#budget table saw

[lumberknowhow]

Choosing the Best Portable Table Saw for Your Woodworking Needs

A portable table saw is an invaluable tool for woodworkers, offering mobility and convenience without compromising on performance. To ensure you select the perfect table saw, consider a few key factors. Firstly, prioritize portability by opting for a lightweight and compact design with sturdy handles. Next, assess the power and performance capabilities, ensuring the motor is robust enough to handle various wood types. Blade size and adjustability are vital for versatile cutting, while safety features like blade guards and anti-kickback mechanisms are essential for your protection. Finally, choose a table saw built with durability in mind. By keeping these considerations in mind, you'll be well-equipped to find the ideal portable table saw for all your woodworking endeavors.

[dyna-myght]

I’ve spoken my truth before, I need to speak it again seeing debates about libraries. There’s a such thing as city privilege. If you have never lived in a small town w a very limited library that is filled with mostly religious leaning books and a pretty outdated system especially when it comes to requesting books, I don’t want to hear a word.

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

Summary: You're on a cross-country road trip when your tires blow, and you're forced to get them fixed at a small town mechanic shop. When your card declines, you only have one other option to get your car back. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 3k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, mechanic!joel, sex for favors, oral sex (f + m receiving), blowjob, deepthroating, cum eating, fingering, squirting, semi-public sex, unprotected piv sex, size kink, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, joel being a disgustingly nice gentleman, porn with absolutely no plot A/N: I saw this gif float across my pinterest and had a terribly fun idea... so here it is. Enjoy a lil fun ;)

PART 2 | Masterlist | Ko-fi

“S’all fixed up now,” Joel said, walking into the waiting room.

You had been waiting a few hours to have your alignment fixed and tires replaced, and now you could finally breathe a sigh of relief. You were on your way through the small town headed east towards Tallahassee when both of your back tires blew out on the highway. You were lucky not to cause a crash and thankfully found a local mechanic shop only half a mile off the road. 

“Thank you so much,” you exhaled as you stood up and stretched your legs.

Joel rounded the counter to the register, typing up the work order to charge you out. Wallet in hand, you waited for the cost, praying it wouldn’t make a dent in your bank account. You only budgeted so much for the road trip, and this definitely wasn’t in the budget.

“Alright, ma’am, lookin’ like it’s gonna be around $500 for everything. Shaved some off just for the hassle you been through,” Joel smiled.

Shit.

“Uh, okay. Great.”

You reluctantly handed over your card, praying it would be enough. Joel swiped it on his machine followed by a loud beep that clearly meant DECLINED. You let out a shaky breath, fishing through your wallet for another card.

“Shit, try this one,” you said.

Joel nodded, his brows furrowing a bit when it also beeped in the same tone. He slid your card across the table, cocking a brow as if to ask, ‘Got another one?’

“Fuck,” you laughed nervously. “Okay, how ‘bout this one?”

Another card. Another decline. How the fuck were you going to get out of town now?

“Sorry, ma’am,” Joel sighed. “No payment means no car ‘m afraid.”

You ran your hand through your hair in frustration, trying to come up with something. Glancing up at him, you took in his broad frame covered by a simple black t-shirt that seemed to hug the planes of his chest perfectly. You hadn’t even noticed the patchy beard or kind grin that he donned so well earlier. Maybe…

“Look, I gotta get out of here tonight,” you pleaded. “Is there anything I can do to just get my car?”

Joel crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps looking much bigger in that position. With a frown turning down his lips, he shook his head.

“Afraid not, ma’am.”

“Anything? Please, I'm begging you.”

He considered you a moment, his eyes raking over your figure. You felt your cheeks warm at that look, knowing what he might be insinuating. If that’s what it took to get your car and get the fuck out of this town, then why not?

“Anything?” He repeated.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m pretty fucking desperate right now.”

Joel came around the corner of the counter, crowding you until your neck craned up to meet his eyes. Your heart thrummed in your ears, warmth blossoming in your stomach the longer he stared at you. 

“Desperate lil’ thing, huh?” He teased.

Backing away from you, Joel walked to the shop entrance and slowly turned the lock. He looked back at you as he flipped the sign to CLOSED as if testing your judgment. You gave him a meek nod, never letting your eyes off him as he stalked toward you again. His finger ran up your forearm, catching on the sleeve of your top and tugging it lightly.

“Follow me, darlin’.”

That sentiment, followed by the twang of his accent, was enough to make your knees buckle, and you followed him like a dog in heat. Joel led you back into the heart of the shop, scraps of tools and car parts littering the makeshift garage. And right in the center of it all was your car. Leaning against the hood, he patted the metal, beckoning you over. You dropped your purse on the workbench and walked toward him on shaky legs. Joel spread his legs a bit wider as you approached, his fingers wrapping around your belt loops to pull you in close.

You were a breath apart now, just the barrier of clothes separating you. Joel’s hands snaked around your waist and firmly palmed your ass through your jeans. You let out a small yelp as his fingers dug into the supple flesh, kneading and massaging until your eyes drifted shut at the feeling.

“You pay off all your debts this way?” His voice dropped an octave, and you felt the bulge in his jeans prodding against your stomach as you leaned closer.

“Fuck off,” you scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on my car taking a shit out here and definitely wasn’t budgeting for it either.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “Ain’t got a boyfriend to give you some cash to help?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be out here tryna fuck you for my car,” you quipped.

A grin split across his face at your defensiveness, as if he enjoyed you being a brat. You weren’t trying to be— honest to god—but you desperately needed to leave this town, preferably with your car. 

“Y’sure are a bratty little thing,” he said, tugging you closer.

“Why don’t you stop talking so much and fuck me so I can get the hell up out of this small fucking town?” You grumbled.

Joel raised one of his hands to grip your chin, steadying your gaze on his. Sliding his thumb over your lips, he coaxed your mouth open and urged you to suck on his finger. Without breaking eye contact, you swirled your tongue over the skin of his thumb before wrapping your lips around it.

“Christ, darlin’,” he exhaled. “Might just let you suck my cock and send you on your way.”

You released it with a pop, a trail of saliva dripping from your bottom lip. Reaching down, you massaged the bulge in his pants, letting out a soft gasp. He was massive—bigger than expected. He let out a small chuckle as if reading your mind, bucking his hips against your touch.

“You’d give me my car for a little blowjob?” You questioned, squeezing his cock tighter.

“S’nothing little about me, darlin’.”

“Aren’t you just full of yourself,” you rolled your eyes.

Your fingers danced over the zipper of his jeans, tugging it down as he helped pull his cock free. You peeked down to catch a glimpse of it, your eyes growing wide. His cock was girthy and thick and definitely had no shortage of length, either. Precum leaked from the tip, and you wet your lips at the idea of trying to fit it all in your mouth.

“Y’gonna suck it or what? Car ain’t gonna pay for itself.”

“You gonna give me my car after?” You tossed back.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “Those tires might cost you extra.”

“We’ll see about that,” you smirked.

Sinking to your knees, you pulled down his jeans and underwear until he adjusted himself at the tip of your lips. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, squeezing softly as you guided it into your mouth. Stretching your lips wider, you swirled your tongue around the tip, basking in Joel's groan as you did so.

“S’fucking perfect, darlin’. That mouth feels fucking amazing.”

 You took him deeper, moving your mouth in a rhythmic motion until you felt his hand come down to grip your hair. He held you steady as he snapped his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further down your throat. Sputtering around him, you dug your nails into his thighs as leverage while he continued fucking your throat.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he rasped. “C’mon now, take this fuckin’ cock down your throat.”

Opening your throat wider, you swallowed every thrust as tears streamed down your cheeks. Joel was relentless with his thrusts, your nose brushing against the curls at the base every time you took him deeper. You could sense he was close to the edge, so you dragged your tongue against the base of his cock with each stroke, spurring him on further. It elicited a primal growl deep within his chest, and within seconds you could feel the warmth of his cum sliding down your throat. His cock twitched inside your mouth as he came down from his high, and you hummed as you swallowed every last drop.

Using the grip on your hair to pull you off, you sat back on your heels, coughing and heaving to try and catch your breath. Joel looked down on you with heavy lidded eyes and a smug grin as if to taunt you. Cupping your cheek, he slid his thumb against your skin and brushed away the rolling tears.

“Open,” he ordered. “Show me.”

You quirked a playful smile, leaning your head back as you stuck your tongue out to prove you swallowed it all. Slapping your face softly, Joel let out a soft chuckle.

“Atta girl.”

You brushed the remainder of your tears away, wiping the makeup from your eyes, and you stood on wobbly legs. Smoothing down your shirt and jeans, you crossed your arms over your chest and cocked a brow.

“I think I earned my car back,” you insisted, your voice hoarse from how hard he fucked you.

“Hmmm, y’think so?” Joel questioned. “I think I deserve a taste of that pussy.”

You shoved at him playfully, rolling your eyes. 

“In your dreams, cowboy,” you laughed. 

With his pants still hanging down, Joel spun you until your ass was pressed against the hood of your car. Working at the button and zipper of your jeans, he shoved them down and pulled your legs free until your bare ass was pinned to the cool metal. Joel gave you a lopsided grin and shoved you further onto the hood.

“I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I didn’t return the favor, darlin’.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Oh, but I want to,” he argued. “Gotta see how sweet you taste.”

Sliding down, Joel situated himself between your thighs, tugging your calves up to rest on his broad shoulders. He gave you a teasing kiss on your inner thighs before delving in, his tongue flicking at your sensitive bud. You careened back against the hood, your back arching as his mouth suctioned around your clit. Crying out, you carded your hand through the brown curls of his hair, anchoring his face against your wet cunt as it pulsed against his mouth. Joel plunged his tongue inside you, forcing another whine from your lips.

“Fuck!” You cried. “Right there! Oh my god, yes!”

He hummed in satisfaction, bringing his fingers into the mix as he opened you up, curling them against that sweet spot inside you. Keeping his mouth on your clit he worked in tandem with his fingers until that coil inside you wound tighter and tighter. With one more curl of his fingers, your orgasm surged through your body, forcing a gush of liquid to stream out of your wet cunt. Joel sat back in awe, staring at your glistening folds as your body trembled from the release, your juices covering his beard and mustache. 

“Fuck babydoll,” he grinned. “You a squirter, too?”

You laughed awkwardly and watched as he removed his two fingers and brought them to his lips. Sucking them into his mouth, Joel groaned as he tasted the remnants of your orgasm. You knew you could squirt—it was your own dirty little secret—but something about seeing him covered in your juices made you want more. Tugging him softly with your calves on his shoulders, you urged him back to your soaked entrance, silently begging for another round. 

“Gonna cover me in your juices again, darlin’?” Joel smirked. 

“Mhmm,” you whined. 

“Drench me babydoll, let’s see it.”

Joel’s mouth was on you again, lapping up the juices leaking out of you until you were crying out for him. He didn’t let up as he sucked your aching clit between his teeth, his tongue working at the bud in earnest. He pushed his fingers back into you, your cunt pulsing violently each time he curled them. Slipping a third finger in, he stretched you wider and moaned against your clit as your body tensed with another orgasm. Another rush of liquid made it past his fingers, soaking his mouth and chin. You could feel it trickle down the seam of your cunt, drenching the hood of your car as you thrashed against it.

“Christ, Joel,” you mumbled, your head lolling to the side. 

He rose to his feet, wiping a hand over the hair covering his chin as he smiled at you. You sat up slightly, positioning yourself on your forearms as you watched him slide his jeans further down his legs. You were already in this deep; you might as well keep going. Spreading your legs a bit wider, you raised a finger to beckon him closer. 

“C’mon cowboy,” you teased. 

“Y’really need that car, huh?” He smiled, lining his cock up to your entrance. 

“I really do,” you whimpered, nodding your head vigorously. 

Joel eased himself inside you, inch by fucking inch, until he was fully seated at the base of his cock. You both groaned in unison, his cock sliding in and out of you easily from all the juice leaking from you. Crossing your ankles behind his back, you pushed him deeper, mewling at the sensation of the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. You could feel that stinging stretch of your cunt as he picked up his thrusts, your ass sliding up the car each time. 

“Shit, babydoll,” he growled. “S’fucking tight around my cock.”

“You feel so good, Joel,” you hummed. “Please, I need it harder.”

Listening to your pleas, Joel planted his hands on either side of your face, pistoning into you with brute force. He bent down, sucking and biting the skin of your neck until you were crying out from the pain mixing with the pleasure. You rolled your hips to meet him thrust for thrust, your cunt fluttering against his cock each time. That blinding orgasm was on the horizon as your muscles tensed up for its release. Running your hands up under his shirt, you dug your nails into his back muscles, dragging them down his tanned skin. Joel groaned into your ear, his hips snapping against yours harder and faster.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “I–I’m gonna fucking cum, Joel!”

“Yeah, babydoll? Fuckin’ soak me with it.”

He pulled out at the last moment, a heavy stream of liquid pouring from your cunt and coating your inner thighs and Joel’s cock. Without wasting a second, he drove back into you, picking up the pace despite your body still shaking and dripping from your orgasm. You could feel your tears rolling down the sides of your face, that warmth still coursing inside you. Joel’s thrusts grew erratic and off-rhythm, and you sensed his orgasm was pushing him to the edge. 

“Y’gonna let me fill that pussy, darlin’?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his voice sent shivers up your spine.

“God, please,” you cried.

With one…two…three final strokes, Joel was grunting and painting your insides with thick bursts of his cum. You both lay there limp and fucked out for several moments, catching your breath and chuckling as reality settled back in. He slipped out of you and drew his pants back up his legs, his eyes roaming over your sweaty body. With one hand, he tugged up the zipper of his jeans, using the other to push the cum leaking out of you back into your wet cunt. 

“Gotta send you off with some sort of parting gift,” he laughed.

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, adjusting yourself and sliding off the hood. Joel bent down to ease your pants back over your thighs and hips, helping with your own zipper as you stood awkwardly in front of him. Joel leaned in to kiss your cheek before walking to the corkboard hanging from the wall. Retrieving your keys from one of the hooks, he offered them to you with a kind smile.

“I’m free to go?” You asked, reaching for them. 

He pulled them away, shaking his head with a teasing grin. You pouted sarcastically, opening your hand and waiting.

“One kiss, and we call it even, babydoll.”

You grabbed either side of his face, pulling him in for a hungry kiss. You coaxed his mouth open, teasing your tongue over his, tasting your arousal still lingering on his tongue. Joel deepened the kiss, tangling his free hand in your hair to anchor you closer. Pressed up against him, you found yourself thirsting for more but knew you had no obligation to stay. Sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, you pulled away reluctantly and snatched the keys from his hand. 

“Thanks for the new tires, cowboy,” you grinned. 

Joel dazzled you with another gorgeous smile, the lines around his eyes creasing as he gave you one final nod. You squeezed your way out of his embrace, making your way to the driver's side door. He followed you over, opening it like the gentleman he was, waiting till you were situated inside. Leaning in for one more kiss, he lingered a moment too long before breaking away.

“Safe travels, darlin’. If you ever need some work done, y’know where to find me.”

You dug your keys into the ignition, letting the car rumble awake. Joel shut the car door with one final smile and watched you reverse out of the mechanic shop. Giving him a small wave, you turned onto the street and back toward the highway with a soreness creeping up your thighs.

[mydear-corinthian]

welcome to burlesque

synopsis - tommy attends to this new burlesque club and he didn't expect to see you there

pairing - tommy shelby x reader (dancer!)

warnings - SMUT +18, breeding kink, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex.

notes - rushed, this is my favourite song and movie ><, divider by saradika-graphics

main masterlist | peaky blinders masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

After the first World War, the inner-city of Small Heath, Birmingham is not lively that it used to. Loads of soldiers coming home from the war were traumatized; only finding comfort in whores, cocaine, alcohol, and betting.

