#cargo container homes

[caseymarte]

Budget-Friendly Builds: How Container Homes Save You Money

Container homes are changing the housing market by offering an affordable alternative to traditional home construction. These innovative homes, crafted from converted shipping containers, are not only eco-friendly but also significantly less expensive to build and maintain. Let's discuss the reasons why shipping container homes are becoming a popular choice for budget-conscious homebuyers.

Cost Savings Breakdown

Affordable Acquisition: Shipping containers are readily available and less expensive than traditional building materials like wood, concrete, or brick. This initial cost saving is a major advantage for those looking to build their own home without a hefty price tag.

Streamlined Construction: The modular nature of container homes allows for much quicker construction times. Since containers are prefabricated, much of the assembly happens off-site, which reduces on-site labor costs and speeds up the overall process.

Reduced Foundation Requirements: Due to their sturdy design and structure, shipping containers require simpler and less costly foundations compared to traditional homes. This can be a significant cost saver, especially in areas where extensive groundwork is typically necessary.

Sustainability and Efficiency

Container homes are at the forefront of sustainable building practices. Repurposing used shipping containers reduces the demand for new construction materials and minimizes waste. Moreover, these homes are often smaller in scale, promoting a minimalist lifestyle and further decreasing ongoing energy consumption.

Design and Customization

The flexibility in design that container homes offer is a budget-friendly feature that traditional homes often lack. Containers can be stacked and joined in various configurations, allowing for custom layouts at a fraction of the cost of conventional custom-built homes. Brattleboro Portable Storage provides various customization options that adapt to different budgets and design preferences.

Long-Term Savings

Container homes are not only cheaper to build but also less expensive to maintain. Their metal structure is resistant to pests such as termites and less prone to structural issues like rot or mold. Additionally, their compact size makes them more energy-efficient, lowering heating and cooling costs throughout the year.

Choosing a container home is a smart financial decision for those looking to maximize their budget while minimizing their environmental impact. With their low upfront costs, reduced construction and maintenance expenses, and energy efficiency, container homes offer substantial savings over time. For those interested in exploring container home options, Brattleboro Portable Storage is your resource for affordable, innovative housing solutions.

[keepingitneutral]

"Cargo," Algarve region, Portugal,

Designed by Madeiguincho

[trailerpark2]

[consultingskeletondetective]

Colonel's Girl

You’re the young army nurse on base and König decides to keep a protective eye on you. You don’t mind at all, the Colonel is sweet and safe - until he isn’t.

masterlist 🩷 ao3

tags: military inaccuracies, blood and injury, angst, smut, oral sex, vaginal sex

This was your first time on a real military base. You’d done field medic training of course, but this was the first time in your career as an army nurse that you’d been shipped out to base, far from home, calling a tiny bunk room your own in a building full of rowdy young recruits. 

Their daily training brought them to you constantly with scrapes and bruises and concussions. They were feisty, adrenaline-fuelled young men, and you were one of the few women on base. The catcalling and the leering didn’t surprise you, even if it was unwelcome. 

“What time do you get off, darlin’?” Private Turner drawled in a cockney accent as you applied butterfly stitches to a bleeding split across his eyebrow. “Maybe I can come to your room and we can keep each other company-”

“Turner!” It was barked, a stern command from an accented voice. The private paled as Colonel König stomped into your clinic, and you blushed. König was a very imposing man. He was at least 6”9 by your reckoning, and just as broad, in his late 30s or early 40s with a thick Austrian accent. His years of military training had given him a thick, muscular frame, with his broad thighs barely contained in cargo trousers and steel-capped boots on his feet, a black tee stretched over his chest and biceps the size of your torso. You knew what he looked like under that hood, square jawed and piercing blue eyes, but today he’d kept it on, his eyes framed and dark. It was no surprise you blushed whenever you saw him.

“Colonel?” He stood and turned. His voice held none of its previous bravado. Next to König, he looked like a mere boy.

“Two weeks of toilet cleaning duty.” König said gruffly, “and if I catch you using that kind of language again, it will be a month. Understood?”

Turner slumped. “Yes, sir.”

“Get out of my sight.”

Turner, chastised, scampered out of your clinic without looking at you.

König turned his hulking form towards you and actually had to look down to greet you. 

“Pardon, ma’am. He won’t step out of line again.”

Ma’am . Your blush deepened. You gave him a small, nervous smile. 

“Thank you, Colonel, that’s very kind of you.”

“These boys don’t know yet how to respect a lady, but they will.”

“Once you’re done with them?” You smiled playfully.

“If I have done my job correctly.” He said kindly, before turning on his heel and leaving swiftly. You giggled. 

You didn’t see much of König at the start of training, his rank and his experience meant that he didn’t end up in your clinic as much as his recruits did, but when you did pass each other in the hall or by exchanging paperwork, he was nothing less than a courteous and charming gentleman. It seemed bizarre, considering you’d heard tell that he was a brawling killing machine out on the field, but he could switch from barking stiff orders to giving you a gentle smile that made you blush in the blink of an eye. You had to routinely remind yourself that this didn’t make you special, he was just being respectful, and you weren’t used to that. It didn’t matter that he was a soldier, or nearly twice your age, it didn’t take you long to develop a crush on the handsome and mysterious Austrian. 

A few days later and you were stood in line to the mess hall. It was breakfast, and you’d seen the black pudding in the warming trays as soon as you’d stepped in. You were practically salivating as you waited, it wasn’t often you got a creature comfort like this - something that reminded you of home - on base.

“Not often we get this kind of luxury, eh, miss?” You recognised the coarse accent before you turned. Lieutenant Riley had joined you in the line, a balaclava covering his face. You knew him a little, the infamous Ghost. You’d crossed paths with the 141 on occasion, and you knew Riley, sometimes even Captain Price, dropped into the base to provide training or engage your services. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to make polite conversation with you. In fact, it seemed the norm here. The high rankers felt a bit sorry for you, while the recruits made you feel like a piece of meat or an object of ridicule. 

You didn’t mind much, you were here to do a job, and you kept to yourself mostly anyway, but the offer of friendship was much appreciated. 

You smiled a little shyly in return. “I know, right? I hope the black pudding doesn’t go too quickly. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

“A girl after my own heart.” The lieutenant chuckled. In front of you, two privates who had been turning around to eavesdrop on the conversation - more to get a look at Ghost, than you, you understood - burst into laughing at your admission. Your ears turned red and you wished you’d never opened your mouth.

Riley didn’t seem to notice, he was holding his gloved hand out to König, who had somehow appeared next to him in the line since you’d looked away. You actually had to do a double take. For a near seven foot slab of muscle, he was stealthy when he wanted to be. 

The two of them talked among themselves in low voices and you left them to it, knowing you didn’t particularly want to hear the contents of whatever they needed to discuss.

You reached the front of the line and the private in front of you - the one who had laughed - piled his tray high with black pudding until the warming tray was empty. He turned and smirked mockingly at you.

“You can have my sausage, darlin’, if you ask nicely.” At least three recruits laughed. You wanted to shrink down so small you stopped existing altogether.

König’s brick hand clamped around the private’s tray and wrenched it easily from his grip.

“Sir-my breakfast…”

“Get out of the line, or I will feed you my fist.” König didn’t even raise his voice, the cold delivery had the private skulking off empty handed. König placed the tray back onto the counter and then he turned to you. 

“Help yourself, ma’am.” 

“Oh.” Your cheeks were crimson. He cocked his head, his eyes, the only part of his face visible through his black hood, looked amused. It wasn’t unkind. “T-thank you.” 

König tipped his hood towards you before turning his attention back to Riley, and the pair of them moved off to a separate table. You sat by yourself, chewing your black pudding, and smiling like an idiot. 

You glanced over to König a few times more than you would like to admit. He put you at ease, that’s what it came down to, it gave you a confidence you didn’t usually have around military men. 

It was that very ease that left you wholly unprepared for the following week.

It was ballistics training out on the grounds, and you caught wind of an accident halfway through your sandwich.

“Come quick!’ An officer skidded into your office, “there’s been an accident - potential fatality.”

You cursed, and gathered your supplies, before following him out of your clinic and out onto the training ground. Recruits stood nervously holding rifles, their half-shot targets abandoned. A young recruit was wailing on the ground, another kneeling beside him and pressing against his belly with a jacket, there was blood on the sand. 

König was towering over a young private - the same young man who had laughed at you in the mess hall, you briefly noted - and barking bloody murder in his terrified face. It took you more than a moment to realise that König wasn’t actually speaking German, you could just barely make a word out in his fury. 

It was easy to tune out, you’d been out in the field before, and turn your attention to your patient. You knelt beside the terrified looking private stemming the bleeding, and carefully lifted his jacket to look at his wound while the young man screamed.

“You’re going to be okay.” You said confidently, calmly. “It’s nothing we can’t stitch up. Private, keep putting pressure on the wound, just like this, you’re doing a good job.” Just this once, you were obeyed without question. 

“I will have you court-martialed, dummkopf, you could have killed him. You come onto my base, you do not listen to a word I say, and now you attack my men? You sorry piece of -”

“König,” you cut through the accented remonstration, pulling bandages from your bag, “I need your men to carry him to my clinic immediately, then you have to-”

König turned swiftly to you, those bright blue eyes visibly narrowed in the slits of his hood. “Do not fucking give me orders, nurse.” He seethed, voice ice cold with rage, fists clenched and towering over you. “You address me as Colonel, you little girl.” The white hot fury in his eyes matched the venom in his voice. You baulked, in fear, in surprise, horrified to realise tears were gathering in your eyes. You looked back down on the man in your arms and forced yourself to regain your composure.

“I need to get him to my clinic, I can’t lift him myself.” Your voice was steady, if muted, throwing your gaze over your shoulder at König and the recruits staring at you. “Please, colonel .”

König turned from you and began barking your orders at his men and within moments, your patient was being carried between three recruits back to your clinic. You turned and rushed after them. You extracted the bullet from his ribs and sewed up the damage as numbly as you treated any one of your patients. You left your makeshift surgery room with bloody hands and sweat on your forehead, surprised to find König leaning against the wall in your waiting room. He’d stripped out of his uniform to a simple pair of combat trousers and a black shirt that looked like it was losing a fight with his bicep muscles. His hood was held lax in his hand, giving you a rare glimpse at his face. It was no surprise to you that he looked exhausted. He pushed himself from the wall when you entered. Like a gentleman , you thought bitterly.

“Will he live?” He asked you, his voice soft. It was just like every other interaction you’d had on base. 

“It was a flesh wound. He’ll be fine, Colonel.” Your words were stiff, and you walked straight past him without even a glance, feeling like a complete idiot that you’d ever thought he might treat you with the slightest bit of respect. You were angry until the adrenaline wore off, then you cried in your bed.

The recruit, Jenkins, pulled through the night, and the next day he was airlifted to the nearest hospital. The accidental shooter was gone, and you didn’t care to ask what had happened. Training was halted for a few days as a result and you had a quiet week, but you weren’t complaining, as you now had a mountainous amount of paperwork to complete. You were grateful when you were able to file the heft of paper into your pigeon hole to be sent off, and rewarded yourself with a sit down in the breakroom to the main office.

You looked up on instinct more than anything when the door opened. König walked in, in combat boots and a military vest, his hood over his eyes and helmet strapped to his head, like he’d just come straight from deployment. He glanced at you with tired blue eyes, but all you could see was the fury in them when he’d scared you the week before. You felt stupid for thinking someone like König would ever be nice to you. You were just the idiot girl on base.

“Morning, ma’am.” He said pleasantly when he saw you, slipping one hand into his trouser pocket as he poured himself coffee from the pot on the table.

“Hey.” You replied, voice flat, suddenly finding your nails remarkably interesting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine.” Another one word answer. You still weren’t looking at him. 

König shifted uneasily. The atmosphere in the room changed. Of course it did, he was used to you being a blushy, smiling, pathetic mess for him. 

Concerned, König crossed the small space to you. He didn’t sit. From what you could see from your lowered head, his hand was no longer in his pocket.

“If this is about what happened…you did well, Jenkins will recover.”

“I know I did fine.” You genuinely didn’t mean to snap. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

The conversation went dead, the atmosphere was palpable. You didn’t know whether it was his culture, or his military status, but König went right to the point.

“Have I offended you?”

Was he being willfully obstinate? You felt your humiliated aggravation grow. Well, you were in it now.

“Just leave me alone.”

There was a pause. And then another. Neither of you moved.

“As you wish.”

He left swiftly after that, and you finally looked up at the empty room. You felt relieved, but also hollow. It was almost like you’d done something wrong. But you hadn’t, had you? König’s coffee was abandoned on the table.

König left you alone, and that pissed you off even more. He walked past you in the mess hall, he didn’t glance down to smile at you anymore, he didn’t come into the clinic, even though you secretly hoped he would. Your self-esteem was pretty much on the floor after that, and the base got just that little bit lonelier.

Two recruits barrelled into your office a few days later, one had a busted lip and they both had black eyes. They'd clearly been in a fight, but whether that was with each other, or someone else, you didn’t care to ask. You stayed quiet as you applied butterfly stitches to their cuts, and they were happy enough to complain between themselves.

“You’re a dickhead, Williams, the Colonel’s gonna fucking kill us.” 

“Relax, he’s not going to know.”

“He’s been such a dick lately. He put Taylor on shit detail for a fortnight for having his shoelace untied.”

“Probably because he has to look at your fucking ugly mug every day.”

“You’re done.” You cut across. “You can go.”

They thanked you and left, and you were grateful to get the foul mouthed privates out of your office. 

It was getting dark outside and you were tired. You left your clinic and crossed the training ground to the mess hall. There were still soldiers out here, practising hand to hand combat under the floodlights. You gave them a wide berth.  

You didn’t see the abandoned dummy grenade wedged in the sand until your foot hooked around it and you vaulted over with an unladylike grunt. 

A large hand curled around your wrist and stilled you before you ate dirt. You cursed under your breath and turned inward. König was towering above you, your wrist positively dwarfed by his gloved hand. His hood obscured his face, shrouding him in the darkness behind him, all except those bright eyes looking down on you.

“You should be more careful.” He grunted, releasing your wrist.

