseus? You feel like sharing?” 

No answer. You listen to something die painfully, a squeal that becomes a squelch. Epsilon-Green adopts something resembling professionalism, alert and attentive. Chatter continues but focused now, the possibility of combat putting all of those strict warnings from their training at the front of their minds. Maintain at least one meter of distance from the edge of the abyss. If something crawls up, hold fire until it’s finished aligning; waste of bullets otherwise. Keep faces concealed—scarf, balaclava, dark glasses, visors, more is better than less but something is always better than nothing. 

“You need a mask?” Talbot asks. He’s your best friend now that he thinks there’s a chance he could get laid. 

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

“No, you’re not. If one of those things sees your face, it imprints.” 

“I know,” you say.

“It gets obsessed,” he insists. “It follows you around until it's fully coalesced. Looks mostly human, sounds mostly human, but the face gives it away.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

“You’ll be the first thing it eats.” Understanding dawns on his face after a moment. He looks you up and down with something close to morbid fascination. “Shit. Are you—?” 

“Yep,” you say, turning your back to him and hoping he’ll get the hint. Cat’s out of the bag now, though, and you hear them wondering aloud in the hopes of baiting a reaction. Wasn’t that a thing not long ago, where Breach Response and Neutralization teams were going around looking for imprint victims? Using them as bait, basically, right? Not a bad strategy, they muse. Why go digging around for weak spots in reality when you can make them come to you? 

“Your team got some skeletons in the closet, Theta-UV?” Talbot asks. “Guess you have to be good if you don’t wanna keep tracking down new bait.” Again, no answer. The death rattles of creatures caught between forms of matter and states of being make your head hurt. He returns his attention to you. “No wonder you look so wet behind the ears, you’re a fucking civvie. How long have they had you?” 

“Don’t see how that’s relevant,” you say. “How many left, Theseus?”

“Hmm. Eight?” You wish he wouldn’t purr in your ear like that. “You sound testy. Promise I’ll pick up the pace if you let me fuck your mouth before we leave.” 

“Just hurry the fuck up,” you hiss, hot in the face and humiliated. Someone whistles over the comms. The sounds coming from the abyss are bloodcurdling. Something shreds and splats. 

“Theta-UV, all good down there?” someone says. “Sounds rough. Should we expect trouble?” 

Of course, Theseus doesn’t respond. You see Talbot scowling in your periphery. “You only talk to your cocksleeve, Theseus?” he snaps. “Or are you using a private channel down there? UV thinks it’s too good for the rest of us?”

“Sorry, who is this?” Theseus asks. He sounds faintly amused. 

“This is Epsilon-Green, your fucking support team. Do you have it under control or not?” 

“Epsilon-Green, that’s…Locksmiths, right? You’re supposed to be pretty good.” There’s a long, considering pause. You can just picture him, standing there with his head cocked, something reckless and dangerous and potentially fatal forming in his mind. 

“Theseus,” you say, your tone warning. 

Too late. You hear a shrill, warbling howl, and the ground quakes beneath your feet. “Oh no,” Theseus says, the smile audible in his voice. “Looks like a couple of them slipped past me, heading your way fast. Real sorry about that. Try to keep it contained and I’ll be there in a second.” 

You abandon the generator and run for cover. Talbot yells at you, demanding to know what the fuck is going on, but he gets his answer soon enough. It’s a skittering sound at first. Swift, spidery movements echoing down a long tunnel. Epsilon-Green has only moments to react before three breach lifeforms come surging out of the chasm in the floor. 

The things are hard to look at. Like the noises they make, your brain can’t parse the information you’re getting. Light bends around them strangely. Their shapes don’t make sense. They move in jerky snapshots, sudden and seemingly nonsensical lurches. They hunt like a pack of wolves, herding and harrying their prey into the proper position to be ambushed from every side. To their credit, Epsilon-Green doesn’t start to panic until someone gets yanked by the ankle into a whirlwind of constantly shifting forms. 

They eat him alive. Pinning him down with sometimes-claws and gnashing almost-teeth, it looks like he’s drawn and quartered in infinite directions, flesh and muscle and sinew unraveling, peeling apart, drawn into the breach creatures who become even more real, tangible and dangerous. One of them grows sharp with protruding human bone. Another has his face and his voice, screaming the way he screamed as he died. The thunderous rattle of gunfire becomes constant, bullets shredding through fresh, growing membranes of human flesh and tufts of hair. 

“Sitrep?” Theseus asks coyly. Epsilon-Green is nothing but chaos. Mindless, primal screams of terror fill the comms. One of the breach lifeforms takes a shot through what was slowly becoming a human head and shifts its body, concentrating its vital organs elsewhere. Another one clamors up the catwalk and soon there’s blood raining down from above. 

“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. Your voice is terse and quiet, your throat constricted in terror, but he hears you anyway. He always does. 

“I’m doing this for you,” he coos. “The coordinator told me we’ll get upgraded to a bigger room if we both prove we’re effective—”

“You’re doing this because you want to.” 