With lots of men now drinking and snorting on their snows, alcohol businesses, betting shops, and cocaine distributors are now on their peak of their business like the well-known gangster, the man himself, Thomas Shelby.

It was the usual day for the gangster. His family running their businesses and sorting out gangster fights. Tommy is miserable in a way that he has no one to talk to or engage something with. Sure, he has his family but all he can talk about to them is business. With women, he still cannot find the right women for him.

As Tommy walked on the bland streets of Small Heath, inhaling his cigarette, he was approached by his friend, Johnny Dogs and his other workers. As Johnny walked to catch up with Tommy, he placed his shoulders on the gangster's shoulders.

"What ya up to, Tom?" Johnny Dogs asked, a smile planted on his face.

"The usual, John, business," Tommy sighed before he replied, continuing to inhale the cancerous stick.

"You should go to this club, Tommy! There's a lot of women in there, I heard. Just recently opened," Curly joined the conversation.

Tommy's eyes began to look at them. Recently opened? A club? In Birmingham?

He began to be interested and curious at the same time.

"Curly's right, Tom." John said. "Maybe you'll find someone there, eh? Or maybe just loosen up."

"There's nothing new with that, Johnny. There's whores everywhere. What's so special about this club," the older Shelby replied.

"Heard the women there are.. unique. Dancers."

Strip clubs in Small Heath isn't new for Tommy. But it's a bit confusing for him to see why his friend is very invested in this club. Maybe there's something more and special about these women and dancers. He cannot help but think.

"What ya say, Tom?"

After a few minutes of deciding, he exhaled.

"8:00 PM."

The boys cheered and clapped, playfully hitting each other's shoulders with their elbows as they cheered. A huge smile were planted on their faces

• • •

It was finally 7 in the evening. Tommy Shelby was already dressed for the man's night. A velvet red tie decorated his grey suit. His long black trench coat keeping him warm. The golden pocket watch with the engraved 'Shelby' name on the back hanged on the small pocket of his charcoal vest.

"Where are you going, Tom?" Polly asked as he saw his nephew exiting the manor.

Tommy placed his newsboy hat on his head, styling it properly as he replied to his aunt,

"Night with me boys. We'll be back by morning."

"Hope you're not plotting something again, Thomas."

"Yeah, no, aunt Pol." he coldly replied before finally shutting the door.

• • •

The ride was a little long, especially how this club is in the Northern part of Birmingham. The Blinders have finally arrived. Getting off their cars and entering the club like they owned it. The entrance fee lady didn't even bother asking them to pay since, well, they're the Peaky Blinders. Other customers hurriedly gave way and emptied the tables for them.

The club was lit in a red color. Circular tables with lamps were placed everywhere in front of the medium sized stage. Renaissance paintings were hanged all over the walls of the club. Tommy was suprised by this new club, it shows how the owner definitely has a budget for this.

The gangsters finally sat on their chairs just near the stage, ordering up a few drinks before the lights turned off, only focusing on the stage.

"This club is a Burlesque?" Tommy asked as he sipped a glass of whiskey he ordered.

"Yeah. Can't you believe it? The first every Burlesque club after a decade!"

The small band on the side of the stage started to play a jazz-like original song. A woman with a black top hat decorated on her (h/c) hair, a combination of black and white colour painted her tight corset while a pair of black fishnet stockings kept her warm appeared on the stage with a few dancers.

As the song started, you began to sing. Swaying your body seductively to the melody of the song, you looked at the guests. There were a lot of people in the club making you nervous but you decided to brush the anxiety away.

Tommy was widened by the performance but it wasn't the first time that he witnessed it; it's just that he haven't seen this kind of performance in years. His baby blue eyes followed you as you sang, mesmerized by the shift looks on your face. He kept a close eye on your legs as they moved fluidly and elegantly to the music. His eyes lingered on the way the tight corset tightened in your curves and making your form seem more beautiful with each breath. He was lost in focus, taking in each detail of your performance.

You looked at the audience again and now your eyes caught him.

Thomas Shelby.

The man himself.

You felt your heart drop, you know that one day he will visit the club but you didn't expect that it will be today. It was like a faraway memory coming to life the first time you saw him since the war. You remembered the moment that ignited everything between you, helping him with his broken arm in that dark tunnel. You can still feel the warmth of that kiss you had under the sycamore tree, and the letters you wrote one other later that carried shards of your hearts. That gentle kiss represented the silent relationship that has become stronger with every written word and every memory exchanged.

The way he looked at you felt the same: soft and genuine.

Tom had already shown many signs of trauma during the war, but he always felt safe and well while he was with you in the medic tent or on walks. You ended the gazing exchange between you two by continuing to dance.

You got a lot of "woo" and "yeah" remarks from the crowd as you went on singing and dancing sensually with your girls.

Tom began to be curious. You seem so familiar to him but he's not sure where you guys met.

"Who's the singer, Charlie?" Tom began to ask, leaning, his mouth just behind Charlie's ear.

"Oh her? That's (Y/n) (L/n). I heard she served in the war as a medic. Lovely ain't she?"

Oh.

Now Tom can recall who you were.

It was you, the nurse, who saved his arm after a bullet struck him in that tunnel. His memories of the war flashed back, and for the first time he wasn't afraid. Rather, he was somewhat happy. He recalled how you carefully applied a white bandage on his arm with your soft, delicate hands. She asked about how he was while exchanging life stories with him. How you kissed each other beneath the sycamore tree.

"Welcome to Burlesque!" The dance finally ended. A huge smile plastered on your face as you bowed, the big curtains coming down the stage. Loads of men including Tom's gang stood up and cheered, their claps echoed the club.

As you went backstage and sat on your vanity, you cannot help but recall who you just saw. His eyes were still the same; his blue eyes shining as his eyes locked yours. Memories of you and him talking, kissing, walking together flashed on your mind, making you frown at the memory that you hope you can still experience it again.

Meanwhile, Tommy excused himself, telling his gang that he'll be visiting the backstage to talk to someone. They didn't interfere nor asked who and why.

Tom finally arrived at the backstage, seeing women changing to their next-performance clothes. The dancers gasp at the sight of the notorious gangster, immediately covering up their bodies with their clothes. He cleared his throat due to the awkward moment, starting to ask where you were. "

Where can I find (Y/n) (L/n)?" Tom asked.

"B-back room, Mr. Shelby."

As Tommy walked towards the wooden door of your own vanity room, his heart raced. He felt his muscle goes numb every step he took. He doesn't know how you will react if he saw you. Will you be mad for him leaving you all of a sudden after the war? Will you be sad? Will you be happy? He doesn't know and he cares about that.

Taking a deep breath, his pale palms twisted the door knob, opening the door. He finally saw you. Sitting on a circular chair in front of your well-lit vanity mirror, loads and loads of make-up scattered on your table. You were wearing your long black corset only.

As you noticed the door opening, you looked at who it was while trying to remove your earrings. Finally looking at the person, your heart instantly dropped. You finally saw him up close after years of having no contact.

"Thomas..?" You stood up, feeling every electricity in your body flinched.

"(Y/n)."

A part of you wants to run up to him and give him the tightest hug and another part of you wants to scream at him for leaving you just like that.

"Why are you here?" you answered coldly but your voice softy broke, trying not to cry.

"I'm sorry," he spoke up. "..for leaving you just like that. I didn't mean to. I-It's just that - I didn't knew what to do."

As a former medic, it's understandable due to his mental state during the war. But as his lover, you just wished he stayed.

"Where were you, Tommy.."

"I'm so sorry, my love," Tom apologized, slowly walking towards you, cupping your cheek with his palms, stroking your chin.

"I missed you, Tommy. I thought you were gone." you whispered, holding his palms that were cupping on your cheeks, a tear finally fell from your sad eyes.

You tried finding him during and after the war but you failed. You forced yourself to move on, thinking that it was just for his comfort that time and you mean nothing to him now.

Slowly, his lips met yours. Allowing himself to be reunite with you. Tom's hand gripped your side hip as the kiss began to deepen. And there it is, you felt the same feeling when the both of you kissed under that sycamore tree.

He gently pushed you on the door, continuing the make-out session as his fingers locked the doorknob.

"Fuck, I missed you.."

"..so much," Tommy whispered in between kisses.

Your spine tingled with electric shocks as he sucked and kissed your neck, causing you to gasp and sigh with a mixture of pleasure and excitement. With an ache that made it seem as though he hadn't tasted anything like this in years, his lips finally discovered that sweet spot he had been longing for.

Every kiss was intense, every suck a confession of his insatiable appetite, making you insanely addicted. You got caught up in the moment, losing yourself in the heat of the moment as your fingers became tangled in his hair and gripped harder with every pleasure pulse.

"You taste so sweet, my love," he said.

You began to undo your black corset, leaving you with your black lacey bra and underwear, and your fishnet stockings. Trying to undo the stockings, Tom interfered.

"Leave the stockings on."

Nodding, your lips and his met each other again. Tommy's lips were stained with your red lipstick. The two of you ran to the vanity table, your hands removing all the items and make-up that was placed there while Tom began to unbutton his trousers and then his underwear.

You felt so aroused as your black panties were soaked wet. Your hole aching for Tommy inside.

"So wet already?" his deep voice made you wetter.

"Please, Tom. I need you.."

His cock sprung free out of his boxers, revealing how hard he was. He pumped it first with his hand before he moved your panties to the side instead of fully taking it off, allowing him to enter you.

You gasped aloud as his long, thick length began to gently and deeply penetrate you, each inch sending waves of powerful pleasure through your entire body. Tom, at the same time, moaned lightly as he enjoyed the way your close warmth surrounded him, the closeness sparking a fire between you both. His movements had a steady, deliberate pace, and your bodies seemed to melt together as each thrust was delivered with delicate passion. Your in unison breathing and softly spoken confessions of love filled the room, each one increasing the sensual, romantic connection between you.

Your body faced the mirror so he was fucking behind you. After a few minutes of you adjusting to his length, he began to thrust slowly.

"Oh fuck," you moaned.

"You feel so good — fuck!"

Your breasts bounced in time to every thrust he made, and your moans got louder and stronger. Euphoria rushes over you, bringing you closer to the brink with each move. You realized how much you had missed his presence and the way he filled you up entirely because of the pace of that moment. The overwhelming happiness served as a clear reminder of the intense touch and need you had experienced while he was away.

Your head lowered and your palms gripped the side of the bright vanity table. Your head was messy, a few strands of hair covered your face.

You can hear the breathy moans that Tommy let out. His rough fingers gripping your waist as his lower body jerked up, his head rolled back.

As he noticed your head looking down, his right palm gripped your jaw, making you look up and look at the mirror forcely.

"Look at yourself while I'm fucking you, honey."

Nothing but your shared moans, grunts, and skin slapping echoed the whole room. You didn't care how loud you guys were, you just want to think of him and him alone.

Feeling your orgasm build up, you began to let out a louder series of moans and gripped his arm.

"Tom—fuck! I'm close.."

"Yeah? Go on, cum on my cock."

"Yes Tommy, yes! Oh my god!"

"I'm gonna fill you up, yeah? Put a baby inside you. Gonna be the mother of our children, mhm?" he whispered on your ear as his pace quickened.

Finally, your orgasm came, making a mess on his massive dick. After a few more thrusts from Tommy, he came inside you, filling your walls with his sticky white cum.

The both of you panted, catching your breaths. Tom finally pulled out, making your aching hole leak out your shared juices. He let out a satisfied groan.

"Fuck, that was hot," he said, giving you a passionate kiss.

"I love you, Thomas Shelby."

"I love you, (Y/n) (L/n)."

[zorakihyena]

While studying for the driver's test I realized the alarming lack of road signs in Sims 2. Here's a motherlode of neighborhood deco.

Included is the air strip from Sims 3 plus a Roaring Heights exclusive recolor, various traffic signs from Sims 3, a streetlight and guard rails from Sims 3, and a flashing caution signal from Ambitions that actually flashes!

All located under Neighborhood Deco - Landmarks

Also included is a few telephone poles and a lamp post ripped from Sims 2 for Xbox and PSP.

As a bonus there's the Sims 1 Hot Date inspired stop sign, a conversion of Cyclonesue's stop sign for Sims 3

Download All 3t2 Conversions plus Console Rips

Download Just 3t2 Conversions

Download Just Console Rips

Download Just Cyclonesue's Stop Sign

When I was a young kid, I would occasionally stay with my grandpa during joint custody. Dude was one of the meanest mfs I've ever met, but when I got to watch him work on his model train table, he turned into Bob Ross. Unfortunately lung cancer did him in before he could ever complete it, last I saw him he was still trying to get that waterfall fountain put in, and for reference that was way back in the summer when LeBron James left for Miami the first time.

When I'd go back to my mother's I'd always beg for a trainset. We lived in a small trailer on a tight budget so a giant table like his was out of the question. Had this model train catalogue that I would stare at for hours, circling all the little sign and tree kits pretending this would finally be the Christmas that my dream of building own little world would come true.

Childhood came and went, we moved around a bit, I ran away, moved around some more, scraped and scratched for another meal, but the thought of constructing my own world persisted.

Today I bring an entire set of neighborhood deco signs, lights, and other roadside infrastructure converted mainly from Sims 3, along with a few props ripped from Sims 2 console ports, just like those fancy railroad kits I would've killed for as a boy. Hope y'all enjoy.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

No warnings for once - Vortex doesn't get to mangle anyone. Poor boy...

Also the Combaticon playlist is here; https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3pyBRAuoKYDEpAFaTm9j5j?si=bf63cc6e018d4ab9 It's very nostalgic to me so it was fun to make!

He got what he wanted. He thought. That’s what he was telling himself, at least – he got Vortex to stop fucking killing people.

The pilots uniform sat awkwardly on him. He didn’t have the muscle the other pilots did, the bulk to their frame that made it sit handsomely on them. He’d always been described as a twig of a boy growing up, and he didn’t fill out much as he grew into his skeleton. Stood in front of the mirror, he missed his medics uniform. It really didn’t suit him.

The back of his head hurt. The surgery had been quick – he had a suspicion Pharma didn’t use as much anaesthetic as he should have, he felt every movement of the scalpel, every connection of the nerves. He tried hard to ignore it and not inspect the swollen, angry flesh with his bare hands.

Spiteful bastard. He hadn’t spoken to him since he’d thrust his transfer documentation into his hands. His lips had been pressed tightly together, locking in the words he was desperate to say. First Aid thought it might have had something to do with the fact that Fortress Maximus was right behind him.

The other pilots treated him like a pariah. First Aid supposed that he was – the mech he piloted was reported to be haunted. The aftermath was graphic. He had been tasked with cleaning it, and now he was the next sacrificial lamb. There was no point in breaking bread with him – he’d be a dead man soon enough. Every time he stepped out whole was pure luck – he didn’t have the training, there was no skill involved. It was only a matter of time until the hourglass ran out and he’d be scrubbed from the cracks with a toothbrush like everyone else was.

Lunch was a lonely affair. Dinner was even lonelier. He ate breakfast in his room on his own – a benefit of being a pilot was having your own room, but he wished more than anything that he had a roommate. Someone who would be forced to talk to him, to take the edge off the loneliness.

The only social interaction he had was Vortex, and even that was limited. Nobody liked for anyone to get too close to him unnecessarily, First Aid included – but for fucks sake it was his mech, who were they to tell him that he wasn’t allowed to go near it?