Your eyes hit the ground and you mumbled a hasty ‘sorry’ before you scampered away to the mess hall. König watched your retreating back as you left.

The next few days passed uneventfully. You worked, you ate, you slept, you called home. The clinic was surprisingly empty. You wondered if the recruits were finally becoming competent enough that they didn’t need you every five seconds. You signed off your discharge sheets for the day and headed to the main office to dump them in the output box. You were surprised to find König in there, sans hood, rifling through a box of papers on the desk. He glanced up when he saw you and his expression wilted. He looked back into the box. 

“I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” He said. “I just need to find the instruction manual for the - s cheiße .” The papers in his hand fluttered to the ground. He bent down to retrieve them and winced, arm circling his broad torso. 

You frowned and took a step closer to him.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“Nothing.” He replied instantly as he straightened. His movements were slower than usual. 

“It doesn’t look like nothing, König, it looks like cracked ribs.”

“It’s fine, really.”

You put your discharge forms on the desk and walked up to him. “Lift your shirt.”

König sighed but complied after a moment. He lifted his dark tee to his pectorals. His deep abdominal muscles rose and fell under his breathing and you found your cheeks reddening under the sight. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his torso, and you reached out and lifted it. His skin was like lava against your fingers. He didn’t say a word as you lifted the bandage but he may have winced when your eyes widened. The right hand side of his ribcage was purple with deep bruising and lacerated with deep and shallow cuts alike, some were healing, and some were leaving blood stains on the inside of the bandage. 

“Oh my god, what happened?”

“Nothing.” König grunted. “Machine gun training. One of the recruits lost control of the barrel and clocked me in the ribs. It is just a scratch.”

“This cut needs stitches.” You said automatically, tracing the underside of the welt with your fingertip. König jolted and you took your hand away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You didn’t.” He replied.

“I have cream that’ll reduce this bruising too-” König huffed and you looked up at him. You couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. He might as well have been wearing his hood.

“It is fine.” He said. “The bruising has disappeared a lot in the last few days…”

“ Days ?” You blinked. “Days, König? You can’t have been walking around like this for days. Why didn’t you come to me?”

There was a pause. He was trying to avoid your gaze.

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“König,” it was reprimanding, reproachful, your eyes slackened. “You always need to come to me when you’re hurt, even when I’m mad. I’m sorry.”

König’s eyes snapping to you made you regret the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. Your gaze dropped to the grazes on his ribs but your cheeks were already on fire. 

“Are you ever going to tell me why you are mad at me?”

You didn’t meet his gaze. It seemed pathetic now. “You yelled at me.”

König didn’t respond straight away. When he did - “I yelled at you?”

You fought off the sudden urge to say sorry.

“When Jenkins was shot.” You explained. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I don’t like being screamed at, especially when I’m doing my job.” Your voice dropped a little. “And I’m not a little girl, I’m a nurse. You should respect that, just like the way you tell your troops to.”

You glanced up at König, he looked crestfallen. “I…” He frowned a little, as if giving up on any explanation he planned to give. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You shook your head, embarrassed, and lowered his shirt.

“It’s not important now-”

“It is important. I don’t think you are a little girl. Sometimes in battle, things like this become heated. I do not even remember saying this to you, but I am sorry. I do not think that, I truly do not, I was…one of my men was dying, I was not myself. Please forgive me.”

Your eyes met. It felt like the first time you’d looked at each other in a long time. König’s blue eyes were soft and sad.

“Um, come to the clinic, this afternoon,” you rose, flustered, “I, uh, that cut needs looking at.”

You turned swiftly and left but not before you heard König utter a single ‘yes ma’am’ before you did. 

You thought about what he said as you sterilised your clinic for his arrival. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment, but you managed to keep your cool? Why didn’t he? Because he’s a soldier, you reminded yourself. He kills easily and without thought, he’s not the sweet gentleman you want him to be. You shook your head to yourself, that wasn’t the issue and you knew it. You didn’t care that he was a killer, or that sometimes he scared you. You knew what his easy dismissal of you meant - and it hurt.

König reported promptly to your clinic at 1pm that afternoon. He stripped out of his shirt and sat patiently down on the end of your bed and you had to pretend like having a 7ft goliath of a man stripped down in front of you wasn’t making your heart race. He truly was extraordinary. 

You stitched the large cut on his ribs that was worrying you the most and he didn’t make a sound. it didn’t much surprise you, you assumed he was accustomed to pain. It made your stomach flutter with something . 

He was even more impressive undressed, his body heavy with swollen, toned muscle, faded scars criss-crossing over his flesh. You had to remind yourself that you were a trained nurse just to stop yourself from drooling. 

König watched you work rather intently. “You have very small hands.” He remarked suddenly. You didn’t respond, unsure if it was a compliment or not. You both lapsed into silence for another long while. It was like a form of torture. You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. You felt like a foolish little girl, trying to play with a grizzly bear. It must have shown on your face. 

You didn’t expect König to talk again. He must have thought that you were insane - pathetic, at the very least. 

“May I ask you a question?”

Oh. “Of course.”

“Why did you join the military if you hate being yelled at?”

You sighed and finished off your final stitch. “You don’t have to mock me, you know, I already got the message.”

“I am not mocking you. I’m curious.”

Forthright . You forgot.

You took a moment to respond, busying yourself with packing away your equipment. “I didn’t join as a recruit, I joined as a nurse.” You didn’t tell him the real reason, that it was because it was him.

“Right.” 

“It’s not your problem.” 

König stood, and pulled his shirt back on. “It won't happen again.” He said. “You have my word.” 

Your gaze flicked to his handsome face involuntarily. “Um, here’s the cream. Make sure to apply it twice a day, and try to take it easy for a few days.”

König grunted, a ghost of a smile on his face. You could tell he hadn’t taken it easy a day in his life. 

“What message?” König asked suddenly. 

“Sorry?” You froze, trying to backtrack to that particular exchange.

“You said you ‘got the message’.” He repeated. “What message?”

Oh. 

“Um, did I say that?” Your voice was uncharacteristically high. König tilted his head.

“Schatz, my English isn’t that bad. We both heard what you said.”

You blushed and your head dipped. You didn’t know much German, but you knew what ‘schatz’ meant. 

“Well, you know-” fuck, shit, fuck . “P-put in your place by the guy you have a crush on. I get it. I got it. I won’t go there again.”

“Crush?” König responded like a lightning strike, before he fell silent. His brain was calculating, before his expression turned to…well, there was no other way to put it, absolutely fucking floored. “You like me?”

Oh, this was very fucking bad.

“Well…yeah? I thought it was obvious-”

“Obvious? Schatz, I thought you hated me.”

You blinked. 

“Wha- why would you think that?”

“You told me to leave you alone.”

“You called me a little girl! In front of everyone.”

When exactly had you both gotten so close to each other? It was close enough that König could look down on you, and your heart was skipping a beat.

“You can’t like me.” He said quietly.

You frowned. “Why not? Have you looked at yourself? Plus you’re…you know, nice, and the only person in this dump that doesn’t leer at me or treat me like a stupid little girl. When people aren’t dying, I mean.”

“I…” Was König hesitating? The man who had nothing to fear?

“It’s okay,” you murmured, embarrassed. “Like I said, I get the message. Why would you want a pathetic sap like me who can’t even hear a raised voice without crying?”

“Do not say that.” König looked uncertain, his eyebrows knitting together. “You are like a...a flower. Not meant for men like me.”

“A…” Your brain couldn’t quite compute what you’d just heard. “Men like you? What does that even mean?”

“You need someone younger, for a start.” He sighed. “Someone who has seen less death, verdammt, someone who has caused less death.”

“Men like your idiot recruits, then?”

König didn’t respond. 

“I have to go.” He said instead. “Thank you for the…cream.”

“Anytime, Colonel.” It was softly spoken, you watched him freeze, then you watched him go. You smuggled a bottle of wine back to your room and drank until you fell asleep. This really was a new low.

…

The days passed slowly and without incident. On the face of it, there was no difference in you, except for a notably lacklustre delivery of your care. 

You were making notes at your desk when Private Jackson and his buddy, Williams, appeared at your desk, complaining of a groin injury. 

You rolled your eyes and returned to your paperwork. “I’m sure it’ll feel better tomorrow, private.”

“I’m sure it’ll feel better right now if you kiss it-”

“Shut up,” Williams chuckled, shoving him, “you wanna get a disciplinary? You know she’s the colonel’s girl.”

Your gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

Neither of them answered you, they just sniggered and slunk off. You watched the empty doorway with wide eyes. You tried not to ponder on it. You pondered on it for the rest of the day.

…

You signed the bottom of Williams’ sick leave and ticked off the various appropriate boxes, flipping the page and hoping that was all that was required until you froze. It needed the signature of the patient's C.O. König. Shit. 

You hadn’t even seen König since he’d rejected you and every time you thought about that particular exchange, your ears went hot and you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

You were too much of a pussy to talk to him, so instead you went to his office when you knew he was scheduled to be out at training, and scribbled ‘ sign me please :) ’ on a post it note, stuck it on the front page and left the form on his desk. 

You turned for the door with a relieved sigh and accidently walked into König’s solid chest. He was standing in the open doorway, he was the size of the open doorway, wearing his combat gear although he was unarmed, his hood draped covering his face, even so, you could see he was looking down on you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you realised he was ducking to fit in the doorway. That sent heat right to your cunt.

“Oh, hello.” You said stupidly, eyes hitting the carpeted floor.

“Hello.” He greeted you, accent gentle. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, right, I’m in your office.” You stumbled over your words. “Um, W-Williams needs sick leave approved, he needs gallbladder surgery off base, I need you to sign the form. I - I left it on your desk.”

König walked past you, he smelt of sweat and sand and some sort of hastily applied deodorant. He seemed unfazed that you were in his office, he certainly didn’t seem to be trying to avoid you as ardently as you were avoiding him. You cursed yourself for being so childish.

He removed his hood and draped it over the back of his chair as he picked up the form. His eyes were darkened with war paint, fresh stubble on his jaw. 

“A smiling face.” He remarked as he read your post it note, voice muted. “The way yours used to be.”

You blinked. “Is that meant to be some kind of joke?” You asked hotly.

“Not at all.” He replied, not looking up from the form. “It used to brighten my days.” He signed the form and held it out to you before you could really process what he’d said. “Let us hope Williams makes a swift recovery, he is one of my best.”

You tentatively took the form, mind drawn back to the last encounter you’d had with the young private. 

“He called me…” You bit back your sentence before you had a chance to finish it. But the damage was done.

König’s back straightened, his fists clenched. “Something inappropriate?”

“No.” Your shoulders hunched. Why did you even bring it up? “He said I was…they’re calling me…you know…the colonel’s girl.”

You glanced up at König shyly, to see if there was any truth in it. His back had relaxed, but his stance was still guarded. 

“What?” You asked.

“I told the recruits to leave you alone.” He admitted. “Or there would be consequences.” 

“Oh.” You blushed. “But, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not…some of the men have interpreted the order to mean I am keeping you for myself.”

You took a bold step forward.

“And are you?”

König looked at the floor. You sighed and turned for the door.

König’s large hand curled around the front of your throat before you could turn and drew you back, right to his mouth. You whimpered into the kiss. You were forced onto your tiptoes to meet him, feeling his fingers against your oesophagus with every exhale. His lips eased wetly and insistently against yours until you were dizzy, gripping his arms and pressing yourself closer. 

As soon as it started, it was over. König released your throat and took a step back. You had to blink a few times to regain just a few of your senses. You were still on your tiptoes, and you could still taste him on your mouth. Gunpower, and mint.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was ragged, his accent even thicker than usual. Fuck, it was hot.

He turned and left before you could even articulate a response, but you were sure you saw his back muscles twitching as he went.

…

The deployment for the first active mission came about quicker than anyone had been expecting. It was practically a dummy mission, you’d been told, leading a team of recruits on a sweep near cartel lands for stray activity or potential landmines. Still, the atmosphere was palpable in the base, the recruits were scared, you could tell.

You watched from the doorway of your clinic as the men stood by the jeeps, ready to roll out. Riley had returned, and he stood next to König as the latter zipped up his kevlar and clipped on his helmet over his hood. You wanted to wish him luck, even though you knew everything was going to be fine. It was a routine sweep, and he was König, he wasn’t in any danger. Still, your stomach pulled. Fate was cruel. What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

You scrunched your eyes shut, called yourself an idiot, and jogged across the sand of the training field.

Riley saw you first, he knocked König on the chest to alert him - you tried not to read into that - König turned, face obscured, body heavy with kevlar and weaponry. He had to lower his head to look at you.

“Schatz?” 

Your insides ached at the familiar term of endearment that you didn’t deserve. Your mouth was as dry as the sand you were stood on, and you suddenly didn’t know what to say. Don’t go? Come back? How could you say any of those things to the man who didn’t want you.

König solved your problem for you. His fingers closed around your tricep, and his thumb stroked just once.

“Look after yourself.” You said quietly.

He nodded before he dropped your arm. Then you watched as they got into the jeeps and drove away.

…

The recruits were returned to you on a daily basis. Apparently, the drop point of the sweep was particularly hot for cartel soldiers, ready and willing to engage in battle. The wounds you were treating now were not the cuts and scrapes of training, it was cracked skulls and broken bones and lacerated flesh. And the men, Turner, Williams, Jackson, they weren’t the scrappy, joking lads they’d once been, they were crying and they were scared. 

You slept when you could but you were always exhausted. You were waiting for the first time one of them died on you. 

You were awoken that night by a loud, insistent banging on your door. You jumped out of bed and tied your robe around yourself, already gathering your hair up to tie it back.

“What’s happened?” You called, opening the door, “who is it…oh.”

It took a moment for you to realise that you weren’t staring at the pitch black of night, but rather directly at König’s chest. He stood in a dark shirt, helmet removed, hood covering his face, head disappearing behind your doorway, but his blue eyes were bright and wild and looking down at you.

“König! You scared me half to death. Get in here.”

You stood aside and König ducked his head and walked, actually stomped, his way into your room. You prayed you didn’t have any stray underwear on the floor. His shirt sleeves were short and you could actually see his arm muscles thrumming. 

“What’s happened?” You frowned. “What’s wrong, König? Talk to me, please.”

