#but there are things you can't be protected from

[rexhya]

note — i accidentally posted the hcs before i was done! >~<, more anul content :>

✦ ✦

yandere!prince who drives himself mad over every interaction you have with another male, it's an unspoken rule that no one is allowed to look you in the eyes because the clingy bastard has a careful and constant eye watching over you

anul hardly ever lets you out of his sight, he goes, you go, you go, he goes. it's law.

so on the rare cases where he does have to leave your side, safe to say he's more than just a little grumpy. ( he slit the throat of his personal advisor because he was talking to loud )

your just doing you job, the job you were meant to do, cleaning and preparing for a party held for nobles in his upcoming inauguration. anul is obviously dreading this party, his father is being picky about evey little thing and said he'd banish you if he tries to bring you along. (he doesn't actually care he just is waiting patiently for the day he becomes king and his fathers word will mean nothing)

whats worse is theres this insect on his arm, buzzing nosily to him about nothing, the only good thing that actually came from it's mouth was when she asked about you.

"Oh you mean [Name], she's perfect isn't she?" He doesn't wait for a response, Anetha is dying listening to him go on and on and on about you, and she hardly gets it anyway! Your a maid, born from slum and you're hardly that pretty anyway, what did the Prince of Salttion see in you.

She makes a horrible mistake and tries to find out herself.

"Hello m'lady how may I he—" you don't get to finish your sentence before Anethea's gaurds are stomping you into the ground. It's not like you havent been in a situation like this before, but it's the fear of not knowing if you'd be able to escape let alone survive that makes you sob tears into your blood.

You're shoved into a closet before your found, Anul had tore every room apart looking for you ( literally, the door came flying off it's hinges as you fell to the ground unconscious. ) and sees pure, blood raging red when he cradleds your head in his lap. not even his father tries to reprimand him for his attentiveness to you, who ever had done this would pay in blood.

He can't control his breathing as they cart you away, he's right there with you of course, Anetha watching pleasantly, he catches the look and saves it for later.

When you finally wake up you feel sore, definitely brtter then when you were bloody and hurting in the dank closet but sore nonetheless. Anul is right besides you, his long violet hair wafting on your bed, his face planted into the cushions of the mattress breathing softly. How long had you been out? How long had the prince been here? He certainly didn't look like himself, hair messy, clothes rumpled.

You hesitated for a moment, reaching out to stroke his soft wavy hair, then without warning his jumped up and statched at your wrist. His eyes were bloodshot, (had he been crying, did something else happen while you were out?) and the hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

"A-Anul, you're hurting me." he lets go in an instant and immediately sits up to hold you in his arms.

"Oh god, I thought you—" he choked and let go to place a kiss on your lips. they were chapped, but warm.

you only blinked, he didn't care that you hadn't kissed him back. "I am going to gut that pig alive you hear me?" he said squeezing your cheeks.

"I am going to peel her insides till they look like confetti alright?" he said desperately, "I failed to protect you, and look what happened. Oh my baby, my poor baby." he cried, kissing your cheeks lettinf his tears fall freely on his face.

"And you [Name], are to never leave my side again, I've already made arrangements for you to sleep with me so it won't be a problem." you flinched at the finality in his words but Anul couldn't tell.

All he could see waa the bruising of your face and a lot of bodies he'd have to dispose of, because he wasn't just going after that noble who'd set you up.

For generations he declared then and there anyone involved (directly or indirectly) in the attempted murder of his wife, would die a shameful and slow death.

[alexanderwales]

See, what you have to do is build the world from the very start so that friendship magic and love magic are a part of it, and everyone is highly adapted to it, and the social structures are built around it.

"Anyone who died wasn't loved enough" is a fantastic premise for a world. Having friends and family (and multiple redundant friends and family) is suddenly vitally important, especially if it's protecting you from death by old age and the sudden stopping of love can kill you.

And there's an edge to it, isn't there, if love is what keeps you alive? If you need to keep cultivating love even if you're not particularly feeling love yourself, if you have to "force" relationships even when you're kind of fed up with other people? There's a strong incentive to lie for love, to manipulate for love, to get love from other people with the minimum amount of work.

But for love and friendship magic to work, it has to be authentic, you can't have someone fake love you, otherwise the spell just fails. And that's horrifying, right? Worrying that you don't actually love someone enough to save them, watching them die and knowing that it was only because you didn't have the compassion and empathy within you to overcome some mild annoyance with their behavior?

I'm picturing people dependent on love and also constrained by it, and maybe the people at the top really do thrive on managing their public image and cultivating hundreds of close friendships to make sure that nothing can slip through the cracks and murder them. Love-liches motivated by fear of death who have to fight their natural urge to treat every person around them as a resource in their barrier against harm, because people don't love being used by that. A terrible world where everyone counts their friends, where you're judged on how many friends you are, where friend count is a metric that people use to hire you.

It could work! A world where friendship is magic, and the implications of this are taken to their logical extremes, where the protagonist isn't special because his mother loved him and thereby saved his life, this is just a totally routine thing that happens all the time!

Question: What is the greatest magic of all? Answer: Friendship, right? [B]: The greatest magic of all is not friendship, it's chronomancy, the ability to control and warp time. If friendship were the greatest magic, look, it's a pet peeve of mine (...)

DUNGEON MASTER BRENNAN LEE MULLIGAN ANSWERS DnD QUESTIONS (TECH SUPPORT | WIRED)

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ bodyguard!toji has a job, and it's to keep you safe. it's not exactly easy to do it, though, when you won't let him.

"you reek of cheap booze," he says, eyes narrowed, watching you stumble through the window he'd been half-expecting you to use. his hand shoots out, just catching your arm before you ate shit on the (what he assumes to be disgustingly expensive) persian rug.

"jesus!" you gasp, heart hammering against your ribs. "god, toji, you scared the hell out of me."

"you scared me. trying to get me fired, brat?" his voice is low, dangerous.

"don't be such a drama queen," you mutter, clinging to his forearms for balance. holy hell, he's close. his signature musky cologne fills your nostrils, laced with the sharper tang of aftershave. you wonder how long he's been standing there in the dark, waiting to tear you a new one for your late-night escapades.

"for fuck's sake, princess, i'm dead serious. stop fighting me on this. it's not going to make me disappear."

you scoff, ready with a sharp retort, but he cuts you off with a knowing look. "don't even think about hiding this one from your old man."

"what?" you blurt, your eyes snapping up to meet his. "oh, come on! it wasn't even a big deal. was lame party, if that makes you feel any better?"

toji's dark eyebrow arches. "nope, doesn't. so you ditched my protection for a lame party? look, ma, i have one damn job: keep you safe, alright? can't do that when you're pulling this kind of crap."

"no, no," you plead, shaking your head, your slightly buzzed brain scrambling for an excuse. toji thinks you look ridiculously good tonight, the moonlight catching the curve of your cheek, but he'd rather swallow glass than admit it.

your ego was inflated enough as it was. but damn, that little black dress… it was going to be the death of him. it clung to every curve, showcasing the plump swell of your breasts and the tempting roundness of your ass.

being the towering brute that he was, he had to look down at you, and the angle offered a perfect, sinful view of your cleavage. and there you were, pressed right up against him, the thin fabric doing little to hide the heat radiating off your skin.

toji had self-control, okay?

mostly. of course, the rational part of his brain screamed that fucking his boss's daughter was a spectacular career suicide. especially when you were barely out of your teens, young enough to be… well, not his daughter, but close enough to make his gut clench with a different kind of tension.

"this was the last time, i swear!" your voice is a little breathy now, the proximity doing things to you despite your subtle tipsiness.

he remains unamused, his frown a deep furrow between his brows. he worried about you, even if you were a pain in his ass. "that's what you said the last two times i had to physically drag your drunk self out of some punk's ass apartment."

"toji," you breathe, saying his name in that low, husky way that always seemed to tighten something in his chest. "please. don't tell him. why… why don't you deal with me yourself?"

he knows exactly what you're implying. the subtle sway of your hips brings the soft press of your plush tits against his solid chest, a deliberate, teasing grind against his hardening cock.

forget his self-control. it evaporates like morning mist.

his hand shoots out, not gently this time, but firm, cupping the back of your neck and tilting your head up. his gaze drops to your lips, swollen and slightly parted. "oh, i'm going to deal with you, princess. believe that."

he doesn't bother with the niceties. without a word, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. he carries you the few steps to your bed, dropping you unceremoniously onto the plush mattress. your little black dress rides up your thighs, exposing the lace of your panties.

toji's on you in an instant, his weight pressing you into the soft comforter. he doesn't bother with foreplay, which he feels a little guilty about, but with how you're already leaking onto the sheets... he doesn't think you need it.

besides, he's not sure how much longer he can wait, not feeling your wet pussy clenching around him. he shoves your face into the pink, fluffy pillows, the scent of lavender filling your nostrils as he shoves his thick length into your all-too-tight cunt.

"t— toji!" you gasp, muffled by the fabric. "can't — ngh — take more!"

"oi. better not be tapping out already, brat," he grunts, his voice thick with lust. "all that attitude for — fuck — what, huh?" his thrusts are anything but gentle, deep and demanding, stealing your breath with each forceful entry.

his hands grip your hips, bruisingly tight, anchoring you beneath him as he pulls almost all the way out, the slick head of his cock teasing your hot entrance before he slams back in, burying himself deep.

"okay, okay," you babble, tears pricking your eyes. "m's— sorry!"

"are you, now?" he mutters, his breath hot against your ear. "because you'd be a hell of a lot quieter if you actually were."

the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you, unexpected and intense. you try to buck away, but his powerful arms simply tighten around you, his thumb finding your clit through the thin lace of your panties, stroking relentlessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

he fucks you through that one, and then two more, his relentless rhythm leaving you breathless and whimpering. and still, he doesn't come. toji's not even breaking a sweat.

well, he'll see how much you enjoy sneaking out for watered-down beer and sloppy make-out sessions after he's thoroughly punished you, branding you with his touch, leaving you trembling and utterly his.

[shares-a-vest]

Festival (STWG Daily Drabble Prompt)

"Okay, Stevie – sweetheart, what the hell are you wearing?"

He attempts to step back, but Steve moves too, the fringe of his suede jacket swishing along with his movement.

"Festival chic," Steve answers with a shrug like his get-up makes total sense, "Don't worry about it."

He smiles back, and Eddie can't bring himself to say anymore about his boyfriend's... Outfit? Can you even call the mish-mash of preppy 80s and, err... festival chic a fully-fledged, carefully planned out ensemble?

All Eddie knows is that if Dustin could have made it out for the weekend, he'd be making fun of it.

And he blames Robin for the heart-shaped sunglasses that couldn't possibly be doing anything to protect from the blazing sun's glare. She's around here somewhere, similarly dressed like a thrift store threw up on her.

At least Steve is wearing boots to account for all the mud...

Steve smooths over the front of his shirt – Corroded Coffin's standard logo with worn details – a gesture more like something between feeling him up and giving an encouraging rub.

"Sure thing," he breathes – it's probably rather pathetic how this still does it for him.

Steve nods to himself at a job well done before leaning forward and Eddie yelps at the unexpected contact of a square smack to his ass.

"Go get 'em, rockstar!" Steve says, a teasing wink visible through his silly plastic sunglasses.

[differenteagletragedy]

When Simon sees you at the gym, he stares. More than usual, more than what would be considered polite. He stops what he's doing, forgets his routine -- he's focused, locked in entirely on your form as you start up a treadmill.

It's not because you're pretty, although you are. It's not even because, with little glances you seem to think are subtle, you're staring back.

It's because he knows you from somewhere. He's positive he does. He just can't place you.

And it's driving him absolutely mad.

He racks his brain as he stands near the weights, doing nothing but eyeballing you. If you were army too, he thinks he'd know, so that wouldn't be it. A neighbor, maybe? No, there's the old lady across the hall and that's about it as far as his interactions go there.

Maybe you work at the grocery store. Or the petrol station. Maybe you look like some actress.

He keeps coming up with ideas of how he might recognize you, but none of them fit. It's had to have been five solid minutes at this point of him standing still, just staring like a weirdo, and there are a couple of ladies by the front desk that seem to be growing concerned. Simon glances between them and back to you, trying to pull himself away, but he needs to figure this out, he thinks, or it'll bother him for far longer than it should.

Thankfully, you nip the issue in the bud when you stop the treadmill and walk over to him.

"Can I help you with something?" you ask, eyebrow cocked.

And all of a sudden, it's the summer sun and playground dirt, a metal slide so hot it burns, and he's still him, but small and scared, cowered beneath it.

It clicks. He knows exactly who you are.

You -- the current version of you -- take a step closer, cautious but concerned, as you ask, "Seriously, what is this?"

But all he can think about is a little girl who showed him a rare bit of kindness one day at the park.

You don't recognize him, he's almost sure of it. Still, you inch a little bit closer, waiting for a response.

He doesn't give you one.

Without a word, Simon leaves the conversation. He leaves the gym entirely, out the door and into his truck while he struggles to process it.

It's been years, decades since he last saw you. And it was just one day. One single day out of thousands, and he shouldn't remember you, but he does, in startling clarity, like he's looking at a photograph instead of through his memories. You touched something inside him that day, and he swears he can feel it, even now.

He just has no idea what to do about it.

[...]

Back in the gym, you watch the man leave without a word, like he didn't owe you an explanation for staring slack-jawed at you for so long. Your eyes stay trained on his body -- not like you're making sure he's leaving, but like you're trying to figure it out.

It was a bizarre encounter, and you're not sure what to make of it, so when you see the man step into a truck and close the door behind him, you let out a sigh and go to the locker room and pull out your phone.

"There's some weird guy at the gym," you text your husband.

A moment passes, and he responds with "Some creep bothering you?"

You're not sure why, but you feel a strange protective impulse when he calls the man a "creep." He was a little strange, sure, you said as much, but there was something in his eyes when you approached him ... he didn't seem dangerous. The label didn't seem fair.

Instead of responding, you put your phone away again and start to get your things together, content to cut your session short for the day.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself. You'll come back to the gym tomorrow -- you just moved to this new town, you can get in this routine.

Everything will be fine.

[...]

Simon was never small, but he wasn't always strong. He was born a gentle boy and molded into something else, and so his earliest memories are some of the hardest ones to remember. Glimpses of when he wasn't quite able to defend himself, and when that innate, shameful need to be loved and cared for still made itself known from time to time.

There was one day, he was five or six, when he just couldn't handle being at home anymore. It felt suffocating, being inside, in a way that had nothing to do with the heat, so he slipped away and went to the neighborhood park.

He liked the swings, but they were all taken. Some toddlers were in the sandbox, more kids by the slides, and everywhere he looked there were smiles. There were mothers and fathers and happy families and he was alone, and it hurt. But not enough to leave.

Instead, he tucked himself behind one of the slides, taking a seat in the dirt.

Time passed, but the feeling of being suffocated didn't. He held his hand to the underside of the slide, feeling the metal, still hot even in the shade, but it didn't ground him. There was a pressure situated firmly in his chest that he didn't understand, and it wasn't letting up.