The exception to the apathy was Perceptor. Every time he saw him, the man was studying him from afar like he were an animal at a safari. The confrontation would come soon enough – he had been the only one to notice that he was there that day he’d stolen the uniform. He must have known what he’d done, put the pieces together with ease. It wasn’t hard – he’d caught the medic red handed in the pilots quarters, and then not long after he’d mysteriously been in possession of a pilots suit and had been dragged by the cuff out of Vortex upon return to the Shatterdome. Honestly, it was childs play.

Dinner that evening played out as usual. First Aid sat down as far away as he could from everyone else, and not long after the other occupants of the table started to leave like he was diseased. He poked at his dinner – apparently, pilots received meals that were far more varied and clearly had a bigger budget than the ones served in the medics quarters did, but still pretty dire and bland – and wondered what he’d read that evening. His legs still hurt from training, and as his implants were still healing he wasn’t allowed to get back into his mech yet, so he’d had to ignore the sirens – his name was still popping up on the board of pilots being summoned, and he could see an aura of rage simmering around Vortex every time. He’d made a point to look apologetic at the cameras and vaguely gesture to the back of his head – connecting now would fry him to the point where they’d never connect again. There wouldn’t be enough time in the drop for him to show him everything he wanted to – Vortex would run out of fuel and he’d die of dehydration before they got to the point of being satisfied. He would have to be patient.

A tray clattered down opposite him. First Aid flinched, and looked up in surprise.

Perceptor.

He subtly glanced around them – nobody was paying them any attention. They were in their own bubble of privacy in the crowd, their words obscured by passing conversations.

“Felix Anwyl, correct?”

“Uhm. Yes? Can I help you? Do you require medical assistance?” He grimaced as his training kicked in – the wrong training. He wasn’t allowed to be a medic any more. Pharma had been extremely clear about that.

“I didn’t think you functioned as a medic.” Perceptor sat down opposite him, neatly folding his hands down on top of the table.

“Force of habit.”

“I see.” His eyes were intense, and First Aid felt like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk. Suddenly, he realised why he was the only ultra-long distance pilot.

“I was a big fan of you as a kid. Collected all the trading cards and stuff.”

Perceptor ignored him. “I was curious about what kind of person you were. Sneaking into the pilots quarters, stealing a suit just to get into a mech. At first I thought you were just some gullible young fool who fancied themselves a hero, that you’d bought into the idea of piloting being some glamorous lifestyle, but that’s not quite it, is it?”

“He was killing them.” First Aid quietly replied. He wanted to look away from the eyes that were looking straight through him, but he couldn’t. “He’d made it clear what he wanted, but nobody would listen – I couldn’t stand any more people dying. Just because they’re cadets, doesn’t make it okay to sacrifice them like that.”

“He?”

“Vortex.”

“You’re talking as if it’s actually alive.”

“Haven’t you heard the rumours?” First Aid quirked a brow. “That he’s haunted?”

“Ghosts don’t exist.”

“You’re not very fun.” First Aid poked at his mashed potato. “Fine. Call it the Tamagotchi effect then, or anthropomorphism. I’m not a trained pilot, it’s different for me.”

“Your colleagues aren’t either, but none of them refer to Vortex as a ‘he’.”

“They’re terrified of… them.”

“And you’re not?”

He was, but not for the same reasons. “Not really.” It was like asking him if he was afraid of his reflection.

Perceptor hummed. He turned to his own dinner – he neatly chopped up his sausage with the blunt knives they’d been provided with and chewed carefully. First Aid felt himself fall into a sense of security, thinking it was over, and took a spoonful of his mashed potato.

“How did you learn to pilot, then?” He suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“You said you’re not a trained pilot, and I know just by looking that you’re telling the truth. You’re a medic. Your clothes still smell of disinfectant and bleach. But the way your mech moves… That’s a fully trained veteran.”

“The AI kind of just… handles it all.” First Aid hoped his expression wasn’t too awful, he felt his face twitching. “I guess with how many pilots he’s had, he’s had plenty of time to memorise it all.”

“I suppose so.”

Perceptor didn’t ask about it again. He pulled out a paper to read, and First Aid had made the mistake of asking him a question about it in attempt to be polite. Thirty minutes later and he was still talking – the words had stopped making sense twenty-five ago.

One lunch time, he’d had enough of the solitary lifestyle he was being forced to lead and the lack of things to do with his hands since Pharma still hadn’t let him back into the medical bay and the brass had caught him running a clinic from his quarters. He grabbed his portion – it looked like it was some kind of soup today – the accompanying bread roll and fruit pot, filled his flask with coffee and marched down the catwalk, sitting himself directly in front of Vortex before popping the lid off and inspecting what the canteen had served that day. It was bright red. Obnoxiously so. He paused and checked the label again.

Yup. That sure was food, alright. Beetroot, beef, pork, assorted vegetables. The good stuff.

… He didn’t know beetroot could get that red.

Vortex’s cockpit popped open with a hiss. First Aid secured the lid back on and hopped on inside.

[WHAT DID YOU GET TODAY?] He asked. For a man without a mouth, he was always curious about what was for lunch.

“I have no idea what it is, but it is bright red.” First Aid replied, sitting down in the pilots seat and popping the lid back off again. He felt Vortex tremble as the cameras zoomed in on it.

[YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME NOW <3]

“You know what this is?” First Aid offered it to the camera. “It’s warm.”

[BORSCHT. YOU DON’T KNOW IT? PILOTS GET IT ALL THE TIME.]

“Medics don’t get fed so well.” First Aid made himself comfortable and took a curious sip. “Oh. That’s something.” He pulled a face.

[NOT TO YOUR TASTES?]

“I hate beetroot.” First Aid stuck his tongue out. He poked a lone piece of pork with his spoon. “It infects everything it touches with mud.”

[CHILD.]

“I would say you eat it then, but…”

The helmet loudly dropped, smacking him in the head. First Aid yelped, narrowing his eyes at the camera pointed at him. “Pot calling the kettle black much?”

[I CAN TASTE THROUGH YOU, YOU KNOW. PUT IT ON.]

The connection at the back of his head was mostly healed. It was safe, they could connect without any issues as of his check-up that morning - but he still hesitated. The marks on his arms felt hot.

[WHY THE HESITATION?]

[DON’T YOU WANT ME?]

“I don’t want to get into trouble again. Pilots aren’t meant to connect outside of combat.”

They’d been very clear to him on that. He’d been labelled a risk, a liability - he was abnormally attached to his mech. Swindle was starting to look at him funny - and if Swindle was noticing…

[PUSSY. I JUST WANT YOUR TONGUE. FINE, HOW ABOUT THIS.] The helmet disappeared up and another panel popped open. The service connection - engineers could connect using similar technology on tablets to diagnose issues with the mech faster. This was much more acceptable. [YOU WERE BITCHING ABOUT THAT PANEL IN MY FOOT. WANNA CHECK THEY DID THEIR JOB?]

“You’re so clever.” First Aid praised him. He hopped over with his soup, sitting against the wall as he let Vortex plug himself in. He had braced himself for pain and a jolt, the cleaving of his awareness in two, but it felt smooth as butter. A brush of fingers along the nape of his neck, the pressure of someone leaning on his shoulders and resting their chin on his head.

Vortex.

… That damn panel still wasn’t right.

“Borscht?” Vortex reminded him. He sounded more like a man than a machine now.

Obediently, he took another sip. He felt Vortex tremble as a memory pushed against his awareness, just out of reach - a vague sense of it ran through his fingers. A wooden table, dried sunflowers in a repurposed jug decorated in bright designs, hands that were clean and unmarked by years of self-inflicted hardship.

“Damn, that’s the good shit.”

First Aid had finished the whole bowl before he realised it, riding the wave of Vortex’s reaction. He hiccuped, firmly putting the lid back over the bowl.

“I still don’t get how you like that.”

“More for me. I suppose I have a more refined palette.”

“Didn’t you smoke? You probably couldn’t taste anything.”

“Heh. Excuses excuses~ You sound jealous.”

First Aid pouted. “Do not.”

“Do too. Come on, don’t be shy, I like it when you get a jealous streak.”

“When have I ever been jealous over you!” First Aid squeaked in embarrassment. Vortex rumbled, memories pushed against him - his face twisted in a shape he didn’t recognise when other people were cleaning him, other people were inside and scrubbing. He felt his cheeks warm.

“I was only jealous that they got to go near you.” He couldn’t look at him, he couldn’t look at the cameras that were all trained on him. “That was when I wasn’t allowed - remember? Because you kidnapped me.”

“Kidnap is a strong word. I prefer borrowed for a moment.”

“Thank you for not killing me that day.”

“You’re welcome? I guess?”

“Forgive me - you’re dubbed the blender for a reason.” He popped the lid of his coffee and took a big gulp – it had already started to go cold. It was vaguely lukewarm in a way that made him feel queasy, but he needed the caffeine.

“Black?”

“Americano, yeah.”

“I thought you’d have the sugary shit.”

“I saw what some of the other pilots were putting into their coffee and it scared me off of it, honestly.” He shuddered. “Did you know you can fit thirty three creamer pots into a pilots standard issue water bottle? I didn’t until I saw someone do it.”

“… That’s disgusting. Coffee flavoured cream at that point – just drink it from the carton. Doesn’t the shop here sell flavoured milk?”

“They had flavour syrup in there too.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Fucking hell.”

Swindle had this godawful idea of pilot interviews. The media were interested, and once the investors had caught wind of that their ears had perked up. Swindle saw coins falling from the sky, and had promptly agreed and cleared his diary. Making them seem more human brought in much more attention, and with attention came money and government contracts and more boots on the ground. It also brought in his favourite thing in the world; unpaid interns. The prestige would be enough of an incentive.

And so First Aid found himself with a docket shoved into his grease-stained hands as he worked on clearing out random debris from Vortex’s right knee – the mechanics were still afraid of him, and First Aid had an idea of what it was supposed to look like in there from when he’d been tasked with extracting a pilots thoracic vertebrae (T4 through to T6 only – he wasn’t sure how they’d even gotten there and he had never asked. The rest of her spine had gone missing), he was doing their job for them. Vortex was doing a stellar job of subtly shifting his plating out of the way to give First Aid better access – it was enough debris that it was pissing him off too.

“What’s this?” First Aid asked, putting it down on the table next to him before reaching back into the joint. He could see something in there, hard and transparent and vaguely blue. It was quintesson hard tissue – he’d have to call the hazard team in. What a pain. He gestured for his visitor to take a step back before reaching in and trying to get a good grip on it so he could tug it free.

No dice. He sighed, knowing he’d need to give Vortex some clear instructions on what he needed but not able to do it with an audience - he had left a walkie talkie up in the cockpit for him, but he knew damn well that it would cause a scene if he started nattering away into it.

So they got his attention instead. They were waiting with impatience thinly veiled with a smile and too-wide eyes. Someone from human resources, maybe? Media? Public relations? He didn’t know. They wouldn’t be hanging around long enough for it to really matter.

“It’s some papers for you to sign. For the interviews. So, you’re not on the interview list, but we did want to get some footage of you with your mech. Is that alright?”

First Aid looked up at Vortex as if expecting him to say something. He blinked at him before he realised he wouldn’t be saying a single whisper, and quickly looked back at them.

“I’m not getting interviewed?”

“Instructions from the big brass!”

“Right.” He wiped his hands down on a dirty rag and shoved it into his belt. “Sure. Fine, I guess. I’m just going to be digging around in his joints – he’s got some quintesson guts in there, so I’ll need hazard around. Is this going on TV? It will give a good show at least, right?”

Their eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

The cameras were obnoxious. The people behind them were worse.

Could you do that again? Can we get this person to do it? Turn your face this way, have your hair like that, take your jacket off, can you try it with your jacket on again but your feet like this?

Real fucking irritating. First Aid wanted them to just get lost. The hard tissue was still in there. Vortex was starting to get annoyed, and nobody wanted to find out how far he was willing to go for some peace and quiet. He’d called the hazard team well before the camera crew had arrived – and they still weren’t there. He could hear the creak in Vortex’s joints, the faint rumbling and vibrations of his systems gearing up, the tremors of plating desperate to move.

Solace came with Swindle, the cavalry marching in behind him. The hazard team. Finally. First Aid quickly scuttled up into the cockpit with a walkie-talkie in hand to play pretend at moving the mech so they could extract the hazardous tissue, covering his eyes to block out the obnoxiously bright flash of their cameras, and wondered if they’d keep his footage in. His parents would worry.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had a twink writhing.

If he still had a body, he’d be doing awful things to that man. His screams would be perfect, so loud and like music to his ears. And he knew that First Aid would have been thanking him, begging him for more through his tears the whole time. It was such a shame that the human body was so fragile. All he wanted was to be able to take him apart and put him back together after he was done so he could do it again. Over and over, until he was nothing more than a husk of a man.

And he would still be thanking him.

If god were real, he must have been smiling down at him for such a gift. If he were capable of love, he thinks that what it might be.

The tragedy was that he was being punished by finding First Aid too late. They should have been two ships passing at sea - Vortex knew that if anyone gained a single inkling of what First Aid was into when they should have, they’d have thrust him into the system to get lost and fade away into obscurity. A footnote on the family tree. That uncle that vanished as a child. Or maybe they’d pretend that he’d never have existed at all. But no, Felix had glided by unassumingly, his good nature and kind face a front, a shield against what was straining against the surface, shining through the cracks and splitting his skin.

Oh, what a joy it was to have him there with him. What fun it had been to watch him, to study him. The moment he’d seen First Aid chew his bottom lip, core temperature rising as he stared at the disembowelled remains of the first pilot he’d been tasked to excavate from him, he knew he had to have him.

He also knew this should have been working him up. He should have been whipped into a frenzy, unable to contain himself - but lacking any appropriate organ to produce any of the hormonal response that pushed him over the edge, Vortex was left feeling vaguely hollow and empty.

It really, really pissed him off.

Why had they kept him alive if they were just going to waste him like this? It was torture. It was the worst thing he could ever think of.

And it was, annoyingly, the perfect punishment. He’d begrudgingly give those researchers that – they’d achieved their goals on that front. Creative ways to stretch out death row, Vortex had called it at the time. If you asked him now, he’d say that they just gave him a bigger body to create a wonderful slaughter with, but the anger at the situation would be simmering beneath the surface. It was fun popping someone like a grape, but he couldn’t hear their breath whistling out from what remained of their thorax any more.

All he could do all day in between waiting for fights and splitting alien life forms in half with his bare hands was nose around at the cameras and browse the internet.

For such a high security base, their internet security was pathetic. A couple days of poking around at it and he’d been in, briefly toying with the idea of taking down the base and watching them scramble around like the ants they were, before instead heading over to YouTube and seeing if there was anything worth catching up on.

The news announcements about him and his teams deaths had been amusing. Very, very amusing.

But today, he settled on the cameras. He had fun games he’d made to entertain himself with, creating false stories and dramas – he’d spent a lot of time whilst he was still alive figuring out peoples brains, what made them tick, how to get them to tell you exactly what you wanted without them noticing they were even doing it, so he considered his fantasies to be gospel – and looking for people.

He’d always hunted down First Aid. The man had just the cutest face, and he wanted to see how many different expressions he could make. The bad ones, the good ones, the really good ones – god above, especially the really good ones – everything. It was a fun game to catalogue them all, to guess what had been said or done to him to make him look like that. Thinking of ways to replicate it. He wanted him to look at him like that. He wanted him to just look at him.

It had only been a few weeks and already First Aid was as obsessed with him as he was. Mutual obsession was always the best. Matching the energy was so much more fun than watching them tremble and cry knowing they’d just make the bad kind of fucking mess.

The man was excitedly asking Vortex if he’d seen that, preening at something he’d done on the field, eyes sparkling and wide. Looking at him, you’d have been forgiven for thinking he was talking about seeing something as marvellous as a pod of whales arching out of the water instead of the pristine harvest of an alien organ that he was actually talking about. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging hard enough to sprain.