Theseus chuckles. “I’m doing my job. Time for you to do yours.” 

There’s a sharp click; disconnection. Theseus turned off his comms. You watch the fight unfold in front of you with a sinking feeling, waiting for what comes next. Epsilon-Green should be thinking about it, too. They should be watching the chasm more closely. They’ve had plenty of warnings. The breach lifeforms have been reckless, lashing out too eagerly and failing to protect their backs. If anyone but you was paying attention, they’d realize it was because they were fearful. They didn’t rush up here out of hunger but out of the simple instinctual drive to flee a larger, more dangerous predator.

You wonder how many other briefings they haven’t read. That bait experiment wasn’t about neutralization. They wanted to see if they could catch a breach lifeform alive, train it somehow—use imprinting as a means of control. The governing body that oversees the work of all breach response operations would say they succeeded. You would beg to differ.

Theseus emerges from the chasm with a bestial screech. You can tell him apart from the other breach lifeforms easily. He’s much larger. He moves like a wave or a fog bank, an unstoppable force of nature that spills across the factory floor. Epsilon-Green tries to kill him but he’s fully coalesced, his control of his own form so precise that he can decide when and where he is real and physical. He engulfs his prey like an eclipse and everything inside him turns to liquid gore. The other creatures shriek and whimper. One of them tries to run but Theseus is faster, spearing it through the side and dragging it back into his all-encompassing maw. 

It’s over in moments. The last breach lifeform twists itself into knots trying to crawl away but it’s impaled through its nearly flesh form, consumed like all the others. Someone in Epsilon-Green has managed to establish order again and a repeated command to hold fire is finally heeded. 

They watch in mute horror and fascination as the thing in front of them constricts and shrinks and shapes itself into something closer to human. A man in tactical gear. He looks just like they do but is unmistakably taller and larger, black clothes straining around his bulk and bulging muscle. His face is completely covered by a helmet with a mask and reflective visor—an absolute necessity to prevent the thing underneath from appearing in their nightmares. The patch on his shoulder is Theta-Ultraviolet’s symbol.

“Mission complete,” Theseus says. He surveys the crowd with an exaggerated back and forth glance as if he doesn’t know your exact location. “Hm. But where’s my handler? I hope they didn’t just leave me here. Not when I’m still so hungry.” 

The nearest operatives scramble to get away from you. Reluctantly, you walk down the path opening in the crowd until you’re right in front of him. You spot Talbot, his eyes wide and his balaclava drenched in sweat. 

It doesn’t matter that Theseus keeps his face covered. He’s not human. His emotions aren’t an arrangement of features but something he radiates, an ambient feeling in the air. He doesn’t just stand up straighter when he sees you. The factory suddenly feels claustrophobic, the air hot and oppressive. “There you are,” he purrs. “Now come here.” You don’t want to, but you’ll be reprimanded for denying him post-mission requests. You might lose some of your privileges at base, just enough to make life unpleasant and difficult. 

“Can’t you wait until we get back?” you ask, glancing pointedly at Epsilon-Green who are still standing there gawking.

You can feel that he would be smiling, if he decided to give himself a mouth. “No. I have to prove a point.”

He unravels in the blink of an eye, his form engulfing you. Your mind goes blank with terror being trapped in this cramped space of shadows and redness, everything soft, squishy and damp. Theseus could kill you if he wanted. He could squeeze until you were nothing but sticky red dust.  He could suffocate you. He could start eating at any moment, pulling you apart like the man from Epsilon-Green, claiming everything you are for himself. You’re still not sure that he won’t someday. They say he’s tame but they’re not here, watching him sabotage missions on a whim. They don’t have to sit in the tight, pulsating chamber of his body reshaped for ensnarement. 

“You’re shaking,” he purrs, delighted. “It doesn’t matter how many times we do this. You’re always so afraid.”

Theseus knows you better than anyone. He imprinted on you. He hunted you for years before the agency stepped in. He knows what you’re afraid of and what you like. He knows exactly how to torment you. You feel him shift and change around you, peeling off parts of himself to form tendrils. Long snaking ones circle around your limbs to hold you still while smaller frilled growths tease you. They dissolve your clothes and start to suckle on your skin. You can’t help the whimper that slips out, a noise of interwoven fear and pleasure. A thick tentacle pushes past your lips.

“Your mouth is so perfect. Just the right size. So warm and wet. You were made for me. Only me. And I’ve made myself for you.” Theseus quivers all around you, babbling like he always does. The things he says are a frightening reminder of exactly what he is and what he’s capable of. He changes the tentacle as he pushes it deeper, making the tip bulbous and the length veined like a cock, desperate to prove that he can be human if he tries. The smaller tendrils become hands—hands that are strange and lopsided with too many fingers or too few, all touching at once, all caressing and fondling. He gropes your chest and flicks your nipples. He traces your spine and strokes your cheek. 