"Need some help?"

He wasn't expecting anyone to notice him in his spot, but when he looked for the source of the voice, he saw a little girl, about his age, smiling at him. She had her hands on her knees, bent to see him better. Simon shook his head, but instead of leaving, the girl sat down next to him.

"What are you playing?" she asked. "Can I play too?"

Even at that age, talking to another person felt like a chore for Simon, but she asked so easily, like all she had to do to be his friend was be there. He still didn't say anything, but she didn't seem to mind.

He sat in silence with the girl for several minutes, watching as she drew shapes in the dirt then swept them away with her hand, until finally he started talking. He told her about his parents and why he was at the park alone, and he told her about the creek that runs behind his house and how sometimes he can find neat rocks in the water. He told her to be careful for the slide, because it gets too hot in the sun.

And she listened, to everything. She told him things too, about her family and her house, and it was easy, for once. Before he knew it, the weight on his chest lifted enough to that he could breathe.

Just as soon as it began, it was over. Someone called the girl's name, and she scrambled up, shouting a quick "See you later!" as she left. But he didn't see her later -- he never saw her again.

Until now.

Simon is sure you're that girl. He doesn't know how he knows or why he's so certain, but he feels it. And now, all these years later, he finally has seen you again.

He's thought about it since the moment you caught his eye at the gym, ran the old memories through his head over and over. Part of him is embarrassed for remembering it all so well and for that one afternoon to have meant so much to him, especially when he's sure you forgot it as soon as it was over.

But a bigger part of him wants to make sure that he doesn't lose you again.

[envy-of-the-apple]

I love the idea of Ciel just sick of the servants trashing the manor all the time so he hires a fifth one who's actually a servant instead of a hitman/soldier/experiment in disguise. the interview goes rlly well! you get hired on the spot and you get along well with the other servants but then you meet the butler and you...

...just instantly know he's a demon.

its not like sebastian tries to hide it, but mostly everyone is happy to look the other way. but you've heard stories of demons having these eyes that are soulless and empty. and those are the exact horrors you're seeing within sebastian.

you can't just quit. you need the money, you cant just give up the opportunity to work for a nobleman. so you steel yourself. you shut your eyes and focus on the task at hand, but you do carry protection.

every night you pour a line of salt across your door. you carry around holy water. you wear a cross around your neck.

you make it oh so obvious that you know he's a demon....and sebastian is getting a little bored.

every morning you can see him casually sweeping away the salt line ("please do make sure you clean up your mess, next time"). he grabs the holy water and drinks it ("thank you for the refreshment, my throat was getting parched). And that one time when you misplaced your cross, you found it settled in Sebastian's bare ungloved hands as he 'returned' it to you ("such a pretty necklace. where did you obtain such an item?").

every. single. thing that you've been told wards off demons...did nothing.

your paranoia gets so bad that even Ciel starts noticing. he doesn't wanna just fire you because you're the only one who hasn't broken a plate when cleaning it. So, instead he just tells sebastian 'just pretend one of the charms actually wards you off'.

So Sebastian just lets you think that the lavender is actually doing something.

He makes a big show of it. He pinches his nose like he smells something bad every time he steps in a room with you. He stays 20 feet away from you at all times. He gets a kick out of it honestly.

Months go by and an inevitable break-in happens. the thugs were initially after Ciel but for whatever reason they take off with you instead.

But, over the coming months, the demon has developed a soft spot for you. he finds you really funny and was disappointed over the kidnapping. its sort of in the same way when you make friends with a squirrel and you feed it nuts, but one day it stops appearing in your window. <- like that.

Ciel is largely annoyed that he might have to replace a competent servant, so when Sebastian asks if he could take a five-minute break to 'grab a certain something', he shrugs and waves him off.

You're returned to the manor largely unharmed and in Sebastian's arms.

"...the lavender never did anything, did it?"

He laughs.

"I'm afraid not."

[popcornpoppypop]

We'll Table That

Summary: Callie tries to get her hand stitched without knowing. It does not go well.

Warnings: Blood, medical inaccuracies, shouting?, talks of pregnancy

A/N: Let me know what you think. I can't stop putting this poor character through physical injury, I have a thing for grumpy men taking care of their partners.

“Oh he’ll have my head if I don’t tell him you’re here.” Dr. McKay chuckled, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

“Yeah, no, I know. Just thought it was worth a try.” Callie shrugged. Her hand was wrapped in a pile of gauze that was starting to turn red.

“I may have texted him anyway.” Liz, Callie’s best friend and only reason to keep going back to work, winced from her seat next to the exam chair.

“Lizzy!” Callie scolded.

“Oh please, if the roles were reversed you’d be furious if he didn’t tell you.”

“I just don’t like him fussing. Taking time from patients that deserve his care.” Callie fiddled with the gauze.

“Yeah, well, you deserve his care too. Let him.” McKay gave a kind smile. Before Callie could say anything, the curtain was ripped open to reveal a seething Jack Abbot.

“What the hell happened?” He barked.

“What if I was naked!? You just exposed me to all of your colleagues!”

“Why would you be naked if you hurt your hand?” He grumbled.

“I don’t know. I feel like every time I come in here ya’ll are ripping the clothes off every patient.” Callie shrugged.

“I’ll let you handle this Dr. Abbot.” Mckay made her exit, tugging the curtain closed.

“So?” Jack crossed his arms.

“I caught my hand on a scalpel during surgery.” Callie sighed.

“Callie.” Liz pointed.

“Lizzy.” Callie glared at her.

“Hey! Doctor mode now, okay? I need to know what happened so I can treat you. You complain all the time when clients give you half-truths about their pets, so out with it.” His voice stern in a way Callie wasn’t used to. The voice he used with med students..

“I fell, my hand landed on the instrument tray-”

“She fainted and her hand slammed into the tray and the scalpel sliced her hand open.” Liz crossed her arms. Callie rolled her eyes.

“You fainted? As in lost consciousness?” Jack’s voice though still calm and in ‘doctor mode’ was tight as the worry built up in his chest.

“Only for like thirty seconds.” Callie looked at the floor.

“I had some smelling salts in my emergency kit, they brought her back.” Liz noted.

“It was just my blood sugar. You know I have trouble remembering to eat.”

“That’s why I pack you lunch! All the snacks you could need!” Jack threw his hands in the air.

“I get busy!” Callie shouted.

“Right. Let me look at the hand.” Jack pulled the overhead light down and rolled his stool closer. He unwrapped Callie’s hand, revealing a deep laceration across her palm. “I cleaned it with some chlorohexidine diluted and wrapped it as best she would let me.” Liz said, trying to get an A plus from her friends boyfriend.

“Chill Liz, you’re a lesbian remember?” Callie chuckled.

“Shut up.” Liz shoved her. Liz and Jack started off enemies at first. Liz was protective of Callie, having been her friend for years and seeing the hell she had been through. She was never happy to meet a new boyfriend, they were just pain waiting to happen. But when Jack proved to be a good man, they became thick as thieves. Liz would never call herself a ‘prepper’ but she kind of was. Jack was too. They taught each other about new tech and tools and bored Callie to death with it all. She thought it was too depressing.

“Someone has to pay attention to this stuff if you’re going to keep getting into trouble.” Jack sighed.

“That’s what you two are for.” Callie smirked. Jack and Liz rolled their eyes.

“You need stitches.”

“No shit.”

“You need stitches and bloodwork.” Jack pointed as he stood up.

“What!? No way!”

“Yes way! You fainted!”

“I hadn’t eaten! I just need juice and you know it!”

“I don’t know it that’s what the bloodwork is for!” Jack shouted. Callie was about to yell back when the curtain was pulled open by Robby.

“Hey! Some people think it’s rude to shout in hospitals, something about sick people trying to sleep or something.” He said.

“Sorry.” Callie looked like a scolded child.

“She needs stitches and bloodwork.” Jack stated.

“I don’t need bloodwork.”

“Jesus Christ, Callie! It’s what I’d do for anyone else that fainted!” Jack growled.

“Alright! Stop shouting.” He pointed to Jack before turning to Callie. “You fainted?” Callie nodded her head.

“I saw it.” Liz added.

“He’s right. Anyone who faints gets a work up, even if it’s just a low blood sugar from not eating. Your iron could be low, lots of things could cause you to faint. You’re getting the bloodwork.” Robby stated crossing his arms.

“Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” Callie growled.

“Didn’t say you had to be.” Robby smiled.

“I’ll do it.” Jack said.

“No! That is ridiculous! Let the nurses do their job.” Callie pointed her finger at him.

“I’ll have Dana do it. That work for everyone?” Robby sighed. Heads nodded and he left. Jack came walking up behind him.

“Brother, if you put one of the med students on her stitches I’m going to start throwing things.” Jack growled.

“Calm the hell down.” Robby snapped. “You act like a crazy person when she’s here. I have half a mind to tell her to go anywhere else!”

“That’s not fair-”

“Jack, you can’t act like this here. It’s not okay for the students to see, for the nurses to deal with. She is a grown woman and is allowed to make her own decisions with her care. You need to respect that. If you can’t, you will no longer be her doctor. I don’t pull rank often because it’s stupid, but I will if need be.” Robby sighed. Jack stared at him for a long moment, digesting his words.

“You’re right. I know. I just…the anxiety turns me into something else. I’ll back off. She’s so damn stubborn.” Jack sighed leaning against the nurses station desk.

“Don’t like a taste of your own medicine?” Dana quipped.

“Will you go pull blood on Callie please? Get me 2-0 monocryl to sew her up. 2ml of lidocaine.” Robby asked.

“Only because it’s Callie and I want to see her.” Dana gave Jack’s arm a soft punch.

“Are you two like this at home?” Robby questioned.

“God no. No, we never argue.” Jack shook his head. “She’s only like this here. She doesn’t like people taking care of her because she feels like she doesn’t deserve it and the people who take care of her will resent her.” Jack nodded.

“That’s deep.”

“The therapist said it at our last session.”

“You two are in couples therapy?” Robby looked at him bewildered.

“Hell yeah. We’ve got a lot of fucking baggage man. It keeps us honest with each other, ourselves. Makes communication easier.”

“Good to know.” Robby nodded as he headed back to Callie’s room.

“And when Whittaker slipped in the blood, the tray of juice went with him. Poor kid was covered front and back!” Dana laughed as she bandaged Callie’s arm.

“That poor kid! He can’t catch a break!” Callie chuckled.

“We wouldn’t be gossiping about our coworkers to patients now, would we?” Robby chided.

“Oh don’t be such a party pooper. I’m going to get this running. I’ll swing by with some cranberry juice in a bit.” Dana winked and ran off.

“Alright, let’s get you sewed up.” Robby groaned as he sat down, pulling his glasses on.

“How many do you think?” Callie asked.

“Oh not too many. Probably five or so.” Robby smiled. “This will burn.” He stated before injecting the lidocaine into Callie’s hand. She hissed as the medicine scorched her skin.

“Damn!”

“Yeah, now you know what your patients feel.” Robby chuckled as he started sewing.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with him. He’s such a grouch when I’m here. I told McKay to keep it to herself.”

“Oh that would have gone over like a lead balloon, I don’t blame her.”

“I know he means well. I know it’s because of his wife, he’ll never not blame himself for losing her. I just can’t deal with the overprotective stuff sometimes. It’s too close to the possessive behaviors my ex had.”

“I didn’t know you had a bad ex.” Robby looked over his glasses at her.

“Bad doesn’t begin to cover that fucker.” Liz sneered.

“He wasn’t a great guy to be around.” Callie sighed.

“He beat the shit out of you.” Liz bit.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Does Jack know?” Robby asked.

“Yeah. We talk about it in therapy. But old habits die hard, especially when it comes to survival. Both our issues come from survival.” Robby nodded.

“All stitched up. Those will need to get removed in about two weeks. They will itch, do not itch them.” Robby warned as he left. 

Jack was typing up his charts, trying in vain to not think about the bloodwork. His mind always went back to the worst case scenario.

“She’s all stitched up. Once we have her bloodwork she can head home. You can too. They have enough staff for the night.” Robby leaned across the desk.

“Yeah, maybe.” Jack huffed.

“You can go sit with her if you want.”

“I’m giving her space.”

“She is never allowed in here if this is how you act.” Dana snorted.

“I don’t like that I can’t prevent her from getting hurt and it makes me upset when I see it. Sue me.” Jack spit back.

“Easy big guy, I know how hard it is. You need to lighten up, it’s bad for you scrunching up all grumpy all the time.” She smiled.

“Dr. Robby, is Callie your patient or…?” McKay came up with a piece of paper in hand. Jack glared at him, Robby laughed.

“Yeah, she’s mine now.”

“Right. Her bloodwork just came in.” She gave Jack a smile and walked off patting him on the back.

“The hell was that?” He asked.

“Oh you’ll see.” Robby chuckled. “Let’s go, I’m not going over this twice.” He said as he headed for Callie.

“Hey, that was fast.” Callie smiled.

“It’s like pizza, thirty minutes or it’s free on bloodwork on Wednesdays.” Robby smiled. “Liz will you give us a minute? Protocol when going over lab work.” Robby asked. Liz nodded and left.

“Should I be worried?” Callie sat up straighter, looking up to Jack. He took a seat next to her, taking her hand in his.

“No. Your blood sugar was low, nothing too crazy. You will need to be more aware of it moving forward.”

“I told you.” Callie laughed.

“But, the bloodwork also showed an elevation in your human chorionic gonadotropin or hCG levels.” Robby tried to stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Jack looked like he had seen a ghost.

“I work with dogs and cats Robby, what the fuck is that? Is it bad?” Callie asked getting worried.

“You’re pregnant.” Jack said.

“Yes. The hCG is the hormone produced by the fetus, it’s how we confirm the urine pregnancy tests. Looking at these levels I’d say around eight weeks or so. They can confirm how far along with ultrasound measurements.” Robby smiled.

“Holy shit.” Callie said.

“I’m going to grab some resources for you, let you two talk. When you’re ready come grab me and we can set up an appointment upstairs for whatever you need.” He gave Callie a pat on the shoulder as he left.

“Holy shit.” Callie repeated.

“Yeah.” Jack grunted.

“Jack?”

“Huh?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jack felt his hands shaking.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want this?” Callie sniffled, the sound of her crying snapped Jack out of his daze.

“Honey, I love you more than life itself. I would love nothing more than to have a baby with you. My feelings aren’t important here though. This is your decision.” He grabbed her hand with both of his.

“I love you. I’m so fucking scared.” Callie looked away.

“I don’t think any good parent isn’t scared shitless.”

“Good point.” “It happens more than you realize.” He smirked, she laughed. Her laughter soothed something that had been biting at his chest.

“Are we really doing this?”

“That’s your call.”

“You idiot. It’s a team effort.”

“We have a strong team. One more member would only make us better I think.” Jack shrugged.

“Let’s do this. Can’t be worse than my mother.” Callie shrugged.

“Yeah?” Jack sat up straighter in his seat.

“Yeah, let’s have a baby.” Callie chuckled through her tears. Jack pulled her into a passionate kiss before jumping up, suddenly filled with adrenaline.