“There was an I.E.D.” He replied, accent thick. You couldn’t imagine what his expression looked like. “Ghost saw it before I did. He pulled me out of the pathway. The fucking thing exploded five feet in front of my face. I could have died. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, König, you…you didn’t die, and you’re not an idiot, okay? Every soldier misses…”

“No, schatz.” He walked forward, backing you against the wall. You swallowed when his large hand came up, pressing your collarbone back against the wall. “I’m a fucking idiot because I could have died without doing this.”

One hand curled around your hip and lifted you effortlessly, and you gasped as you had no choice but to wrap your legs around his waist - it was a stretch, he was so broad. König wasted no time slamming you into the wall next to your bed with enough force to rattle your bones. You squeaked, but that was all you managed to do. He pushed his hood up to his nose and captured your lips with his.

Your eyes crossed and closed as you groaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips slid against his. This was nothing like the first kiss - that was chaste, hurried, this was luxurious, long, wet and slow, the whole world went quiet as König pressed his tongue between your lips and lapped at yours with sure strokes that had you whimpering. Your fingers tangled in his hood as he kissed you like that, and you forgot everything else. 

He hitched your legs around his waist and you whined, muffled, as you felt a solid lump pressing up against your clothed crotch. You didn’t care – you ground down on him as you met his tongue with yours. He growled into your mouth and it reverberated through you, before he was pulling back, kissing along your jaw and grinding his cock against your heat harder than before. 

Then his eyes were on you, piercing and bright through the dark hood, the fabric sat askew on his top lip, his lips pink and swollen with your spit.

“I want you, schatz.” He said bluntly. 

“I - I want you, too.”

Your consent was all he needed. Suddenly you were airborne again, and you clung onto him as he lowered you onto the belt and knelt between your legs. The bed actually dipped under his weight and you blushed.

“K-König,” you murmured quietly.

“No,” it was short, and stiff, as he yanked your night shirt down by your collar hard enough to rip. You yelped as the sound of fabric tearing filled the room and suddenly your tits were exposed. You whimpered in embarrassment but he’d already grabbed them in his rough, gloved hands, squeezing and rubbing, flicking and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

“Hhhh, fuck.” You blushed, biting your lip as your underwear moistened at the rough treatment.

“Fuck, do not tell me they are sensitive.” König’s voice sounded wrecked.

“Please,” it was a whisper, “please be gentle.”

“Wanted to get my hands on you for too long.” Was all his reply was as he squeezed your breast again and leant down, using his hand to guide your nipple into his exposed mouth. He sucked so hard that you thought he was trying to drink your soul out from you. Your head fell back and you gasped, grinding your wet, needy cunt as best you could on the side of his thigh. König took pity on you, lapping at your nipples until they were shining nubs screaming in oversensitivity, while his brick hand - when had he taken his glove off? - cupped your pussy through your underwear. His thumb was jammed right up against your clit. You didn’t know if he’d meant to do that, or if it was coincidental, but either way you ground up onto the solid digit until your eyes were unfocused.

“So wet for me, liebling,” he murmured breathlessly, between your nipples, “you are fucking soaked for me.” He stroked you with his thumb once and your eyes slackened and you came with a shudder, stiffening beneath him as stars danced above your head.

He let your nipple slide wetly from his mouth and suddenly those bright eyes were on you.

“Did you just have an orgasm?”

“Mmm.” You buried your head into his neck shyly, thighs shuddering as the waves of pleasure rolled through you. Your clit twitched against his hand. 

“Oh, sweet liebling.” He murmured, rubbing wet circles over the sodden fabric of your underwear. You shuddered as your thighs tried to close away from the intense pleasure, until one strong hand was on your thigh and pushing it wide.

“König!” You gasped. He was watching you intently as he pushed your underwear to the side with his fingers and pressed the thick digits through your sopping folds. 

“Such a pretty little cunt.” He murmured, stroking his fingertips over your slit. It opened with every heavy breath you took, dribbles of desire wetting his fingers.

“König, please,” you whined, “need you in me. Please -”

“Oh yes? Is that so?” The side of his mouth twitched up, then his finger was sinking inside you.

“Shit, fuck! K-König, you’re so big…” You felt your cunt stretching around his finger, clenching involuntarily down around it as your thighs tried to close but couldn’t, pinned open by his solid hand.

“I know, schatz.” He replied calmly. “You can take it.” He slid a second finger in without warning and grunted at how tight and wet you were, just imagining how your cunt would feel around his cock. You whined and threw your head back, the stretch aching after months of nothing, thighs shaking. You were so fucking wet that his fingers practically glided in, his knuckles against your soft pink entrance. “I want you to come for me, to loosen you up for my cock.”

“König, fuck, I…” Your cheeks were rosy. “My god, please...please move, I need-”

“Shhh, little one, I know.” He wasted no time shoving his fingers deeper in your aching cunt, and you yelped and lifted off of the bed entirely. König growled in disapproval and used the hand on your thigh to pin you down to the bed, keeping you still as he ploughed his fingers in and out of you. You moaned deliriously at the sudden intense, rough pressure to your sweet spot, watching the way König’s large hand was like a blur between your legs.

“I’m-” You couldn’t even say it before you were coming with a wet moan, your release splashing against his wrist and dripping all over the bed.

“Scheiße, liebling, making such a mess for me.” His fingers were still hard and circling your engorged sweet spot. Your body seized in panic as you gripped his wrist with all your might to try and still him. All you achieved was watching your own arms shake as he fingered you mercilessly. The noise was obscene, soaking wet come and slick filthy between your legs and soaking his hand as you squirted again, streaming down his arm with a mix of clear and white desire. You moaned and gasped and sobbed, the pleasure intense and spiralling, your pussy already felt worn out from the rough treatment.

“König, please,” you begged, “it’s too much-”

“Again.” He commanded, hand leaving your thigh and curling around your throat. “Want all of that squirt out of you.” he pinned you to the bed by your neck, using the change in position to drive his fingers roughly home deep in your aching, spent cunt. He didn’t stop when you came, and he didn’t stop when you came again - your eyes in the back of your head, body on fire with ceaseless pleasure, the bed beneath you soaked with your own humiliation. All you could do was take it, and shudder violently. 

Finally, König pulled his fingers from your gaping hole and slapped your cheek lightly, it was a wet noise and you blinked.

“Come on, little girl, do not give up on me.”

“König,” you slurred, heaving. “I…fuck, so good, never…I can’t…”

“Oh sweet one,” he cooed, crowding between your legs, pulling your thighs over his hips. “Fucked you stupid and I haven’t even put my cock in you yet.”

You managed a tired smile as you traced your fingers down the front of his stab vest. You watched him drag the zip of his trousers down, rubbing just the once over the lump there before dipping in and pulling his cock free. It took him three tries - to extract the full, erect length of himself from the tight compression of his protective cup, before he was letting it hang heavy between his legs. 

“Fuck, König- you’re so big.”

“I know, baby,” he stroked the length of his long, engorged cock from length to tip and your eyes widened, cunt throbbing between your legs in your desperation to feel it deep in you. 

“König, please,” you begged, digging your heels into the small of his back, your wet cunt pressed up against his balls, inviting, begging him in, “my pussy - please -”

He chuckled before pressing the head of his foreboding cock against your clit and you trembled and cursed. He lent over you, hand squeezing your breast, the ends of his dark hood tickling your neck as you felt the hot, solid crown of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your eyes were wide, nervous, feeling the pressure, the give, then the hot length sliding home inside of you.

You gasped and arched, clenching around him and his biceps shook where he held you.

“Fuck, schatz, fuck, not so hard, you will make me come.”

“C-can’t help it.” It was a whine, rolling your hips and digging your heels in harder, trying to pull him deeper. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” He panted, regaining some of his composure and locking his hand around your neck once more. His hips began to piston and you weren’t prepared for it, the shift of his massive cock in your tight walls making you moan and clench and writhe. Your cunt was obscenely wet, and every noise was a squelch that made you blush, until he was pounding into your sweet spot and you forgot everything.

“Fuck, König, fuck-” it was breathless, eyelids fluttering as you clenched and groaned and sprayed his cock, his balls, with your release. “I can’t - can’t stop, fuck,”

“Guh, fuck.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. His cock not slowing, pounding you like he was trying to nail the mattress beneath you. “So tight, liebling, your pussy is drawing me in. I’ve waited so long for this.”

You couldn’t ask him to explain, you were too busy coming, your world zeroed down to the tip of König’s dick abusing your swollen sweet spot. He curled his fingers under your knee and held your thigh up by your collarbone, exposing more of your vulnerable cunt to him as he thrust hard into your aching walls. 

Your moans were broken and never ending, blushing and squirming in delirious agony as you gushed and creamed on his cock, feeling your hot release on the backs of your thighs.

“Look at you,” König didn’t even have the decency to sound exerted as he took you apart. “You can’t stop coming, can you, schatz?”

“No.” There were tears in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his arms, holding on for dear life. “You need, please -” Your mouth fell open as you came again, the splash of your squirt explosive and filthy, “you need to come, please, I can’t, can’t come again, please, König, please.”

König framed your jaw with his hand, stroking along the bone as he slammed his hips into yours, forcing more of your come straight from you with a grunt.

“Nearly there, schatz.” He said into your mouth. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Fuck, please,” your walls clenched and contracted again, vaulted over the edge and nearly losing consciousness, clenching your fucked out cunt tight if only to help him get there. “Please, come, come in me, fuck.”

“Scheiße,” he groaned, cock jamming in your tight cunt as you came so hard you nearly pushed him out. He shoved his way back in and you wailed. “You want me to come inside? I’m not wearing…”

“König, please,” it was pathetic, and he couldn’t deny you, watching your sobbing eyes with his piercing blues as he slammed into your weeping cunt for a few more torturous minutes, then his forehead was pressed to yours and he groaned as he spilled inside you. He was so deep you couldn’t feel it, but you could feel his cock twitching, and you could feel yourself clenching and coming so hard you forced dribbles of his white come straight back out of your slit and dribbling down between your cheeks. 

König was breathing heavily against you as he held himself, forehead against yours, body framing yours, and you watched him as you shuddered and tried in vain to relax. He was…there were no words for it.

You let your hands trail down his clothed back, feeling the solid and bunching muscles there, feeling his cock heavy in your squirting pussy and wondering how the hell this had happened.

“König,” you had a warm, dizzying smile on your face. “You came back.”

He nodded mutedly, face partially obscured by his hood, as he stroked along your jaw, then your lips, and let his hulking body fall and rest beside yours. “Thought you might not want me.”

You shook your head, curling into his chest the best you could. He was still inside you.

“Want you, always. Don’t-'' He'd already curled his bear arms around you, drawing you into his warm chest and cutting you off. You were suddenly so overhot you couldn’t remember what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry I upset you, liebling,” he stroked along your back, his blue eyes slack. “I have always wanted you to be mine. From the moment I saw you.”

This felt like a fever dream. It couldn’t possibly be real. You couldn’t possibly be this happy.

“I’ve always been yours, König, I still am. If you still want me.”

He tilted his head as he watched you, lips pulling up, and you blushed.

“What?” You asked.

“You,” he said simply, voice warm like honey, “are smiling again.”

[artbyblastweave]

So I don't really think that it's a secret that Boston has a significant Minotaur problem. It's a pretty common situation for older American cities on the East Coast- centuries of poorly-documented cowpath-style urban growth providing an ideal nesting ground, widespread electrification and plentiful steam tunnels that compensate for the loss of the temperate Mediterranean climate that they're used to. And all this on top of limited institutional knowledge of proper containment tactics at least up until the Greek diaspora started to really blow up in the 20th century. You only have to fuck up the safety checks on one cargo steamer coming in from the broad area of old Minoa and then basically any import controls you put in after that point are closing the barn door after the bulls are loose. So yeah, no secret, it's an issue.

I do think, though, that we've kind of let the specific narrative surrounding the issue get away from us in the usual fashion, the problem people picture when they hear "Minotaur" isn't anywhere close the to the problem as it exists on the ground. I mean people's minds immediately jump to the 1949 Boylston massacre, but let's be real, even though that was really politically useful for finally getting the exit fares on the T removed, that was still a black-swan event, right? Basically every mayor since, like, Hynes has lived in mortal terror of having to manage a repeat of something like that during the mass media era, let alone the smartphone era. So we've got these Theseus kill-teams with their titanium-composite ropes and souped-up cattle prods and bolt guns, we have these constant "track replacement" stoppages on the orange line, and it's fine. It's fine! There hasn't been a serious Minotaur thing within walking distance of a T stop since, like, 2006, which again you can mostly chalk up to the chaos surrounding the dig.

No, the actual danger zones, the silent killers are the exurbs, like West Roxbury, Roslindale, parts of Hyde Park. Relatively dense foliage, bad sightlines, far enough from the urban center that the response times are bad, foot traffic that's basically nonexistent for big parts of the workweek because everyone's either commuting or hunkered down working from home. And, of course, a steady stream of delivery drivers with no political ties to the area. Which is an important element, right? I mean it's kind of baked into the Minotaur's nature, that they have a very finely tuned instinctual awareness of the politics of their situation. Start snagging homeowners, there might be a ruckus. But Amazon does steady business everywhere, and Minotaurs are smart enough to cover their bases, to wait until after the drivers have dropped off your package or delivered your food. So yeah, watch yourself out there. One eye on the treeline at all times. And if you see an Amazon van left idling, get ready to run faster than the driver could.

[graphicpepsi]

dizzy (nsfw, mdni)

OR: when Keegan comes home after a long deployment, you show him what safety feels like again.

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of keys in the door. It had been months since you heard that sound.

Months since your boyfriend has been in his own house. Months since your boyfriend had held you, months since you had held him. Months since you had looked into those pretty blue eyes.

"Keegan? Oh my gosh I-"

You stop in the middle of your sentence when you see him.

His eyes are tired, and sad- not the lovey animated ones you’re used to. Dark bags are set underneath them. He's still fully equipped with all of his gear. You can tell he's physically exhausted with the way his shoulders slouch, the way his eyes are only half-open. It's a miracle he drove here unharmed.

Before you can say anything else he pulls you into a suffocatingly tight hug, pressing your face into the crook of his neck with a soft hand on the back of your head.