God, he wanted to make him his.

He wouldn’t share. He couldn’t. He’d never been any good at it.

First Aid even came to eat lunch with him. Vortex had called him ‘some kind of loser’ the third time he’d done it, and First Aid had looked like such a kicked puppy he’d never done it again.

He’d thought about it, but he wouldn’t. He’d promised, and his little man had made it clear how highly he valued promises. It wouldn’t do to upset him, he’d grown rather attached.

And having something to do that involved someone else for once wasn’t actually half bad.

Being interred into a mech was a strangely lonely existence. His snippets of social interaction had come in the form of the human sacrifices they’d offered up to him, cocky and overzealous and never recognising that they were sat in his jaws and ready to be consumed. He would never ever admit it, but having First Aid there to actually speak to was… nice. It was a break from the monotony of pushing IT’s buttons and seeing how ruffled he could get the brass to be in just a single sentence.

He hated being forced to stay still. He’d had practice at it, sure - their line of work didn’t come without its fair share of hazards and they were no strangers to bed rest. Fuck, the longest he’d had to entertain himself was when he’d been on the bad end of a grenade - Brawl had tugged him out of the wreckage missing a healthy chunk of his face, blood pulsing down in a fiery heat he didn’t soon forget. His poor handsome looks had been destroyed in an instant - at least the nurses had been nice to him. If it was because they were scared of him or if it was because Swindle was paying them handsomely he didn’t know and he didn’t particularly care - it had the same result. Endless telenovelas in a language he didn’t understand, with a TV he wasn’t able to adjust. He woke up to the opening jingles, and he fell asleep to the ending songs.

He took having to find his own entertainment over that. At least he could set the language.

And today’s entertainment: watching Swindle.

It was weird watching him from cameras. Usually it was the other way around - Swindle would work his way up into their security rooms and then watch the rest of them from the cameras, guiding them around and warning them of any danger. Instead, he was a silent witness, watching his every move. He was on his phone, nattering away into it as he walked with his coffee. A fun game Vortex liked to play was voicing over him - the cameras didn’t come with any audio, so he was left to fill the blanks.

He paused when he saw his mouth clearly form the word ‘Felix’.

Huh. What did Swindle have to say about him? Good things, Vortex hoped. They were more alike than Swindle ever liked to admit - surely he had to see the beauty in First Aid too. But actually - he hoped he didn’t. First Aid was his. He found him, he had done all the hard work. Felix wasn’t someone he was going to share. He’d do what it took to keep him forever.

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 13: Attic, Cellar, Hidden Rooms