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!!” He shouted, the whole ER stopped and turned toward the yelling.

“They can definitely hear you.” Callie laughed.

“I don’t know, I think they might have missed it,” Jack pulled the curtains back and “SHE’S HAVING MY BABY!!” which was met with a round of applause from the staff and confused but amused patients.

“You are never going back to work.” Jack stated out of breath.

“Don’t ruin it.” Callie laughed.

“We’ll table that.” Jack ran up to the desk grabbing his water bottle and keys. “Boss, I’m taking my lady home. I’ll be back on Saturday.” Jack nodded to Robby.

“Congrats, brother. You two may be the only ones that absolutely should have kids.” He smiled. Jack gave him a quick hug, slapping him on the back harder than usual and ran off.

“It’s cute when he’s all excited. He looks like a puppy.” Dana smiled.

“He is going to drive that woman crazy now.” Robby shook is head laughing.

“Oh yeah.”

[bratbarzal]

for your valentines event ³⁾ "you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with quinny ❤️

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚��‧✩

"you've been teasing me all this time about being single just for you to get stood up?" "....." "move over, you're lucky i'm hungry." with toxic!quinn!!! ALOOF!QUINN TRUTHERS THIS IS YOUR MOMENT!!! this came to me in a fever dream last night tbh and escalated so hope you enjoy once again I took creative liberties with the exact wording (I didn't want it to be too much like the nico blurb) and I'm not sure this fits the vibe of the prompt but I saw I'm hungry and my mind went to one place!! and I don't even think this mentions valentines but what can you do it's may!!! (post requested blurbs within a normal response time you say??? who do you think I am?) I'm not great at writing smut but I did my best and my best is probably taking things too far with random interlinked plot dotted throughout

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut!! the filthy kind tbh - dom!quinn, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, squirting, slight/light/barely even spanking if you want to be dramatic lol, degrading comments maybe, brief mentions of previous sexual encounters, quinn is a menace and a dirty talking tease :) ~cheating but not really it's a first date with no labels that's going nowhere and reader and quinn have history. he's an asshole :) but I'd let him do unspeakable things also

4.7k words!!

The last place you expect to run into Quinn Hughes is in the middle of a bar.

The venue is too crowded to be somewhere he would usually visit - rowdy guys in the corner watching the baseball on the TV, even though you're not sure it's even live, a couple pool tables occupied with the kind of people who would recognise him in a heartbeat - and maybe that's why you chose it in the first place.

But you should have run for the hills the second you saw Elias Petterson and Brock Boeser on your way in. You should have known it would only be a matter of time before Quinn himself showed up, and that you would have no chance of escaping before he saw you.

"Was gonna offer to buy you some fries to share," he comments as he slides into the booth beside you, his eyes assessing the rest of the bar as if he's trying to gauge who might notice him talking to you. "But Petey said you were meeting someone,"

God, he can be such an asshole when he wants to be.

You haven't seen him for weeks, he's been ignoring your texts for weeks, and he can't even look you in the eye?

This is exactly why you keep telling yourself that you're done. This is exactly why when you mention him to your friends, they roll their eyes and tell you to just block his number and move on.

But they haven't seen the parts of him you've seen - the parts you so desperately cling to when he's cold like this.

"I am."

"I don't see anybody."

"He got held up at work."

"Of course he did." he scoffs, "You're being stood up. You're lucky I'm hungry though, I'll save you the embarrassment of sitting here on your own."

"Just because you're an asshole who ghosts girls the second things get serious, it doesn't mean Justin is."

"You don't have to get protective, sweetheart," he purrs, glancing down at you in a way that shouldn't make your throat seize, "Just saying, it's the oldest trick in the book. I was gonna sit with you but if you're gonna be snippy about it, I'm sure Justin will turn up eventually."

Asshole.

You couldn't be more thankful for the buzz of your phone on the table, pulling you from the depths of Quinn's gaze as you glance down, Justin's name flashing on your lock screen.

Quinn quirks a brow as he looks down, too, watching as you swipe into the message.

I'm here.

And then you glance to the entrance of the bar, relief flooding your system at the sight of him - not a sensation you ever thought you'd be feeling when you agreed to meet up with him after months of him asking.

But you're supposed to be getting over Quinn Hughes.

Justin is sweet, and you suppose he's attractive in a cute sort of way. He doesn't make your head spin, or your heart pound, or your stomach swirl into knots, but you're not supposed to want that, so he's the next best thing.

You edge past Quinn without sparing him another glance, hoping it hurts him in some way - hoping he at least feels something at your feigned indifference - and you proceed to spend the rest of your night unable to shift that hope.

Every time you force a laugh at one of Justin's attempts at a joke, you hope Quinn hears it.

Every time you try to flirt, you hope he sees it.

Every time you lean over the table when the two of you move over for a game of pool, you're hoping Quinn's watching.

And you think it must be the karma that comes from craving his attention that has you colliding with somebody else on their way back from the bar, their drink spilling all the way down the front of your top until it sheers out a little, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom to go and try clean up.

You really hope he didn't see that.

You're thankful it was vodka soda and not cranberry, the stain easy to shift with a little water and a blast of the hand dryer, and you're shrugging the top back on when you hear the rap of knuckles against the door.

"Yeah, sorry," you call out, shuffling towards the entrance, "I'm finished, it's all y-,"

Quinn stands on the other side of the door when you swing it open, hair astray like he's been running his hands through it endlessly, and his stature imposing.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he crowds into your space, backing up until you’re both in the bathroom, and he’s reaching back to lock the door behind him.

“Told you, I’m hungry,” and the look in his eyes confirms just that - dark and dangerous, a stormy swirl of greys and greens that make your breath stutter, the intensity sweeping straight through you.

He advances on you slowly, your feet stumbling back until you can steady yourself against the bathroom counter, and his gaze drops agonisingly down your body, lingering way too low for any sort of friendly admiration - because that's what he'd said the two of you were too many times to count, just friends.

You feel goosebumps rise as Quinn's head tilts, his eyes meeting yours just as the calloused pads of his fingertips graze the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt.

"You wore this that time we fucked in my car after a game," he mutters, pushing ever so gently until his hand slips beneath the fabric, "Did you think of me when you put it on?"

"No," you gulp, your tone entire unconvincing.

The guys had all gone out after a win, and Quinn had texted you his location - meeting you outside the bar so that the rest of his teammates didn't see you and him together - and had driven you out to some random parking lot, had you crawl over the centre console into his lap, and had pushed this exact skirt up until it bunched at your hips and he could watch himself disappear into you.

It was so hot and sticky that you remember swiping little jagged finger marks against the fog on his window, and you wondered the next day when you saw him and he pretended that none of it happened if he had just wiped them away.

You'd remembered the incident as you were getting dressed, earlier, smoothing your hands down your hips and picturing the way his knuckles whitened as he took the skirt into his grip.

You don't get how he can so easily pretend the two of you are nothing when he remembers, too.

"So you wore it for him?" He doesn't push any higher, but his hand forms an authoritative grip around the back of your thigh, squeezing until they part by instinct, and he uses the leverage to slot his own leg between yours so that you can't fully close them again.

He knows how to work you like it's second nature to him.

He brings his other hand up to shift your hair back over your shoulder, clearing a path from your neck to your collarbone where he can trail his knuckle along the smooth skin just to make you shudder.

You shake your head, again, an unconvincing response, but what else can you do? You're too breathless to speak when he crowds into your space like this, and all you can smell is his cologne, and all you can feel is anticipation of his touch.

"Does he know you like being kissed right here?" His thumb presses down on your pulse point, the pressure firm in a way that makes your spine stiffen, and he tilts his head again as you meet his eye, his smirk condescending and so so sexy.

"We haven't kissed yet," you blink slow, trying to shake the daze he's put you under.

"Ahh," the grin Quinn gives now gives a flash of teeth, and you gulp at the visual it brings - said teeth sinking teasingly into the plush skin of the thigh he's still holding, and it's only then that you notice how his hand has moved, how his fingers are now curled into the leg of your panties. "So he's not taking care of you?" And then he pulls, and you gulp as you feel the fabric fall in his clutch, loosening once they're not flush around your hips anymore and dropping when he's pulled them down enough.

"Quinn," you warn, and he waits, to give him credit - his dark eyes narrowing in on yours, pupils blown, his tongue swiping out against his lips, and it takes you back to another night, a few weeks back.

Quinn turning up at your apartment late, his game having gone into overtime and then a subsequent shootout, and he looked exhausted - hair a mess, eyes sunken, shoulders slumped. The team had lost, and the first place he thought to go was to you, and maybe this was the delusion your friends kept warning you about when it came to him, but it had been the first night things between the two of you had been slower and softer.

The way he kissed you was different - it wasn't a rushed fumble into more, it was intentional and tender, he took his time advancing it into something more, and when he finally backed you into your bedroom, the two of you laid together far beyond the two rounds he managed before tapping out.

He let you stroke at his hair, and kiss at his skin, and see him beyond the cold and unattached version of himself he so often gave to you. And he didn't leave until the next morning.

And sure, that was the last time you saw him, and every text you've sent him since has gone unanswered, entirely, but you can't help but think something changed that night.

Something he doesn't want to acknowledge, now.

A loss of control, or a surrender to his feelings.

You can only hope it's finally the latter.

And because of that blind hope, you can't bring it in yourself to push him away - not if this is the only way he's going to let you have him, teasing and detached.

You swear he sees the moment you give in, when something shifts in his gaze, and he slowly, tormentingly drops to his knees before you.

He looks up at you from the lower position, palms caressing your thighs as he pushes them both up, your skirt following his ministrations and bunching at your hips until you're bare to him, and it's only then that his eyes shift - somehow you feel the intensity of them as much as they stare at your very core than you had when he was looking back up at you.

"Please," you whimper pathetically as he admires the way your legs part even further without prompting, the way your body crumbles and you lean back against the counter, arching to reveal yourself to him entirely.

"Look at you," he mutters as he brings one of his hands to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to swipe through your folds and pulling them back to show you the sticky mess that now coats them, "So wet, already."

"Quinn,"

"For him?"

You shake your head as he repeats his actions, running his fingers from your entrance and bumping them teasingly against your clit, looking up at you again with a raise of his brow, prompting a further response and pressing lightly at the bundle of nerves until you answer.

"For you," you breathe, your hips stuttering forward to try and increase the pressure - but he knows you too well, anticipates your impatience and lightens his touch even more. "Only you."

"Good girl."

You gasp the second his mouth makes contact with your core - tongue pressing flat between your folds until he can lick a firm stripe upward, his lips closing sloppily around your clit until he sucks it into his mouth, the pressure of his kiss divine and mind-numbing.

Your feet stumble a little against the floor, and he braces his hands against your hips, pulling them firmly against his face so that he can hold you in place, and all you can do to maintain your balance is curl your fingers into his thick hair, pulling and tugging as you please - as he pleases you.

And God, you can't believe you thought you could just give this up. He's so good. So fucking good it's insane. And you really considered leaving things alone with him, for what - some nice guy from work who barely knows how to flirt with you?

Quinn's fingers curl into the soft flesh of your hips, the pressure firm enough it'll probably bruise by the morning, and he's nipping and licking at your pussy like he can't get enough - the sound of it alone is obscene enough to make your legs feel like jelly, and you're pretty sure you're going to collapse if he carries on like this.

You tug a little harder on his hair until he parts with a wet pop, the sound making your throat go dry so that all you can do is pant down at him in response.

And his eyes are clouded over, entirely, a hunger you've never seen before taking over him. His lips are parted and slick, and his chest is heaving like he was depriving himself of breath, and the sight of it takes your breath away.

You heave yourself up onto the counter behind you, parting your legs again and leaning back a little onto your hands - all without saying a word.

You don't need to say anything, though. Not to Quinn.

He's diving straight back in as soon as you're situated like a man starved, and from where you are now, you can shuffle into him a little, grinding against his tongue as it works against you - works inside you, even, and you slap a hand to your own mouth in a last-ditch attempt to conceal the moans and whines before they carry way beyond the locked door of the bathroom.

Quinn's displeasure with that fact is obvious when he pinches and smacks at the side of your ass, his hand shooting up until his fingers curl around your wrist and he tugs it away from your mouth, pulling away from your pussy to glare up at you from between your legs.

"Don't you dare," he huffs, "I'm putting in the work, I wanna hear how much you like it,"

"But Quinn-,"

The press of his finger into your entrance cuts you off, and the squeaky, surprised moan you let out seems to echo off of every wall, heat creeping up your neck as you hear how pathetic you sound as he pushes the digit all the way in, pressing as far as it will go into your spongey walls until your back is arching and he's straightening up with it still inside you.

"You think you can hide from me?" He asks as he crowds back into your space, your faces level and his other hand coming down onto the counter beside you. "You think I don't know how to make you scream for me?"

He presses another finger into you, and the slow stretch of your walls around him has your eyes fluttering shut, your head lulling forward until it bumps into his, and your clammy foreheads press together. He shakes against you with a dark chuckle, allowing you a moment to adjust until he's thrusting them in and out, stroking up until he presses into your g-spot.

You haven't been with anybody since you were last with him - you haven't been with anybody since you were first with him, however many months ago that is, now - and you're pretty sure he knows that, for as much as he's been teasing you about your date.

"You think you can walk around in this skirt, bending over pool tables, looking this pretty, and I'm just gonna sit back and watch you with another guy?"

"No," you whine, your hips bucking and your hand reaching out to clutch at his shoulder, nails digging in through his shirt until you hope they leave a mark, too. You hope there's something left behind to remind him of this tomorrow when he wants to pretend you don't exist, again.

"No, that's right," he patronises, his lips nipping at your jaw when he leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against your temple. "'Cause you're mine, aren't you?"

You nod frantically, chasing something more from him, as if he could possibly give you anything else - your back arching until he retracts his fingers, ignoring the instant whine you give only to push three inside, your mind going blank at the pressure of it all.

"Oh my God," you throw your head back, giving him access to the front of you, your neck bare all the way down to the low cut of your top, and he takes full advantage of the space.

You can't even bring yourself to care about marks, as stupid as it is to let him touch where someone else might see - and there's a voice in the back of your head that tells you he wouldn't risk it, anyway.

Quinn doesn't want anyone talking, not about you.

He'd rather keep you some dirty secret confined to the back bathroom of a dingy bar, the front seat of his car in the middle of some random parking lot, or the privacy of your apartment on the other side of town.

But that was before Justin, who's voice carries through the thick wood of the bathroom door accompanied by a few bangs and a call out of your name - and Quinn is the first to react, his movements more vigorous and intentional.

You grab at his wrist in some weak attempt to slow him down, but he won't budge, and then you're too consumed by how good it feels to actually get him to stop.

Your jaw goes slack as Justin calls your name again, and you can't move, can't breathe, can't blink without your space being consumed by Quinn.

"Are you good? You've been in here a while, your shirt isn't ruined, right? You can cover up with my jacket if you need to!"

You press your hand to your mouth to try and conceal the moans he's eliciting from you, his pace unrelenting as your eyes go wide, and you hate how much it spurs you on to see him enjoy this.