God, how you've missed this man- the smell of his skin, his hand stroking your hair- you suddenly can't fathom the last 8 months without him.

"Keegan," You start to say something but your mind goes blank when he looks into your eyes.

Those poor, hardened blue eyes stare into your big soft ones. You had to search inside of them to find your boy. At a glance, you'd only see the pain of a thousand dead soldiers, the reflection of a dead body or bloody hands.

He sighs, long and hard, his arms still wrapped around you as he presses your forehead against his. It's like he knows you see right through him. It's like he knows you see into him.

Carefully, you take off his tactical vest, sliding it off of him as if he were made of glass. His eyes flutter shut, his head rested against yours.

You do the same with his uniform; carefully unbuttoning it until it hangs loosely around his athletic frame. He lets you slide it down his arms, leaving him in an undershirt and his cargos.

He opens his eyes when he feels you leave him, only to find you kneeling down beneath him to undo his steel-toed work boots.

Finally, you take off his mask. Keegan sighs into your warm hands on his bare face. He hasn't felt that warmth in eight fucking months.

You press a kiss to his chapped lips, softly at first but hard once he tastes your mouth. His teeth clash against yours, his hands gripping your waist with certainty. Like he's scared if he lets go he'll lose you again, and he'll be out on that battlefield for another 8 months.

"God, god I've missed you." Keegan whispers into your mouth.

You kiss him harder in response, hands tangling in the black hair growing from the nape of his neck.

"I love you so much," He practically pants, moving to kiss your neck softly. You run your hands along his arms; his toned, muscular arms that seemed to be three times as big since last time you saw them. You wanted him all over you.

He hoists you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist perfectly. You can feel the outline of his abs against your core.

He carries you like you weigh nothing, his arms barely even flexing under your weight.

You're basically squirming in his arms, struggling to contain everything your body is feeling. Your heart is pounding against the man you've been yearning for over the past eight months.

He's real, thank god he's real, and he's placing you down on the bed like you're the most precious thing he's ever held. To him, you absolutely are.

You're quick to climb on top of him, straddling his hips. He slides his white undershirt off before diving back into your lips, his muscular chest and shoulders on display. You can't stop your hands from scratching at them, leaving little red lines behind with your nails.

He doesn't seem to mind. His hands are working to unbutton your blouse, the outline of your pink bra driving him fucking crazy. You can feel him rock solid underneath you.

You pull your shirt off over your head and let his hands undo your bra, your tits bouncing on top of him.

" 'wanna ride you, Keegan." You whine, grinding down against him. "Lemme ride you."

He would normally laugh at you, saying, "Eager, are we?" or, "Can't get enough of me, can ya?"

But he can't deny that he's just as desperate as you are. He's been dreaming of nothing but you and your body for god knows how long.

He takes his cargos and boxers off, leaving his dick harshly pressing against your clothed cunt. He practically rips your underwear with how hard he tugs it to the side.

You sit up on your knees, lining up your cunt with his dick. It's been awhile since it's been fucked with anything larger than your little vibrator, and Keegan knows that. But neither one of you has a problem with going slow tonight.

You sink down onto him, grabbing his shoulders for stability, digging your nails in harder the further you go.

"Fuck, holy fuck, love," Keegan throws his head back, his adams apple bobbing as he moans at your tight walls encasing his dick. God you feel so good around him, so fucking tight.

Your pussy is pulsing around him, you haven't felt this full in forever.

Keegan uses your waist to guide you, his rough hands sliding you up and down on his cock. Your legs are already vibrating around him, and you're mainly relying on his hands to keep you upright.

He gropes at your tits- soft plush he's missed so much within his calloused hands, running the pad of his thumb over your nipple until it's hard and puffy. He leans forward enough to suck a hickey into one of them, his wet mouth wrapped around the sensitive skin making you even weaker.

Soft little whines escape from your lips as you mewl on his cock, rolling your hips down into him. You swear you're going dizzy on his cock, and god, he's so fucking big-

You can feel your eyes rolling back every time he slams into you, but the firm hand on your jaw tells you to keep your eyes on him.

He's literally fucking you dumb.

"Keegan, 'm so close," You pant into his ear, body threatening to go limp on his dick any moment. Keegan presses his thumb into your clit, (finding it like he'd never left) and vibrates his thumb against it.

"Gonna cum for me love? Fuck, 'love making you cum on my cock."

And that, that sent you over the edge.

Your back arches on top of him as you watch your cum drip down onto his core, the sight filling your entire body with warm static. Watching you finish makes Keegan buck his hips up into you as he shoots his cum inside of you, pressing you down into him to fuck you both through your orgasms.

The next moments are filled with panting, whines and "I love yous," as you both lay down together; him wearing nothing but his boxers and you wearing the undershirt you tore off him mere minutes ago.

What a fucking sight, he thinks; You, face flushed with a fucked-out look, sprawled out pretty for him in his undershirt that made you look tiny. Little drops of his cum still rolling down your red thighs, little hickeys blooming across your collarbone and chest. How did he ever go eight months without this?

He wraps his arms around your waist as he settles his head on top of your chest, nuzzling into you as you softly massage his scalp with your nails.

He feels safe with you- like this is where he can let his guard down. He knows you'll love him at his worst. He knows you'll love him at his best. He knows you love him, and that's what keeps him sane for those long months in the field. Those cold nights without you, those weeks without hearing not even the crackle of your voice on the telephone.

He just wants to protect you forever, make you feel good forever.

But for now, it's you on him, him on you; you and him.

"My girl,"

A/N: first time writing for Keegan P.(ussy) Russ & GODDD is this man FINENEEE. like TILL MY JAW SNAPS TYPE SHIT. thanks for reading i hope y'all liked this onee

[threesquaredinc]

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[evie-sturns]

Intersection - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after not driving for a few months, you accidentally rear end matts car at an intersection.

contains: crying, swearing, comforting, angry!matt.

-------------└── •✧• ──┘--------------

i haven't drove in the past 6 months that i've been away in Florida, but now i'm back in Boston im slowly starting to get back into it.

8:37pm

i flick my left indicator, swinging round the corner as frank ocean blares through my small white car.

the road is slippery due to the weather recently, the small puddles on the concrete shining from the illuminating street lights above.

i hum to the song as i accelerate, pressing my foot harder on the small pedal as i keep a reasonable distance between the grey van in front.

i check my wing mirrors, there's no cars behind me so i speed up, closing the distance between me and the car ahead.

theres an upcoming intersection, the traffic light is green, i look down at my cupholder for a split second, my bottle of water splashing up out of the bottle with every rock i drive over, "shit.." i mutter, reaching a hand down and fiddling with the cap.

i gasp as i look up, the light is red and the car which is 3 feet in front of me has come to a complete halt.

my heart drops as my mind goes blank.

"oh my god." i shout as the front of my car smashes into this grey van.

i sit in silence for a few seconds, the van drives to the side of the empty road, i follow and park behind, my heart thumps as i drive in total shock,

i've never been in a car accident, not even close.

i instantly start to freak out, how could i not in this situation. i turn off my car, stepping out and wiping my face with my sleeve as i take in panicked breaths.

the door of the other car swings open, a man steps out, he's wearing cargo jeans, a grey crewneck and an assortment of jewellery.

i've definitely seen him on tiktok before..?

i walk over to him, "i'm so fucking sorry my insurance will pay for everything" i ramble, the brunette replies "i know."

his voice is stern, he's definitely mad. i bite my nails as my leg shakes on the spot.

"how the fuck do you not brake? you were a solid 5 meters behind me and yet your car rams the back of mine? are you fucking stupid?" the boy says, staring into my eyes.

"my water spilt and i thought the light was going to stay green, i'm so sorry." i say back, my voice shaking as i start to cry.

he stays silent for a few seconds, scanning my face which is now flushed everywhere with a couple of tears falling from my eyes.

"stop, just give me your insurance details and number" he sighs,

after giving him my number and insurance details i start again, "ill call you an uber, im really sorry." i say, pulling out my phone and attempting to turn it on, soon realising it ran out of battery an hour ago.

"dont worry about it, my cars driveable." he says, i nod. the whole front of my car is squashed, including the engine.

"you got a way home?" the boy asks,

"i mean uh- no but i can just walk." i say with a small sniff,

"come on, ill drive ya." the brunette says, taking my hand and walking me towards his van, the back of it has a medium sized indent, nothing too major though.

"you don't have to i swear its not a far walk" i protest, "i'm not gonna let you walk, honestly its okay." he says, climbing into the drivers side.

i get into the passengers side, he pulls out his phone "i'm gonna call someone to tow your car okay?" he says, his voice soft.

"yeah- okay." i reply.

-

i've found out this boys name is matt, i knew it was something like that, we're now pulling into my street after apologising thousands of times. aside from the whole 'ramming his car' we clicked well together.

i point out my house, matt jumps out first to let me out of his van, "are you okay now?" he asks with a small laugh, "yeah- i think." i reply with a guilty expression plastered on my face.

"can i have a smile?" he asks, i force a pathetic smile and matt nods.

"ill text you tomorrow, we should see each other sometime?" he asks nervously,

did he just ask me out?

"yes! yeah i'd like that." i say,

matt leans down, giving me a hug,

"i'm sorry for making you cry."

"what? no! i'm sorry for rear-ending your car!" i reply, pulling away from the hug and giving him a warm smile.

----

[seat-safety-switch]

Vans aren't "cool," but they are enjoying a sort of renaissance of sorts. The desirability of these boxy, cargo-hauling conveyances represents some admittedly minor hope for the future. If vans regain their ancient popularity, there is a chance that we can overthrow the dictatorship of the pickup truck and return to our traditional values as a society.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not some wacko van fundamentalist. Sure, I do get into theological arguments with Ford people about which generation of the Econoline is derived most purely from van theory, but that's on our own territory. Not something for the regular folk to see.

You have nothing to fear about me giving you a shank if you accidentally call a half-cut container truck the deeply unfunny slur that is "cube van." I won't even get mad if you prefer a hatchback. Anything that can haul cargo in an enclosed vessel, and does so often, is an honorary van in my book. And it's a good idea, before we proceed, to talk about just why vans are becoming more popular.

Vans are in fact the only houses that many people can own. Sad but true. You could live in a pickup truck, too. Nobody is denying that, but that's like living in one of those strange Arizona desert homes where there's only enough roof for your bed, a novel about libertarianism, and a small overhang to keep your ammo and canned beans dry. Just not enough enclosed area. No sense of security. Throbbing paranoia at all minutes that if you stop at the Home Depot just for a minute that someone will steal your groceries out of the bed.

Me, I like to have a nice personal space which will be largely protected if I roll the thing into the ditch doing triple the speed limit. It's bad enough already without having to walk half a kilometre back from the impact site, picking up all your strewn possessions from the roadside. Better to keep the sleeping bags, provisions, and pet chickens on the inside of the vehicle.

If there can be said to be a downside to the growth of van popularity, it is that they are more popular than ever. Demand means resale value skyrockets, which means I can't easily get a new van to replace my old one when it gets towed by the cops or love-taps the bollard in the Tim Hortons drive-thru. That's why I've started investing in motorhomes, which are the van for people who can't afford vans or houses. They just so happen to come with big-ass V8s, too, like all of the other places I've ever lived. It's like I was never evicted at all.

[vampiricgf]

WATER SONG [PT. 1]

merman leon x gov't researcher reader

word count : 7k+

warnings : female reader, reader has a sort of type A personality and some mild anger issues, talk of medical experiments, he's referred to as a subject and specimen quite a lot, descriptions of predatory behavior (animal kind, not the sexual kind), slow pace, sfw, lots of yearning for touch

okay part one isn't terribly exciting im sorry ajdgakab I just wanted to establish a connection between the reader and him in the setting n such before developing any deeper connection. also like 1% research went into this so im sorry if you're knowledgeable about oceanic research this'll probably piss you off lmao. also all credit for this au idea goes to @/bunnivievve tysm for letting me write a lil interpretation of your idea! this was inspired by this post of theirs as well ‹𝟹

JUNE

Subject Zero. 

Male, combined characteristics of humanoids and aquatic species. Captured by a trawling vessel, out in deep waters usually traversed by cargo freighters but occasionally by commercial fishing vessels. A freak happenstance. When the net had been dredged up in a fantastic spray of salt water, the hoard of tuna quickly spilling into the sorting containers, the men on deck had spotted something much larger than white fin tuna thrashing in the net. 

Upon careful inspection they feared they’d pulled up a man, some poor unfortunate victim of a seafaring disaster. A capsized or otherwise destroyed vessel, a near drowning victim that had fallen overboard perhaps. 

Until they spotted the flashing of sharp teeth, and the thick, muscled tail slamming against the wet metal under their feet. 

Thankfully their transmission to the Coast Guard was intercepted, a naval craft catching the broadcast and setting course as fast as possible for the trawler. 

And now Subject Zero finds respite in your “office”. If an office can be counted as more of an observation space, nevertheless. A part of you feels bad, the less scientifically trained and inclined part that is, for keeping such a clearly intelligent creature within a tank inside a black site. The initial placement had been… difficult. It was clear the subject missed the open ocean, and you did feel sorry that it had been so unceremoniously plucked from its home and deposited in such an alien space on land. But there was nothing to be done about it. 

He was far too valuable as a research opportunity. The cold, clinical part of your mind understood that. He was a marvel of nature, flesh and blood proof that man could be intermixed with seafaring species, it was one of the single greatest events in modern marine biology. And an immense privilege for you, the scientist chosen chiefly to study the subject. 

A dream. The government all but telling you to do whatever you deemed necessary, no concern over the expense. Gone were worries of securing grant funding for more piddling projects or the endless anxiety of thinking you would be stuck as one name in an endless list of names relegated to ordinary oceanic study. Not that your peers' works weren’t valuable, but you always held the selfish desire for notoriety. Had dreamed endlessly throughout your undergraduate program of the day your name would be the one filling up library indexes and publications with impressive, weighty studies. Discoveries so undeniable you would join the ranks of the most noteworthy in the field. 

And seemingly, your wish had been granted. Subject zero would be the gravel that paved your road to success. It’s just a pity it has to be such an intelligent creature. 