It’s only a matter of time before he gets hungry for more. Disembodied hands hold your hips still as another tentacle nudges inside your entrance. Theseus alters it with almost frustrating frequency, never allowing you to get used to the shape or texture. He keeps it small at first and then expands it in gradual, rhythmic pulses, stretching you between slow, prodding thrusts. He’s teasing you. He doesn’t need to search for the places that will make this truly humiliating. He waits until you’re trembling and whimpering, so frightened you strain and twist in his grasp. Just when you’re on the cusp of sobbing around the girth fucking your throat, the tentacle curves slightly and sinks deep, pounding right into the spot that makes your eyes roll back in your head. 

It feels so good it starts to hurt. This is your other greatest fear: that Theseus will keep you here. He won’t kill you, won’t pluck off your limbs or shred you to gristle, but he’ll never let you leave. He’ll keep teasing you, stroking you, and fucking you forever. Your mind goes blank and you become the perfect thing his instincts crave—his center, his anchor, his first love, his reason for being, his. He can fill you and taste you and hold you close, and nothing can take you away from him. 

Mercifully, it does end. Does someone contact him through Epsilon-Green? Does he simply grow bored, or change his mind? You don’t know why. Theseus savors you as he begrudgingly slows his movements. He whispers about your sweetness and softness, how no one will ever know you like he does. Your throat is raw and your jaw is sore when he pulls the tentacle out of your mouth, your saliva sliding slowly down the length. The other one stays longer. He’s not satisfied until he’s made you cum. It excites him to see how hard you fight against the pleasure and his precise, merciless thrusts until he forces you over the edge. The tentacle withdraws only when your thighs are shaking and you’re limp in his grasp. 

Theseus shifts again, rippling open. His form cradles you and drapes over your body, concealing everything below the shoulders. He shapes the upper half of his human disguise, hunched over you with an arm wrapped tightly and possessively around you. You don’t know how much Epsilon-Green saw or heard but some of them are, thankfully gone. The ones who linger flinch when Theseus’ helmet turns towards them.

“Do you need something?” he says wryly. “I guess I could still eat.” That’s all it takes to clear the factory. Theseus turns his attention back to you and you feel that familiar warm vibration of happiness and desire. 

Being this close to a breach lifeform is inherently dangerous, but there’s no one who knows Theseus better. For now—until the next mission, the next frenzy, the next reward that might be your last—there’s nowhere safer you could be.

[s-4pphics]

surprise!!! rubs hands deviously together!! 

hi guyth…. more richsnob!oc x meanmechanic!ellie even tho she’s not that mean🥺

wc;cw: 1.6k oooo, smut MDNI!!!, not proofread bc who cares :p, ellie’s a whiny sub im breaking my silence, eating out no cheesecake factory, slight degradation, one pussy slap sorry can’t help myself, nipple play, pain kink lol(scratching), choking mmm, exhibitionism?!😳, no aftercare bc oc is a cunt, some dirty talk bc i’m a loser, dassit real cute

“you’re so gorgeous, honey.” 

you were smiling so hard in this dingy, dimly lit bathroom. 

“t-thanks.” 

you nodded at her, hanging your chanel bag on the doorknob. you slowly unbuttoned your pink, cashmere celine sweater, hanging it on the hook on the bathroom door. and she watched your every move. ellie’s stuttering made you smile harder as you slowly walked towards her, your glittery heels clicking on the tile. she was looking you up and down, eyeing your lace bra-covered chest. you could hear her breaths pick up in pace with every step you took, and you loved how nervous you made her. you were going to swallow her whole, eat her alive, rip her apart—

“are we… are we gonna have sex in here?” ellie whispered, her breath brushing your cheesing face. 

“‘m not fucking you, you’re filthy. would’ve fucked you in my bed but you wanted to be a stubborn bitch and try to embarrass me,” you said with a bright grin, but your tone was sinister. she shuddered and you saw the blush across her freckles get deeper. 

“‘m sorry—“

“be quiet. no you’re not,” your smile dropped as your stare harderend. her breath caught in her throat at your tone. “you hurt my feelings, y’know that right? you denied me in public, i couldn’t believe it.” 

she looked so cute: she was staring at the floor, her thighs were squeezing together through her dirty, grease-stained jeans, her fingers twitching, and fuck, you wanted her so bad. you were so wet.

“look at me, baby.” 

her eyes flickered to yours, slowly and dazedly blinking like a kitty signing i love you! fuck, you love her, you love her—!

you leaned forward like you were going to kiss her, her eyes fluttering shut and parting her lips like she wanted your tongue inside her fucking throat. but you stopped her. “take your pants off, honey.” 

her eyes slowly peered open to look down at your lips before she snapped herself out of her daze, kicking her boots off and reaching to undo her belt before shoving them down her legs. and you just watched. 

“get up there,” you said as you nodded your head towards the sink and counter by the wall. she almost tripped over her own feet(and boots) as she rushed over, jumping to sit on top of it.

you walked over to her and she automatically parted her legs so you could stand in between them, propping herself up on her hands behind her. she was showing you the little wet stain on her green boyshorts. she’s so cute! 