“Tell him you’ll come in a minute,” Quinn mutters into your ear, his fingers relentless in their movements as they curl inside you, his palm firm against your clit.

“I’ll come-,” you squeak, arching into his touch as his lips press wet, hot kisses into your neck, “I’ll come out in a minute!” You call, a little steadier though still breathless. "It just needs to dry off a bit!"

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Justin calls through the door, and you feel the vibrations of Quinn’s groan into your skin.

“Tell him I’m helping you just fine,” his mouth moves against your jaw, the low hum of his voice carrying all the way down to the base of your spine in a persistent, dizzying vibration. He starts to shake his hand with his fingers still inside you, and the pressure inside you builds to the point you think you might burst, your thighs trembling and your hips stuttering against him. "Go on, tell him you're all taken care of,"

"Tell-," you stutter mindlessly, your only thought to repeat him, not even considering what you're repeating. "I'm-,"

Quinn chuckles darkly against your throat, his teeth nipping into the sensitive flesh - and you swear you can feel him everywhere. He's relentless, he's unforgiving, he's determined to get you to come with Justin on the other side of the door, and you're in no fit position to stop him.

"I'm fine," you call out in one last attempt, praying to whatever god is up there that he finally gets the hint and leaves.

There's no way you can be quiet about this.

"Alright, I'll get you another drink!"

"You're gonna need one, aren't you baby?" Quinn asks, his grin smug and his tone teasing as he parts from your neck, your faces level again as he juts his chin to catch your drooping gaze, the pet name doing little to rouse you from your stupor as he draws you closer to an orgasm. "Gonna make you come so hard it fuckin' drains you," he promises, "Gonna make you walk back out there and sit in a mess in your panties while you talk to him, and all you're gonna think about is this."

"Quinn," you cry out, the mind-numbing pace of his fingers rubbing into your pussy bringing tears to your eyes, and your bottom lip pops out in a pout as you try to chase him for a kiss. "Please, please, please," you beg as he evades you, keeping up the fervour with his hand. You need something to occupy your mouth so you don't scream out, and he hasn't kissed you yet - not tonight, not properly.

"You think you've been good enough for a kiss?" he taunts, his fingers curling inside you just when you're at the brink, "You think that a naughty girl who's letting me fill her pussy with her date standing just outside deserves a kiss?"

"Yes," you whine, "Quinn," and plead, and you bat your lashes in one final attempt at convincing him, your eyes watering, lips trembling, spine tingling as he considers it for a brief moment.

"Come," he commands, "And then I'll kiss you."

You groan, throwing your head back as he brings his other hand into the mix, swiping at your clit with a feverish speed until you really feel like you're about to scream, gripping onto him for dear life as his three fingers plunge all the way into you, to the bottom of his knuckles, his touch pressing against the deepest part of your core until you fall apart.

And it's a mess.

The counter becomes slippery beneath you, your thighs coated in your own slick, and the way you hear Quinn remove his fingers makes you wince more than the feeling, itself.

He's still looking down at your pussy when your vision comes to, blinking away the white spots in your eyes until all you can see is him - in a daze at the way you can feel your walls contracting still, missing the way he had them filled just seconds ago.

You think you're shaking all over, too weak to move - to lift yourself onto your legs, to even lift your arms to do anything about how bare you are to his hungry glare - and you're struggling a little to catch your breath, if you're honest.

You feel hot all over, too. In your head, on every visible surface of your skin - and you can't tell if the flush is from the physical activity or the sheer mortification of the fact you just squirted in front of him.

Your last shred of dignity probably disappeared as soon as that drink fell into your lap, there's no use in denying it now.

And just as he said, Quinn bends to retrieve your panties from where they hang from one of your ankles, bending your leg to slip it in the other side and pulling them up until you can shimmy your hips into them despite how wet you feel all over. He puts one hand down beside you on the counter once they're in place, his gaze lifting to meet yours, a little lighter but stormy, nonetheless, a million unspoken thoughts swirling behind those cloudy irises.

"You said you'd kiss me," you mumble, feebly, leaning into his touch when he pushes a strand of hair back out of your face.

"Did I?" he smirks slowly, those same eyes now tracing your lips.

You nod, your tongue swiping out against them in preparation.

He hums, teasing as he leans in, and he brings his free hand up to your mouth, hooking one of the fingers that had just been inside you against your lips until they part, pushing the digit in until it's pressed against your tongue, and you close your lips around it by instinct.

He watches as your cheeks hollow, satisfaction in his stare, and the slight upturn of his lips causes your chest to puff with pride, opening your mouth again so that he can slot the other two fingers in.

"Maybe you are a good girl," he mutters, and you nod, humming around the taste of your own release until he pulls his fingers out with a pop, using them to grasp at your chin and pulling you forward until your lips collide.

It's almost like he's trying to chase the taste of you, his tongue licking into your mouth and then he's actually sucking at yours, your hands clutching at the chest of his shirt to keep him close, letting him do whatever he wants for as long as he wants, because you're trying to get your fill.

Him using you like this seems better than the alternative - him ghosting your for days or weeks at a time, making you feel like you don't matter to him in the way he matters to you, or that he'll never feel the same way.

But there's something desperate in the way he kisses you - you think that's why he tries to deprive you of it, like you'll be able to read him through the taste on his tongue.

And you get a little greedy with his affections, probably, your hands sliding down until they meet his belt, and he pulls away before you even realise, stepping back completely so that you can't reach and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Or maybe not."

"I just thought-,"

"You really are naughty, huh?" he chuckles, "What were you gonna do, make him wait out there all night while you tug at my cock? Get on your knees for me while your sweet little boyfriend buys you drinks and sits alone?"

"No," you pout, "He's not my boyfriend, he's just a guy from work."

"Just a guy you're using to make me jealous."

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoff, suddenly finding the nerve to stand up to him - the smirk he sends your way a touch too deep, and lasting a second too long. "I didn't even know you'd be here. Not everything is about you."

"Not what you were saying when my face was just between your legs." He shrugs as he takes another step back, and the grin you found so sexy mere minutes ago now makes you want to smack him as you watch him retreat. "I'll see you around, pretty girl, don't forget to clean up after yourself before you go back out for your date."

He winks before he leaves completely, leaving you alone in your own sticky mess, feeling dirty and used just like you always do when he disappears.

You find yourself wishing he stayed as you shuffle completely off the counter, pushing your skirt back down and grabbing some paper towels to clean the spot you were just sat on.

He'd stayed that night in your apartment, and you really thought things might change after.

But you should know by now things will never change with Quinn.

Especially when you head back out into the bar and find him speaking to Justin, shaking his hand with the exact same one he'd just used to bring you to a screeching orgasm, a crooked smirk stretching across his lips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye before he leaves for the night.

Especially when he texts you moments after, your screen flashing with his name until you press through and read, He'll never be good enough for you.

And especially when you're answering the door of your apartment to him again a week later, falling back into the same pattern and letting him charm his way back in, no matter how shitty you feel when he disappears afterwards.

[pizzaapeteer]

speed dating

mattheo riddle x fem! reader. week 1 of @acourtofchaos festivalofau event!!

street racer!mattheo can't take his eyes off you even when he's driving, especially when you bring his heart to life by impressing him with your own skills.

an: big thanks to my love leigh for proofreading <3 I don't know anything about cars - this is very much inspired/uses fast and furious scenes, and I look forward to eventually writing a full fic for this au. ty for your patience as always <3 wc: 1.9k

"Okay, so next time, we're definitely dancing," you say with excited exasperation, the two of you exiting the rowdy Cuban restaurant and into the heart of street life. It's nearing 11pm on Friday, the beat of the night is picking up pace, like the rhythm of a song, the lively chatter blending into the roars of cars flashing by you.  

He laughs, shaking his head, "oh sweet cheeks, you won't catch me dancing," sliding his hands from his pockets, he places one on your lower back, gently guiding you respectfully. "Or at least not till the fourth shot of tequila."

The sound is so deep and rich; a low hum like a car's engine that makes your insides squirm with delight, and then he smiles like he's been doing all night. His lips curling up on the edges in a way that if his eyes weren't matching its sincerity, he'd have you queasy in an entirely different way. 

The way he looks at you, brown eyes that glimmer with warmth under the glow of the amber streetlights, as if light is blooming out from inside him. It's hard not to get attached, and that's the last thing you need right now. You've only known him a week. But there's something enticing, though dangerous about him, like a shot of whiskey knowing it's going to burn on the way down but overall spreading a fire of heat in the pit of your stomach. 

Offering him an infectious smile of your own playing on the challenge presenting itself. "Sounds as if you're encouraging me to get you intoxicated." Ardently, you raise a brow at his inquiry. "Is that something that interests you?" 

"There are a lot of things about you that interest me." His eyes sparkle with mystery, as he grins boyishly like he knew the affect those words would have on you.

You play it cool and collected, smiling back at him, the two of you strolling side by side, the silence isn't uncomfortable, and it hardly seems quiet with your heart becoming erratic, thumping around inside your ribcage like a hummingbird's wings. 

You pass by distinct smells of nicotine, a cigarette shared by couples couped in the alcoves of their doorways. Clangs and rackets of neighbourhood cats, balancing along fences, chasing one another. There are bopping beats of music heard from the thriving clubs and bars further down, invitingly attracting groups of young people from all over town. 

"So, this is me, my ride." Mattheo comments, as he stops you outside a parked bright orange car. He's offered to take you home, for a multiple of reasons. Some are selfish, wanting to show off his baby, not that he thinks you'll be highly interested, but it's his ego and pride, and it's worn just like the paint and wax shining proudly on the exterior. 

Other reasons, safety and protectiveness. He's always cared about women, and while he's only known you a week, he's grown extremely fond of you. He doesn't want you catching the bus like how you got here. And well, third, he just can't take his eyes off of you. He's never smiled so damn much on a date, the unfamiliar feeling of it beginning to make him nauseous. But it will be worth it, if it means he gets to see more of you.

"Woah, no way! You drive a supra turbo MKIV? That's so sick." The sudden and surprising exclamation from you makes his heart pound faster. Your jaw is practically touching the concrete, unable to pull your eyes away from the beast before you, a glimmer of awe in your eyes.

That is before you remember you're actually trying to impress Mattheo and not come across like a psychotic car fanatic, clearing your throat and tucking your hair back timidly. "I mean it's, um, a pretty colour." 

He laughs heartily, amused by your quick and terribly obvious action to hide your knowledge of cars. He flashes you a charming smile, feeling in wonder at the woman beginning to unravel, fishing his keys out. "You know cars?”

Pulling your eyes off of his car, you nod, admitting your fascination with them with a wide grin, "Yeah, a thing or two."

“You wanna take a spin?"

Flabbergasted, you speak, "What, seriously?" When you realize stupidly, this is your only way home you're clambering into the vehicle with buzzing excitement. It's so beautiful, the interior's sleek black seats lined with soft leather that have you sinking right into them. 

The dashboard illuminates, lighting up a neon orange, and the roar of the engine comes to life. It’s loud and powerful and makes your heartbeat full of adrenaline, a smile gracing your lips with excitement.

Mattheo's expression matches yours, his eyes blown a little darker, revving the car again, the deep rumble vibrating down to his bones. He flicks on the radio before he shifts the clutch into drive, taking off down the road and merging into the mainstream flow. 

It's busy, the night awakening with charged energy as Mattheo swerves in and out between gaps of cars, the wind blowing through your hair, the summer warmth of ocean breezes. "Where do you wanna go?"

You look over at him, only to find him already looking at you. The contact makes your pulse spike just like the kilometers increasing on the dash are. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, matching the roaring of the car. You don't even know him that well, and yet you have full trust in his ability to maneuver through the thick onslaught of traffic without looking.

He’s clearly got an edge of cockiness to him as his eyes continue to flicker back and forth, always taking the extra time to focus his gaze on you just a little longer. "Up for ice cream?"

The casualness in which he asks makes you laugh, "Might wanna keep your eyes on the road, pretty boy."

“Why you think we’re gonna crash?”

Flashing him a playful grin, you shrug. "Not sure yet. Should I be making a bet?"

He grins, enthused by your lack of worry, his hand shifting up the gear and pressing his foot harder onto the acceleration, the two of your eyes staying locked in contact. Mattheo's eyes no longer resembled that cool tone of warmth he exerted in the restaurant.

They shine brightly with a glimmer of exhilaration and a hint of darkening mischief. His smile is full and broad, expressing the thrill and joy he felt, like a boy with his favourite toy. 

The car zips with smooth control in between gaps, as flashes of vehicles pass in a blur on either side. The steady hum of vibrations continues drowning out the radio completely. All that's left is the wind, and the intense atmosphere shared between the two of you, making you wanna stay in the car forever.

A wave of disbelief cascades out of you with a breath of relief when he finally breaks, slowing down for the nearest stoplight. His eyes finally break their contact from you, and he relaxes his grip, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. Taking the next right, he pulls up to the sidewalk, outside an adorable ice cream shop.

He tousles his dark curls, gazing at you with admiration he can't help but feel a sense of pride for your reaction to his flirtation. "How this?" Your body feels electric, the familiar dopamine rush fuelling every nerve. It's been so long since you got in a car this fast, you're craving more. "Not bad show pony." Grinning, you run a hand through your windblown hair, detangling the newly made knots.

"Driving or the dessert?" Mattheo asks, offering a toothy grin, angling his body towards you, resting his arms along the tops of the steering wheel. He's eager to impress. It's not often Mattheo wants to put real effort into his dates with pretty ladies. His mind constantly set on autopilot, a two-step routine. 1. Rev the beast and blow her mind and 2. rev his beast and blow her mind. 

And now he sits, admiring a beautiful woman, sitting in his passenger seat, looking like she's stepped straight out one of Enzo's automobile sex magazines. Excluding the lack of clothing, though, his mind has already gone there.

But there's something more about the way you're looking at him, a burning blaze of wildness that lights your face. It's radiant and alluring and he feels the pull, the magnet attracting him further in, something you're offering he didn't know he wanted.

You huff, amused, and don't answer yet, letting his question linger in the charged space between you two. "Both."

Pleased with your answer he begins to exit the car when you spit out the proposed suggestion, an itch that's dying to be scratched. "But! may I counter a second opinion?"

He sits back down at your polite protest, shrugging, he doesn't mind what the two of you do as long as you're enjoying yourself. "Yeah, sure just tell me where you wanna go."

"Actually, is it cool if i drive?" With a flutter of your lashes, you give him your best adorable smile full of sweetness, a known trick of yours to make a man concave in a heartbeat.

He raises an intrigued brow, wanting to make sure he's heard you correctly. "You want to drive?" The genuine smile on your face melts his heart, and he's suddenly stammering around like a dickhead, "Ah-I mean yeah alright."

As the two of you switch places, he can't help but think what the hell he's even doing, letting some random chick drive his baby. But it's that look in your eye, the sense of belonging and ease in which you sink into the driver's seat, that makes him relax with full faith you won't crash his precious car. 