You sit back, uncuring from your hunched position at the desk, rolling your shoulders and wincing as you hear your joints popping. Documentation was a never ending pain in the ass but it had to be done, if you wanted to keep the convenience of not having to answer to nor justify your expenses to an overhead department. Ordinarily that work would be relegated to a lower priority researcher, but you preferred being able to sign off on it all yourself, comforted by the fact that there were no unforeseen surprises lurking in the documents or spreadsheets or data tables. Nothing anyone would be about to point out as a discrepancy, leaving you humiliated and floundering. 

As you close your eyes you can feel it, the hair on the back of your neck slightly on edge. The feeling of being observed. 

He seemed to prefer watching you when your back was turned or if you were otherwise unaware. If you were facing the ten foot thick glass of the massive elcousure he would recede into the farthest corners of it, shying away into watery obscurity. In a way it was cute, an obvious curiosity for the beings around him but he seemed stricken by shyness, didn’t know if you were trustworthy. Which was understandable. You were the one keeping him there, at least to his limited viewpoint. The one that denied him reentry into his former home. 

That irritatiningly scentimental part of your mind whispered to you again. 

What if he thinks you’re cruel?

So what? We don’t even know to what extend he does think. 

You say that but you do care, at least a little. Thats why you sneak him extra food. 

You sigh to yourself, pushing up from the familiar desk, palms flat on its slick glass surface before rising to your full height. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the white coat you don most of the day, every day, slung carelessly over the back of another chair at a separate station. Your badge attached via a shiny, silvery little clip. Walking over you purposefully keep your eyes directed away from the elcousure, your movements slow. This is a good opportunity to see how long he’ll watch you as long as he believes you aren’t paying attention. 

The badge is solid, though lightweight as you pick it up, bringing it closer to your face. It’s hard to believe you look so excited in the small picture in the upper lefthand corner. Your name in bold typeface as last name, first name all neatly lined up next to the photo. In it’s reflection you can see him, one hand perched against the glass, that thick midnight blue tail swishing up and down in a soft, rhythmic motion as he stays still. Ever watchful. 

Its hard to see in the little reflective glimpse but subject zero does have more… handsome features. You smile to yourself, recalling one of the other researchers giggling while telling you it wasn’t weird to note that because it was true. What man on land, with two legs, had eyes that shade of blue or a jawline that impressive? None that aren’t using photoshop or filters. 

Maybe if the discovery of the subject was publicized there would be throngs of people banging on doors trying to find out where he’s being kept. It did make you huff out a laugh, the idea that a half fish man who couldn’t speak was more appealing than the majority of men on earth. 

Maybe we should open an instagram page for him. 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling, as you set the badge down. 

The office slash observation room remained quiet save for the occasional sound of sloshing water. It was late, well past time fo anyone other than the usual armed military guard to be roaming the facility. Well past time for you to go home. 

At that moment you turn, just enough to peek over your shoulder and as soon as your eyes fix on the spot he occupied all you catch is a low flash of dark blue, retreating into the shadowy depths encased in glass. 

~

OCTOBER

Three months of observation. 

Hardly enough to form any evidence based conclusions, but enough time to get started on the right path. You had approximately nintey days of solid data on his diet, his presenting condition each day, endless notes on his observable physiology. He preferred deep water fish, clearly an omnivore as he also didn’t mind the addition of oceanic plant species mixed with the fish when it was introduced into the tank. In fact he seemed to greatly enjoy the sudden introduction of variety, although still preferred to eat his meals in a semblance of solitude. 

His distrust was only natural, you had to remind yourself. Until such time as he’s fully used to his new environment you’re unlikely to observe any great variation in his behavior. 

At least he wasn’t showing signs of aggression. That had been a legitimate concern, and still was, of course. All proper safety precautions were followed to the letter when it came to subject zero, and absolutely no one was to physically get in the tank, not until further tests could be done on his temperament and how he reacted to certain stimuli both pleasant and unplseant. 

You grimace seeing a newly sent email notification, the little computerized ding signalling that your attention was required. 

When isn’t it?

You put the sleek desktop into split screen mode, keeping the charts on the subject to the left while your email opened to occupy the right side. Amid the usual low importance emails from general staff there was a new one, at the very top. The name made your stomach twist in preparation of the message. Dr. Gregg had, for lack of a better phrase, a raging hard on for the opportunity to remove the subject from the tank and getting it into a smaller one in order to sedate and extract genetic material. It didn’t matter that he’d already been sedated and had samples drawn when he was initially transported here, no. The good doctor wanted more than that, but you couldn’t accommodate the request in good conscience. 

Or rather, you were worried about the effect it would have on him. It could set back the last nintey days of progress, or worse, inspire severe mistrust and heightened aggression towards all researchers. There was no way, even with sedation, that cutting into him wouldn’t cause pain. And a source of pain that a creature like subject zero had no way of understanding would only lead to problems. 

The two of you had been butting heads over the issue for the last week, culminating in an argument yesterday where you all but told him to get fucked. You were the lead on this, you made the decisions and he wasn’t going to usurp your authority. Your credit. 

But as your eyes scan the email you can feel yourself getting physically hot, your blood pressure threatening to rise. 

You may be the lead, the head researcher on this project, but do not believe for one moment that I will not go above your head. You are not CIA, doctor. You don’t call the final shots here, and it would do you well to remember that. Whatever your personal feelings on subject zero, you cannot stand in the way of necessary elements that better out understanding of the creature. 

With shaking fingers you close the window, not bothering to respond and not trusting yourself to either. Every fiber of your being wanted nothing more than to march down that hallway and wring his wiry old turkey neck. Who does he think he is? He’s just some physiologist, some ancient fuck. Who is he to threaten you? If his contributions were so invaluable wouldn’t he have been made lead?

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands clenching in your lap as you breathed deeply in through your mouth and out through your nose. The meditation app you’d been using had provided you with some useful tools, being that your temper had plagued you since you were small. Always the first to fly off the handle at even the idea you could be questioned, your competence or credibility casted in doubt. 

Inferiority complex, a nasty voice giggled in your head. 

It’s not that it wasn’t true, and it was a bit of an achilles heel for you. But what took priority now was holding Gregg back, keeping him away from the subject and minimizing the risk that he could fuck it all up before you even had a chance to really begin. So, once you felt that initial flashpoint of rage quelling you reopened the email application, setting your shoulders back as you began typing. 

Under no circumstances are you permitted to sedate nor perform any surgical procedures on subject zero. You have not been given any formal authorizations, so it would do you well to remember not to threaten your head researcher in the contents of easily retrievable emails. You are free to broach the topic with any superior officer on sight, and I am more than happy to entertain a line of questioning from said superior officers on why I do not believe it to be prudent at this juncture to allow for another extraction of material. Research is not a race, Doctor. 

You can’t help but smile smugly to yourself, imagining his fury at opening your reply. If he thinks just because you’re young that you’re easily pushed around he is sorely mistaken. Nothing and no one is allowed to jeopardize the most important work you may ever do. 

With that you abandon the desk, it’s dull and mind numbing work, in favor of standing in front of the tank yet again. It was nice, having a portion of it extending into this area as an offshoot of the main tank where all the feeding and the bulk of physical testing was done. He seemed to enjoy it too, which despite yourself you did place some importance on. 

It was important to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. He was still a living being, despite his status as a research subject, and you took no pleasure in the idea of him suffering in any way. It was definitely a slight drawback, you could begrudgingly admit, that you tended to get… overly attached to the species in your care. You’d done the same in both undergrad and postdoc, although it was more important than ever before to keep a tight hold on those tendencies now. 

How would you feel, if you knew that man was so hell bent on slicing you open? 

Probably afraid. 

What are you feeling now?

It would be so much easier if he were capable of speech. The bridges that had to be built between what was known and unknown had to come from the very foundations, things that required occasionally unpleasant experiences in order to build their understanding of him. But if he could just explain some of it, that would be easier. A half formed bridge is faster to finish than one from scratch. 

Uselessly you peered into the clear, clean water. Between swaying stalks of plants there was nothing to see except the seemingly endless expanse of water. Several mind boggling tonnes of it, all kept nicely contained in ten foot thick military grade glass. Bulletproof. Shatter proof. Even if subject zero were to ram it with intent, crack it even, it would still hold. 

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you remained staring through that glass, if he was lonely. Seeing so many strange, upright walkers but being unable to even touch them, even consider the act of doing it. 

As you frown at your own reflection, you feel it again. 

Duel observation.

~

It was bizarre, to him. These two legs, tall men. He knew they existed, they’d always known a different sort of being lived on the land, domineered it and then took to making attempts at dominating the sea as well. It had all become so noisy, so very nearly unbearable thanks to their hulking monstrosities of shining metal and the things they constantly kept dumping into the water.

Every day there were new threats to avoid. Long gone were the days of simply worrying about other predators lurking in the open waters or within the sediment and foliage. 

He hadn’t seen the net, as they called it, until it was too late. Had been too caught in the euphoria of finding such a gigantic school of gorgeous, meaty tuna, that his mind switched off to everything but pure instinct as he’d circled them quickly, calculatedly. His jaw had felt the ache of hunger so viscerally it was like the bones themselves were vibrating with it. 

And then they’d all begun moving. Swept up, trapped in an upward drag that he’d been powerless to fight against while overwhelmed by the wriggling, frantic fish flashing across his vision, no way to know what was forwards or backwards, up or down. 

Then the shock of air. His lungs had seized up painfully with it, the feeling of being constricted by nothing at all yet everything all at once had been horrific, beyond frightening. 

After that it was too messy, too jumbled in his mind. Harsh sounds, their sounds, were prevalent in his memory but just beyond his grasp. Far too loud without the water to act as a buffer between, softening the blows of each reverberation against his eardrums. 

But her sounds were different. Or, it was that she didn’t make many to begin with. The look of them all was mostly similar from behind the thick material they kept him in, in this unknown space. At least they offered readily available food, although not nearly what he was used to hunting for himself and his webbed fingers itched at the thought of clawing through water in pursuit of some darting piece of prey. It would feel so, so good to sink his teeth into flesh, to feel it rip and catch in chunks between his teeth, the iron rich scent of blood swirling around. The roar of adrenaline in his ears. 

It was difficult to keep his focus on much here, save for her. The best parts were when the others disappeared but she would still be in that corner, down the long corridor of water and he would be able to see her, sitting and doing wholly alien things with her hands at something large and flat, but vaguely shiny. Hers didn’t have webbing, none of them did from what he could tell. How did they ever swim competently? 

She was softer than the rest and he enjoyed watching her do her strange tasks, sometimes she would pace around holding a sheet of paper in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip. Her teeth didn’t seem all that sharp, since she never seemed worried about cutting her flesh on them. What did they eat, with useless teeth? 

Just like at the present moment, with her back turned it was easier to look at her fully. Usually he wouldn’t approach openly like this, unsure of the intentions of everyone here, but this space seemed to be reserved for her only which put him at ease. That and none of those harsh spotlights were present, if anything she seemed to prefer it half dark which was fine by him, preferable to that loud bright area behind him back through the water corridor. But she seemed tense, the set of her shoulders curled forward, almost in on herself. Something in front of her was clearly upsetting and in some odd way he felt offense on her behalf. She was kind, gave him extra food before she would disappear through the night, always seemed to be keeping a close watch over him and how the others were with him. 

He may not be able to speak, but he’s pretty sure she was the reason he wasn’t suffering in this place. And that was good enough, at present, to make him feel a sense of kinship with her. Closeness. 

As she carried on with whatever it was that kept her so occupied his mind wandered to what it would feel like to touch her. They seem to enjoy touch, most of them being very casual with the way they interacted. How did she like being touched? Or would she dislike being touched by him outright? Would she find his webbed, clawed fingers disgusting, would she flinch away?

He frowned behind the glass. Hopefully not, but there really was no way to know. They seem intent on keeping a wide distance from him, which wasn’t unwelcome. The only one he was at all curious about was her anyway, not that he would purposely antagonize anyone who ventured inside his new domain, though he certainly wouldn’t circle them like one of the friendly, if a little dumb, nurse sharks do occasionally out in open water. 

He was so caught up in that worry he nearly failed to catch her movement, but his reflexes are faster than hers. Before she could approach the glass fully he’d already retreated a safe distance away. Watching as she stared into the expanse of water, her face unreadable but the set of her eyebrows told him she felt some kind of stress, strain. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, thinking about reaching out to touch her again.

~

You smile to yourself, a soft hidden kind, at the now familiar feeling. It was like there was a strange sense of understanding between you two, although you could just be ascribing things to him he doesn’t possess. Thats always something to keep in mind, as a researcher but more often than not lately you’re coming to resent that line of thought. It was clear subject zero was intelligent. Maybe not to the degree of a human being, but he was close enough evolutionarily speaking, that he was like a cousin in the chain. An offshoot of the formerly solidly established line of human life. Theres no reason, as yet identified, that he wouldn’t be able to communicate if given the chance to learn how. 

You aren’t thinking of him as a subject anymore. That’s dangerous. 

You know it is, know that voice is right. But it doesn’t account for everything. The odd push and pull, hide and seek game you two play here in this office every single evening. Its to the point now that you feel tense, uncomfortable if you don’t sense him behind you, watching you work or pace around nonsensically. You’ve spent over an hour before reading and rereading the same observational notes and data sets because you kept grinning to yourself like a fool feeling those eyes burning holes in your back. 

He’d even made appearances in your dreams a handful of times over the last month, flashes of deep, endless blue that clung to the soft corners of your mind as you went about your morning routines, ruminating over his appearance as steam from your coffee curled around your hands, ghostly fingers clawing at the air. Tension crept up your beck, spreading out over the tops of your shoulders and trapezius muscles prompting you to stretch against the back of your office chair, rolling your joints and hearing their familiar cracking in response to hours of sustained poor posture. Lazily you grasp your phone from the desk, thumbing open the music app and scrolling a bit through your shuffle playlist before settling on something bubbly, but easily tuned into the background. 

You wonder if he enjoys music, what his preferences would be if he could swipe through your library of songs. It makes you smile to yourself thinking about it, maybe that would make for a good test of his thinking abilities, how he responds to different genres, different artists. Standing, you bend slightly to make a quick note on a half discarded sticky tab: musical testing?