A/N: I took a bit of creative liberties here and decided that the batcave is close enough to a cellar and/or hidden room and the clocktower is close enough to an attic 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re helping Oracle with patrol watch until you need to comfort a mildly injured vigilante.

~~~

You never thought you’d be able to see vigilantes in action like this. But, considering you were already aware of everyone’s identities at this point, and with how close you had become with everyone, you were invited to help watch over everyone on patrol. 

Barbara had invited you to the clocktower one day, saying she could use an extra pair of eyes while everyone was out on patrol. Really, she probably just overheard you say how much you wished you could see everyone in action. 

The first thing you noticed when you entered the room was all the monitors. Various tracking maps, security cameras, databases… all on huge screens that towered over you. 

“Whoa…” you breathed, awestruck. 

Barbara turned her head towards you, smiling. “Welcome to my utopia,” she announced with a flourish of her hands. 

You walked over to her desk, really getting a feel for all the technology in the room. You ran your fingers over the table, feeling the smooth wood under your skin. All that was on the desk was a keyboard. There was no need for paper with all those monitors, you guessed. 

“Impressive,” you muttered, transfixed by watching all the movement on the screens. “What happens if the power goes out?”

“Very powerful generators,” she replied, gesturing to one that was sitting under the desk. “We have quite the budget.”

“Right,” you laughed lightly, crouching down next to the desk. “So, what am I looking at?”

She started pointing out each part of the monitors: the locations, which of the moving dots corresponded to which person, the cases that were currently being worked on…

“Oracle,” you suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from Barbara’s comm link. “I need sights on a group of robbers near Gotham National Bank. I’m in pursuit, trying to keep myself out of their sight, and I need to know where I can cut them off.”

“I’ll get right on that, Hood,” she replied, sounding very professional as she started clacking away at her keyboard. 

“Hood?” You asked her quietly, looking at the dot on the map she said was Jason moving very quickly away from the bank. She nodded without breaking her concentration. 

Almost without thinking, you started shouting, “Hi Ja-“ you cut yourself off, suddenly remembering the circumstances you were in when Barbara gave you a stern look. “Hi Red Hood!” You shouted, fixing yourself. 

“Huh?” You heard him reply, confused. “Is that- AH!” 

Suddenly, you heard a loud crash! and saw the dot on the map stop abruptly. You widened your eyes and covered your mouth in shock.

“… Hood?” Barbara asked as you looked at each other, her eyebrows raised. 

“Shit,” he groaned, and you could hear the clanking of metal from around him. “Uh… yeah, I don’t think I’m catching those robbers,” he sighed. “Is anyone else around? I’m going back to the Batcave.”

There was various chatter over the comms, from what you could hear over Barbara’s laughing, before one of the other dots on the map started moving towards where Jason was. 

“You wanna go meet him there?” Barbara asked, covering her comm for a second. 

“Do I wanna…?” You repeated quietly, your eyes widening. “Uhh, am I allowed in the Batcave?”

She shrugged. “Batman’s not there. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She started clacking on her keyboard again. “I can give you access. I trust you.”

“O… okay…” you muttered, standing up. “I guess I’ll just… go there, then…” You never thought you’d be allowed in the Batcave. It was kind of exciting. 

You followed the directions Barbara gave you, eventually going through some secret tunnels and emerging in a huge, yet oddly well-kept cave. Computers, training equipment, and various vehicles were in their designated places. The place was basically devoid of people, except for…

“Fuck,” you heard a familiar groan, making you stifle a laugh. His steps echoed throughout the quiet cave, sounding like they were coming closer to you. 

You popped out of where you had been standing behind a car, making Jason drop his helmet. That made you really start laughing. 

“Jesus, why are you surprising me so much today?” He asked as you moved closer to him. He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Are you even allowed to be here?”

You shrugged, tucking yourself into his side. “Oracle let me in.”

“Of course she did,” he replied, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Nothing is sacred to that girl.”

As you got a better look at his face, you frowned. Bruises were starting to form on his cheek. “What happened, by the way?” You asked, pointing to them. 

He grit his teeth, looking at you pointedly. “I was chasing people when someone distracted me, and I…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I ran into a bunch of trash cans.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh hysterically, but absolutely failing.

“Hey, don’t laugh,” he rolled his eyes, a slight grin on his face. “It’s your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shook your head, gently tracing the bruises. “It’s alright, I can make it better.” You stood up on your tiptoes to press a little kiss to his cheek. 

He scoffed, looking like he was blushing a bit as he looked away from you. “I’m not five, that’s not going to work.” He ruffled your hair, making you giggle. “I’ll be fine, no major damage. I’ve been through a lot worse,” he sneered. 

You rolled your eyes. “Not everything has to be about your death,” you poked him in the side, making him laugh. “C’mon, let’s go see Alfred for some first aid.”

[jeansmartswhxre]

𝔅𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔏𝔲𝔰𝔱 | Vampire!Emily Prentiss

emily prentiss x f!reader 18+, MDNI warnings: language, smutsmutsmut!!, mentions of blood, blood kink, feeding, teasing in public (others can't hear), dirty talk, petnames, strap-on (r!receiving), dom/sub dynamics, some aftercare, usual vampire stuff, feeder!reader (youre for em and em only) 2.5k words (i got carried away) This is my first fic about Em!! Lemme know if y'all want more Vampire AU stuff!! I'm currently writing vamp au's for Emily Spencer, Hotch, and Blake (JJ and other BAU members coming soon...) I hope to god there aren't typos lmfao... ENJOY!

You had been stuck in the bullpen all day finishing up paperwork and sitting through those boring budget meetings you always hated. One of those rare days where you weren’t flying across the country to catch unsubs. This however, was horrible for you. It was horrible because it meant you were at the every whim your vampire girlfriend. Days like these were the days you sometimes wished she wasn’t a vampire. Sometimes. The mind reading thing could be sexy, but she would sometimes be such a menace. 

For instance, during one of the budget meetings, your mind wandered. While Strauss was talking, all you could think about was the last time Emily fed, her fangs sinking into your tummy near your ribs. Moments later you could feel Emily’s eyes on you, her sitting across from you at the conference table. You turned to look at her, her eyebrow quirking up as your eyes met, you looked back at Strauss, her gaze too much for you to hold. Then she got in your head, “You naughty girl darling. You forget I can read your mind.” Fuck. “Where do you want me to feed next baby? I know you love it when I suck your neck. Or maybe I try something different like your thighs.” You turn to look her, giving her a warning look before looking back at Strauss. “You’re so cute when you think you’re in charge.” Emily smirked a little when she saw your eyes close briefly, trying so hard to ignore her. “Oh don’t worry baby. I have other plans for you. Just wait until tonight sweetness.”

It was taking every thing in you to control yourself, a wave of heat washing over your core. The rest of the meeting she drove you insane, she loved doing it. Watching you squirm while no one else knew what was going on in your head. When the meeting was over, you both walked out next to each other, her passing by you swiftly. Her scent entered your nostrils, a hint of tobacco lingering with a scent that was so Em. She could hear your heart speeding up as she walked past, a smirk gracing her lips as she sat at her desk.

This was a game she played all day, she always loved how needy you could get for her, and watching it build was admittedly a guilty pleasure of hers, torturing you. You were so grateful when Hotch came out his office and called it a night, telling the team we had been there long enough, the rest of the paperwork can wait for tomorrow. We all packed up our things saying our goodbyes, JJ and Spencer staying back a little to talk as Em came over to your desk. You couldn’t help but look at her form, her legs clad with black slacks, a black and silver belt on her hips, the buckle off center, because she knew it drove you crazy every time you saw it. Her top was red and ribbed, a boatneck, exposing her collarbones. She now wore a leather jacket, to act as protection against the cool fall air (even though she didn’t need it. But hey, she had to keep up appearances), a pair of big black sunglasses in her hair as she waited for you to pack your bag. She slung her purse over her shoulder, her top riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of her stomach, where you saw the beginnings of a mark you had left from the night before. “You ready to go sweetness.” She smirked. You nodded as you put back on your blazer, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

***

The car ride home was full of tension, you were so desperate to find out what Emily was planning for you. “Don’t be so nervous darling, I think you’ll like my little surprise” She smiles, glancing at you before bringing her eyes back to the road. Now that… that scared you. A fucking menace. 

When you finally pulled up your shared house, your heart definitely picked up. “God you’re so sexy when I can hear your blood pumping through your veins, all of it just for me.” She said before she left the car, leaving you groaning in the passenger seat before finally opening the door to catch up to her as she unlocked the front door.

As you walked through your front door, the both of you sat your bags on the table in your hallway, slipping off your shoes and hanging up your jackets. The second you were done Emily’s hand was on your wrist, pulling you into her, her lips automatically connecting with your neck. You couldn’t help but bring your hands to her hair, tugging slightly (something she loved), a groan escaping your lips as her teeth nipped along the skin there. “Em, please” you whimpered, you couldn’t take it anymore. You were already ruined from all the teasing at work, you truly couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What is it sweetness? Are you that desperate. I might have to tease you a little longer if you’re gonna be impatient.” Your head immediately shook. That was the last thing you wanted her to do. “No please Emmy, please… i cant take it.”  she couldn’t help but smirk, her fangs sheathing. jesus christ. It got you every time. No matter how many times you had seen them or how many times she fed, your knees always buckled when you saw them.

She ran her fangs along the exposed part of your neck, never piercing skin, but enough to make you wince. She was all hands, tugging your pencil skirt and white turtleneck off of you as you walked to your bedroom. You were left in your bra and panties, distracted by the feeling of Emily’s hands and lips all over you. She moved you toward the bed until the back of your legs hit it, causing you to fall backwards with her on top of you. She continued her journey down your body, kissing your tummy, stopping at the mark from last night, kissing it gently before running her tongue over it in gentle circles. You couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your throat. She was so close to where you wanted, yet so far. With her on top of you, you couldn’t help but notice she was still fully clothed. Your hands slid down her sides, stopping at the hem of her shirt, gently tugging it up. “Emmy,” you whined, “You have too many clothes on baby.” You whimpered, needing to feel her beneath your fingertips. You watched as she looked up at you from your stomach, her fangs exposed, a sexy smile on her lips. 

“Alright baby, hang on… you’re lucky I need to taste you, or else I’d be edging you until the sun came up.” She smirked, leaving a kiss just above your belly button, before removing herself from on top of you. You watched as she took off her shirt and bra, her breasts jiggling slightly from their release, her hands sliding her slacks down her beautiful legs. “I’ll be right back sweetness, why don’t you take the rest of that off.” she says bending down to place a kiss on your lips, biting down on your bottom lip, before releasing it with a gentle tug walking to the bathroom in your room. Your eyes closed at the sensation, before falling off the bed, tugging your panties down your legs and your bra off your chest, throwing them god knows where. You laid on the bed patiently waiting for her to return, your body practically shaking in anticipation. Your thighs rubbing together to give yourself any semblance of friction.

You heard her footsteps, your head lolling to the side to watch her. Your eyes immediately fell to the harness across her hips, the dark red dildo jutting from it. “God baby, I could smell you all the way from the bathroom. All that for me? Fuck I bet your panties are ruined.” She said walking toward the bed. You, however, were in disbelief. The image of Em in the strap, her fangs jutting from her gums and her breasts on full display... you were practically drooling at the sight of her. She had never used the strap during your feeding before being that it was all still a little new. 

“Jesus Em.” You breathed. The smirk that played on her lips as she joined you on the bed could have made you cum right there. Your hand placed itself on her thigh, stroking it gently as she straddled your waist. 

“Baby, why don’t you get it wet for me, so I can fuck you while I feed.” Your eyes darkened at the idea. This woman was going to be the death of you. You nodded slowly as she moved a little closer to your mouth, you sitting up on your elbows to reach. Emily watched as your mouth wrapped around the dark red appendage, sucking just the tip, before sliding down further, eventually taking the full dildo in your mouth, your nose brushing against her tummy. She watched with her mouth agape, moaning when the base of it nudged against her clit. Her hands falling to your hair to move the strands from your face. “Fuck sweetness, you take me so well. I could watch you like this all night.” You did this for only a minute longer, before Emily’s hunger got too much for her to bear. She pulled you gently from her cock by your hair, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. Fuck she looked so hot above you with those fangs. 

“I heard that baby,” she smirked. She leaned down to kiss your messy lips. Your hand moved to her chest, kneading her breasts, her moaning into your mouth as you tweaked her sensitive nipples with your fingers. You felt as her legs settled between yours, her cock nudging against your core. You couldn’t help but kiss down her jaw to her neck, moving down to her breasts, your tongue circling around her sensitive buds. She whimpered above you, you always loved when you could make her do that.

You didn’t want to stop but she pulled away from you, kneeling between your legs. Her fingers trailed up your thighs and she scooted closer to your core, the tip nudging your entrance. “Fuck baby, you look so pretty like this.” She murmured, before pushing into you. Your head fell back as she let you adjust to her size. “Nuh-uh baby, none of that, keep those pretty little eyes on me, I wanna see you before I feed.” She said, her hand coming to your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as she began to move. Her pace was slow and gentle, her hands grasping your neck quickly before running itself between the valley of your breasts, down to your tummy, her hand splayed out, pressing down gently which caused you to moan. “God you look so beautiful sweetness. Ok, I’m gonna start feeding now. Just trust me baby.” She moaned, the base of the strap hitting her just right as her hips kept moving. You nodded quickly, words unable to form at the image in front of you. 

Emily leaned down, her lips leaving gentle kisses on the side of your neck, it turning into wet kisses before you felt her fangs sink into your skin slowly. “Fuck.” You stuttered, the feeling of her fangs piercing your skin, and her hips moving into you driving you insane. You could already feel your head getting woozy from the combined sensations. You could feel Em moaning against your neck as she picked up her pace, her hips starting to snap into you as she fed, the taste of you driving her crazy. The feeling of the base of her cock pushing against her clit combined with the taste of you, was almost too much for her. You could feel her hips start to falter as she continued her feed, your orgasm building like walls around you, ready to crumble at any moment. “E-Emmy, t-too much. H-head getting woozy.” You moaned, your hand gripping at her waist as if to almost push her away. “F-fuck Em, p-please.” She finally released you, licking the blood that dripped from your neck before sitting up again. When she came back up, you watched as blood dripped from the corners of her mouth, falling down her chest as her hips picked up their pace, you could tell she was chasing her impending orgasm. You had never seen a sexier sight, Emily’s boobs swaying as she snapped her hips into you, blood dripping down them, her mouth a bloodied, baring her fangs. You sat up with all the strength you had, your tongue licking the blood that had trickled down her breast, the sight breaking Emily above you.

“F-Fuck baby, c’mon cum with me.” You didn’t need to be told twice. You were already so close and the taste of Emily mixed with the coppery taste of your own blood sent you over the edge. You couldn’t help the noises that escaped your lips as you came, Emily fucking you through both of your orgasms. 

When her hips finally stopped, she fell on top of you, her lips softly kissing her feed mark. “You did so fucking good for me sweetness, such a good girl” she whispered against your skin as she laid there for a minute. Your limbs were practically jelly. You were fucked out and woozy, exactly how Emily liked you. You whimpered as she removed her strap, the sudden emptiness almost too much for you. You watched through hazy eyes as she took it off, throwing it toward the bathroom for proper cleaning later. She moved back to you, pulling you into her, you head laying on her bare chest. “I can feel your heart darling, it’s pumping so fast.” She breathed against the top of your head, kissing it gently. Her hands gently roamed your body. “Thank you baby. You did so good for me baby, you tasted as sweet as ever. Next time I’m gonna have to feed while you cum, it’ll probably be even sweeter.” She whispered. You just nodded, your body still fucked out. “Use your words sweetness.”

“You’re welcome Emmy.” You rasped, a smirk appeared on her lips before she kissed her way from the top of your head to your lips, her hand holding your chin as she placed a gentle kiss there. You laid in her arms for a while as you waited for the wooziness to go away. Once that happened, she began the aftercare routine the both of you had perfected after a feed. She ran a warm bath for you, settling behind you to help you bathe, leaving little kisses and praises in her wake. This was always one of your favorite parts. 

After the bath, she would help you put on your body butters and oils before helping you get dressed, and in bed as she brought you small snacks and water. You took a couple nibbles of the protein bar she had brought and a couple of sips of water before laying back on her, wanting nothing than to be in her arms. 

“Seriously, thank you baby.”

“Anything for you Emmy.” You smiled, placing a quick peck to her cheek before completely settling on her chest, your heartbeats synching as the both of you fell asleep, tangled in each other's limbs.

[livingformintyoongi]

can we have a drabble or oneshot where the oc says 'i can't pay for anything* this time' or offers to split the budget 50/50 and jungkook literally😒😤😡🤬 gets mad like I'm your man I'm responsible for you etc🤭hehehhe make me a delululu, I don't have work tomorrow♥️😂

Princess Treatment

a/n: I'M OFFICIALLY BACK (this is the first order I've uploaded in months lol). First of all, I'm sorry to be back after so long, I've been very busy, but I'm finally a free person and I'm at your complete disposal!

Warnings: I read the request and immediately thought of Jungkook from BOTN so I couldn't help myself and ended up using his story as the basis for the drabble, so yes, this is a little drabble of Jungkook vocalist and Y/N's relationship!, reader is 2 years older than Jk, Jungkook is totally and completely in love with Y/N and he doesn't mind hiding it, he's been in love for a long time and is willing to give anything to keep his princess happy because he knows how much she's worth and deserves to be loved <3.

WC: 760

Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @irishhbamb

Dividers: @omi-resources

"What did you say?" Jungkook murmured, stopping his fork halfway to his mouth. You were sure he'd heard what you said, but judging by the frown on his face, he didn’t seem to like the idea much.

“No... I don’t think I can pay the rent this month, at least not on my own,” you bit your bottom lip, feeling your hands begin to sweat with the uncertainty. “Do you think we could split it?” you sighed, hiding your face behind your hands. You felt embarrassed, maybe even a bit ridiculous. You were older than him, you’d been working longer than he had—how could you ask him for this? It felt really humiliating.

For a moment, you thought he’d react the same way your ex had when you asked him for the same thing a few years ago. You could almost hear the excuses and how asking for a 50/50 split was stupid, especially since he barely spent any time at home that month.

But you’d forgotten something important. This wasn’t your ex. This was the damn Jeon Jungkook, the guy who’d waited almost a decade to be with you, the one who fought with your ex when he found out what he’d done, the same one who sacrificed his reputation and the band’s just to rush to the hospital when you’d had a small accident.

“No, forget it, how could I let you pay the rent on your own?” he quickly shook his head, pushing his plate aside to look at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, “I’ll cover all the expenses, don’t worry about it.”

You froze for a few seconds, slightly opening your mouth in surprise. Had you heard that right? Did he want to pay it all? Everything?

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure before asking again, “What...? Sorry, I think I heard wrong. You want to pay it all? The whole rent?”