Gripping the soft leather of the steering wheel, you immediately feel at home in the right seat. Familiar goosebumps of excited nerves prickle at your skin, turning the ignition, awakening the car back to life. Pressing your now bare foot hard onto the acceleration, you veer off, merging back into the nighttime flow of traffic. The prodigies breathe, blasts through the vehicle as you turn the speaker up, giggling with comfort. 

Mattheo watches bemused by your infectious happiness, how comfortable and free you appear. The wind fanning out through your hair, as you grip the wheel with a sense of familiarity glancing at him every so often with full-blown bliss. The car cruises into downtown Miami; zooming along the roads smoothly and Mattheo starts up the conversation again.

"Not bad-" his words halt on his tongue as the car swerves, swinging around wide, cutting across the next lane spinning in a 180, positioning the car backwards. That contagious laugh fills the car once again, as blares of horns honk from left and right at the sudden commotion.

His sweet brown eyes widen in surprise, and you giggle again at his reaction, snapping your head behind to see where to go. The car waltzes in and out of spaces, maneuvering skillfully between the lanes. 

He’s never believed in a god above, or soulmates or true love for that matter, but in that moment as his heart threatens to jump right out of his body he’s sure destiny has thrown him a bone and landed the most perfect woman in his lap. With everything he's learnt about you in the last couple hours, this knocks it all out of the park. How can a woman be this hot? His body is tense, including his cock that he swears is spurring to life faster than the miles on the dash are pushing. 

He's frozen, mesmerized at the scene, stuck in a state of pure astonishment and awe. His pulse is rising as he looks at the window, watching how the car swerves sharply. Repositioning itself facing forwards, to take the next right onto the offramp, leaving behind the sounds of tires screeching and another round of horns blaring behind.

Glancing at him, another free-flowing giggle escapes catching his bewildered stare, the car coming to a halt outside a charming sorbet parlour. Cutting the engine, you slip your shoes back on and exit the car.

He's still a little dazed comprehending the fact he wants to skip the rest of the date and drive you straight to bed the keys landing in his lap. You offer one of your famous shit-eating grins already on the pavement, “come on, keep up, Bambi.”

⤷ navigation. ⤷ masterlist. ⤷ mattheo riddle masterlist. ⤷ dividers. please do not steal, copy, or claim as your own, all work belongs to me©️pizzaapeteer 2025. ty for reading!!!

[monstacheol]

Did I write this the day after the Met Gala? Am I still obsessed with Scoups's look? Do I love the look? Yes, and the fact that it's inspired by Korean traditional hanbok and modern, and that it looks so good. And aren't I supposed to be posting my 400 celebration? Yes, but that's for another day. I HAVE AN IDEA. And I can't stop thinking about it. Here is my thought. Also, this isn't proofread and was posted out of excitement, so if you see any mistakes,. I'm sorry. As always, this may or may not be in a book in the future. This was at 1 am. I'm going to bed.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who was known across the galaxy as the fearless leader he is. Seen as the embodiment of strength and wisdom by the younglings and Padawans.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 who was born in Corellia but raised within the Jedi Temple on Coruscant since he was a youngling with the Force by the Jedi Masters

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who had a strong connection with the Force, was trained by the Jedi master before he could even get his own saber.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who, the day he got his saber, began a Padawan training under his Jedi master.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whose saber color is a yellow-gold color, a rare color that symbolizes wisdom, loyalty and combat. And he was proud of it. (He may have cry a little)

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who knows the Jedi code and knows it well. And is loyal to the Jedi Order and is determined to bring justice, balance, and peace to the galaxy.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who was given an assignment to keep watch and protect a certain senator, Padme, by order of the Jedi Master.

"A senator?" he questioned as he stood in front of the Jedi Master.

"Yes. A Padmé," Master Windu spoke. "Right from Naboo,” Windu spoke.

"In trouble she is in," Master Yoda spoke. "Must be protected she must."

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, whose brows furrow so lightly, not out of anger but out of concern. He knew that being assigned to such assignments like these, protecting important figures of the galaxy was rare and yet delicate and not an easy task. But Seungcheol— he didn't question. He didn't hesitate. He nodded and bowed in silent acceptance. It was duty before doubt. Service before self. After all, that was the way. The Jedi way

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who arrived at Naboo on the cruiser as assigned. His robe rustled softly in the breeze, his golden saber by his side as he observed the new, beautiful surroundings of Naboo.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who wanders around in the Naboo garden. He had only heard stories of the certain senator that he was assigned to protect from his Jedi friends but they had never seen her in person.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who saw you in the garden and thought you were just… an ordinary citizen of Naboo. And introduce himself.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who heard you say your name so sweetly with a smile on your face. You blankly ask if the order had sent him here and he answers,

"Yes. They sent me to protect a senator, a Padme they say."

"I see," you answer. "And what have you heard about this senator?" Continue to attend to the garden.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who lists all the things that were being said about her and she just chuckles.

"My, those are some words," you comment. "She sounds like such a controversial figure."

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who heard the sudden call of "Padme," noticed that a handmaid was coming over, and her eyes flicked between you and him as the handmaiden spoke that you were needed for a meeting.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who stood there in awe as he realized who you were, thanks to the handmaiden, and apologized for his rudeness. "Please forgive me. I did not—"

And you just softly chuckle and forgive him. Of course he meant no harm and told him that you look forward to working with him.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who after a while being your protector, saw how passionate you were at your meeting. Passionate about the future, for peace across the galaxy.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who protected you from any harm and threats that were leaking in the shadow.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who got to hear your stories from your childhood and he told his.

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵 who walks beside you as he questions everything that was going through his head. He knew the code. And he knew it well. The code warns him of such things. But why … why is it that you… you pull him out of his focus?

𝓙𝓮𝓭𝓲 𝓚𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽! 𝓢𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓵, who for the first time, wasn't sure if the Order. Them had prepared him…for you.

[murmiss]

Neglected Beta!Y/N And the bad pack! 141

Part4

Warnings: alcohol, a bit obsessive, amorous mood, I don't know what else to add, except to warn about possible mistakes, repetitions of words, mistakes in grammar. Valeria was also added to the story, and I want to know if you are interested in seeing her too.

I checked the text several times, but if I missed something, don't be afraid to let me know, sometimes I don't notice obvious mistakes

in my head, I have the outlines of another branch of the Story, where, on the contrary, TF141 would be a Good Pack, or another one where they would realize themselves.

I'm also thinking of creating a bot on the topic of "Beta Reader" based on this story.

"So... you're just walking? Alone.. At night.. On the highway.." - Kruger's deep baritone sounded. He was a large man, with very developed hands, and it even seemed that his hands were bigger than Ghost or Soap's.

You involuntarily sighed, looking at them, and your gaze moved from one to the other. Maybe they are not such idiots, since they decided to really help you and take you away from the terrible road and disgusting rain.

"ahem-ahem" - Horangi coughs, and then his ringing laughter, when he, clearly enjoying the fact that you are looking at him, cheerfully said: "well, princess? Finally, you saw it..." - before he can finish, Konig sharply nudges him in the side with his elbow, forcing Horangi to choke from the sharp pain and giggle again, but still shut up after a few moments and continue the trip

It was dark outside, and the light on in the car didn't allow you to see anything out the back window, forcing you to stare stupidly at your own reflection.

Disgusting. Tousled, wet hair, wrinkled clothes and smudged mascara were something very contrasting with your usual perfect appearance. A broken image of a good girl, an exemplary housewife and a modest beta.

You grin, look with annoyance, make a face, trying to depict in your own facial expressions, in a grin, all your hatred. Towards yourself or towards your pack? You don't know.

You look up, and after a few moments you notice a pair of eyes. Kruger, the fucking bastard, was looking back at the reflection and smiling. Out of fear or embarrassment you let out a squeal and turn your face to this impudent bastard and... you can't say anything... he looks at you, smiles impudently and his cheeks turn crimson with shame. You mumble something unintelligible, but Kruger's laughter interrupts, and his cheerful voice says: "be careful, we have a little thing with fangs here."

It seems that your cheeks become even redder, and you lower your gaze to your knees, suddenly falling into your melancholic state.

They laugh at you again. Again and again.

Kruger's face changes from brave to panicked in a matter of seconds and he hesitates a little, his hand hovering over your back and hesitating, not understanding whether he can touch you.

Konig's growl came from the front seats, damn protective, leader and warning: "Kruger, damn you"

Kruger smiles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head and stares off to the side. A couple of minutes of driving in silence and then, having plucked up courage and calmed down, you say: "Ah.. Eh... Where are we going?"

Horangi breaks into a smile and says boldly: "To your new home", and Konig again sharply and painfully nudges his comrade in the side with his elbow. The big guy did not want to scare you at all, but in his thoughts everything was already determined.

“To our pack home.” - Kruger corrected the situation, again drawing attention to himself.

You just sigh. You don't really care who you're going to. More precisely, you know that you're safe, that they, even though they're a bunch of idiots, won't touch you.

Your thoughts involuntarily return to your pack, and your shoulders involuntarily sag. You peer into the darkness again, but this time, stuck, looking at one point, you already see alternating trees, shimmering in the light of the lanterns and smoothly growing into country houses.

They're probably all having fun. They're probably happy, they're well-fed and don't even think about where you are, and that makes your soul even heavier.

You're pulled out of the stream of depressive thoughts by a light pat on your knee. You look over and see Kruger's hand on your knee. He's not being rude, not flirting, but as if he's giving you that little bit of support you need.

You nod unconsciously, sigh again, and as soon as the car stalls near one of the dark houses, you jump out without thinking. It's chilly outside, and your skin is covered in goosebumps, and you shudder, hunching slightly, Trying to warm yourself, you hug yourself with your arms. However, literally a few moments later, a heavy leather jacket with some old-fashioned stripes falls on your shoulders. You turn around and meet the silent gaze of a man in a hood - Konig gave you his jacket, although it was several steps to the house.

Horangi whistles and, getting out of the car after the others, immediately goes to the trunk, starting to unload his own purchases.

"Wow," you sigh and carefully, with interest, examine the boxes. Even in your pack eat less, damn it. A few cases of beer, bags of groceries.

Konig looks at your curious face for a long moment and can’t help but smile. Suddenly, he takes a pack of strawberry marshmallows out of his bag and hands them to you. You think for a few seconds, then carefully take them and say warningly, “I don’t have any money with me.” To which Konig grunts, grinning and says with obvious amusement in his voice, “No need for money, these are for you, baby.” You step in his way again and, not quite understanding their behavior, simply nod, deciding not to ask questions. Horangi, peeking out from behind the slightly open front door, curses again in pure Korean and immediately dilutes it with English: “이리 오세요! 그 여자를 얼어붙게 하지 마!(Damn it! Don’t freeze birdie!)! Konig, bring her here!”.

And as if by a snap of his fingers, Konig came to his senses and immediately led you to the house, finally allowing you to look at the interior of his pack's cottage. It was interesting to you, it had once seemed larger than your pack's house, but it was still unusual.

Hearing a clear female voice, growling harshly with a strong accent, you immediately became nervous, standing at the threshold, unable to take a step further into the house. Omega. Of course, they were not trying to hit on you, and their compliments were nothing more than just a kind gesture. Of course, they would choose an omega. Unconsciously, images of a girl, an omega with character, whom Konig was hugging, popped into your thoughts, and the mental comparison led to the realization of your own inferiority. Their cute nicknames and phrases were nothing more than a kind gesture. You involuntarily winced, and then came to your senses. Do you even care? This is not your pack. What do you care about their damn omega? But honestly, somewhere deep down you still hoped that all these weird compliments were real.

You were immediately brought to your senses by a voice and, looking up from the floor, you met bright, black eyes. It was a woman of a strong, athletic build, taller, with dark short hair and a clearly dominant nature. You had never seen such an omega before.

Woman spoke: "¿Quién demonios es ese? ¿Es la chica?" (Who the hell is that? Who's the girl?).

You immediately felt goosebumps crawling down your back and opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but before you could even figure it out, the suffocating aroma of rum and cinnamon hit your nose. You involuntarily squirmed and slowly, from nerves, but surely realized that in front of you was not an omega but an alpha. Why would she release so many pheromones if they had no effect on you? You're a beta, not an omega, and the last thing you care about is what they smell like or what cologne they wear.

The woman grins and clicks her tongue, comes closer and grabs your chin with her fingers rather roughly, turning your head from side to side, saying something in another language: "hermosa" (beautiful)." You frown again, hugging yourself protectively, you are still shaking from the alcohol you drank earlier, and the distinct weakness and approaching fatigue make everything much worse. You do not answer, and behind your back you hear another growl of the leader. It was worth Konig to be distracted for a couple of seconds, as someone is already laying claim to his bird?.. That is, of course, his flock can pay attention.. But until he leaves HIS mark, he will subconsciously perceive this as rivalry. Valeria is a woman, as many say, "with balls", she is cunning, strong in character and will, drives many betas and omegas crazy.

Konig's growl was uncontrollable, just seeing his birdie being touched sent him into protective mode.

Protecting and guarding, loving, building a nest, marking - everything that was spinning in his head, making him choke at the thought of puppies, or at the slightest touch to you, everything that was deep in his obsessive brain. He was not ashamed, but in his soul he, like his pack, felt relief at the thought that everything turned out this way. Finally, finally you were alone, without the control of your shitty pack, finally you were no longer looking through rose-colored glasses at a gang of people who did not appreciate you.

And finally you saw him. Your beautiful eyes, the curve of your lips, the smile, even if sarcastic - all this was like a curse, making him, the old colonel, feel trembling in his legs. And he damn well shouldn't have given his heart to some girl. But he did, and he doesn't regret it one bit.

"Calm down, big guy, I'm just curious," Valeria replied with a smirk, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her brown gaze never leaving the leader. She knew how weak he was towards you.

You look at one of them and then the other with confusion, and you can't help but clear your throat, seeing their obvious resistance. "Can I go in further or should I call a taxi?".

"No!" - a growling voice interrupted you almost immediately, and you frowned even more: "No, I mean..."

"In that very one, birdie, you're coming here" - Horangi diluted the atmosphere, leaning out into the corridor with his signature smile. In response, you sigh, follow the Korean, leaving a couple of Alphas to sort things out with each other.

You walk into the living room, it is a large, rather spacious space. The sofa is long, made up of several blocks, or, to be more precise, several sofas pushed together into one long structure. There are several armchairs along the edges and a small, but long, low table in the middle, on which snacks and drinks were already laid out. At the sight of multi-colored bottles with bright labels, you feel nausea creeping up on you, remembering that same shitty tincture that you bought for pennies an hour earlier.

You want to go to the couch, but decide to look in the mirror for a few seconds, and then, without paying attention, take a step towards the couch. But immediately suspecting something is wrong, you turn around and meet your reflection in the eyes. This is fucked up.

Mascara is smeared across your cheeks, and your wet hair is fluffed up and disheveled. The sundress is not bad, but wrinkled.

"This is shit" - you whisper, sighing, demonstrating all your disgust. Although what did you expect? As if something colossal would happen in half an hour's drive, but, unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale.