“should’ve left that fucking door open, hm? so everybody can watch you be a disgusting fucking slut?” you whispered in her face as you glared at her. 

she flinched at your tone, but her hips bucked up to lightly brush against your thighs with a whine. you scolded her with a sharp don't fuckin’ touch me. her eyes got teary, but she listened. 

“should i open that fucking door?” 

she shook her head fast with a pout on her pink lips. 

“answer properly.” 

“…no,” she said shyly. she looked up at you with gentle eyes, giving you cute touch me, please! make me feel good! eyes. 

you smirked at her before reaching behind your neck, unclasping your 18K white gold diamond chanel necklace and put it around her neck. she whimpered and bit her lip before licking them. 

“yeah? like being pretty? you’re so fuckin’ pretty, ellie.” you cooed at her, slowly dragging your hands to her chest so you could grab her tits through her tee. it was filthy, but you didn’t care because she threw her head back, her bandana slipping off her damp head and onto the sink. all you had to do was grab it and tie her fucking hands together and make her—

“touch me please, fuck, want you to touch me s’bad,” she slurred out quietly, bringing her mouth up to kiss you but you moved back, grabbing her throat in your manicured hand. she moaned at your tightening grip, her eyes fluttering. fuckherfuckherfuckher—

she had a small grimace on her face like she was preparing for a scolding, but all you did was kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, all while you choked her out. you felt her grinding down hard on the counter. 

“want me to make you cum?” you whispered in her ear before you licked it. 

“need you t’make me cum, need you need you, m’yours,” she gasped out. 

and you released her to drop into a squat, right in front of her clothed pussy. you grabbed the elastic of her boyshorts and ripped them off. damn near tore them to shreds to get them down her legs. and you almost creamed yourself at the sight of her cunt, all wet and twitchy and yours.

so pretty! you thought. ruin her, make her bruise! 

“pleeasse, pleasepleaseplease,” she desperately whispered out. 

“please what?” 

“make me cum, w’na cum for you, all over you,” she said between choked gasps. you didn’t even touch her, yet! 

and you gave her that sugary sweet smile you always have on when you see her before leaning forward to give her clit a slow kitten lick. her thighs jerked up to spread her legs more, but you dug your nails into them to bring them back down. she moaned out again. fucking painslut. you dug them in harder, and she got wetter on your tongue. 

“want me t’hurt you, baby?” you moaned out against her, and she shook her head yesyesyes before you could even finish speaking. 

“don’t touch me, you understand?” you whispered against her. she nodded faster. 

“say you understand, ellie.” 

“iunderstandiunderstand!” 

you grinned as you pressed a glossy kiss on her swollen clit before you pulled her to the edge of the counter by her thighs, sucking her clit into your mouth without warning. 

you heard her let out a quiet mhm! when you hummed at her taste and her smell, reaching a hand up to raise her white tee up and over her tits. you slapped one of them before bringing your hand back to her thigh. 

“touch ‘em for me, i’m busy,” you muttered against her before diving in again, flicking your tongue on her bud. she was a mess above you: head thrown back, lip between her teeth so she wouldn’t scream out, grabbing and pulling at her nipples with grease-stained hands while your necklace shimmered under the dirty lights, all while she bucked up against your face to get your tongue deeper. 

you were swirling your tongue and sucking on her as quickly as you could manage. you still had to get your fucking car! 

“ffuuuck, ‘m right there—!”

“yeah, honey? gonna cum?” you hummed against her, right on her clit. 

“m-mhm! shit, ‘m gonna cum so fast—“

and there was a knock on the door, a male voice shouting out. “yo, ellie! you in there?” 

and she jumped. she tried to close her legs and run, but you held her down to suck on her clit harder. you watched her eyes roll back into her skull as she almost fell forward. 

“we gotta charge that rich girl for her window repairs!” the same voice yelled out, knocking harder. 

so you sucked on her harder, sloppy noises filling the grungy bathroom. she was whining out quiet uhhuuhs while she bucked up against your mouth in attempts to ride your face. you felt her pussy tensing and all you could think was minemineminemineshesfuckingmine—

“did you see that fuckin’ necklace she was wearin’? it looked like it was weighin’ her down!” 

and you felt ellie freeze up before a squeal of fuck‘mcumming! left her mouth as she fell back on the counter, her pussy tensing and releasing on your tongue. her slick poured out of her pussy, and you slurped it all, sloppily licking up her juices as you shook your head between her trembling thighs. she was moaning your name along with fucks and yes’s with her head thrown back as her hands held the edge of the counter, and you watched it all. you loved it all. fuck, you’re going to marry her—

you hummed in satisfaction, and she jerked in overstimulation. she whined out at your incessant sucks before you released her, slapping her clit hard before standing. your knees snapped; this was the hardest you worked in your life! 

“ellie, what the fuck?! are you good?!” the male voice yelled out from the other side. 

the girl didn’t reply and you laughed at her slumped, gasping form, her pussy still twitching lightly due to how hard she came. the little devil on your shoulder snickered at you, patting your shoulder in hysteria. you laughed harder with her. 

you turned and walked back to the door grabbing your sweater to put it on before snatching your purse off the knob. hm, you never locked the door. you’re glad you didn’t! 

you opened it and walked out, making sure to block ellie’s… state on the counter. you shut it and turned, making eye contact with an intimidated, shocked young man. jesse, his tag read. he was also dirty, you hated it. 