And suddenly a somewhat mad thought grips you, what if you tried right now? Whats the worst that could happen, he lurks in the background while you sway around the dim office like a fool? At least the only people who could see would be the guards, not that they’d say anything either beyond thinking to themselves that every researcher here must be insane. That makes your smile grow wider, giggling to yourself a bit as you take slight steps in time with the beat, giving a little spin on your toes to face the take. 

It only somewhat shocks you to find yourself face to face with him, that he hasn’t retreated to the safety of the shadowy corners. His eyes, a remarkably similar color to the water surrounding him, track your movements with abject curiosity as you follow an imaginary path, one foot placed delicately in front of the other to carry your body with the faint sound of the music. All the while his eyes never stray from you, even when he has to move to keep you in his sights, even when you come right up to the glass and offer a little spin in front of him, giggling to yourself a little more freely now. 

And to your amazement, at your laughter, he smiles. He smiles and it makes your chest feel light, like a ten pound weight you hadn’t even been aware of was finally lifted off. Some might find his fanged appearance frightening, to you it was boyishly cute. A toothy little grin, the tips of his elongated enscisors catching against his bottom lip, and his thick, muscular tail began to move. As if, had he possessed legs like yours, they would be moving in tandem with you. 

It felt like a genuine breakthrough, making you hug your arms around yourself as you stopped moving, still laughing and feeling just a tad bit lightheaded. He genuinely smiled at you. 

He was moving with you. 

That was a major breakthrough, even if just a personal one. Increased rapport meant things would be easier going forward, for both of you. 

With a contented sigh you pressed one hand to the smooth, icy surface of the glass, your fingers stretching over the sleek glass and he does something that makes your breath freeze in your lungs. Gingerly, the way people stretch out their hands to scared animals, inch by inch his own rases to be a perfect mirror of your own. One larger, webbed, hand pressed to the glass right behind your own. It felt silly but you were too afraid to even exhale with any effort, for fear even the barest noise would ruin the moment and he would flee right back into the far corners, beyond your reach. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t stop holding your gaze for a single second and you marvel at the way his blonde hair sways in the water, like the finest strands of silk-

“So, thats why you keep refusing to allow any progress of this “research”?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice from behind you, a signature grating tone you could pick out anywhere. As your head snaps to the side, body following the movement only a second after, you see him standing in the door way with his arms crossed nearly reeking of smugness. 

Fuck. 

~

One week. 

You have one week to figure out what to do. 

After shattering your late night revelation with subject zero, who has been increasingly attached to you ever since, the resident pain in your ass physiologist had made sure to fire off emails riddled with concerns and accusations addressed to the operatives truly in charge of the site. Questions of your ability to continue in any capacity with the project, the nature of your relationship to the subject, insinuating you had some kind of perverse intention, even going so far as to insult your credibility. Not only cc-ing yourself but “mistakenly” sending those emails to every person working on site.

It had effectively turned you into a pariah with regards to your peers. Whispers of conversation that would be cut off as soon as you set foot into a room. Strange looks from your coworkers, ranging from disgust to perverse curiosity. It felt like you were continuously on fire, every minute of every day. There would be a meeting in one weeks time, and until then you were relegated to nothing but the paperwork in your office, per the tense instructions given to you.

But your panic had less to do with your professional reputation, surprisingly, and more to do with feeling very nearly physically sick when you recalled how fixated he was with the idea of getting to cut into subject zero. If you were removed completely from this project there would be no one else to act as a roadblock, to keep that from happening. 

Your eyes slide over to the observation tank, noting the worried way he’s been watching you for hours now. You wished you could haul him out of there, explain what was happening, the risk of what could happen to him. Maybe he would have some idea of how you both could get out of this. But was there any way out? Or is the only option allowing yourself to become a laughingstock, a professional embarrassment and to allow subject zero to languish in whatever horror would surely be inflicted on him? 

You can’t say if desperation is the only thing motivating you, but your mind becomes mostly blank as you leave the office. Its early enough, after you’d been practically climbing up the walls all night, so maybe the choice was fueled by sleep deprivation. Whatever the case may be, you find yourself moving as if through a dream: down the cavernous corridors, turning and twisting to follow the slate grey concrete all the way to the impossibly large main observation chamber. 

With a swipe of your ID card, forcefully and defiantly, the locks give a little beep before disengaging. Mechanically you make your way to where the suits are stored. Specially designed, one of a kind. Made of an interwoven, enmeshed material not unlike chainmail to prevent sharp teeth from being able to puncture both cloth and flesh, and featuring only the best in terms of diving design. The manufacturer had created them after winning a defense contract from the governenment and you wonder if they ever would have guessed someone would be stripping and tugging the suit on in order to come face to face with something most people would assume only existed in a fairytale. 

But here you are: yanking and adjusting the suit before prepping the oxygen tank, also designed to be compact but sacrificing the amount of time one could spend fully submerged at any depth. Either way it would work for this application, although no one had been given clearance to dive yet. 

You knew doing this would come back to bite you far worse than just those vendetta fueled emails. Diving without any clearance, using untested equipment. It was beyond insane. But the circumstances felt insane enough on their own to justify it. Subject zero was overwhelmingly likely to be just as intelligent as you were, and just as likely to feel physical and mental distress in similar ways. Trying to communicate was step one and what better way than face to face. Then you could form step two: proving beyond a reasonable doubt that he was intelligent and thus, could be advocated for medically even if he couldn’t advocate for himself. 

That was the only way to halt the now speeding train of decisions being made on his behalf and without his input. If he could even write out the most barebones statement, even that would work to prove they needed consent to continue with any of this. Tomorrow you could wake up in a whole new world, one where there is technically a second legal classification of human being, one with a tail and gills. The though made you smile despite the tense circumstances. 

What you were doing was a halfcocked, absolutely batshit attempt at a hail mary but it was worth a shot. Your reputation was already in tatters on site, how much worse could it be? If you fail in this all that happens is you’re dismissed and removed from the site, doomed to be a whispered footnote for future researchers. Did you ever hear about the lady that went crazy with one of the subjects? A cautionary tale about getting too attached to your work. 

But fuck that. If you’re not at least a little attached to your work then do you even really care at all about any of it? You would argue that the resident physiologist holds no love for the work, only a love for the idea of something else experiencing pain.

With a deep breath you sit carefully on the steel ledge that runs the length of the tanks open ceiling. Easy, you just flip backwards and hit the water, reorient yourself and try not to get eaten by one potentially pissed off subject. Yeah, a real piece of cake. With that you decide theres no more time to waste, it’s probably already flagged in the system that you accessed the main deck, they’ll be here any minute. 

Good, that means they can all see I’m not insane or inappropriate. He can comprehend things just like we can, the music wasn’t a fluke. 

In the span of a second your worldview dips, swirls, and the splash of water hits your ears at the exact same moment the shock of cold does. The water is kept at approximately the same temperature as the water he was captured in, frigid Atlantic delights. As bubbles envelop you, you manage to get yourself turned right side up, carefully circling your arms to tred water and remain mostly stationary. This would be the key moment, you have to exercise extreme caution. 

You’re another predator that has invaded the territory of a fellow predator. In the natural world, it’s a killable offense. But you keep your eyes open, sweeping the dimly lit, wide expanse of saltwater around you. No sign of him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here, watching you, gauging the situation. As you continue to keep your breathing even, your movements slow enough but steady enough to keep your body afloat, you catch sight of something in your peripheral. That intimately familiar midnight blue tail. He was moving behind you now, one webbed, clawed hand slicing through the water like knives as the rest of him came into your view. That sandy, dishwater blonde hair floating in fine tendrils around his face, framing piercing blue eyes that took you in critically, curiously. 

You allow him to keep circling you, doing your best to calm your nervous system that felt on high alert, panic just on the cusp of overriding your sensibilities. Allowing that would spell disaster, you would certanly be killed if you started thrashing or spinning wildly, it would scare him, you could both be injured in any kind of violent altercation. They would kill him if he killed you. 

But your worries abate as he slows to a stop in front of you, and despite your eyes staying locked together you’re conscious of the audience you have on the other side of the glass. The feeling of being watched by many people is something quite unique, it’s also unnerving. You wish you could apologize to him, you hadn’t realized before how uncomfortable literally living beneath a microscope was. 

You raise your arm, hand extended, in a painfully slow movement that makes the muscles in your forearm ache. His attention goes to the appendage now how hanging between you two, eyeing it with equal parts suspicion and what seems to be excitement. The physical equivalent of a high pitched alarm happens in your body as he moves closer to you, the air suddenly locked in your lungs as you wait. This was another critical moment. Would he grasp your hand? Rip it off? It was entirely unknown, beyond dangerous. 

But none of those things happen. The painting, god touching adam, comes to mind as he raises a clawed index finger delicately up to yours. They don’t touch but rather hover in proximity to one another before a grin works its way across his face, those sharp incisors catching against his bottom lip as his eyes flick back to your goggled face. 

You hope he can see that you’re smiling too, but you hope its not like it is with monkeys where grins are signs of aggression. But it seems that fear is unwarranted as his tail twitches erratically, the wispy bits of filigree flesh on the split end swirling through the water in a gorgeous display of deep blue and white. Like sheer fabric winding through the air. 

The ecstasy that floods your brain is a feeling like no other, a full body sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to your fabric covered toes. His tail moves to brush against your kicking legs, the heft of it is shocking. You can immediately imagine the sheer power of it kocking into you, it would feel like being hit by a freight train no doubt. For something that looked so elegant and otherworldly, it was still a threat. 

But you couldn’t get distracted you needed some display of his intelligence, and you needed it now. 

So you shake off the awe, do your best to refocus on his face. Carefully you draw back your hand, pointing to yourself and then at him. You repeat the gesture several times, hoping to receive a reaction that displays understanding. 

And he doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

In a flash one clawed, webbed hand encircles your wrist and halts your movement. 

It’s like time suspends, a complete and total pause as you feel a different kind of chill within the suit. It’s like you’re watching in third person, your throat seizing as your fingers intertwine hesitantly. It’s an oddly tender gesture, and then your body is tugged through the weight of the water, pushed against the solidness of his chest. Your arms came gingerly around him, and his enveloped you in turn. He was all firmness, so solidly built it shocked you. You hadn’t properly appreciated the sheer mass of him, the way his body had been crafted for underwater pursuit, hunting. But also to accommodate displays of affection, just like your own. 

And as you two embrace you can’t help but smile again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to form one hell of an argument on his behalf and you would shout until your face was blue that going forward, communication would take priority. Worrying about the innerworkings of his physiology could wait until later.

[tojisun]

sex w simon on his bike??👀

i didn’t understand the vision until it hit me!! TWICE [heart eyes]

!! public sex (p in v and oral); THIS IS NASTY HHHHH; female reader // biker!simon mlist

જ thinking about simon fucking you against his bike, with your elbows resting on the padded seat, your back arched to present your ass to him which he greedily squeezes and pulls at, all the while groaning and rumbling in ecstatic amazement.

murmured pleas slip through your kiss-swollen lips, begging the universe or whatever’s out there that: 1) simon’s bike won’t topple to the side at the press of your weight against it, and 2) no one would see the two of you.

you stifle a squeak at feeling your skirt flipped up to the small of your back before a loud ri—ip sound echoes in the empty lot, the cold air hitting your bare skin instantly now that simon’s ripped your stockings open.

“god, baby,” simon rumbles, his voice hissed out in a barely contained snarl. “you and y’r fuckin’ perfect ass, i swear.”

“couldn’t you have waited ‘till we’re home?” you snark, feeling your cheeks flood with warmth when simon’s hand travels further down, greedy as it tugs at your flesh.

“‘course not,” simon replies, pulling away and leaving you trembling at the onslaught of cool air.

the sound of simon unbuckling his belt makes you freeze, your jaw dropping open for a quiet gasp, your own protest flying from your mind as nothing else pulses within you but your own desire. one that calls for simon.

simon slots himself against your back with ease, one of his arms circling your waist to tug you up, positioning you so that your ass presses against his chub perfectly. it makes you giddy—simon’s display of his strength; him manhandling you. but also, simon covering you with his bulk. simon towering over you.

fuck.

your eyes flutter close at feeling him kiss the back of your head, then he’s sliding in. in, in, in.

you pant at the continuous press, your jaw slack in pleasure as every inch of simon’s long cock breaches past your slick walls. you don’t realize you’re crying, the hiccuped rasps of your breath ringing loudly in the empty lot.

god, you’re so full. so fucking full.

“s’fucking wet,” simon moans, bumping his forehead between the valleys of your shoulder blades. “s’fucking good.”

you keen, pussy fluttering at the thick stretch of his cock—at how deep it is—feeling your legs quickly turning to mush.

you know you won’t last long again. you never stood a chance at holding back when simon just knows how to fuck you good, after all.

you don’t even snark at simon’s giggle at hearing your dreamy sigh.

-

જ thinking about giving simon head while he rests against his bike, the thing precariously propped up with nothing but the damn leg stand.

it doesn’t stop you from getting down to your knees anyway, jeans scratching against gravel as you scoot towards simon’s pelvis, nuzzling against his thigh, ignoring the rough fabric of his cargo pants.

simon croons, his big hands falling to hold the sides of your head. you hum, eyes fluttering when simon repositions you so your lips are hovering just above his chub.

“may i?” you ask, not breaking eye contact with him.

simon’s lips wobble and you don’t know how you must look but you can guess—desperate and a mess as you pant for your love’s cock. you can guess because however it is that you may look, it makes the pupils of simon’s eyes expand as it devours the dark browns of his irises.

he can’t hold back just like you.

“f’course,” simon murmurs, his voice grave and deep, almost akin to his morning rasp that always makes you burn with desire.

there is a heartbeat, a moment of building tension, before it peaks, tipping, and then you are fumbling with his pants, your trembling fingers reaching for his zipper before you’re tugging it down and pulling his cock out.

it’s already so hard, flushed at the tip with pre- beading on the head like a pretty pearl, and your mouth falls open, tongue lolling out to catch the drop before it drips down the length of his cock.

that first touch, first taste, is all you needed before you begin lapping at it with passion, drool building atop your tongue and pooling where his cock is pressed. you map the webs of his veins, taking note of the shiver that racks his body, and you hum when simon’s hold on your head tightens before loosening again.