"I completely disagree" - a rough voice is heard from behind, forcing you to reflexively turn around with a squeal and meet the gaze of blue eyes. That idiot Kruger again? or... wait... no.

The man is wearing a mask, big black sweatpants and a T-shirt with blue and white stripes. You frown again, but you don't take your hand off your chest, you can still feel your heart beating. Who the hell is this?

"И все же ты такая милая (You're such a cutie,)" the Russian words are clear. You frown again, to which the man chuckles. He stands with his hands in his pockets, but slowly and deliberately he pulls one hand out, reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, saying with tenderness in his voice, "Don't frown, smiling suits you better."

Why do they even care about your appearance? What the hell do they even want, you have absolutely no idea. And there is only one thing on your mind, the desire to drink and fall face down into soft pillows, in your warm room and soft fluffy blanket.

"Have you met Nikto? This big guy is the most secretive, you know" - once again the atmosphere is saved by Horangi, who nodded towards the table with a smile - "come here, birdie".

"Why birdie?" - you ask, moving closer to the middle, hoping that you will not disturb anyone.

"Why birdie? You know, they are so tiny, they need a nest, protection and all the love" - ​​the Korean laughs easily.

What does he even mean?

You nod again, this time you are silent. Konig, Valeria, Kruger enter the living room. Kruger was shirtless, in only shorts, and, finally, without a mask.

So interesting.. For the first time you see some without their signature masks, and out of curiosity you look at his features, absorbing every scar that adorns his face, not even noticing how this idiot plays with his muscles. Curiosity about his face completely distracted you from his chiseled muscles.

Horangi pours a bottle into glasses and, distracted, you take it, boldly taking sips, not looking away from Kruger. Surprisingly, his wide black eyebrows suited him, adding unreal brutality.

A sudden rustle on the left brought you to your senses and, turning your gaze, you immediately meet the face of the bare chest of the Konig. Even sitting, he remained big guy.

The alcohol you drank, mixed with a new portion loosened your tongue and you, smiling, asked in a perky voice: "What kind of wet T-shirt contest is this?"

Konig just smiles under his mask, watching your reaction carefully, sitting down more comfortably and stretching out his legs. He was still a big man fellow, with strong muscles.

One glass follows another, and you feel how the previous misunderstanding and fear evaporate damn fast, leaving behind a feeling of freedom. You don’t want to remember the existence of packs, betas, omegas or Alphas. There is only you, a bunch of cool guys, and all this alcohol on the table.

“Oh, I didn’t say that!” you laugh, smiling from ear to ear and not taking your eyes off the Konig’s face. He was sitting without a mask, like everyone else in this living room. Valeria’s laughter attracts you again and you turn your gaze to the woman, swallowing nervously when she shoots her eyes, winks, whispering hotly: “Oh, no, cariño.” In response, you giggle and turn your gaze with interest to Nikto, who was sitting in the chair to the right of you, only smiles, and, having finished peeling the tangerine, stretches it out, calling out “Детка (Baby).”

For the first time in these few hours, you felt like a person, a personality. And what is there to say? Honestly, you yourself didn’t know that you could talk for so long and, most importantly, be listened to.

Oh my God, you’re drunk as hell, and you’re happy, without a single thought.

“Stay with us,” a quiet voice asks in complete silence. You frown, sleepily open your eyes and answer just as quietly: “Why?”

Who are you with anyway? Where are you anyway? There was too much alcohol for you to remember every conversation.

A soft kiss touched your forehead, and you also frowned sleepily, fidgeting in bed and squinting at the man in front of you. The big guy looked with tenderness, with love, and with which he tried to express himself: “You got into my soul, under my skin, under my ribs. I need you, my pack needs you.”

Just the words alone make your soul feel warm... And you just smile silly before your eyes close and sleep takes you somewhere far away.

Your opinion is very important to me. You can ask me to tag you in the next chapter in the comments. Also, please tell me if you are interested in seeing Valeria in the story

___________________

@sheepispink

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

I know people are outraged (fucking understandable) by his blantant racism and everything. And you have every right to be upset by his words and shit. That's not what I'm bringing attention to.

Listen to that white man and understand him. You have to understand your enemies if you truly want to defeat them. You all are too focused on your feelings of his awful words. But do you understand the ideology of where he's coming from? It's fear.

Racism, bigotry, white supremacy is rooted in fear and white guilt.

"But Sol, he's not remorseful at all." No. He's not. But the "guilt" isn't a moral thing in this situation. Somewhere all white people know what their ancestors, what white people had done in the past as a whole is fucked up. Like, point blank period. The atrocities, the horrors of history, to some degree even if it's as little as "in the past white people had done something to other races and they're still angry about it" they know.

When other races, ethnicities, backgrounds what have you, call for reparations or recognition or something of that degree, white people like him are seeing it all as revenge and a pull for control. Because the guilt is the fear of the tables turning. Control is all white people have.

It's why we argue, have systemic issues within our own communities, colorism, caste issues, anti blackness etc. all of that... Is because of people like him. Systemically for far too long, they've been poking each race and blaming another to keep us fighting some don't fight white supremacy. It's why people who bring unity are quickly cut down. MLK jr., Malcolm X, Black Panthers, people who have based themselves in unity and finding more in common with everyone in different races are quickly mowed down, especially when they make traction.

Because then... The illusion that white supremacy brings will be unveiled. We start looking at them, seeing them as the enemy. And this isn't a call to hate white people or say all white people are bad. There's a reason why in my community, other than how tone is a huge part of Black language, why we have two different ways to say white people. And if you listen closely you will hear/understand the difference. There's white people and there's white people. (IYKYK and you will have read that sentence saying white people differently.)

White people of the past and their bullshit acts almost like the sword of Damocles in the modern day. In a lot of cases, white people feel they can't do and say a lot of shit now cause we have laws and movements that will bring retaliation (as we should) should someone get their asses out of hand and that's a huge reason of why a lot of people like trump so much. Because he's turning around and saying why can't we take back control? Why can't we make minorities back off? What he and a lot of resentful whites want is that control back and the fear struck in us.

Think about everything we've done: civil rights movements, unifying laws, protections and solidarities within multiple cultures. I'm talking stop Asian hate support, black and brown solidarity movements, things reminiscent of the rainbow project from the Black Panthers. People like him don't want that. Because then, while we're standing hand in hand, finding each other as friends/colleagues we're now faced with the problems white supremacy brings. Cause at the end of the day, white supremacy brings a fuck ton of problems to everyone. Which divides everyone.. suddenly Asians are having an inner issue about which Asians are the better Asians. Black people have massive inner issues with misogynior and colorism. Latino and Hispanic people, have colorism and even in massive issues in classism to a point where they look at some of their own undocumented brethren as less and will actively push back against them.

In the end, the goal of white supremacy is to keep up the illusion of superiority, to be an unattainable goal for everyone else so no one starts asking why we're playing this rigged game. They have to be the best even in their peak mediocrity so everyone else can aspire to be close or like them. They uphold themselves as the prize so they can reason why they rightfully have power over others. They are a minority in the world and they have effectively fooled everyone else into thinking they aren't. Fear is all those white people have. Fear of being treated how every other fucking race who ever came into contact with them were treated. So much so that people will chew their own arm off just for the sake of keeping other people down and uphold themselves to that illusion of superiority.

They will burn this shit down before they allow us to shine. White ppl are weak and fragile. Yep I said it

[lostinlovingrevery]

Van i gotta ask…

what do u think Logan would be like when ur on ur period. and im talking about the smutty stuff sjdjjd

OKAY OKAY I GOTCHU

I'm gonna write a fic about this but ill put my thoughts below (it'll give you an idea of what im writing...)

(SMUTTY NASTY PERIOD STUFF BELOW)

(PERIODS AREN'T NASTY BUT LOGAN IS!!!!)

This man is WILD

an absolute menace

period sex doesn't bother him. blood doesn't bother him.

sorry yall be he will eat you on your period. idc if its nasty this is logan nothing gets worse than this man. hes an animal

im sorry but not really sorry but he'll definitely love that extra wetness going on down there

hes extra affectionate, for your sake of course but also periods mean ovulation coming soon. i feel like your hormones are going to set his hormones off. yknow cause. mutant, animal stuff???

any excuse to touch you. but if you want to be left alone he'll do it (he'll go into the corner like an injured animal and frump)

i think he'll love to see the relief on your face when he fingers or fucks you.

will use the "orgasms help period cramps" excuse to get in your pants. I mean sure- he definitely wants to make you feel better, but he also really wants to get in your pants. the smell of your hormones drive him insane.

He won't care about the mess, bed, shower, floor- wherever the fuck. He'll start by being real smooth about it. Wanting to give you a full body massage- you need to relax. You're obviously tired, and sore. His big strong hands can help loosen those such tense muscles, belly massages would feel SO good from him (oh my goooooood pls just imagine it)

Of course, he has ulterior motives. First he has you sitting down, maybe on the edge of the bed to give you a nice neck and shoulder massage- complete with kisses, of course. Convinces you to take your clothes off- to really relax. His hands move down massage your sore breasts, and to be honest you really can't complain. They're warm, gentle. Maybe he'll mess with your nipples a bit and even thought they're sore to the touch the stimulation feels so good at the same time. Maybe you start picking up what hes up to but you wait before you say anything

Then he gets you on your belly, massaging your back. It seems like it went back to being innocent again. Logan is cooing sweet things to you, hands careful in the areas that are touchier than others. moves down to your butt and thighs too. Personally I hurt really bad in my thighs and hips during my period- so a good massage there would be HEAVEN

and then, before you know it- you're back on your back and hes "massaging" between your legs. You can't complain though, his thumb is rubbing over your clit, two fingers buried inside you, gentle in his stroking motions in and out. The feeling brings relief to your cramps- like your body is getting exactly what it wants.

and no one knows your body better than logan.

Don't worry about the messy, he'll clean it up. (and how he cleans it up ill leave it up to yalls imagination....)

It just happens to be an accident when he slips his dick inside you.

You're half asleep, enjoying this so called "massage" from him, that feeling in your belly is wound tight but not quite there. The relief from your cramps is enough to make you happy though- so you let him have his fun. Then you feel the bed shifting, and his pants unzipping. Hes pressing kisses against your neck.

"Yknow darling, I learned something new earlier."

rea;ly, he just wants you to feel better!!! Logan is all about making his love feel safe, protected, happy. What better than being wrapped in his arms while he gets rid of those pesky cramps?????? (while also giving you orgasms

he'll draw orgasm after orgasm out of you. its not even about any of his own pleasure at this point (altho with logan really when is it ever??)- he just loves seeing the relief on your face. thats really all its about. the stretch his cock gives you, relieves that tight feeling going on down there- its almost like he's supposed to fit right in there

will be very gentle about it, checking in on you- however if you want it normal, or rough- he'll happily oblige. Prepare for lots of loving, cheek kisses, wrapped up in warm hugs while he buries himself in you- maybe your sheets are getting ruined but maybe he purposely set out an extra pair for a quick change when things are done (its gonna be awhile. the longer he smells you, the more feral he feels)

trilogy logan i think can be very animalistic over it, or very sweet. or both. both would be good. hes' gritting his teeth while thrusting into you because you smell so damn good and he's trying not to lose control. Muttering sweet things and letting you know he's not going to stop until all those pesky like aches are gone. plays with your boobs too.

old man logan will eat you out. he's old, doesn't really care. its adds flavor. Anyhoo. Thats his go to, fingering and oral. He'll have to shower afterwards cause maybe he gets all messy in his beard but oh well. Knows all the tricks in making you feel good. all the massages too- i mean, you give him massages. gotta take care of each other right? then will make you both a nice meal.

origins logan does everything, including doing it in the shower so he can wash you up after. He's very gentle and sweet, constantly checking up on you. He'll hold you and fuck the daylights out of you until youre good and tired, then draw you a nice warm bubblebath where he'll wash your hair and you both can have nice conversation.

Worst wolverine DEFINITELY AN ANIMAL OVER THIS. I think he'd want to get rough but will hold himself back until you give him the okay. Eat you out, kisses you after. Will fuck you doggy style for hours, nearly breaking the damn bed and pissing off your neighbors.

dofp logan will go missionary on this bitch. bury himself inside you, won't stop till youre literally about to pass out bc your period is giving you bad insomnia and this is solution to tiring you out. i feel like he would use a vibrator on your clit too will stuffing you full of him. double the pleasure amiright. sex in the bath.

70s logan will suck your sore tits for a long time. his hands massaging your achey thighs. if you even complain once about your cramps he's going to have you pinned (or tied up) to the bed and take care of them. great! no cramps! now you can't walk. also will kiss you after eating you out.

2013 wolverine mmm i feel like hes a mix of dofp logan and worstie. a animalistic vibe but considerate. teases you over and over to get you wound up as if you already aren't enough. you'll get your relief soon. its all part of the game.

[athenalvss]

SECRET LANGUAGE ( circus! batmom )

summary: Batmom and Dick have a different connection than with the rest of the family, they even have their own language, causing the rest of the family to become exasperated.

pairing: batmom x batfam

open request — batmom masterlist

Although Batmom loves and protects all members of the Batfam equally, she shares a special bond with Dick Grayson. It wasn't about favoritism or privilege —there never was— there was simply something different about the connection between them. And while the rest of the kids understood (more or less), that didn't stop them from raising a fuss whenever something clearly exclusive happened between batmom and Dick. How dare they have inside jokes about their past lives right in front of them? Give each other those silent glances that sparked entire conversations without saying a word? It was outrageous!

Except for Bruce, he had given up a few years ago, he could never win his wife, and he wasn't trying either.

── .✦

Between them, they have a sort of visual code developed over the years: raised eyebrows, half-winks, tapping the table... any excuse to silently mock some absurd situation. The rest of the Batfam pretends not to notice, but they're fed up. How could they be left out of this?

That's why everyone was there gathered in one of the rooms of the big Wayne manor, well... "everyone" is a way of saying, everyone was there except you, Bruce and Dick, but the rest of the family was there sitting on the armchairs while they watched Tim enter with his computer.

Tim walked into the room with a confident stride, and with a satisfied smile, he projected the image, showing his hard work. "Welcome to the secret meeting of the marginalized children" he reached the center of the room, causing everyone to look at him, leaving a PowerPoint presentation titled "Spy Project: Sign Language According to Batmom" in the background.

"Does it have an index?" Steph asked, already taking mental notes.

"Of course it has an index" Tim replied, opening the first slide. "Section one: The gestures. Section two: The looks. Section three: Revenge on Dick."

"Shouldn't we call Bruce too?" Duke asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.

"Bruce? Bruce gave up years ago," Jason said. "And he can't help, he doesn't even try to guess what they're saying."

Tim changed the slide. A slow-motion video showed a kitchen scene from two weeks ago: you, pouring coffee; Dick, leaning on the island; both of you shooting each other a quick glance… followed by a synchronized laugh. No one else was laughing. Just the two of you.

"See that? That was a complete, wordless joke! Wordless!" Tim exclaimed, pointing the laser pointer at the screen.

"And right after, Dick told me he was laughing at the dog on the news. Blatant lie!" Jason shouted indignantly.