“hi! i heard my car was ready?” you said brightly, masking your disdain. your girlfriend's pussy juice was still on your lips. 

“um… yes. the pink bentley with the smashed window?” he stuttered out as his blush deepened. 

“mhm! will you ring me up?” you asked sweetly, pulling out your black card and handing it to him, and he nodded slowly as he took it. 

what a fun first date! 

meep c:

p3 to this.

[the-offside-rule]

Charles Leclerc (Scuderia Ferrari) - Teammate in Law

Requested: on wattpad

Prompt: Y/n and Charles are secretly keeping their relationship from her older brother, Carlos. But, it is all for not whilst Charles drunkenly tells Carlos the truth

Warnings: Drunk Charles, angry Carlos

You never really had any trouble with complying with Carlos' rules. Don't distract any team members, don't cause any trouble, no dating other drivers. In McLaren, you didn't have a problem because Carlos' team-mate was Lando at the time and Lando wasn't exactly your type, so you just ended up being his friend. The trouble however, started when Carlos moved to Ferrari at the beginning of the 2021 season. "Don't go anywhere, Im just going in to check on Mattia." Carlos said, leaving you in the middle of a hallway in the ferrari factory. "I won't go anywhere, I'll get lost if I do." After some reassurance, Carlos walked into Mattia's office. Although Carlos insisted the meeting would be a few minutes, it had already passed twenty minutes. You let out a groan in boredom.

You focused on keeping yourself composed as Charles Leclerc was literally sitting right next to you. "Excuse me?" You turned as the monegasque began to speak. "Do you work here?" Charles asked. "Oh, erm, no. Just a visitor." You replied. He nodded and turned back facing the wall. "Are you a fan? I think there's some fans allowed in here from time to time." Charles said. You shook your head no. "Nope, I'm Carlos' sister." Charles looked over and smiled softly. "Ah, so is that why you're here? He's in with Mattia?" Charles asked, pointing towards the door. "Yeah, he's been taking forever though." Charles looked you up and down, smiling as he took in your features. "So, you're Y/n? Lando told me about you." Your eyes went wide. "Probably not good things." Charles laughed and looked down to the floor. "No, not at all. A lot of stories about you drunk." You groaned and leaned your head against the wall. Lando had ruined your chances of scoring the monegasque before you even met him. "No, no, I want to see this all in person." You looked over confused. "What?" you asked. "Let's go and see if you're actually like this. How about we go out for a drink sometime?" You nibbled on your lower lip, trying to hide the grin on your face but it was no use. Charles knew he'd just about won you over.

The door to Mattia's office opened before Carlos stepped out and saw you and Charles smiling at each other, before you both tried to hide the fact that you were. "So what is all this?" Carlos asked, vividly unimpressed. "Just introducing myself Carlos." Charles replied. Carlos laughed. "She won't be seeing you enough for you to introduce yourself." You squinted your eyes at your brother in disbelief. "I know what you're really trying to do, you can't fool me. I was your age once." It was getting tense between the two ferrari dircers and they hadn't even gotten on track together as team-mates yet. "You aren't that old mate." Charles joked but clearly at the wrong time. "Are you mocking me?" Carlos almost shouted. "Carlos, can you stop shouting at the man? You're making a scene!" You pulled at Carlos' sleeve but he wasn't listening. "I'll call Mama and she won't be happy at all!" You threatened. Carlos looked back as if he was being challenged. He scoffed at his little sister. "You wouldn't dare." You grabbed your phone from your pocket and clicked onto your mother's phone number, holding it up to your ear and waiting for her to answer and staring at Carlos all at once. "Mama? Carlos es estúpido!" You said walking away, undoubtedly going to town on how annoying he was being. The usual. "Ah, ah, ah, Mamá, no porque, tu hija también está siendo estúpida!" Carlos called following after his sister. Charles however, looked on amused at the Spanish bickering and couldn't help but have this magnetic like attraction to the young Sainz sister.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

After the hectic race that was Silverstone, you went back to your hotel room to change before you went to cleebbrate with the team. Thankfully, your room was in between Charles' and Carlos'. You had a connecting room with Charles which was helpful for whne Charles was sneaking in at night and for moments like this. Charles stared at you, taking in your beauty through the mirror on the dresser, but you could tell something else was wrong. "You okay?" you asked as you took off the ferrari jacket. "That stuff doesn't suit you." You squinted your eyes in disbelief of his words. "What? Last time I checked you still drove for ferrari." Y/n said. Charles let out a sigh. "Yes but I mean why can't you wear the number 16?" Y/n grinned and wrapped her arms around Charles' neck. "We both know why Charles, I have to wear the number 55 for the meantime." After a few more visits, the exchanging of phone numbers and of course social medias, Charles had managed to captivate the Spaniard enough to love him back. The relationship had still been pretty new, only a few months but you didn't really care. "I don't have a problem telling Carlos I'm dating you-"

"Yes but he'll kill me, he wouldn't dare hurt you mon cœur." You giggled and pulled him in for a kiss. "I wouldn't let him do that, my love. Now go back to your room before Carlos comes around." Charles smiled and walked over to the connecting door before locking it behind him.