“And the bills too,�� he said matter-of-factly, pouring himself more soju. He glanced up for a second, then gave you that signature smile of his that melted your heart every time you saw it. “Noona, I’ve been paying for this place since the beginning, and it was me who asked you to live here with me in the first place. How could I let you pay the rent? And by yourself?” He shook his head, letting out a laugh. “That’s stupid.”

“It’s not... I…” you tried to say something, anything, ask him why he was doing this, but for some reason, it was hard for you to say anything. Probably because you’d never had a boyfriend so understanding.

“Besides... it would be unfair to split the rent 50/50 when our salaries are different. I’ve seen how much you’ve worked to get where you are, and I’ve seen how they pay you pennies for the amazing work you do,” he took your hand across the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against them. “I want you to have that money for yourself, to spend on you, without worrying about how much you need to live in our home.”

“Jungkook…” you murmured, feeling your cheeks begin to heat up. What were you supposed to do in situations like this? Laugh? Cry? Run away? The last option seemed good.

“As long as I have a job, I’ll give you absolutely everything you want, Y/N, because that’s what you deserve,” he smiled softly, his lips still gently pressed against your knuckles, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine from the contact.

“Ugh, don’t look at me like that,” you said quietly, lowering your head and covering your eyes with your hand. You felt way too embarrassed, way too shy.

“Like what?” he laughed, tilting his head, trying to make eye contact with you. A triumphant smile spread across his face when he succeeded.

“I don’t know... like you love me too much,” you murmured, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. You knew he was looking at you, and you knew he liked seeing you like this. For some reason, you didn’t feel as embarrassed with him, you felt... happier.

“Because I do, Noona,” he moved his free hand to your cheek, barely grazing it with the tips of his fingers. It felt warm and soft and so... right. “I’ve loved you for years.”

And you knew he meant it, because, damn, how could that bright look in his eyes full of hope be fake?

Masterlist.

[mattluvr]

CEO!matt, a concept.

💸 what if. . . matt sturniolo was CEO of a company?

at the grand old age of 21, matt sturniolo is the world’s youngest CEO, having inherited his father’s finance company in light of his untimely retirement.

he doesn’t complain; matt has a team of seniors to make his decisions for him, the only thing he insists on chipping in on every year being the annual christmas party. which, naturally, is infamous. it’s what most of the company’s budget gets blown on after all.

in his third year as the owner of sturniolo finances, income in the billions as the company thrived, matt threw the biggest, loudest, craziest christmas party of what he was sure was history, the entire floor of a fancy hotel packed with employees.

and some stragglers. including you.

your brother had dragged you along, overly excited about the first sturniolo finances christmas party of his employment, and had swiftly got drunk and left you to stand like a lemon by the drinks table. which is where matt found you, words slurring from one too many tequila shots, appointing you his newest secretary. one of the only decisions he’s made for the company.

and today is the day you start your new role, which matt obviously can’t remember offering you, but lets you sit at the desk outside his office, head still pounding from the party over a week ago.

“are you sure i gave you this job?” he mutters, running a hand over his face. you nod, tucking a loose strand of your bun behind your ear, hoping you’re still retaining the sophisticated look you tried to construct this morning when getting ready.

“mhm. at that party.”

“yeah, but i did a lot of things at that party.” matt says with a grimace. “like swing from a chandelier…”

you laugh, reminded of the last image you saw before you left the hotel, supporting a tipsy brother on your hip, matt dangling from the structure above you with one arm, hair messy and shirt loose. “that was pretty funny. and impressive.”

“thank you. but not the point.” he frowns, folding his arms, trying to act serious. “i don’t even think i’ve given you any paperwork to fill out. shit, i’ve not even interviewed you.”

“well, you’re the CEO, aren’t you? you can just interview me now.”

matt furrows his brows again, eyes darting to his office behind him and eventually gives in, opening the door for you with a shrug. he often doesn’t interact with any of the people he employs, the whole process too mindnumbingly boring for him, but is now starting to realise why drunk him even offered you a job position in the first place.

you’re fucking unreal, mini skirt a tad too short, shirt just slightly too low cut, and matt is drinking it all in. professionally. of course. he clears his throat, dragging his eyes back to your face with a soft blush as he gestures to the empty room. “take a seat.”

you smirk at him over your shoulder, sitting down heavily in the armchair facing matt’s desk, your skirt riding up as you cross your legs, thighs on display. matt rolls his neck; you’re trying to kill him, he swears. he follows you over nevertheless, sitting opposite and offering you a polite smile.

when your dimple shows in reply, matt doesn’t even think about the interview. “yeah, i don’t know why i did all that. you’re hired.”

“but…?”

matt holds out a hand. he knows this is a bad decision, hiring based off of physical attraction only, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he just wants you out before he blows a load in his underwear, semi poking him each time he shifts.

“you can start tomorrow morning, 8am. i’ll email the paperwork down to reception.”

shocked, you slowly stand up, and matt leans forwards, concealing a groan into his hand. “uh, well, thanks. i’ll… see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” matt nods, grinning weakly. “yep, tomorrow.”

and then you’re gone, leaving matt alone with his thoughts. fuck. hiring you? he’s screwed.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274 ) is open!

[mochatsin]

WHEN MC GETS CATCALLED

Being a very extraordinary human, you’re bound to draw attention to yourself without meaning to. That includes the attention of unruly demons who can’t seem to take their eyes off you. One of them eventually crosses the line by calling you names and saying inappropriate things about you, but luckily one of the demon brother’s overheard and was there to help you.

Some scenarios have MC overhearing this or it happens behind their back. Even though the words aren’t explicitly said, please exercise caution if these things make you uncomfortable! Also has some violent themes with some of our favorite protective demons.

------------

Lucifer

Lucifer was on his way to meet you at this restaurant because he wanted to treat you to dinner as thanks for accompanying him with one of his errands that Diavolo has sent him on. With your help, it significantly lessened the headaches and workloads he has to deal with on a daily basis.

You’ve done a lot around the house, so it’s only fair that he would take you somewhere more high end right? You’ve already frequented some of the other restaurants with Beel, so Lucifer wants to take you to somewhere more high class. He wants you to feel special tonight, and mostly to lower the chances of his brothers barging in and ruining his dinner plans.

He was waiting by the table he reserved when he saw you walk in the entrance. Given the venue, Asmo decided to make sure you look your best to surprise Lucifer because he wants you to really capture everyone’s attention because you deserve to be the star of the night.

Well it did work because to Lucifer, you look absolutely stunning. He should’ve taken you out to these sorts of places more often if it meant he’ll see you like this. If only the constant house repairs and bills his younger brothers make him pay didn’t get in the way. 

Though his admiration is cut off when he notices other demons looking at you with this predatory look in their eye, as if you were the main course walking into this restaurant. He’s holding onto anything to keep himself in line.

The last straw was when he heard the things some waiter said about you. To speak about you so lowly is insulting, there’s no way for Lucifer to sit still and act like he didn’t hear all that. The air feels so heavy to breathe in it feels like glass could shatter from the sheer pressure of it, and a deadly aura can be traced towards your reserved table. 

“Do you wish to keep your tongue? Or would you prefer to keep speaking and see where this knife goes?” Lucifer’s gaze is cold and threatening while his grip on the butterknife tightens to the point he’s almost deforming the metal. Even though he’s only talking to the waiter, he’s clearly sending the whole restaurant a message. 

You knew you needed to do some damage control and tried to get Lucifer out of there, coaxing him to calm down before it could get any worse. He decides to listen to you for now, because this whole night was meant to treat you and not stress you. 

“It’s best if we get a change of scenery. There are too many pests in this restaurant, let me take you to a nice place. Somewhere more deserving of your presence.” Lucifer would not want to dine in a restaurant if their food is served by these kinds of waiters. He’d say it’s unprofessional customer service, but you can tell it’s very personal.

He takes you to somewhere fancier and possibly more expensive. Though he’s going a bit out of budget tonight, it’s to make up for those awful words that the waiter said about you. He hopes that you don’t shy away from dressing up so nicely, because he’d want to show to the world why the Avatar of Pride chose you. He’ll treat you like royalty if he has to.

It takes one awful review from Lucifer to have the establishment shut down under the order of the young prince. He doesn’t care what strings he has to pull if it means that your stay in Devildom would be much more comfortable. You should never feel unsafe like that again.

Mammon

Every other week Mammon would make a stop by the casino to try to score some extra grimm. As if his streaks of bad luck won’t be enough to keep him away here, and not even Lucifer’s punishments can put a cease on his bad gambling habits. It’s an itch in his brain that he’s gotta scratch after all! He’s optimistic each time he enters the casino in hopes he’ll score big.

There are a few occasions you would join him if your schedule allows it. Sometimes it’s to keep an eye in case Mammon goes too far with his bets as Lucifer instructed, because he doesn’t want him to come home with more debt than he left with. Though in all honesty, you’re there for the smile your first demon gets whenever he actually wins. 

At some point Mammon believes that you’re his lucky charm when he notices how he’s been scoring more grimm than he expected whenever you’re around. If he finds that your schedule is free, then he’s definitely dragging you along. 

He likes to rub the top of your head sometimes for some extra luck before making a bet. Though he prefers it more if you’re sitting next to him when he does so. He says it’s for luck, but he just wants an excuse to have you by his side.

The demons at the opposite side sees you and begins to make snarky comments accompanied with wolf whistle. The discomfort is evident in your eyes as you instinctively move closer to Mammon, and he’s definitely not having it right now. 

Screw everything, if this asshole is picking a fight then that’s what Mammon will give him. If the demon wants to take hold of what’s his then Mammon will make it very clear to the entire table that you’re not up for grabs no matter how much grimm they’ll put on the table.

“Ya wanna make a bet how many teeth i could make ya cough out in a minute?” Mammon said, flashing a grin far too sinister. Being the second strongest and even the fastest, it doesn’t seem like a wise thing to gamble on so the demons shrunk in their seats.

You like to think that luck is finally on Mammon’s side today when he won the round. Though it’s definitely Mammon’s threatening aura around the table that impaired the everyone’s ability to make a wise decision when placing bets. 

When he walks out with his earnings, his grip on your hand is tighter than usual while he checks his surroundings. He holds you like you’d get snatched away at any moment, and it doesn’t seem like he has any intention of letting you go until you both reach the house. 

“You’re my treasure, but that doesn’t mean I like it when other demons check ya out like that.” Mammon is quite protective of his valuables. You and Goldie are on the top of the list. He’d play it off as acting this way as part of his role of Greed, but it’s clear he’s worried about you. 

Whenever you text Mammon that you’re going to fetch him from the casino, he’s insistent that you either bring one of his brothers with you or wait outside because no way is he going to let other demons look at you like eye candy like that ever again.

Levi

Despite being a bit recluse and shy, Levi is not afraid of the prospect of cosplay when it means that he gets to express his love for his favorite series. He puts in a lot of work into sewing his costumes and making sure it looks perfect for the next upcoming convention.

He’s ecstatic when you agreed to cosplay with him this time, even matching with his favorite character. As soon as he got over the fluster he got from the idea, he’s quick in whipping up clothes for your size and you both spent a lot of time in his room trying to get your outfits right, or going outside to get some more materials. 

The process was fun for Levi when he gets to do these sorts of things with you, and the payoff was worth it when you both finally got to see the end results. Levi is so confident, you two look like an absolute power couple… from the anime, yeah definitely. If Levi tried to say that again he might burst into flames.

You both go to the con and have an absolute blast taking photos together or with other people who are also fans of the series. Levi wants you to enjoy the thrill of cosplaying! But he eventually noticed midway that you’re starting to look uncomfortable. Maybe it’s the clothes? Wearing cosplay for so long can be tiring after all.

He stops when he hears a passerby making comments about you in the outfit, and it’s clear that it’s starting to make you uneasy but there’s no way that Levi is going to let someone ruin this event, not when you were clearly having fun together.

“Those aren’t compliments. They're just straight up offensive! A MOCKERY to fans who dedicate so much time and effort to the things they love!” Levi hisses because this person not only insulted the whole cosplay community, they insulted you of all people. 

You helped Levi get out of his shell and come to his aid whenever things start getting overwhelming for him. Levi doesn't want you to feel that unease, he wants you to feel safe! What if you don’t want to do matching cosplays with him anymore? That’s unacceptable!

Luckily some other people got some security to drag the creep away since there’s already a record of making other cosplayers uncomfortable as well. Levi doesn’t dwell on that though, he grabs you and gently leads you away from the crowd of onlookers. 

He tries to play it cool but if it weren't for the makeup and props on his face, you’d definitely see how red he looks right now. He mumbles something about how he must’ve sounded so stupid back there like what was he thinking… 

“I-i know that some otaku like me can’t be like those heroes i dress up as but… y-you can rely on me too!” Levi managed to say through the stutter, though just saying things like these out loud makes him wish for the ground to swallow him up. 

Levi would buy you something to cheer you up and forget about that experience, anything to bring a smile back on your face. Any merch of the series you like, maybe gamble on some cute gachapons, or just buy some desserts together. He wants you to feel better!

If other fans want to take pictures with you and you start feeling uncomfortable, Levi would do his best to drag you away or reject them for you. It’s taxing work and definitely doing numbers on his social battery, you’ll both be holed up in his room to recover after this whole ordeal. 

He’ll have pictures of both of you in cosplay as his wallpaper at some point, maybe show off some of your best pictures to his brothers. He would ramble on for so long about how you look great in the picture and really embodied the character you were dressing as. If some demon can’t appreciate you back there in the con, then Levi will definitely worship you. 

Satan

Instead of Libraries or Cafes like you both usually go to, Satan wants a nice change of pace this time and brings you to an orchestra. Through his connections, he was able to get both of you two tickets to the best seats in the house.

There’s no special occasion, he just wants to treat you to some of the finer things Devildom has to offer. Though he doesn’t really have the wallet like Lucifer does, he at least has the connections to make up for it so Satan can take you to galleries and things like these.

He was on his way to the venue where you were already waiting for him. But he stops when he hears some demon making revolting remarks about someone he saw at the entrance, only for Satan to realize that person was you when you were the only one by the doors. 

You could practically feel the rage burning through him the moment you two meet, and it looks like he’s hardly containing his wrath. Though Satan promised you a nice night, it would be a shame to waste these expensive tickets by going feral right now so he decides to keep it to himself. 

He keeps you close for the night, giving you the royalty treatment and whispering sweet nothings by your ear during the orchestra. If you ask him what brought up this sort of behavior (not that you’re against it), he’d just smile it off. He’d be honest about it, but not tonight. Satan wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of the play worrying.

“Something just brought down my mood, though it made me realize just how special you are to me. I’d do anything to keep you safe, and make you smile.” He whispers by your ear, wrapping an arm to bring you closer to him as you both listen to the orchestra. 

His eyes narrow as soon as he spots the demon from earlier just a few seats across from you. His pupils dilate, like how a cats’ eyes would when it spots a prey to stalk. 

From time to time his gaze would turn to your side, and if that bastard would ever even look at you for even a millisecond then he’s gripping on the armrest for his dear life because he swears he’s going to throw a punch or even worse. 

But no, Satan can be patient and cunning. He waits until the demon excuses himself to the bathroom, and Satan promptly follows behind. The demon was simply washing his hands and by the time he looks up the mirror, Satan is already looming behind him with a smile that doesn’t seem to match the aura he’s giving off. 

“Let’s be thankful that the orchestra seems to be quite loud for now. It’s a shame I’m going to miss it with my human, but it’ll be perfect to cover up any screams” Satan says with a sinister grin. If those eyes cannot see your true value, then those eyes are not worth keeping. 

Satan comes back to you with a smile on his face, apologizing for taking a bit long in the bathroom before you both enjoy the rest of the show while holding hands. He’ll occasionally place a kiss on the back of your hand, enjoying each reaction he’ll get from you.

The demon’s seat remains empty for the entire night and the bathroom is closed for ‘maintenance’ when you check. 

Asmo

What started as a usual hangout with Asmo quickly turned to a day in the mall. For the demon’s defense, it was the perfect opportunity after he tried to help wash your clothes and realized you’re wearing the same ones every week. 

He will not stand for this when Devildom’s fashion line has so much to offer for you. You’ve been cycling through the same outfits recently, and Asmo wants you to have a new look!

Unlike his usual clothes shopping spree with you where he makes you try a heaping basket of outfits, Asmo wants you to choose whatever you want to wear this time and see what kind of clothes catches your eye.

Clothes tell a lot about a person, so he wants to see your aesthetic properly and know what you personally like. You try on the outfits you like and he’s loving the smile on your face each time. Of course Asmo would have suggestions, but not the kinds that would stray away from your aesthetic but rather improve it.

Asmo was waiting patiently for you in the dressing room when he heard some demons behind him, a few aisles back, talking about how absolutely delicious you looked. Even going as far as thinking of grabbing a bite and just hearing such words is making Asmo’s blood boil. 

He’d stand for it if it were directed at him, but to his human? He will not let some lesser demons talk about you that way. If anything, those demons should be cowering for you because of how stunning you are! 

“My love did not spend so much time trying out clothes that make them happy only for maggots like you to gawk at them that way.” Asmo glares, his eyes having that hypnotic enchanting glow in it. With the demons under his spell, Asmo has so much planned. A whole world of pain was waiting for them until he heard you from the dressing room calling out for him.

Asmo quickly utters a command to make the demons leave, he’ll just have to deal with them later. Maybe later he can ask Satan for a curse to force them to cry and make their tears burn like acid if those demons ever laid their eyes on you like that again. 

He’d have his usual smile plastered on his face as soon as you walk out the dressing room with another outfit you chose, though he sounds much more enthusiastic last time. Asmo is showering you with praises, he’ll find a way to make a compliment that brings a smile to your lips no matter what you wear. There’s no innuendos or any poor attempt at flattery, he sounds genuine this time.

“This isn’t just some sweet talk! I love your smile whenever you wear something you like and feel good about it. You should wear these more often, and maybe after this we can find some accessories to match your style!”

Asmo doesn’t tell you about the things he heard from when you were still in the dressing room, he thinks there’s no need for you to waste time on such things. Though you’ve noticed how he seems to have two lesser demons following him around and carrying all his things for him. Satan just says that they did something to upset Asmo, now they’re practically his slaves until he feels better.

Beel

You often drop by before Beel’s Fangol practice to give him a snack, your own personal way of cheering him on and wishing him good luck. Beel loves your generosity, and eating food that came from you specifically seems to energize him more.

Sometimes he’d spot you watching over him by the bleachers, either by yourself or with Belphie napping on your lap. You’re like his personal cheerleader, and whenever you both lock eyes he can feel his heart making leaps in his chest when you wave at him. 