Just as Tim was getting into the most important part of his analysis—a slide titled “The Raised Eyebrow: Criticism or Mockery?”—the door softly opened.

"And what are you all doing together? I like it, but it's weird," you asked with a relaxed smile, walking in with several recyclable paper bags in your arms.

Dick appeared right behind you, also laden with bags, and said with disarming ease "We went to get things for dinner. Mom wanted to make her lasagna, you know…"

The entire room froze. Everyone stared at the projector screen, which was still showing a snapshot of the two of you in what appeared to be an intense telepathic conversation during a gala.

Jason was the first to react, standing up from the chair with his arms raised. "I TOLD YOU WE HAD TO GO SOMEWHERE ELSE."

"What's all this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dick looked at the screen, then at the group, then at you. "Were we being spied on?"

"Spying is a very hard word, it's just a deep analysis of your gestural conspiracy," Tim exclaimed normally.

"We call it... emotional connection" you said, calmly putting down the bags.

"And we call it 'betrayal,'" Damian muttered, arms crossed, visibly hurt.

"It's not treason if we've always been like this," Dick added with a smile.

"That doesn't make it better!" they all shouted at the same time.

You and Dick looked at each other. Raised eyebrow. Smile. And then you burst out laughing without saying anything.

Jason covered his face with his hands. "Of course they're doing it again. In our faces. No shame whatsoever."

Bruce watched silently from the stairs, nursing a cup of coffee. "I told you not to try to decipher it."

── .✦

The Wayne Manor dining room table was, as always, a battlefield disguised as a family dinner.

"You have to accept that Red Hood is a better public figure than you!" Jason bellowed, pointing his fork at Tim, who barely dodged it.

"Public figure? Please, your reputation is half a step away from an arrest warrant," Tim replied quietly, but with venom in every word.

"Tch. He's got it, Pathetic," Damian muttered from his spot, not even looking at the others, busy cutting his steak with surgical precision.

Bruce sighed. He said nothing, as usual. Alfred, stoic, poured more water with the elegance of someone who has seen a thousand wars at that table and survived them all. Amid all that noise, you leaned back a little in her chair and looked at Dick, who was sitting across the table. He wore a stoic expression, but when he felt your gaze, he raised his eyes. And then it happened: that knowing look.

It was barely a second. A meeting of eyes with a restrained smile, a slightly raised eyebrow on your part, and a slight nod from him. A silent gesture that said:

"Same thing again?"

"Always the same."

They both held back their laughter at the same time, as if they'd rehearsed it. No more need be said.

"Are you laughing at us?" Damian snapped, his fork in the air.

"No," you and Dick replied, perfectly in sync.

"Here we go again..." Tim muttered, "This isn't normal!"

"We're not doing this on purpose," they both said, again, at the same time.

Jason brought his napkin to his face. "Okay, this is disturbing."

"Have you been practicing?" Steph asked.

"No" you said in unison, and this time they looked at each other immediately after, holding back their laughter.

"Enough!" Tim shot up from his seat. "They literally have a secret script! It's like they share a neural chip!"

Alfred, unperturbed, poured more water. "I must say, master Tim, this has been going on for so many years that I'm surprised you're still alarmed."

"Thank you, Alfred," both said at the same time, without even looking at each other.

Bruce sighed and muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, "I never had a chance to fight."

Damian, arms crossed and looking annoyed, grunted. "This is unbelievable."

"No," Jason said, "It's a cult, and we're not part of it."

Dick shrugged at the same time as you. "We're not that predictable," you chorused.

and in unison they all shouted: "YOU SAID IT AGAIN!"

── .✦

It was a quiet night. Miraculously quiet. Everyone was sitting in the living room, no missions or alarms. Even Bruce was relaxed—relatively so—with a glass of wine in his hand. It was one of those family reunion nights they had every Friday night.

Tim was lounging on a beanbag with his laptop, Jason was flipping through a magazine without really reading, Damian was trying to teach chess to Steph, who was just moving the pieces around to annoy him. Alfred was passing by with a tray of cookies, ignoring the chaos with his trademark dignity.

But on the main couch, away from the rest, Bruce, Dick, and Batmom were surrounded by photo albums. They'd started under the guise of "organizing memories," but had clearly fallen into a nostalgic spiral.

Suddenly, a photo caught my eye: You were younger in that image, dressed in your iconic illusionist outfit, black top hat, black and white suit, with a shiny cape that reflected the light, and Dick, barely ten years old, in a tiny trapeze artist's outfit, smiling as he hung from a rope. The image showed a moment in the circus, when they were a different family, before Bruce came into their lives.

"It was fun living in the circus," you looked at the photos with a touch of nostalgia. "Except when the tiger escaped."

Dick immediately burst out laughing. "That was just one time! And technically, he didn't run away…"

"It's true, he didn't escape, you let him out."

The laughter shared between the two of you filled the room like an echo from the past. Bruce watched you with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

"Were you always like this?" he asked, half joking, half serious.

"So how?" you asked with feigned innocence, while sharing a quick glance with Dick.

Bruce frowned as he watched from his seat, confused. "Was that a sign?"

"No," you and Dick answered in unison, with the same smile, that tone that made it clear it wasn't the first time they'd done it.

Bruce sighed. "But what does that tap on the arm just now mean?"

"Nothing" you said again, while Dick tried not to laugh.

"Liars" Bruce said with a resigned smile.

Then, very slowly, Bruce raised both eyebrows, tapped the table, and looked directly at Dick. There was a second of silence. Dick looked at him, you looked at him. And you both blinked, surprised.

"I've been practicing," Bruce said, with a hint of satisfaction.

"You did well, darling," patting him gently on the arm that was around your shoulders.

At that moment, from across the room:

"What's going on now?!" Jason yelled, throwing up his arms as if he'd just been betrayed.

"Bruce speaks your secret language too!?" Tim almost choked on his popcorn.

"This is... unacceptable," Damian muttered, squinting.

"Welcome to the club," Dick said, raising his glass to Bruce.

"They'll never understand," you whispered in Bruce's ear, smiling.

"I know. And it's glorious," he replied, his expression completely serene as chaos erupted around him.

[paulyenvol6]

Favorite Place

Jackson!Joel x female reader (OS)

Writing this story made me realise three things: I can't write fics under 4,000 words, this one Narcos gif with the woman's hand grabbing Javi's thumb and her hand looking TINY compared to his has a chokehold on me (if you know you know) and I'm such a sucker for Joel fingering reader who's sitting between his legs. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, somnophilia, oral (f receiving), established relationship, Joel is down bad for you, softdom!Joel, he talks you through it, little bit of mean Joel but still very playful, edging, daddy kink, subby reader, crying, allusions to dacryphilia, sort of Joel x princess!reader vibes, fluff, lots of sweetness

Wordcount: 4,548

Masterlist

Joel couldn't help himself.

Especially on a morning like that.

The moment he had opened his eyes he had realised that it was far too early to get up, and a quick glance to his right was another reason to stay in the warmth of his bed. You were fast asleep, your chest steadily heaving and your lips so wonderfully parted. You looked like the most peaceful little creature he had ever seen and he simply didn't want to leave your side.

And then there was the rain outside, drops of cold, icy water falling on the veranda, and together with the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance it created the perfect atmosphere to spend the first few minutes of the day snuggled up under the thick blanket that did its job perfectly, protecting Joel from the sharp, creeping cold outside.

Perhaps the morning would have gone like this, Joel dozing off or just staring at the ceiling until you slowly and naturally woke up and he could pull you in for a nice morning cuddle, but it didn't.

Joel simply couldn't help himself.

Seeing you wrinkle your nose in your sleep, your lashes fluttering and your beautiful plump lips twitching every now and then…

He obviously wasn't new to the way his body reacted to you so he wasn't surprised when he felt his cock harden as he lay on his side, propped up on one elbow to watch your pretty face. He bit his lip, considering whether to indulge his desires at the risk of waking you and robbing you of minutes of precious sleep, but then he glanced at the clock on the bedside table and the red 8:34 caught his eye.

When had you gone to sleep yesterday…?

Joel bit his lip, remembering that he had turned out the lights at around 10:30pm, so that should be enough sleep for you. And then as he returned his gaze to your sleeping form, all doubt fell off him. He felt the urge to curse as his boxers tightened around his dick and he grinded his teeth, taking in your messy hair that looked just the way it always looked after he had fucked you nice and deep. The blanket hid most of your body, but he saw the base of your neck that looked so… biteable.

Fuck.

If he did this much longer, watching your body and imagining the most sinful images in his mind he wouldn't be able to hold back at some point.

Fuck it.

Joel closed his eyes for a moment before crawling closer to you until his knees touched yours through the blanket. He pulled it back with gentle hands, careful so you wouldn't wake up and then almost moaned at the view before him. The grey tank top that was so tight around your torso, it virtually hid nothing and rather highlighted the curve of your beautiful breasts. It was pushed up your body, revealing a bit of skin between your top and your sleeping pants which Joel took in like a greedy predator. His heart was pounding in his chest thinking about all the things that he wanted to do to you; every inch of your skin he wanted to taste and bite and inhale until all he could feel and think about was you.

He slowly moved closer until he was towering over you and then brought a hand to your head, stroking your hair back so your bare shoulder was revealed and he could press a tender kiss to your warm skin. You truly were a goddess and Joel began to lose control.

After pulling back he reached for your chest, very carefully and softly taking your flesh into his large hand just so he could feel your warmth and then briefly brushing with his thumb over your nipple. In a matter of seconds the nub had hardened under his touch and the flinch of your body was clear evidence that his actions actually were having an effect.

Then Joel removed his hands although he would have liked to spend much more time teasing and spoiling your breasts, but he wanted to wake you up from his mouth on your pussy and the risk was too high that his play on your sensitive nipples would jolt you awake. Therefore he gently pushed against your shoulder until you were lying on your back and apart from a little hum there was no sign that you were about to open your eyes.

"That's a good girl…," he whispered, letting his gaze travel down your body, his heart jumping at the view he just wouldn't get tired of no matter how often he saw you in your most vulnerable form.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, the grave contrast between your soft and tender skin and the rough pats of his fingers that were marked by age and hard work making his head spin. The he pulled down your pants in one go until they were dangling around your knees and precisely listened for any noise from you, but his heavy panting was the only sound in the room. He proudly stroked your knee, admiring the way your body cooperated, then crawling up your body until he could prop himself up on his elbows on either side of your hips.

He gifted your torso three kisses, one on your left hipbone, one on the right and one right on top of your belly button. Joel knew how tingly you were in that area though, so he quickly went back to acting according to his initial plan. Your pussy was bare now with nothing hiding from him what he craved so badly. His eyes devoured what he could see so far which wasn't a lot, but he could glance at the hair stubble on your mound and a tiny pink bruise on the top of your thigh which he had left a new nights ago and which filled him with a profane satisfaction.

Joel's big hands parted your legs, careful not to stretch you too much, and then settled between them, making himself comfortable on his elbows and eating up more of his favourite place in the world with his hungry eyes. The pink skin, your hole that he loved to see quivering and clenching in anticipation, unpatiently waiting for him to shove his dick in and your bundle of nerves that he could now find within milliseconds.

He smirked to himself licking over his lips like a man starved and then lowered his face to press a kiss on your clit. It was short and light like his mouth was still exploring you and like he was almost shy with his actions although Joel wanted nothing more than to dive between your legs until he couldn't think straight anymore.

Jesus Christ, you would be the death of him.

He darted up to you, searching your face for a reaction but your eyes were still shut, a slight pout on your mouth now. He lowered his gaze again and then carefully stuck out his tongue to draw a thin strip over your clit. Joel sighed, his eyes rolling back at the familiar feeling of your sensitive warm little nub against his tongue and then looked up as he heard a restrained moan out of your mouth.

Smiling, he decided that it was time to wake you up so he created more friction, circling your clit and using his spit as lubrication with his eyes on your face so he would see when you woke up. And so it happened seconds later when your eyes suddenly sprang open, sheer shock and surprise in your expression and Joel grabbed your hips pressing you down as he felt you shift.

"Shhh… S'alright, babygirl. Daddy just needed a taste…"

Your eyes were clouded by tiredness, but your pupils frantically danced over the queer picture of his head between your thighs at such an early hour.

"Joel," you panted, your body still wriggling underneath him, but he had you pinned firmly to the bed.

"It's okay. Relax, hon. Just wanted to taste your perfect pussy… Relax f'me, will ya? Gonna make you come if you're a good girl for me…"

Joel saw the tension in your face fading as you adjusted to the scene, your body losening and your thighs spreading wider for him.

"That's a good girl… My perfect 'lil girl…," he praised you as he dived back between your legs, connecting his soft lips with your clit again and gently sucking it into his mouth to create delicious pressure.

"Oh fuck," you squealed, his hands on your hips tightening at his favourite sound in the world.

"Joel… Oh please, Joel, more…"

He lowly chuckled, your toes curling as the vibrations transferred from his mouth to your pussy, but then slightly raised his head so he could look into your eyes.

"Not Joel, babygirl. Ain't my name right now."

You blushed and bit your lip, an action that sent his heart rate through the roof.

"Daddy…," you whispered, quiet as though you were scared someone else would be able to hear it.

"Don't ya get all shy on me, baby. You know daddy don't like it when his favourite girl hides from him."

His fingers were buried in your flesh like a warning and you cleared your throat to repeat the word louder this time.

"Daddy… Please, I…. need more."

"There ya go…," Joel hummed, replacing his tongue on your clit with the pat of his thumb while he licked his way down to your entrance. He circled it, savouring your sweetness on his flat tongue while showering your with praise that made you melt in his arms.

"Tell daddy how it feels. You know I like to hear it… Know I love to hear how good I make my favourite girl feel…"

You whimpered, knees trembling until you bent them and your feet pressed flat into the mattress, but Joel cut you off, slipping his underarms under your thighs to spread your legs and pin your knees down.

"Stay like this, angel. Just need ya to stay still 'n' lemme take care of ya. S'all I need ya to do… Yeah, just like this…"

He eased his tongue inside of you to collect and taste as much of your juices as possible while his thumb massaged your clit and the sensation became almost unbearable, your skin prickling and every single hair on your body stiffening.

"Please… please daddy, lemme… Let me cum, please."

Your sweet little whimpers slowly began to turn into long whines that would have been heartbreaking in any other circumstances. But not right now. Right now they were music to Joel's ears and he wished he could go on like this forever, squeezing one orgasm out of you after the other and never having to leave his favourite spot between your spread legs.

"Of course I will, babygirl. You can cum whenever you want to, just don't want ya to hold back anything. S'only the two of us in here, no one else to hear it… Never would anyone else see or hear you like that, mhm? 'Cause you're fuckin' mine. My prettiest girl…"

"Y-Yes, daddy. Yes, I… Fuck!"

You arched on the back, so close to your orgasm that Joel could almost smell it. Like a man possessed, like an addict, he inhaled your pussy, swapping tongue and thumb again so he could lovingly kiss your clit as he slid his thick finger into your weeping hole, never stopping to talk in his husky bedroom voice that you adored like nothing else.