After Carlos came around, you went down to meet up with the team. They all decided to go out and celebrate and of course, you decided to tag along as you had gone to the Grand Prix. Everything was going fine until Charles had a little too much to drink and completely forgot that you were keeping you relationship secret. He started to dance with you, tell you how much he loved you and in all honesty, you weren't used to it so you got yourself out of the situation by going over to the bar. Carlos was watching the whole thing unfold, he wasn't the slightest bit impressed. You spotted Carlos and decided to go and tell him you'd be going up to your room to go fecth something. "I'll be back in a minute! I forgot my phone!" you said loud enough for Carlos to hear. Charles, on the verge of being blackout drunk, followed you to the bar but got confused whem he couldn't find you. He turned and saw his team-mate, sipping on a beer by himself and he let out a huge, exaggerated gasp. "Carlos!" Carlos turned and saw Charles, stumbling towards him, making him let out a little laugh. "You cannot hold alcohol, mate." Carlos laughed before Charles said something Carlos couldn't even understand. "By the way mate, you need to back up. That's my sister you're dancing with." Carlos laughed as he downed another bottle of beer. Charles, his mind clouded with alcohol, scoffed and grabbed another bottle of Estrella Galicia. "I'm already seeing her, Carlos. You need to relax." He laughed. Carlos froze and set his drink down before turning to face Charles. "What did you say?" Carlos asked. "I'm already seeing your sister, about two months or something now." Carlos clenched his jaw and finished his beer before paying and leaving.

He stormed upstairs to where you were staying and just as Carlos was about to knock the door, you opened it, putting your card key into your purse. "Oh, Carlos. I was on my way down now-" Carlos backed you up and closed the door behind him once he got into your room. "What the hell is this I hear about you and Charles, eh?" Your heart stopped. What did Charles say? "What have you two been up to?!" He shouted. "Carlos, calm down-" Carlos cut you off. "Calm down? Are you seriously telling me to calm down?" he asked angrily. "Yes, are you deaf?" He threw his arms up in a fit of rage. "Y/n, you are seeing my team mate. Did I not have a rule for this?" Carlos asked. You folded your arms over your chest and looked away. "Maybe you did." you muttered. "Now Lando, I wouldn't mind Lando because I know for a fact he wouldn't dare do anything wrong but Charles? Do you know about his ex girlfriends? How quickly he moves on? He's a play boy in a ferrari car. Nothing special." He snarled. This hurt you. You didn't want to believe it but putting things into perspective, that's how it seemed. "Can we just not do this right now please? I just want to finally find someone."

Carlos continued on ranting for a good four or five minutes. You felt like a child being scolded with all these lectures. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Carlos asked. "I don't see a problem with it." You muttered. "Are you being serious?! I just told you what he is and you still don't have a problem?!" Carlos boomed, his loud voice echoing around the hotel room and undoubtedly around the entire floor too. "Carlos, again with the shouting, can you tone it down a bit?" You asked quietly. "Tell me why, why should I not shout when you aren't listening?" You stood up straight, and off the wall. "You think I'm gonna listen if you shout? If you're wrong, you're wrong! No matter how loud you say it!"

À knock cane from the door, making you groan. "See? Now I have to deal with the noise complaint!" You walked towards the door and turned the knob before you opened it, surprised to see who was there. "Charles?" You arched an eyebrow as Charles showed up to your doorway, Carlos still angry in the background. "Y/n! Mon cœur! I love you!" He slurred, almost tripping on the way in. "I want to marry you." He sang. Your expression softened at his drunken words. You looked over to Carlos who looked at Charles disapprovingly. "Charles, I don't think this is the right time." You told him sweetly. "It's always the right time with you my love." he said, kissing your cheek. Carlos tensed up and looked away, his hands moving to his hips. "I know, but Carlos is here right now." Charles sat up and looked over to the pissed off Spanish driver. He lifted his finger and pointed at him, causing confusion between both Spaniards in the room. "Ah, my team mate in law." Charles began walking towards Carlos, you tried to hold him back a bit but it wasn't going to happen. "Listen, mate, I don't like lying to you so I should be the one to tell you this-" Charles paused and Carlos stood in anticipation. "I'm in love with your sister."