He’s by the locker room changing out of his sweaty clothes when he overheard one of the demons talking about the exchange student watching over them. Beel could tell from their words that they seemed interested in you, which didn’t leave a good feeling in his gut.

Eventually their words became something much more twisted and vile, saying things that Beel would never associate you with. He’s had enough of sitting by and letting them just think they could talk about you like that and get away with it. 

There’s a loud BANG! And the sound of metal crunching. The demons turned around to see that Beel, out of pure anger, slammed the locker door hard enough that it’s barely hanging on by the wedges. There’s even a large hand print if they looked close enough. 

“If you keep talking that way… our next training sessions are going to be very rough.” There’s a growl as Beel spoke, his gaze making the demons feel so small before he left. He knows they’re supposed to be his teammates, but that doesn't mean anything to him after what they’ve said about you.

You walk up to him in a hurry as soon as you spot him after practice, asking him what was that loud noise you heard from the locker room. Beel blinks at you for a moment before smiling, “my teammate just slipped and hit against the locker. Don’t worry, no one is hurt yet.” 

You tried to ask about the part where he said ‘yet’ but Beel’s roaring stomach made it cue, signaling that it’s time to grab a bite after training. Perhaps it’s best to drop it for now, there are more important matters such as making sure Beel gets something to eat before he throws a fit.

The next few practices, you noticed the aggressive behavior Beel is displaying during Fangol training. You know that it’s just a violent form of Football, but you’ve watched Beel purposely launch the ball onto his teammates faces and tackle them hard against the ground when he gets the chance.

Only Belphie knows the truth of why his twin is acting that way, but he tells you not to think about it too much. “Don’t worry, he’s just letting out some steam” He says, unfazed when he spots his twin hurling himself against his teammate and tackling him to the point he’s sure it could cause a concussion.

Belphie

Belphie may be Sloth incarnate, but there’s no denying that he’s smart when it comes to studies. You see him with high marks in class despite never catching him awake during the lectures. You’d see him sleep with his head next to a book and he wakes up like he knows everything in it’s contents.

You ask for his help with an upcoming report you have for your next class and even though he wanted to tease you about it, he can see that you’re a little nervous about it so he keeps that to himself and agrees to fill in the gaps of your knowledge. 

Belphie originally wanted to just telepathically tell you what to say, that’s an easy way out right? But you told him that it’s cheating and you want to study hard. Belphie playfully rolls his eyes but he does it your way and answers your questions on the topic. He doesn’t overwhelm you with information, but he helps tutor you so that you can have a bit of faith in yourself when you present to the class. 

He put in an effort to stay awake when it was your turn to present and he has this sleepy smile on his face whenever you two made eye contact. You put in a lot of effort in your report, and he feels happy for you when you finish without problems. He’ll congratulate you when he wakes up because he has no energy to listen for the rest of the lecture and sleeps on the desk.

Belphie woke up by the time class had ended and everyone was already preparing for break time. He peeks through his bangs to see that you probably already went ahead to the cafeteria and he was about to follow suit when he overheard a particular conversation between his classmates that were still in the room.

He thought they were talking about your report but it turns out that wasn’t the case. He hears all the disgusting things they were saying about you and it’s taking every bit of self control he has to stay calm, his fingers gripping onto the desk that there’s bound to be claw marks. 

The demons hardly noticed Belphie and talked without a care in the world as they’re about to exit the classroom. Though their bodies started feeling heavy and they were getting sluggish, like reaching the exit is suddenly a taxing thing to do. Eventually their bodies drop, hardly having the energy to move no matter how much they try. 

Belphie is standing above them, looking down on them as if he was staring at two piles of trash on the floor. “They spent so much effort on that report… I'm not going to let lowlifes like you tarnish all that.”

You were about to head back to the classroom with a snack you bought for Belphie as thanks for helping you, until you saw the demon just exit the room and close the door behind him. You tease him for oversleeping again before handing him the Devil Pudding cup you got for him. 

Belphie accepts the treat, and he’d tease you about looking so nervous before your report but he’ll praise you afterwards. “You worked so hard after all. You could’ve taken the easy way out or something, but you didn’t. You should be proud of yourself too…” 

When you two went back to the classrooms, you noticed some empty seats of what was previously occupied by your classmates. Someone told you that they started feeling ‘unwell’ and were sent to the clinic. No one really knows what happened to the demons.

[cyberskulzzz]

In honor of me moving and not having wifi the last three days I made this while I was gone:

Moving in with Rodrick Heffley Headcanons!🎀

(not proof read)

Prompt: After years of touring together, you and Rodrick finally move into your first stable home.And you two try to find compromises on your decor styles. 

(You’re both in your twenties now. Think grunge/punk x coquette/girly vibes,iykyk.)

•Obviously Rodrick lives for his subculture its not just his style, it’s self expression. While you’ve lived together on tour, moving into a real apartment together feels completely different,you quickly notice the clashing of your guys’s visions for your home. 

•This is the first time since high school that either of you has had a stable place to call home,not couch surfing or living out of suitcases. 

•So to prepare you sat down together and made a list of what your new place needed,separating responsibilities for furniture and decor to each of you. 

•Now the actual clash,Rodrick assumed your decorating style would stay simple, like it was used to be on the road,mostly black and leather,with a few pink accents here and there to bring in your personality. However now that you guys had that rockstar budget and you could buy your whole ass pinterrest board,you were way to excited to not do so. 

•But when you came home and he saw the boxes filled with bows, pastel furniture,and candles, he was visibly overwhelmed.

•“Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

“I don’t fuck with pink that much, babe.”

“We don’t need, like, twenty bows in one place. Not even Santa’s elves have that many yk.“

•But before you could respond annoyed,you noticed his decor piled by the door: thrifted, torn items he’d collected over the years. Leopard print blankets, a beat-up leather couch, a black table covered in graffiti and stickers, and a few lava lamps.

•The two of you argued for about 30 minutes before Rodrick,got fed up

•: “Let’s just put everything up and see how it looks. If it’s terrible, we’ll fix it.”

•You agreed,mostly hoping your style would take over the atmosphere if you decorated faster.

•Luckily the feared clashing of your styles wasnt bad at all,to your surprise. 

The apartment ended up looking like a chaotic mix of grunge and coquette.Your Yankee candles sat next to his record player, your novels next to his cds.

•Rodrick hated the pile of decorative pillows on your bed. When he found out they were “just for decor” and needed to be put off the bed every night, he lost it. Your bedtime routine didn’t help either: silk sheets, incense sticks, humidifiers, and meditative audiobooks. It drove him crazy,at first. But after the first time you gave him a sheet mask and a skincare session, he was asleep in minutes. Now, he doesn’t mind the routine,as long as he’s included. 

•Rodrick is surprisingly chill about letting you take over the kitchen and bathroom essentials. He couldn’t care less if he’s drinking out of a hello kitty mug or drying off with a pink towel after showering.We know damn well that man is comfortable in his masculinity. 

•Rodrick is an excellent host,being used to having many people around on tour.Your friends, family, and band members always feel welcome,sometimes even overstay their welcome. There’s ALWAYS someone around on the weekends.  You two have a whiteboard by the door where guests can scribble little messages or doodles. Next to it is a Polaroid wall, filled with pictures of you and Rodrick from all the way back in high school. 

•The guest room doubles as a writing/home studio.Rodrick often disappears to “work,” but you know he’s just messing around on his drums half the time,needing to clear his head. 

•You constantly have to remind him of things like throwing away trash or closing the toothpaste. (Susan is so thankful for you when she sees the improvement lol.)

•It’s a little messy, a little chaotic, but filled with love and you couldn’t care less. 

[emilysholster]

Bratty (David Rossi x Reader)

Summary: David punishes you for acting out at work

Warnings: NSFW, public teasing/flirting, dirty talk/pet names, daddy kink, [unprotected] PinV sex, edging, oral sex (D receiving), face-fucking, light D/S dynamics, mention of degradation, (fem!reader)

Translations: gattina (kitten)

A/N: inspired by an ask from @vikingstoner69, thank you! 🩷

Admin day was always such a bore. No cases, just talks about budget and financial planning for the whole work day. While Emily took on the brunt of the work as chief, it was still each team member’s responsibility to present to everyone their ideas for the budget updates and what they’d like to see added to the team’s toolkit.

It was during these presentations that your genius idea to get over the boredom came to you. You rolled your chair a bit so that you were further back from the table, and able to see the back of everyone’s heads. You were not directly visible to anyone else on the team except for David, who was at the front of the room.

The two of you had been dating in secret for some time. You’d mutually decided to not let the team know until you were both comfortable, and that meant things were in that easy spot right now. Your nights consisted of separate car rides from work to either his place or yours, where you’d then enjoy dinner, and later, each other.

You felt a light tingle between your legs thinking about last night and the way you’d made David groan. Watching him at the front of the room, you crossed your legs, squeezing your thighs together. The action had a double purpose, as the skirt you were wearing rode up your thighs slightly, exposing more of your skin. You smirked to yourself when you saw David’s gaze catch on your legs as he spoke.

As he went on with his presentation, you began upping your antics. You pulled your hair out of the bun it was in, letting it fall down your shoulders. Next, you began toying with the top button of your blouse. Innocent enough, but when you slipped the second button out of its hole to show off your chest, David stuttered. You looked at him innocently as you bounced the end of your pen against your lips, playing with it. Now David shot you his you’re gonna get it look, unnoticed by the rest of the half-asleep team.

“And that about wraps it up.” He said, ending his presentation.

“Alright!” Emily blinked herself out of her daze. “Thank you, Dave. Ok, and last but not least, Penelope?”

David took his seat next to you as Garcia went to the front and began her colourful presentation about some new tech software she could use funding for.

With Garcia caught up in her presentation and you still being out of sight of the rest of the team, you dropped your hand to caress David’s thigh. You traced circles with your finger, getting dangerously close to his bulge before drifting away again. You smiled to yourself when David cleared his throat next to you, but before you could push him further, his hand grabbed yours, forcing it to stop.

Not wanting to draw the attention of the team, you tried to gently squirm your hand away. But David’s large hand kept its grip on yours, preventing you from moving. Annoyed, you huffed quietly, giving in. You spared a quick glance at him but he kept his eyes straight ahead, jaw set. Uh oh.

•••

At home, you were pouring wine for the two of you when you heard the door open. Before you could even turn at the footsteps making their way towards you, David was behind you, pressing you up against the counter. His large hands came to rest on either side of you, pinning you in place as he brought his mouth close to your ear. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You hummed, arching so your ass was pressed up against him.

“So bratty today,” David husked into your ear. You stifled a groan when you felt him grinding against you. “I think you need a lesson.”

Suddenly he was tugging your skirt down, followed by your panties. Heat rushed to your skin as he nudged your legs apart, forcing you to stand there bent over and completely exposed.

You heard him unbuckle his belt behind you. “Look at how wet you are for me. Dripping just from teasing me all day.” Without warning, he pushed his cock into you. David groaned at the feeling of your tight walls engulfing his cock, your wetness covering him as he pushed into you.

You all but purred at the feeling of his cock filling you up, the ache between your legs finally getting taken care of. But before the pleasure building in you could reach its peak, David pulled his cock completely out of you. You whined at the loss, pushing backwards in hopes of getting him back in you.

Instead you were met with a sharp slap on your ass, making you hiss. “What, you thought you could act out all day and still get fucked like you wanted to?”

“Fuck!” You groaned out when he pushed his cock back into you. But just as quickly he was back out, and he began picking up this torturous rhythm of filling you up before withdrawing, not letting you soak up the pleasure.

Pretty soon you were at the brink of tears, whining. “Having regrets now, gattina?” David grunted from behind you as he slipped his cock out again.

“Yes,” you cried out in frustration. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” Your hole was aching now, and you could feel your wetness leaking out of you.

“We both know that’s a lie, don’t we?” You could hear the smirk in David’s voice as he traced a finger down your spine, and even that simple action had you arching.

“I’m sorry, I mean it.” You were begging now, so desperate to have his cock back inside you and hitting that sweet spot again. “Please, please just fuck me Daddy.”

David’s cock twitched at your use of the name. You didn’t always use it, but some of his best memories were of when you did.

You felt his cock rub through your folds, nudging your clit before lining up with your entrance and pushing in slowly. Both of you groaned as he pushed deep inside you, letting both of you savour the feeling of him against your walls.

One of David’s hands gripped your hip while the other tangled itself in your hair, gently pulling you up so you were flush against him now as he began fucking you. “Oh fuck,” you groaned. “Yes, right there.”

“This is what you wanted all day, didn’t you?” David’s voice by your ear was strained as he pounded into you. “To be bent over taking Daddy’s cock.”

“Yes!” You moaned as his hand snaked around your front, his fingers beginning to circle your clit. You felt David lick a stripe down your neck, and he pulled your shirt collar to attach his mouth to the sensitive skin. He bit down gently, making you hiss, and immediately soothed the skin with his tongue, making sure you’d be wearing turtlenecks for the next few days.

The combined sensations of his cock, mouth, and fingers had you feeling heady with pleasure, the wave building in you threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna come, Daddy.” You groaned.

“Do it, gattina. Come for me.” David panted from behind you. His permission was all you needed; the pleasure that’d been building finally spilling over. David held onto you tight while you moaned as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

David pulled out of you as you relaxed, and you turned to see him with his still-hard cock in his hand. Smirking, you dropped to your knees and took his cock into your hand. It was slick with a mixture of precum and your juices, and you admired the way his veins bulged beneath his tan skin.

David’s cock twitched in your hand as you circled the tip with your tongue before taking him into your mouth. “Oh fuck,” he groaned from above you. You used your other hand to cup his balls as you began slurping on his cock, running your tongue from the base to the tip repeatedly.

“Yes,” David hissed. “Take Daddy’s cock just like that, gattina.” His hands buried themselves in your hair and he held your head in place as he began fucking your mouth. You braced yourself by holding on to him, moaning at the feeling of your mouth being filled by his thick cock.

“Look at you, my little slut.” David husked. “I’m gonna come in that hot mouth of yours.” He was watching you as you looked up at him through your lashes while you took his cock between your lips. You relaxed your throat, allowing him in deeper.

“Shit,” David grunted from above you, and he doubled his pace before shooting his cum into your mouth. He groaned as his cock oozed into your mouth, and you eagerly sucked and swallowed.

You wiped your mouth as you stood up, and David grabbed you by the chin for a hungry kiss. He moaned at the taste of himself on your lips and you giggled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed you closer to him.

He pulled away and placed a kiss on your forehead. “You’re so good for me.”

You smiled up at him and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Looking down at the mess of your clothes on the kitchen floor, you giggled. “I guess we should order in.”

“Good idea.” David laughed.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Lovefool [dark!Konig x fem!Reader]

Konig gets to secure a little trophy from the battlefield. Hope you're in for a ride.

!TW! Kidnapping, Yandere themes, Dub-con, dark!Konig

Tags: Yandere, Dark Romance, colonel!Konig, dark!Konig, Size kink, Age gap(Konig in his thirties and Reader is in her twenties), Stockholm syndrome speedrun, Konig is a huge pervert, submissive Reader

You never knew who he was before he attacked.

Your teammates did – whisperers about KorTac getting on their tails, stories about their crazy psycho commander who could barely pass a word to his subordinates while smacking heads off trained men in full armor. Spooky tails for the recruits who refuse to train in their free time – something about “If you aren’t getting in shape by the end of the month, König is going to get you”.

You never knew who he was – you barely knew the organization you worked in.

Cyber security, lowly private military. They are hiring based on CV alone and didn’t ask for a fancy college and a few degrees in hacking that you could never get. They wanted experience, and you had at least a bit of it – you passed through basic training, never serving in the military before, but fine with promises of never actually going out in the field since you would be giving them intel and cyber support from the sidelines.

Well, they never told you that “the sidelines” would be 100 meters away from the actual battlefield.

You don’t even remember what the mission was about – something important, you guess, because they asked you to be here, on sight, computer in hand, and your comrades, with whom you barely talked outside of work, alongside you. Something about weapon smuggling, though you never actually understood if you were stopping it or doing it. Working in the middle of the European Union pays a lot, and it sort of counts as free travel – you’re somewhere in Germany, maybe on the border with Poland or Austria or Czech Republic. Nothing but fields of grass and occasional mountains. They gave you a riffle, a sidearm, and instructions to try not to get too wounded since they wouldn’t be dragging your body out of the field. S[read sheet with intel opened on your computer – you’re not their secretary, but at least they don’t want you to hack the Pentagon.

You heard screams from your tent: “KorTac”, “Compromised”

“König”

What was the weirdest thing – he was alone. A single man shouldn’t be able to take on a team of trained mercs, even as lowly as your company was. You all had weapons, armor, and means of at least taking him down as a group – and you were like a bunch of babies with toy guns on the playground when a pitbull came in.

Your leader fell first – you saw his head explode with a perfect shot right between his eyes. no one screamed sniper, but you still ducked under the field table, hoping that it would save you a few minutes of peace before you’d manage to delete all of the important files from your laptop. This was the protocol – if you are in the middle of dying, you need to first make sure that the enemy won’t get a hold of precious company correspondence and deeply personal photos of your cat.

You leaned forward to see what was happening on the field – you heard screams, you heard gunshots, you heard…

Laugh.

Deep, loud, the laugh that sounded both malicious and cheerful at the same time. It sounded like the man had a field day of breaking necks and stabbing his teammates. You've never seen so much blood on someone. You wish you never had.

Your teammates are falling like porcelain dolls when the elephant hits the kitchen, and you are trying your best to be a good little hacker and not let your company down before your inevitable demise. Turning on your laptop, waiting for whatever ancient version of Windows you had since the budget was mostly going into flashy guns and cool night vision headsets, you are getting ready to format all the disks when….

“The Windows update is in the process. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

Oh, hell no. You are not going to wait another 9 hours, you could barely survive for the next 9 minutes! Of course, naturally, obviously, you can just turn off the computer and get it off work because the files will get fried up and it won’t turn on again, ever. Which would still complete your goals, so…

— Come on, please…f-fuck, please, just let me…

“As a method of complete data loss prevention, Windows has disabled the ability to manually turn off your computer. Please, wait approximately 9 hours to complete”

— Found you, Maus.

Something – a hand, big, covered in the type of protection you never saw on your fellow soldiers – yanked your ankle, dragging you from under the table you were hiding under. The air stinks of blood and you involuntarily whimper, hands are going to grab the laptop. You need to smash it, destroy it, maybe just drop it hard enough on the floor, push it against the wall, and try your best to kick it enough to damage the disk and prevent KorTac from accessing the files.