"Don't move… C'mon, don't fuckin' move, I know you can be good…," he growled in response to your restless squirming and writhing, his left, unoccupied hand wandering up to your waist to both squeeze and hold you down.

He knew that it was difficult for you as he wasn't new to how responsive your body was to his actions, but he also knew that you could do it if you only tried hard enough. So all he had to do was remind you how much he loved you and give you a reason to put even more effort in obeying him.

"Look at me, angel. Yes… there we go… Keep those pretty eyes on me 'n' breathe. Through your nose just like daddy always tells you… Yes… Knew you could be good. Daddy's so proud of you, babygirl."

Your lips curled into a shy smile as his compliments slowly lit up your face and once your mushy brain had comprehended every last word your cheeks were flushed and you bit down on your hand.

"Thank you, daddy," you said with a croaked voice, your eyes watering at the divine pleasure given to you by his mouth and fingers.

Joel had replaced his thumb with his index finger and soon added another, pumping them in your pussy while his mouth took care of your throbbing bundle of nerves that uncomfortably pulsated and seemed to burn under his touch.

"Daddy… I need it so badly, please, I…"

You cried out and a single tear fell from your lash line to roll down your face until it hit the curve of you lip.

"I know… I know just what you need, my pretty girl. Daddy's gonne give it to ya… So no reason to cry, mhm? Or you think daddy's gonna give in 'cause of your pretty tears?"

He smirked, but it only made you sniffle and wrinkle your nose.

"Please," you repeated and the sight of your sulky expression made it so seductive for him to edge you a little longer. He loved to hear you beg after all, your trembling lower lip, the way you fisted your hands around the sheets, and of course your stuttering words, which didn't always make sense but made it pretty clear how much you craved release.

A broken sob left your throat, your fingers creating a dry, papery scrape as they brushed over the linen bedsheets.

"I needa cum, daddy, please."

More tears joined the one glistening on your upper lip and Joel briefly glanced up to you, checking in to see whether this was becoming too much for you. He knew that you needed more and first and foremost you needed him to go faster to guide you to your climax, but he honestly had too much fun right now. Not only did you taste heavenly and he didn't want to pull back just yet, but he enjoyed your little reactions too much, the tilt of your head, your whimpering and screaming, the twitching and jerking of your body and the way your legs tensed and relaxed in a steady rhythm, which was why he didn't pick up the pace but slowed down even more until you grabbed his locks in a complaining manner.

"Daddy. Please, you can't… I've been so good, haven't I?"

Your voice was quiet and accusing and it almost made him melt. Almost.

"You have, babygirl," was all he answered before sucking your clit into his mouth and slowly, almost as if he wanted to explore and remember every side of it and its exact shape, tapped against it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time he curled his two digits that were inside of you which made your lips form an 'O' shape.

"Fuck!" you yelped, your shoulderblades hitting the mattress again while you threw your head to the side, eager to find some release, but you just didn't seem to succeed without Joel's help.

"Breathe… Just like that… And keep those eyes on me, ain't gonna repeat myself," he whispered, carefully nibbling at your swollen clit, your body flinching and your back arching every time his teeth grazed over the sensitive nub.

"Daddy. Daddy, please, make me cum. I need it… please…"

Your body was shaking now, small sobs leaving your mouth and although his insides clenched and his heart painfully ached at your big tears, he had no intention of changing anything about his cruel actions. As long as he was in control and the only one responsible for your suffering, all was well. If things were beginning to slip out of his hand, it would be a cause for concern but right now he could steer the amount of pleasure and stress you were experiencing and Joel had full trust in himself that he was able to figure out when it was becoming too much for his perfect princess.

"You're gonna cum, angel. When I think you're ready to."

He steadily thrusted his fingers in your cunt, reaching so deep inside that your hips lifted in the air to move accordingly before Joel set an end to it, pressing down on your lower belly. The stimulation on your clit had come to a full stop though and you helplessly bent your neck to see what was going on between your legs.

"Joel… You can't do this, please… I don't – I don't understand, please, I was good."

His eyes were pitiful as he observed your face in silence, his heart pounding in his chest at the feeling of your tight walls pulsating around his fingers.

"So goddamn helpless, jesus…," Joel growled and then hummed out once he was knuckles deep in your cunt. After trailing soft kisses along your hip, he sat up to kneel between your thighs and, placing his hands on your knees, guided them to bend so the soles of your feet pressed flat against the bed and your legs were spread open.

Your teary eyes were begging him, silent pleas and questions lingering in the air, but Joel stared at your pussy, then removed his fingers from inside of you and delivered a soft slap to your core that made you jolt. This time you didn't react at all, your eyes sad and big as you stared into space not even focusing on him and he sighed, caressing the inside of your thigh and then gliding his thumb through your folds.

"Oh babygirl… You angry with me?"

You were sulking, not replying to his words and instead crossed your arms in front of your chest which was answer enough. He exhaled and tilted his head, watching his thumb draw tight circles around your clit which made you gasp out, but you clearly held back, not wanting to drop your defiant and pouty attitude.

“Alright, angel,” he said, dropping his hands onto his thighs with a soft slap before straightening up.

Without giving you any warning or further explanation, Joel lifted you into the air - one arm braced under your knees, the other around your shoulder - then slid behind you and manhandled you into a sitting position between his spread legs with your back against his chest.

You shrieked, your fingers enclosing around his wrists, but then peeked behind your shoulder in confusion.

"S'alright, baby. Gonna make you cum now…," he hummed, his breath hot and raspy against your ear. "You deserve it, don't ya? You were so good for daddy, did everythin' I told ya to an' took everythin' without complainin'."

You could only nod and then felt his warm hands grabbing the hem of your top and sliding it up and over your arms so you were sitting completely naked between his thighs.

"Jesus…," Joel grunted, kissing your bare shoulder and wrapping a hand around your abdomen to cup your breasts.

"Prettiest little body I've ever seen. So sweet and so goddamn perfect f'me."

He kissed a trail up your neck until his mouth was just below your hairline, his nose nuzzling your scalp and his stubby beard tingling against your skin. You moaned and wanted to say something but all that Joel perceived was mindless babbling which made him gently chuckle as he tasted your salty skin on his tongue.

"That pretty brain of yours is all gone, mhm?" he teased as his left hand joined his right in kneading your breast, leaving his right free to dive back between your legs where your clit eagerly awaited him.

"Mhmm… there she goes… Practically sucking me in, ain't that right?"

Two thick fingers rubbed your bundle of nerves that prickled so spectacularly under the rough pats of his digits and you instantly started with your squirming again, but Joel had you under control with his feet that had slid underneath your ankles to keep your legs parted for him and his left hand on your chest pressing you against him. It occasionally traveled to your waist to draw a few soothing circles over your skin and show you how good you were doing, but his main focus was rolling your nipples between two fingers and massaging the swell of your breasts.

Soon Joel had you trembling for him again and he was almost amazed by how quickly you were on the verge of breaking down.

"Good girl… You wanna cum all over my fingers? Soak them with your wetness and then lick it up afterwards 'cause you made such a mess? Wanna get all dumb on daddy, huh?"

"Y-Yes," you cried out, your hand reaching up to where his hand was squeezing your breast, and then your fingers wrapped around his thumb, squeezing it tightly to release the accumulated pressure in your body.

"Please, daddy," you howled, your whole body on fire and ready to cross the bridge and to your great fortune Joel not allowed it, but encouraged you to, his fingers picking up the pace when he sensed that you were close.

"I got ya, yeah… I got ya, babygirl, just let go and lemme catch ya… My perfect 'lil princess."

Your body unnaturally bent in his arms, your posture hunched over as he rode out your orgasm, his thumb relentlessly rubbing your clit in tight circles to squeeze out everything you had to offer.

"Could watch you all fuckin' day like this. So pretty when you fall apart for me… Such a sweet perfect doll… You know that I would give you the fuckin' world, mhm?"

His voice sounded almost aggressive, his gaze burning holes in the side of your face and his dick painfully twitching at your fluttering eyelashes and your open mouth. You were so overwhelmed by the thrill that you forgot how to speak or express your feelings, apart from the curling of your body and your rapid heart rate.

"Breathe, angel… Breathe f'me… Just like that, in and out… Can't do everythin' for you, you gotta breathe for yourself."

Feeling your hips shift in discomfort he removed his fingers from your pussy with the thought that all he wanted to do to his perfect doll was making you feel good and shower you with love and praise now that you had let him see you fall apart for him so sweetly.

Your head had dropped to his shoulder, your chest heaving in heavy draughts and the skin over your collarbones red and sweaty. It was the perfect view for Joel and he couldn't help himself as he twisted your nipple with his fingers which earned him a painful sob from your overstimulated body.

"Sorry, princess," he whispered and connected his lips with your neck as an apology.

"Now open your mouth," he then demanded, bringing his soaked fingers that beautifully sparkled in the bright morning sun - he hadn't even noticed that the rain had stopped and the dark clouds had dissipated - to your lips.

At first, you didn't react, your eyes shut and your body powerless against his broad chest, but then Joel fondled your belly, coming to a stop to have his hand splayed out on top of your stomach.

"C'mon. Want ya to lick 'em clean. Show daddy how good you are."

Of course it worked because Joel exactly kenw what buttons to press. As if you were in trance, you parted your lips which he instantly took advantage of and pushed them into your mouth. He didn't go very deep for obvious reasons, your body still weak and pliant in his hold, but your tongue seemed to know what it had to do and started to lap up the wetness that was sticky on his skin.

"Good girl… Makin' daddy real happy."

You hummed around his digits, working with your eyes shut so that one could mistake you for being asleep and after a few minutes Joel released you already and drew them back to rest his hand on your waist. He kissed you behind your ear, gently caressing your hip and stomach area while patiently waiting for you to recover from the exhausting and breathtaking high and when you finally opened your eyes ago you looked pleading. Unsatisfied.

“What is it, babygirl?” Joel asked, pressing you lightly against his muscular frame with a gentle squeeze. You moaned and rocked yourself against his hard dick, turning your head to look at him.

"You..." you whispered in a hoarse voice, still struggling to get the words in the right order in your head.

"You need to cum, daddy," you eventually said, your eyes glossy and round as coins.

"Don't worry about me, Princess," he replied with a subtle grip on your hips, then gently cupped the flesh of your ass.

"B-But…," you continued, gripping his wrist in panic.

"Shhh…," Joel made and tightly wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you firmly against his abdomen and caging you with his palm planted against your tummy.

"Daddy," you tried again, but he shook his head leaving kisses on your neck where your baby hair tingled against his nose.

"Everything's fine. Daddy just needed to take care of you. You don't need to worry your little head about it now, alright?"

After giving it a thought you swallowed, but then nodded, losening up to comfortably settle against his broad body.

"There ya go… Did so wonderful for me, angel. My sweetest, prettiest angel."

You grinned and chewed on your bottom lip to hide your excitement at his compliments, but Joel had his eyes on you anyway and savoured the way your cheeks heated up at his words.

"I love you. More than anythin' in this world. And I wanna show it to you all the time."

"I love you too. So much," you whispered with big eyes, turning your head so that Joel could embrace you in a soft and tender kiss that made the butterflies in your stomach wake up and dance a happy dance.

"What 'bout we get you nice 'n' cleaned up and then I'm gonna make breakfast for you? What ya in the mood for? Pancakes or scrambled eggs?"

You brought your thumb to your mouth, nibbling at the nail before turning in Joel's hold so you knelt between his legs, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

"Pancakes, I think. But you don't have to – "

"Shh," he silenced you once again by placing a finger on your lips.

"Lemme help you at least," you whispered once he removed his finger from your lips, giggling as you felt him pull you towards him by your waist.

"We can talk about that. Although I love spoiling my girl so much…"

You smirked, burying your hands in his locks and chuckled as he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

"You're spoilin' me too much. Just wait 'n' see until I get all insufferable and obnoxious…"

"You could never," he quickly stopped you, his hands tracing your jawline until they rested on your cheeks.

"My prettiest princess."

[elfwreck]

OpSec is important. Know who your friends are, and be suspicious of people who don't fit the patterns.

This is part of why why counterculture movements often have different names than people's wallet names.

It's much, much harder for them to track down your friends if your friends are Treefrog, Dave-O, Moonshine, Hawk, Specks, and Yo-Yo. (Dave-O might be trackable - if his name is actually Dave - but there are a LOT of Daves. And if Dave-O's legal name is Tom or Linda, they've got nothing to start with.)

In addition to the plan of "it's ALWAYS shut-the-fuck-up Friday," if they've overheard casual conversations, it's harder for them to act against an obvious nickname. They CAN get a subpoena for "John or Jane Doe, alias Treefrog," but that doesn't tell them where Treefrog works or lives. They can't look up "alias Treefrog" in the DMV records.

You should know that you have the option of resisting or running, but sometimes you're going to look at those and say "the person relying on me (child, sibling, grandparent, etc.) would literally die if I got locked up or skipped town."

Resistance is better, not just for the community, but for yourself - because as noted, while they give you immunity for what you say, if someone else gives them the same info, they can come after you for that.

If the cops are saying "hey, these people are not your friends; they won't protect you; why are you protecting them" - you're not. You're protecting yourself, and your sense of integrity, and you are not supporting cops, because whether or not "those people" are your friends, cops are definitely your enemy.

If you have to comply -

Lying is a big crime, and if they're asking you, they're probably asking other people. You have no way of knowing how verifiable anything you say is. Trying to lie to protect your friends is a bad idea.

Not knowing is not a crime. STFU-Friday doesn't just apply to you; don't ask people for details you don't need. "How were people going to get to the protest?" "I think Treefrog's friend Mouse was going to give some of them a ride" is one answer, but even better is "I dunno; I was gonna take the bus. How other people were gonna get there wasn't my problem." (But: better is just plain "I don't know." Don't volunteer info, even to clarify what you don't know.)

Grand Juries are skilled at getting coherent info out of incoherent, scatterbrained people - obfuscation through random barrage of irrelevant details is not likely to work. (Or rather, someone on the grand jury is likely to be able to see through that. And deliberately obstructing things, if they notice you doing it, is also a crime.)

They're often not looking for crime details; they're trying to understand the shape of the community. Who's the spearhead people; who makes decisions and who just tags along; where do people hang out and meet new people who want to participate; who comes up with the cool ideas; who's always a little over-the-top and nobody listens to that guy. Who is the emotional support person for the group. Whose houses do they think are safe and friendly. ...Who's struggling in school; who's desperate for a job; who's going through a weird breakup and worried about the future. Who lives on gov't support - Social security, disability, food stamps, etc.

If you're answering anything, only answer the exact question given, and do not elaborate. If you don't know an exact answer ("What time did Dave-O arrive?") - say "I don't know" or "I don't remember," not "maybe 5 or 6, sometime before dark." (Remember: If you say he showed up at 5 or 6, and later records say he showed up at 4:30, you have lied. Lying is a crime.)

The whole process is designed to confuse and intimidate you. Learn as much as you can about it in advance to mitigate that.