You closed your eyes in annoyance and sucked your lips in. "Charles, let's get you to bed, huh?" Charles nodded and went to open his connecting door. You closed your eyes again as Carlos looked on. Everything made sense now. How you two were secretly hanging out, how you managed to end up dating, everything was falling into place. "This is the secret door, Y/n." Charles whispered to you as if Carlos wasn't right there. "Charles, please go to bed." He smiled, before going through and closing it behind him, leaving you alone with Carlos to explain everything. "Okay, I think I need to explain a lot, right?" Carlos nodded before grabbing his jacket and putting it on. "You do, but that can be done another time." You arched an eyebrow. "What? So you don't want to ask anything? You don't have a problem?" Carlos shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have as big a problem with him now." Carlos said. "He's my team-mate in law after all." He added, earning a smile of relief from you. "I'll be going but if I hear anything-" He paused. "Unusual, I'll be coming straight over." You felt embarrassed as Carlos made his joke. "Nothing will happen, he's drunk and I'm pretty much sober."

"Well make sure my team-mate in law doesn't die or something. He's kind of important to the team." you laughed a bit and nodded. "I wouldn't let anything happen to him Carlos, you don't have to worry about that."

[burningstrangerkingdom]

Lights out

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: after returning from a triple header where you accompanied your boyfriend Charles, you find a surprise in the apartment.

warnings: none

notes: this is the first fanfic I write, I hope to improve over time, any type of interaction is welcome < 3

After a triple header which your boyfriend practically begged for you to acompany him, you were certenelly glad to be back in your home in Mónaco.

"I'm dying to return to my bed, tou will never take me out of it again" you dramaticalized in your way stairs up to your apartment.

"I don't see a problem with that" he teased, making you chucked at his statement.

"No, but really, I, of course, had the idea of a tour like that being tiring but it's incredibly exausting, my love, I'm going to plan a relaxing week for you to recharge your energies".

It was the first time you get to witnessed a triple header first hand with him, due to your last job being so demanding that you got to lost the oportunity to join him in that kind of trips multiple times, so now, seeing how bad those kind of shows could affected him, you thought it was the least you could do to help him since he had been nothing but a wonderful boyfriend to you.

"Thank you, chérie, but all I need is you and a good amount of pasta, that Andrea should never heard of" he joked back to you.

It was kind of cute how he always, being the nicest person you've ever met, tried to dismiss any kind of attention to him and light it off with a joke, too humble for his own good, and even though sometimes those actitudes freaked you out, that as a part of his personality was also something you loved about him.

Trying to get ahead of him so that you could plan the following days taking advantage of the ideas that came to your mind, you made a short run until you reached the door of your home, you opened it nimbly and carelessly dumped your luggage, now focusing on finding the light switch

"Fuck" you said when you realized that there was no light in the room.

"What happened, cherie?" asked confused Charles as he tried to enter the room by dodging the luggage spread on the floor.

"I'll tell you in a minute".

The lack of electricity in the place also puzzled you, so you left your boyfriend at the entrance and went to each room to check and realize that they were all in the same condition. Still confused, you did a mental recap trying to find an answer to this situation, when an idea came to your mind, so you took your phone out of your pocket and clicked on the banking app.

"Oh" was all that came out of your mouth when you realized you never made the payment.

Sharing a house is a great commitment, which undoubtedly tests the duration of relationships, which is why since Charles proposed to do it, you tried to work on delegating responsibilities to each other and thus avoid feeling that you are invading his personal space. The problem here is that paying for electricity is something that was up to you, and you had no problem doing it since Charles spent most of his time flying, in the factory or racing, you considered it fair that this task fell on you. being the one who spent most of his time in the apartment.

You thought you made the payment a few days ago, but when you checked your bank account you realized that you never completed the transaction, which you embarrassingly confessed to your boyfriend.

He looked at you curiously, then chuckled and burst out laughing, "Oh, mon amour, of course you did".

Your first reaction was to be embarrassed by everything that happened, but upon hearing his melodious and contagious laugh you had no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation as well.

You both ended up leaning back on the couch, giggling. "Oh god, i love you" stated Charles as he ran a hand contouring your face.

"Even when i make your house look like a tunnel?" you teased while excessively batting your lashes.

"Even when you leave Monte Carlo in completly darkness" at that, you lightly smacked his arm, earning a giggle from him.

Thank you so much for reading it, it was a weird idea that I got yesterday, hope you liked it <3

[cityof2morrow]

EP11KB: Industrial Storage Units (3t2)

Published: 2-7-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY “In need of a funkier, more futuristic skyline? The EP11 Kitbash Series (Simmons, 2022-2023) makes neighborhood assets from Sims 3: Into the Future (EA/Maxis, 2013) (and other EPs) available for Sims 2. Sets include single-tile shells and other items you’ll be able to plop on lots. Then, build above, below, in, and around them to create useable structures. Shell challenge anyone?” Here is a set of industrial storage containers from Oasis Landing (Sims 3: Into the Future, EA/Maxis, 2013) as decorative lot objects. They work well on industrial and/or factory lots and will go down with walls. The Storage Cylinder has space for up to four 1-tile doors and/or full-height windows. Otherwise, cover the openings!