The guy steps on your hand, taking the laptop away. You swear to god you hear a crack – you prayed that he would accidentally smash the laptop, but it was your hand under his boot.

— Hurts? Good.

You whimper as he carefully puts the laptop away, checking if it’s still working. He then returns to you – laying on the floor, fingers still shaking in pain, and attempts to grasp for the computer that was snatched away. There is nothing you can do – you have a gun, yes, and he has at least three guns and deadly man-bear hands, so even if you were fast enough to draw a gun before he would, he can just kick you like a puppy.

König – it’s him, it must be him, your teammates were screaming his callsign and talking about a devil who wears a sniper hood and has the height of a not very small tree – kicks you in the ribs, turning you from the side to your back, facing him. If you were stronger, you would do something cool – bite his ankles, for example. Or spit in his face as the last remaining tip of your dignity, before he would kill you or torture you or feast on your flesh.

— Verdammte Feiglinge, can’t even face your death like a man. Look at me, ja?

Crying isn’t a shameful thing to do. So, you cry. Soft little whimpers, sniffles, you are probably looking wet and disgusting, but you hurt, scared, and fucking tired and you want out of here, and you never actually wanted to be a soldier, and they all lied to you while promising to keep you out of the field, and this uniform is horrible, and you feel your tears soaking the half of bandana you were using as a face mask and…

He snatches the mask from your face. Look you in the eyes for long enough to make your whimpers even more audible. You can swear to god that his pupils were dilated. That his hands were shaking. You could see his eyes getting scrunched in that particular way that their owner is smiling – sincerely, openly, from the bottom of his heart.

— Please…p-please, be fast, I don’t know anything, I will…I won’t, I…

Rough, calloused hand goes to cup your face. The material of his glove is tough and soaked in blood as he smears it on your cheek, your fingers are going to wipe away the tears – you don’t understand what’s happening and you are even more scared, and your mouth is twitching in a terrified grimace. He pushes the tip of his finger into your mouth, making you suck on the blood and dirt of the fabric. You think you are going to throw up.

— Quiet.

You don’t understand why he didn’t kill you yet. He is touching your face, slowly, his one hand is enough to cover your entire head and you’re sure that if he’d want to just squish your brain like a rotten cabbage, he could just fine. He pushes his finger even deeper in your mouth and you lick it involuntarily because this is an intrusion and you have the brain of a two-year-old who sees the world through their ability to devour things, and his pupils dilate even more. He looks at your frown, your tears, and your lips wrapped around his finger.

He yanks you on your feet embarrassingly easy.

— You’re a hacker?

You blink a few times. Now, the protocol is that no, you can’t state who you are, If he knows that you are a hacker, he can take you away for interrogation, maybe torture you for passwords and the intel on your company, and being tortured isn’t something on your monthly calendar. Now, the protocol also states that you have to be able to die for your company, and…

He grabs your neck, lifting you – surprisingly gently, softly even, a hand supports your waist so you won’t be able to either kick him or get choked to death because of his grip.

— Answer me, Maus. I might have a reason to let you live.

You do want to live. Maybe not long, definitely not until you’re 100 years old with dozens of grandchildren, but being able to live past the next few hours and then days and then weeks does sound incredible.

— Y…yes. I’m a cyber security specialist.

He squeezes your neck more. Pushes you up, making you cough in your grip. You never experienced anything like this before – never had a guy strong enough to handle you like this. It would look cool from the side, probably – like something from a videogame. It would look hot in the porn, probably, if it was consensual and happening between two passionate lovers.

But you are his enemy, and he is yours – cold blue eyes peering right into yours. He is looking at you like a piece of meat, and not even in the lustful, hungry way. He looks like a butcher in front of a very good beef cut, thinking about where should he sink his knife to get the best steaks. A hunter standing over the wounded deer, thinking if he wants your head above his fireplace or taxidermy your whole body as a wicked trophy.

— Didn’t know they’d allowed someone so fucking small in the field.

You can swear to god that you saw him smile, under this hood. You can’t see his face, obviously, only the blood-soaked fabric and his eyes, but something still tells you that he is smiling. Enjoying your attempts to escape, maybe – you tried to kick him a few times, producing a deep, amused chuckle from his lips. He holds you so easily like you are nothing but a sweet little kitten. You might not be as big as him, but he still shouldn’t be able to lift a grown woman in full gear with just one hand. Right?

— I’m not…not s-small.

You don’t have much fight left in you. You are on the verge of just asking him to kill you, to be honest, your neck hurts and the pain spreading from your fingers pulsates and transforms. You hope they are not broken – even though you understand that your chances to live past these few minutes are very slim. Even your usual snark is lost, forbidden in the hands of a giant who likes to play with his food.

You do feel like a mouse – in a way that you would die under his boot very soon.

He – König, monster, colonel, fucking deadly mercenary – chuckles again. You can get used to this sound. Melodic almost, in a way that most alarms are melodic while telling you about inevitable catastrophe.

— Kleine verfickte Maus. Ich wette, dass du auch ganz eng bist.

He is laughing, again. Laughing and chuckling and you can’t take it anymore because he is so obviously stronger than you, it’s not fair. You want to put your foot on the ground and tap it like a spoiled brat, like a baby on the playground whining for their mom to take them home because other kids don’t want to play by their rules. The difference in skill is so obvious, that you aren’t even able to put on some sort of fight.

— Wh…I don’t speak German.

Your other hand – the one that didn’t get squished under his boot – goes to scratch his arm. Maybe put up enough struggle that he would accidentally let you fall right from his grasp. He doesn’t react and you feel hopeless. Weak, useless, you remember all the times you decided to miss training so you could just chill in the lounge with other rookies or do something on your computer.

— You will, Maus.

Then, there is only darkness.

***

You woke up…somewhere.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t the first time you woke up. You remember opening your eyes, feeling the vibrations under your cheek, hearing the noises of a car or other vehicle moving fast. Too fast for your already spinning head and stomach – you don’t remember if you were coughing or vomiting, but the movement wasn’t stopping to ever let you breathe. You were being transported somewhere, without a chance of knowing where you were heading. At least now, when you get to the final, as you think at least, destination, you’re clean.

As much as someone tied up to a chair somewhere that reminds you of a basement can be.

You’re stripped of your weapons obviously – not like you had a chance to use them anyway. Your hands are tied behind your back, your legs are bound to a chair, and your tragic lack of clothes is…more evident than you wanted it to be. At least you still have your underwear on – it still didn’t make the situation better. He saw you naked, completely, and he might do god knows what with you now.

Although you have some feelings about what he can do with a weak enemy hacker, half-naked and tied up in a secure place.

You would panic, but it requires energy. A resource that you don’t have right now.

— You woke up. Gut. Started to think I went too much again.

His accent is weird, you think. The thought only occurs to you now, when you can hear him more clearly while not being that afraid of getting out of this alive. His voice is weirdly calm for someone of his size – you want to think of gentle giants but this man is far from gentle and is almost too big to even be called a giant. A colossus, you want to say.

— Again?

Your voice is raspy, both from your sleep and from lack of water. When was the last time you drank anything? Probably more than a few hours – your throat is dry as sandpaper, and your head is dizzy from both your trauma – he either strangled you to unconsciousness or beat you hard enough – and the dehydration. You don’t want to spend another minute in this basement – you think this is a basement, at least, the high humidity on the walls and some garbage tossed to the corner is fairly evident. It’s large, too – you never saw anything like this. It might be a KorTac prison, but the remains of a bike and a few shelves of canned foods tossed to the other side of the room tell otherwise.

— We’re allowed to take trophies home. Sometimes I get…impatient.

You’re in his house? Does a monster like him even need a house?

“A trophy”

Funny how you don’t even feel that dehumanized. He didn’t kill you, you don’t feel the evidence of violation on your body – you are clean, neat even, your stomach and private parts aren’t hurting, and, as much as you hate to say this while tied up to a chair, you are as comfortable as a person in your position can be.

— What are you going to do with me?

You shake like a leaf. He finally steps closer to you, coming from the ladder – you can hear the lock and a heavy door being closed, setting your hopes of escape. Not like you could, in your position – the bruises already forming on your legs and hands, a numbed pain in your head and fingers. You feel shitty and comfortable at the same time, trying to tune off the discomfort and just concentrate on talking to him.

He didn’t kill you – this is good, you can work with this.

He left you alive – this is bad, he is going to torture you, he is going to do a million terrible things with you and you are not a part of a regular army, You didn’t get the torture resistance training. Maybe, if it was some of your friends, other girls in the group who got through military school and never missed gym to sit on their computers, they would have survived. You never felt so weak before – not even on the battlefield.

God, you’re scared.

— Your computer. My employer needs the info you had on it.

Oh.

It’s not personal, at least. He is here for the information, not to take advantage of your weak, fragile body. It made you almost feel at peace, almost made you forget about your lack of clothing and the damp basement you’re being put in.

— What sort of info do you need?

You slowly start to wiggle your hands in your binds – he used plastic locks, those stupid unremovable things that are slowly cutting the soft flesh of your wrists. You can’t untie them, but you can try at least tear them on the metal of your chair. You can try to, just to say that you did, and not feel bad about not resisting him at all.

— Your last mission. You were trying to smuggle weapons into the EU border.

— We were trying to stop the smuggling of weapons.

At least, you think you were – your head hurts, your memories are dizzy, and they never actually told you what kind of job you had. Come to think of it, actually, you never asked whether you were the good guys or the bad guys – it was always about money, paychecks, getting your job done and not dying from lack of nutrition because most tech-jokey jobs are already filled with uninspired chatbots and graduates from fancy colleges with a dick between their legs. Not reserved for tired women like you – so you turn to, ironically, paramilitary organizations. How the tables have turned.

— That’s not what our intel says, Maus. Do you want to lie to me?

You don’t. You just don’t know if you are telling the truth or lying because you are too fucking tired to even think straight.

He comes closer, and you whimper involuntarily. His breath hitches.

— Scheisse…they knew who to hire.

He grabs you by the neck again, and you can finally see him fully – towering over you, cold blue eyes staring right into you. You sob, not able to handle your emotions because, oh god, he is going to rape you, torture you, and then put a giant burning stick right in your ass because everyone knows that this is the best way to hack a computer – you just need to find the person who put the password in the first place.

— Can’t you just hack the computer yourself?

He chuckles – you’re getting tired of that sound. You hate that you found his voice attractive, you hate the fact he is keeping you down here. You want to destroy that part of your body that likes the attention – how his eyes are only kept on you. Never had a guy kidnapping you before, and you fight the feeling of disappointment that strikes you when you remember that he is here because he needs the intel. Not because he wants you.

— It wasn’t a…conventional operation. Can’t waste manpower on breaking the walls you installed.

His hand goes to cup your face again – you frown, breathing stops because he is so close and he takes off his gloves, allowing his rough, calloused fingers to linger on your cheeks. He squeezes your face in an almost adorable manner and steps back again. You lick your dry lips again, trying hard to keep at least one part of your body moisturized, and his breath hitches again.

He goes behind you, ruffles through shelves – you can hear something falling, his awkward grunt as he had to pick it up. He is more clumsy than you though – more nervous also, hands are jittering and fingers twitching every time you look at him. Adorable, really, how this huge mess of a man can look so innocent and almost nervous in front of you.

König returns after a minute or two, holding…a water bottle. Closed, lid still on, little plastic wrapping in place. You have half a mind about just drinking it, even though he doesn’t offer it to you. Not like you could open it yourself, with how your hands are still tied up behind your back.

— You don’t speak German.

It’s not a question – it’s a statement. you watch him opening the bottle with ease, large hands are working on something so fragile and delicate. You can’t remember the last time you had sex, not with how fast your head is spinning and memories still foggy, but you think it was a long time ago – because you feel your cheeks heated from the simple actions of his large fingers ripping through soft plastic.

God, you don’t really remember what was happening before you got here, not in detail, but you know that you needed to get laid like, a year ago.

— No.

— You will.

— Wh…what do you mean?

Is he going to make you install Duolingo? Is this what it all was about? Some elaborate prank, a marketing campaign, a tough lesson for silly girls who think that knowing just your native language is enough to live your life and…

— When you want something, Maus, you have to say “bitte”.

If you were a strong and cool soldier, you would use this moment to jump from your chair, using the weight of your body to fall on him and make him lose balance, and then spit in his face as your last remaining blast of human dignity.

But you aren’t a cool and strong soldier, and you really need to drink.

— B…bitte. What does this mean?

— Please.

He is almost whispering, the water bottle tanging in his hands in front of you. You take your time, considering the possibilities – you can play like a good little prisoner and allow him to take your pride and just toss it aside. You can play like an obedient hostage and ask him nicely, hoping that it would be enough.

You don’t know what to do – appearing too shy and soft can give him…ideas. And you don’t want this crazed giant who is keeping you bound in his basement to get ideas. You can…you probably can spend more time without water. Or food. Or shower and change of position.

You take your time answering, and his demeanor seems almost…anxious. His eyes are darting between the water bottle and your face, between his hands and your body – like he can barely keep a calm facade and not force you into doing something nasty. Like he is almost afraid that you are not going to cooperate and he would really have to hurt you in a meaningful way.

— Can I have water, bitte?

— Gutes Kätzchen. Drink, you’ll need it.

In the end, you broke down first. Not because you are this weak, but because being a brat won’t save you in a situation like this. You don’t want to die over something as trivial as your pride.

König seems…at ease. He takes off the bottle cap and brings water to your lips, allowing you to drink as much as you want. You lick the remaining drops from your lips and he puts a half-empty bottle aside.

— I won’t tell you the password.

You mumble under your breath, barely audible. He chuckles.

— I count on it, liebe.

[silverryuan]

Ruggie Bucchi with Ice Bear reader

• The cafeteria was pretty packed with hungry students standing in line. When it was finally your turn, Grim kept pointing at every dish displayed like a child picking their most desired toys at a mall.

Grim: "Hey, henchman! Pick that one for me! Oh, and that one too! That one also looks good, pick it for me! Hurry up, I'm hungry!"

Ice Bear: "... Ice Bear will pick food. Grim go wait on table."

Grim: "Aawww man..."

Ace: "Oh? Does baby Gwim feew sad?"

Grim: "Fnyagh! You wish!"

Deuce: "Can't your hunger wait for the food? It'll only take a minute."

Grim: "The Great Grim ain't waiting on any table on an empty stomach! I'm gonna stand here until I get my food!"

Ice Bear: "sigh"

• You can only grab whatever food you can afford. You chose an omelette for yourself and a sandwich for Grim. Once you give him the sandwich first, you ordered him to wait on the table with Ace and Deuce. By the time you got your tray, Grim was already running to you crying about someone stealing his food.

Grim: "Fnyaaaagh! Henchman! That scumbag thief just stole my sandwich!"

Ice Bear: "?"

Deuce: "Stole it? You gave it to him."

Grim: "I did not!"

Ace: "Yeah, you did. We saw the whole thing."

Grim: "I didn't wanna do that! My body moved on its own!"

Ace: "Just cut it out already, man. If you wanted a smaller sandwich you could've just said so earlier."

Grim: "Fnyaagh, no one believes me?! Henchman, just get that guy already! I swear, he did steal it!"

Ice Bear: "...Ice Bear will share food."

Grim: "Fnyaagh...."

• Despite complaining about the loss of his sandwich, Grim ate most of your food. You think that this might be the time that you must go grocery shopping in order to save money and pack lunches for the two of you.

• You've heard about Sam's Shop from the ADeuce. Since the shop has almost everything a student needs, you decided to stop by on the way home and shop there.

Sam: "Hi there! Oh, you must be the monst-- I mean, Bear I've heard about so much! Welcome to my shop! If you need anything, just ask me."

Ice Bear: "...Ice Bear needs food."

Sam: "Aha! Then that'll be on that aisle over there. Anything else?"

Ice Bear: "Nothing. Ice Bear says thank you."

Sam: "Hahaha! You're one funny bear!"

Ice Bear: "?"

• You didn't mind Sam's comment and just strolled through the aisles. You take a nearby shopping bag and fill it with all the things you need for this month as long as it fits your budget. You spot a can of tuna and thought of Grim, so you reached out for it. Your paw stopped after you feel a hand reaching for the can.

Ice Bear: "?"

Ruggie: "Wha..."

Ice Bear: "..."

Ruggie: "....."

Ice Bear: "......."

Ruggie: "...Uhh hey... You takin' that one?"

Ice Bear: *nods*

Ruggie: "Sorry but I really need this thing, y'know, and uh, this is the last can..."

Ice Bear: "..."

• You don't seem to show any movement of letting the can go, so Ruggie thought of two ways to get it. First way is to make up a convincing excuse...

Ruggie: "Look, I get how much you need the can but I have to get this can. You see, Professor Trein ordered me to fetch this for him so he can feed his cat, Lucius. And if I don't do it, he'll give me a failing mark... So please, could I have this?"

Ice Bear: "..."

• Your paw is still holding on to the can as well as Ruggie's hand. Ruggie awaited for an answer from you but you still won't let go. For some reason... You think that Trein is NOT the type of person that just abuses their status for his personal gain. You stared at Ruggie and your instincts tell you that he's tricking you. You take the can and apologized.

Ice Bear: "....Ice Bear is sorry for you."

Ruggie: "Wait, hey!... Ugh..."

• Welp, looks like the old sad excuse failed. Now there's only one way... Take and run for it!

Ruggie, pointing: "Hey look over there!"

Ice Bear: "?"

Ruggie: "Shishishi!"

• You looked at where Ruggie pointed and the hyena beastman saw an opening. He steals the can before you could react.

Ruggie, running: "Better luck next time!"

Ice Bear: "!"

• You ran after him but it looks like he has experience in running away more than you think. You ran to an aisle displaying pencils and pens. Quickly, you take three unsharpened pencils and threw them at Ruggie before he could ring up to the counter.

Ruggie: "Almost there-- ACK!"

• One behind his right knee, he slows down...

Ruggie: "H-hey... OUCH!"

• Next one at his hand, he drops the can...

Ruggie: "GAH!"

• Last one at the nape, he collapses...

Ruggie: "...Uhh...."

• You take the can after you send him a glare. Fortunately, Sam and the counter are two aisles away so he couldn't hear the commotion. You place your items on the counter and Sam handed your change.

Sam: "Thanks for shopping here! May I also interest you in these buy-one-take-one bags?"

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear is fine."

Sam: "Alright! Have a nice da-"

Ruggie: "Damn. All that for a tuna can?"

Ice Bear: "😠"

Sam: "E-excuse me, are you ok?"

Ruggie: "Yeah, this guy just got his hand on the last tuna can."

Sam: "Ah! Darn it, I forgot to restock those..."

• ... So yeah, another bad first impression but hey, after the whole Savanaclaw Trying To Cheat fiasco, you two actually managed to get along. Sometimes.

• That one time when you and him are partnered up for Chemistry class, you avoided him. Then you realize that you have zero knowledge on potion making which resulted in failure. Ruggie laughed and offered to teach you, only if you apologize and give him something in return. Although you labeled him as a 'scumbag thief' as Grim says, you don't want to have a failing grade. Reluctantly, you accepted.

• Ruggie happily chowwed down on the food you made for him. He's never eaten anything that good for a long time. Either you owe him or not, he'll steal food from you now. Good luck.

• If Ruggie owes you something, then it's going to be him handing you test answers from when he was a first year. Aside from giving him food, you also help him around Monstro Lounge. He keeps pushing you away from the kitchen to waiting duty because he doesn't want Azul or Jade see you cook. If they find out about your talent, that'll blow away his chance to get free food, now won't it?