“jesus, baby,” he gasps. “y’r so fuckin’ greedy with it, yeah? so greedy of me?”

you nod despite the difficulty of it, your teary eyes flicking up to meet his again. simon’s so flushed, and you think of how pretty he is as he stands before you like this.

you suckle on the head, mewling as more of his pre- dribbles into your tongue, flooding you with his taste.

more. you want more.

simon’s hips buck into you, thrusting his cock past the inside of your cheeks to meet the back of your throat, and you choke, pooled tears finally slipping past your furrowed eyes. even then, the sudden breach of his cock doesn’t deter you, instead, it makes you squirm, your panties gathering slick as your cunt weeps for his cock, almost like it’s jealous of your own mouth.

“you’re so…” simon’s voice trails off, and when you blink your eyes open again to meet his gaze you see the awed look shadowing his face, almost like he couldn’t fathom just why, exactly, are you so full of passion.

but it’s simon.

do you really need anything else more than that to stoke the flames of desire sitting in the pit of your stomach?

simon’s eyes crinkle, his smile wide. “wow, baby.”

a kick of a giggle makes your throat vibrate and simon moans, drawn out and loud, his head falling back to expose the column of his throat.

see? he is so beautiful bathed in his pleasure.

pleasure he is receiving from you.

hhshshehrhrh this is me fr. me rn! this is also me!! AHHHHHHH i want him bad :((

[trailerpark2]

[sugar-coat-it]

38 for body piercer!matty 🤍

Red Handed!

38- “want help with that?”

Body Piecer! Matty: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

Teehee for the sake of convenience they live together in this one. Thank you for the request!! I genuinely get so excited when I get any requests for body piercer <3

Contains: 2k of just a detailed depiction of Matty touching himself…my bad, him getting caught jerking off (with her panties), her watching him get off, dirty talk, spit play, facial 

WC: ~3.2k

Matty’s POV

Matty can hardly contain himself from the second he steps inside your shared flat, it’s like he’s burning up from the inside. The whole drive home from the piercing shop he’d been uncomfortably aware of the straining against his boxers. Why? Because you’d so kindly slipped a pair of your panties into one of his pockets for him to find.

In your defense, you really didn’t think he would find them at work. Luckily for him, it was towards the end of his shift, just as he was finishing up with his last client. He had reached into his pockets to rest his hands there when he felt a soft, lacy fabric tickling at his fingertips. He’d tried his hardest to keep a straight face as he was talking the customer through the piercing care process, feeling at the fabric to try and figure out if something had gotten stuck in there when doing the laundry. With an instructional packet bestowed upon the man and a shaking of hands, the client left, allowing Matty to hurry into the back room to investigate. He swears he had almost groaned out loud when he’d fished out the pair of your panties, thumbing over the lacy fabric as he stared at them with wide eyes. Immediately, he recognized them as the ones he’d pulled off of you with his teeth last night. 

“Fuck…” he’d murmured, already feeling a stir in his cargo pants and a flush of heat roll through his body, “that little minx wants to kill me.”

He’d shoved the underwear into one of the side pockets of his pants and zipped it closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to take them out again. Matty ran a slightly trembling hand through his mohawk, hissing out a breath between his teeth as he forced himself to pull it together and focus on the closing procedures… which he rushed through, he’ll admit that much. His coworkers had watched as he raced around the shop, exchanging glances with each other as he preemptively fumbled with his car keys (that have far too many key chains attached to them) before dashing out the door with an “okayseeyoumatesgoodnight!”. He’d forgotten to even put on music in the car on the way home, that’s how distracted he was.

Now, he’s sat on the couch with the TV on, sitting with his legs spread as he tries to ignore how unfathomably horny he is. One of his legs impatiently bounces up and down as he continues to remind himself that you’ll be home in a few hours, that he’s not a teenager and he has the self-control to wait until then. But god damn, he’s so aware of the fact that your panties are sitting in his pocket, they might as well be burning a hole through the fabric. Matty bites his lip, the image flashing through his mind like a ricocheting bullet as he thinks back to the look on your face when he’d bit down on the waistband of your underwear and dragged them down your legs. He lives for those moments when you look at him with lustful wonderment, he’d do anything to steal your breath away like you do to him so often. He groans at the dull throb that resounds from the protrusion down his thigh, tilting his head back against the cushions. He can’t even remember what movie he’d put on. 

Just a little relief… he thinks to himself as he allows one hand to slide down over his band t-shirt slowly, skimming down his chest and over his stomach until it settles over the subtle bulge in his trousers. Tingles erupt under his fingertips. Matty licks his lips, dragging the tip of his pierced tongue over his plush bottom lip as he begins to ever so slightly tease himself. It’s far, far too hot in the room, his clothes which are normally so comfortable feel as though they’re suffocating him. The pressure at his crotch is almost unbearable, it’s the only thing he can focus on besides how much he wishes you were here. His cock twitches under his gingerly touch. He doesn’t have to undress to know that by this point, beads of precum have soaked into his boxers. His lips part with a quiet gasp as he slowly strokes his fingers over himself, looking up at the ceiling almost like he’s begging for forgiveness for being so wanton. But he deserves this, doesn’t he? You must have wanted this, after all.

The movie continues as background noise, muffled by the sound of Matty’s heartbeat pumping in his ears, his blood roaring in his veins. He traces his fingers up and down along the outline of his erection. It’s not nearly enough to satiate himself. He should stop, he knows he should stop, but it feels so fucking good. His brows draw together with bliss as he gets bold enough to squeeze himself roughly through his pants, feeling a pang of sensation spread deep inside him as his hips jump forward into his palm. He curses under his breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he tries to pace himself, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d touched himself to you. Hell, he’d shamefully jerked off to the thought of you the night after he’d pierced your tits, all because he couldn’t get you out of his head. He’d vowed he’d never do it again, but he’s just a man after all. He spent many nights with just him, his right hand, and a lingering nip of guilt while he relived every second of you being at the shop. Maybe he’d admit that to you someday if he was intoxicated enough. 

“Fuck it,” he grumbles to himself, now hastily fumbling with his belt to undo it as his eyes snap open with determination. 

He doesn’t even bother to slide his trousers all the way down his legs, he tugs them down along with his boxers just enough to pull out his weeping, throbbing cock. Matty lets out a shuddering breath of relief to be free from the confines of far too many layers, tentatively running his thumb over the angrily flushed tip. Gathering the pearly beginnings of his release, he hisses at the sensitivity of his dick having been neglected for so long. 

To keep the fabric out of the way, he brings the hem of his shirt up to his mouth, biting down and keeping it between his teeth. Matty allows himself to wrap his hand around his head, dragging the slickness of his precum down his shaft, feeling the protruding veins against his palm. Once he reaches his base, he languidly strokes upward again, twisting his wrist just like how you usually do it. He groans, the sound slightly muffled as he grits his teeth against the hem of his shirt, allowing his memories of you getting him off to puppeteer his hand. His hand never feels as good as yours, but it’s enough to offer him what he’s itching for. 

Matty begins to move faster, finding his rhythm as he constricts his fingers harder around his cock, another spurt of precum spilling from the tip. He times the pumps of his hand in time with the needy upstrokes of his hips rolling into his fist to chase the crescendo of sensation, of pure relief. Beads of sweat gather on his forehead like a sheen across his skin as the tension pleasantly builds, permeating through his whole body. 

“Oh, fuck,” he murmurs, reaching into his pocket with his free hand to toy with your panties while pleasuring himself. 

His fingers twist at the lace as he continues to stroke himself harder and faster, his chest heaving. He breathes out your name into the empty room between pants for breath, his heart racing as he feels himself inch closer to euphoria. Normally, he’d slow down and tease himself a bit longer, prolonging his pleasure to make the release feel that much better. But not tonight. Tonight, he can’t stand the idea of being kept any longer from the sweet remedy to the ache in his bones. His moans get unabashedly louder, his eyes rolling back as his hips jerk upwards with more urgency to the point that he’s almost fucking his fist. So completely lost in the moment, he doesn’t catch the sound of the front door being unlocked… 

Your POV

With a quiet sigh, you unlock the door and push it open, feeling exhaustion weigh you down like it was trying to drag you to the floor. You couldn’t lie, you were pretty relieved when you found out the after-work drinks with your coworkers were canceled. It had been a long day, and really, the only thing that was keeping you going was thinking about coming home to your gorgeous mohawked boyfriend. Especially because now you get to surprise him by getting back early. It was the perfect material for a cozy night in. 

Placing your keys on the counter next to his, you put your arms over your head only to freeze mid-stretch when you hear it. You can almost feel your ears prick up at the sound of a deep moan spilling from Matty’s lips, a sound you’ve come to know very well. Just like that, you’ve found your second wind, a flood of warmth overcoming you and waking up your every nerve. Realization simmers in you as it clicks that he must have discovered the “treat” you’d left for him.

Your feet are carrying you through your flat before you can process it, walking on your toes to keep your presence a secret. You follow the sounds of rustling fabric and breathless, pornographic grunts, your heart thrumming against your ribs faster with every step. Peeking around the corner into your shared living space, that’s when you find him, your stomach instantly swooping at the sight. His head is tilted back against the cushions, eyes squeezed shut so he can’t see the look of pure lust cross your face as you stare at his diligently working hand.

You lean against the wall, exhaling a shuddering breath as you resist the urge to instantly jump onto his lap and take over for him. You instead slowly drink in the eye candy before you: his shirt caught in his teeth, the lace of your panties poking out of the pocket that his hand is shoved in, the way his hips are writhing against the couch. It was too perfect for words to describe. Not to mention how fucking good he sounds, being so carelessly vocal. It feels like your whole body is buzzing, heat pooling in you almost embarrassingly quickly as a shiver skitters up your spine. You’re already soaked as you watch him with your mouth dropped open. Then, you hear your name like a prayer on his lips and you just can’t help yourself.

“Want help with that?” you call out to him. 

Matty shouts out a shocked “fuck me!”, his eyes snapping open as he lets his shirt fall from his mouth, hurriedly using the fabric to cover himself. In a panic, he sits up ramrod straight, only to find you casually leaning against the wall, a little coy smile painted on your lips. He groans, covering his face with slightly trembly hands as he tries to calm his racing heart. 

“Fuckin’ hell. Scaring me half to death like that, the fuck… can’t have a wank in peace,” he mutters, dragging his hands down his face as he looks over at you with exaggeratedly weary eyes. 

You can’t help but laugh a bit at his distress, striding over to him and dropping to your knees before your boyfriend. Apologetically, you lean up to kiss him on the lips, whispering a muffled “‘M sorry” against them while cupping his flushed face. His breath is hot against your mouth as you pull away, Matty’s chest still rising and falling quickly with shallow breaths. 

“Hello to you too…” he murmurs, a lively glint flashing in his eyes while he shakes his head at you with playful disapproval. 

“You having fun without me?” you whisper, pouting your lips at him.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent now. Have you got any idea how these ended up in here?” Matty smiles wolfishly, pulling your panties out from his pocket to dangle them in front of your face off of one finger. 

“I’ve never seen those before.”

“No? That’s odd. ‘Cause I distinctly remember you begging me to take them off you last night.”

You sputter with the lack of a comeback, cheeks flushing at the reminder of your neediness. Instead of fighting him with wits, you take the panties from his hand and toss them to the side, ridding you of the barrier between your lips and his. You kiss him hard, making Matty groan against your mouth as you stay kneeling between his spread legs, slotting your lips against his in a clash of teeth and tongues. His hands find your hair, inhaling you deeply while he knots his fingers into your tresses. You kiss until you both need to come up for air, left breathless and staring into each other’s eyes heatedly. 

“You didn’t have to stop,” you whisper, the implication of your statement not lost on him in the slightest. 

Matty’s eyes light up as smugness pulls at his lips. He nips at your lower lip with his teeth, tugging at it before letting go.  

“You wanna watch me touch myself? Dirty girl. You like shit like that, don’t you?” he chuckles lowly. 

He’s never dry of silver-tongued comments that make you blush to your very roots. A soft moan slips past your lips at his words, your hands moving down to his thighs, running over them in encouragement as you feel your body only getting warmer. He leans in and captures your lips sweetly before putting his hands on your shoulders and easing you into kneeling in front of him. You pliantly allow him to move you, leaning your cheek against his knee as you stare up at him adoringly. Matty coos at the sight of you, running his thumb over your cheek with gentle appreciation, a moment of reprieve amidst the rush. 

He fully takes his shirt off this time, tossing it to the side in a heap on the couch. He sighs out as he looks down at his cock resting heavily against his stomach, leaking precum near his colorful rose tattoo. You watch as Matty grabs himself at his base, feeling a flutter between your thighs while he begins to slowly stroke himself, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes that burn into you.

“Spit on it for me, sweetheart,” he whispers, gesturing towards his cock with a nod. 

Your breath hitches in your throat at the blunt request, because god damn. Without a moment of hesitation, you lean upwards, gathering saliva in your mouth. The whine you make as he taps his tip against your bottom lip is simply obscene. Matty smirks as he smugly observes the string of his precum connecting your lips to his cock.

Sticking your tongue out, you allow a few drips of spit to land on his flushed head, blinking up at him prettily as it dribbles down his shaft. A low groan rumbles in his chest while he strokes your hair, holding his dick steady for you with a tightening grip. With the last of your saliva, you lean down and properly spit on his tip, making Matty hum with approval. 

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, feeling himself twitch in his hand while he reaches to gather the slickness. 

And, god, he knows how to put on a good show. You watch from the floor, your cheek smushed against his knee while he keeps his legs spread wide. Matty fists his cock with vigor, staring down into your eyes with such intensity that you feel as though you may shatter. You’re completely lost in his rhythm, the writhing of his body, his every grunt and gasp. You gaze at him hazily, trying to commit this moment to memory and file it away for a lonely night. He finds himself teetering on the edge much quicker with you watching him, knowing you’re tracking his every move. It’s exhilarating.

"Shit. You look so pretty down there," he smiles, playing with your hair with his free hand.  

“Does it feel good?” you purr, keeping one hand tracing little patterns on his thigh. 