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. Cost: §1100 | Build > Architecture Storage Sphere 001 and the “-RECOLOR” files are BOTH REQUIRED for recolors to work – this set includes 30 color options. You also need the BB_Niche1_Master (BuggyBooz, 2012) and Element TXTR Repository from the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023). ITEMS Storage Cylinder (~23x23 Tiles) (3248 poly) 5-Story Storage Spheres 001 and 002 (3004 poly) - click on the BASE of Storage Sphere 1 to recolor it. Storage Filler Material (638 poly) – make sure it is facing in the same direction as Sphere 001 and placed on the same tile. **Poly counts are semi-high due to meshing issues but limiting placement to 1-2 per lot should minimize the risk of pink flashing. Mind your system settings! DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA BUILDING TIPS (suggested methods) Build an octagon (20 tiles across, 19 tiles front-to-back) with sides of alternating lengths of 6 and 7 tiles respectively. Going clockwise, the front side should be 7 tiles across, the next should be 6 tiles across…and so on.

Once you’ve got 8 sides, add doors and/or windows to the center tile on the sides which are 7 tiles across. Use these entrances to get sims in and out of the building. Finally, place the Industrial Storage Cylinder on the tile directly in front of the front door/window. Add other details as needed.

For the Industrial Storage Spheres, you can build a functional catwalk between them. Place at least two, making sure the sides with the opening in the top gate and floor supports are facing one another.

Using columns, walls, etc., build up to the sixth floor, then add floor tiles and fencing.

CREDITS Thanks: Simblr community. Repository Technique Tutorial (HugeLunatic, 2018), Sims 3 Object Cloner (Jones/Simlogical and Peter, 2013), Sims 3 Package Editor (Jones/Simlogical and Peter, 2014), S3PI Library (Peter), S3PE Plugin (Peter, 2020), TSR Workshop v2.2.119 (2023). Sources: BB_Niche1_Master (BuggyBooz, 2012), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Oasis Landing (The Sims 3: Into the Future) List of Community Lots (Summer’s Little Sims 3 Garden, 2014), Recolors-ACYL (CuriousB, 2010).

[probablyasocialecologist]

TikTok was where I learned about SHEIN. For a while my For You page, which had accurately identified my interest in fashion’s more material impacts, served me videos of sustainable fashion influencers decrying SHEIN’s wretched labor and environmental practices. The textile industry is the second-largest polluter in the world, they said, and of all the fast-fashion producers, SHEIN is by far the worst offender. SHEIN uses toxic chemicals in their clothing production; SHEIN mass-produces fabrics like spandex that never decompose (at this point an image would flash across the screen: an overflowing clothing landfill, or a mountain of discarded clothes in the Chilean desert so large it is visible from space); SHEIN exploits and endangers its factory workers. Employees earn $556 a month to make five hundred pieces of clothing every day, work eighteen-hour days, and use their lunch breaks to wash their hair — a schedule they repeat seven days per week with only one day off per month. A more nuanced TikToker might point out, briefly, that conditions in SHEIN factories are not necessarily unique, or that focusing on suppliers — rather than the larger systems of Western consumption and capitalism that create these conditions — is a fool’s errand, but the platform isn’t built for that kind of dialogue. I clicked on the comments and invariably read ones with several dozen likes saying, “I’m so willing to die in shein clothes.” Before long I was watching SHEIN hauls. There are millions of them — the tag #sheinhaul has been viewed a collective 14.2 billion times on TikTok. In each haul, a woman rips open a plastic bag filled with smaller plastic bags filled with small plastic clothing. Sometimes the woman holds up each garment and narrates its merits, but often the clothes are disembodied, laid flat on a floor or a bed in an accidental stop-motion animation. A stretchy red skirt on a furry white carpet is replaced by a strapless watercolor bustier with a deep-V neckline. A zebra-print skirt is followed by a matching pink two-piece set, with a short-sleeve cardigan and miniskirt constructed from a fabric that looks like bubble wrap. Sometimes a haul is five pieces, and sometimes it is too many pieces to count. The garments appear and disappear in seconds, edited to the beat of a trending song. Rarely do we see the clothing on a body. Usually brand familiarity accrues in a slow drip, building from obscurity to instant recognizability over the course of months or years as a designer’s work intersects with the zeitgeist and gains traction on social media. SHEIN was different. One day I’d never heard of the retailer and the next it was inescapable: in thousands of outfit videos, on millions of social media feeds. The clothes weren’t distinct or cohesive; what united them wasn’t style but price. All those SHEIN hauls entered my feeds with such ubiquity that they began to feel like they’d always been there. I’d opened a door to a new part of the fashion internet: a place where girls bragged about their ultra-fast-fashion purchases, delighting in the cheapness of the garments. Here, SHEIN was the obvious choice for new clothes. Why not, when you could buy on-trend pieces at lightning speed for less than the price of a cup of coffee? It was uncanny to bounce between videos: here was a girl showing off her new halter, here was another girl giving a litany of reasons why it was unconscionable to buy clothes for so little money. Didn’t these TikTokers hear one another? But then again, how could they? “This is what we keep missing here in the whole conversation about sustainability in the industry,” Nick Anguelov, a professor of public policy from UMass Dartmouth, said to a Slate journalist writing about SHEIN in June. “We keep failing to understand that our customers are kids and they don’t give a fuck.”