“Mmm, you know it does, angel. Not as good as you do, though. Nothing’s as tight as that sweet cunt of yours.”

Your head tilts forward with a longing groan and Matty just laughs breathlessly, knowing the effect he has on you. The urge to satiate yourself in any way is burning you up from the inside, but you behave, squirming slightly on the ground while your thighs press together. You watch as his face screws up with the tension of his impending release.

“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, “gonna cum, baby. Where do you want me?”

You move quickly, wordlessly leaning up and opening your mouth, sticking out your tongue with a flair of sensuality. Matty grins lazily, his eyes glinting with pride at you being his perfect girl. With a few more rushed pumps of his cock and breathy, repeated swears, he lets out a loud, guttural moan, losing control. The tension inside him snaps with a sense of sweet relief. He watches hazily as his thick ropes of cum land on your tongue, some spurting onto your cheek and your chin despite his efforts to aim steady.

You shudder, feeling his warm release grace your skin as you have the pleasure of seeing him fall apart before your very eyes. He gives himself one last drawn-out stroke before letting go, chasing his breath as his body goes limp against the couch cushions. He peers down at you, drunk on his orgasm while you swallow the saltiness on your tongue. Matty slowly reaches and wipes away the stray drips on your chin with his thumb. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, sweet girl,” he whispers, placing his soiled thumb on your lips for you to clean, like he knows you will. 

You graciously take his thumb into your mouth, licking and sucking away the last of his cum like you’re simply starving for it. Matty’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he observes you quietly, not hiding how he’s loving every second of this. Once you’ve finished, you release his thumb with a pop, a craving for approval written all over your face. His heart swells in his chest at the sight of you.

“C’mere. I’ll show you what happens to girls who use their knickers to be menaces to their boyfriends,” he roars, grasping you at your sides to tickle you as he pulls you up onto his lap in a fit of giggles. 

—----------------------

I watched a couple of the consumption clips for this… for PURELY RESEARCH PURPOSES. Don’t look at me like that. 

🐝anon the shirt between his teeth bit goes out to you queen, that concept has never left my mind dude 

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #01)

Welcome to Fluffuary 2024! Check out the schedule here. This will be a multi-chapter story where the theme of each chapter is guided by the daily schedule. While they are meant to be read back-to-back, they can be read as one-shots, too. Thanks for being here! 🩷

They say that good fences make good neighbors, but when you share an apartment balcony with a handsome, kind, and single British SAS captain, you start to wonder if a fence is going to be enough to keep you away.

My blog is always restricted (MDNI) despite the fact that these works will contain very little smut.

FEB01: First Meeting

There was a strange man in your apartment’s foyer. He was dressed in olive green cargo pants, laced black boots, and a bomber jacket. On his head, a black woolen beanie sat just over his ears. His face was covered in a well-groomed beard, and his entire body filled the room. This man was enormous. Too big, you thought, for a normal man to be. He seemed like one of those characters at a theme park, dressed in carved foam, every part of them comically disproportionate to the tiny children screaming around them for hugs and attention. 

You watched as he tried to use the elevator, and you melted a bit. He must have just moved in. That damn deathtrap hadn’t worked for the whole four years you’d lived here, and even if the doors did open, you could push every button that it had to offer and it still wouldn’t carry you up even an inch. You noticed that his hands, also too large, tightened their grip on a rattling, overstuffed cardboard box, so you made a quick comment,

“Are you just moving in?”

He turned, noticing you for the first time, and he smiled. That made his enormity much more palatable.

“Aye,” his British accent was distractingly strong, “I’m John.”

John shifted the weight of the box to his hip so he could shake your hand properly. He seemed like the kind of person who thought that a handshake in a first meeting was very important, so you stacked up your mail and keys into your left hand and offered him your right, letting his huge paw envelop your whole palm. 

You told him your name, and you filled him in,

“Elevator’s been broken for years. You’re not going anywhere in that thing, and to be honest, I’d pay money not to.”

He chuckled, warm and deep, like a bass drum, and you enjoyed the way his eyes wrinkled as his smile reached them, 

“Alright. Stairs it is.”

As you slogged your way upstairs, you chatted about all of the usual things. You discovered that he was in the British armed forces, and he was staying in Bethesda for an extended time, serving with some Americans. It was all very vague and cagey, but you’d been in the capitol and its surrounding towns for close to a decade now, so secretive answers were very much the norm. 

You told him about your job as a student advocate. You worked from home most of the time, but you served students in tens of schools and districts around the region. He seemed to take quite a keen interest in your work, lauding you for your willingness to fight for student rights. You were such a lone wolf most of the time, it felt lovely for someone to finally take notice. 

He kept following you, past floors three and four. By the time you reached your floor, the last one, you asked him,

“What apartment are you, if you don’t mind me asking. There’s only two per level, so you might’ve walked past it.”

He sighed,

“I’m all the way up. Just my luck right? 501B.”

“I’m 501A,” you stopped walking as the landing leveled off, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at your door. 

He grinned, a little rakishly you thought, 

“I might be luckier than I thought.”

You let his words wash over you for a minute, his rapt attention on you making your breath catch, and then you offered,

“Do you need some help getting in? Lemme hold that for you.”

“Aye, thanks.”

He popped open the door with a bit of a shove from his shoulder and trod inside. You followed him tentatively, not wanting to intrude on his space.

“I haven’t had a neighbor in years. Not a permanent one anyway. They all claim this unit is haunted,” you laughed, setting his box down on the countertop.

“Haunted? Well, I’ve met a few ghosts in my time. Should be alright.”

His way of smoothing out all of his words, purring them from his chest, was lulling you into a false sense of safety. Here you were, in the depths of this giant man’s empty kitchen, and you had forgotten all of your decorum somewhere down the stairs. 

You turned to leave and he caught you, snaring you with his voice, 

“Hey, it was nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. I’ll see you around,” you smiled politely, clutching your mail to your chest like a shield.

“You will,” he said, watching your retreat with a cool fascination.

As you slinked back into your place, shutting and locking the door behind you, you hung on that promise like a hook, realizing that you were very much looking forward to having that immense, burly man next door.

AO3 Link

[dtfpeta]

Domesticity with Price...

(a/n: yes I want to make my lover a home cooked meal. yes I want him to wrap his arms around me while I cook. also I was this close to putting nsfw but I may just make a part two)

tags: husband!price, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, f!reader

Word Count: 1.8k __________

Price who comes home to his doting wife standing in front of the stove. A roaring pot of boiling water being salted by your delicate hands which form a harsh pinch on the granules before releasing them into the porcelain dish.

He watches from the door as you slowly canter your hips, humming along to the soft melody of Al Green from your distant record player. His cheeks contort with a smile when he hears your abysmal attempt to recall the lyrics. Startling you out of your unaware serenade when his hands catch in the fabric of your dress to wrap around your waist.

"Smells good." He comments regarding the dish. His face is buried in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of garlic, rosemary, and other spices that coat the house in its aroma. Your own fragrance of vanilla overwhelms his senses as he sighs into the crook of your neck.

"It's not nice to sneak up on someone like that..." You chastise, knowing the irony that lies in your statement being as stealth is not something your husband is unaccustomed to. "Could've burned myself." You add, half-heartedly scolding and rolling your eyes as his arms tighten their purchase on your hips.

On the stove lies a pot boiling with its now added component of rigatoni. To its side is a sizzling pan that has been providing the house with its encapsulating smell. John eyes the skillet. The melted butter works to caramelize the now translucent onions coated in sparse flakes of red pepper and rosemary. A wooden spatula wielded in your hand stirs the minced garlic cloves, doing your best to prevent their quick to burn nature.

Price loves your cooking and you love to cook for him. Seeing as his face melts into bliss when he tastes what magic you have cast on something as simple as a chicken pot pie. Or the way his eyes bulge when you reveal that a dish he has been scarfing down like a starved dog over the past several months contains mushrooms.

Ever since that day, he has not once argued about an ingredient in your cooking. Even as he eyes the tomato sauce being added to the pan, knowing he is going to suffer a severe case of heartburn but almost welcoming it, as he knows it will accompany an array of flavors he will be holding up his plate for more of.

"M'sorry love." He relishes. "Been looking forward to this all day. N' watching you from the door just made me miss ya' even more."

You scoff at his cheesy comment, placing your left hand to rest on his forearm that is draped around you as your right stirs at the still hard noodles.

You lay your utensil down and lean back into his embrace. Closing your eyes as you feel your bodies link together like a puzzle. One piece being a head taller than the other, but fitting together nonetheless. You sway with your husband to the tempo of the song playing in the background. His body is warm against your back, being stripped of his tactical gear and left in a black cotton shirt tucked into the waist of his same toned cargo pants, the legs of which are folded above his combat boots.

"How was work?" You ask, eyes still closed and body entangled in him. He regards your question with a low hum, feet lightly stepping side to side.

"Hm, the usual. Told some of the boys we could treat em' to dinner sometime. Be nice to get together, maybe show you off a lil'?"

He lightly pinches at your sides while pulling you closer to him. The scruff of his beard dances against your skin as he attacks your neck in quickly scattered kisses.

"John!" You laugh while attempting to distance yourself from his assault. Only to be swiftly turned around where you find his blue eyes smiling fondly at you. The warm tinted light from a nearby lamp casts soft shadows on the crows feet that crinkle near his eyes. The edges of his smile lines sharpening the more he beams at you.

There's not a place on Earth he would rather be.

For the longest, he distanced himself from love. Only finding that unachievable compromises would be asked of him, and due to his work, he was never able to fulfill those wishes. It only put a strain on his and his partners' relationship. He learned to deal with the lack of intimate companionship over the years. Just having the bond of his brothers in arms till he would return to his empty flat and scrounge up whatever microwaveable dish hadn't gone freezer burnt or remnants of leftovers left in his barren refrigerator. Until he met someone he could incorporate into the unpredictable schedule of his life.

The first time you cooked for him he was floored. Joking about how he'd have to hire you as his personal chef and saying how he could only dream of coming home to this every week. You had brought the ingredients to his apartment, insisting that you would treat him to a hot meal if he helped you, which he gladly agreed to. He stood slicing carrots and celery while you stirred a pot of chicken stock, placing sprigs of thyme and bay leaves into the broth as the chicken roasted in the oven, soon to be shredded and added to the pot. Said pot being three times bigger than your head.

"You trying to feed the whole squadron?" He'd teased. To which you only responded with a light snicker, knowing that in making such a large portion would provide him with leftovers for the rest of the week-and then some.

Several years later you now stood in your shared home, a simple wedding band adorning the both of you two's hands. Price's socks litter the shared space until you have to reprimand him to pick them up. Him responding with his own accusations of how you frequently leave your bra on the couch as well as your adversity to keep your hair ties in one place. What can you say, it's just more convenient when they're around the house.

The two of you's cleaning habits aren't the only thing that could use work though. The decorations are an obvious clash of one person who enhances the space with homely, comforting pieces, and another who has a hard time letting go of secondhand artifacts. And after Price's constant defense of his 'live laugh love' banner hanging on the wall of the kitchen, you began to give in to the cliché relic.

A more than familiar tune begins to play from the record player.

"Oh my God" Price's teeth shine through his grin as he picks up on the melody as well. It's the song you shared your first dance together to.

His coordinated hands move to your hips, your own responding by wrapping around his neck. You gaze up at him. The quickening of your heart makes its frequent appearance as he looks down at you. The butterflies you feel every time you look at him have yet to diminish their strength over the years. Even as you heard stories of the dreaded period following the honeymoon phase where couples do nothing but bicker, your heart remained the same.

The only thing you can focus on is his hickory-toned voice humming to the lyrics of the track. The vibration rumbles through his chest, making its way to your ear resting upon him. He sways with your body against his until you are replicating the dance from that night. Since that night he has always made it apparent you were his first priority. He protects and serves you, as you have brought a peace to his life he didn't think was possible.

"Y'know on my way home," he began "saw this woman with her kid. Maybe 5 years old. He was sitting on a bench while she was on the ground tying his shoe. He was swinging his leg, reading some comic book to her. Poor lasses feet barely touched the ground!" He lets out a breathy laugh before pausing for a moment. "Just got me thinking."

"About?"

"Bein' a dad." He stated, kissing the temple of your face. "Making you a mum."

You smiled into his chest. John knew you wanted kids, and he did too. The time just never found itself convenient. And even now there are uncertainties, but the knowledge you have that John would be an excellent father left you planting seedlings of the idea in his head when you had the chance. Passing by a pair of cute baby shoes in the store. The ring of adolescent laughter when you'd visit the aquarium. Or even a dress you would buy, waiting for your husband to compliment it before mentioning the garment worked as a maternity piece too.

Something had been pulling at his paternal strings lately, however. He yearned to fill the house with the both of your makings. Leaving your marks in its foundation. Whether that be with the rug you both haggled for at the flea market. The broken spring of your living room couch, product of an intense wrestling match between you two. (In which both parties were considered victorious by the end.) Or the poolhouse-toned blue paint that made its acquaintance on the crown molding of your bedroom wall. (Also caused by some spout of play fighting or whatever attempt Price had to get his hands on you.)

You leaned back to search his face, only finding a look of great fondness pulling at his features. Your palms came to cradle the sides of his face before a smile stretched on your own.

"Yeah. I think I'd like that." You brought his lips to yours, embracing him in a tender touch as you laughed into the kiss. Your hold on one another tightened. Knowing that Price was ready to take such a giant step now made you giddy as you imagined him holding his future child, playing make-believe with them, and cleaning up their bumps and bruises from playing in the yard.

"Can't believe you're saying yes to a baby before a dog, John." You both laughed before you turned your head at the smell of burnt garlic.

"Shit!" You quickly grabbed a wooden spoon to stir at the red mixture before turning the stove off.

"Don't tell me you lost your touch already, sweetheart?"

"You were distracting me." You declare, pointing your spatula at the towering man. "Just get the bowls from the cabinet and set the table, yeah?"

"Of course, hun." He mocked.

You glared a burning look into the back of his before he did as instructed, your temper cooling as you poured the pot of soft noodles into a strainer.

You and John were able to turn a house into your home. Soon the floor and walls would be sheathed in memories of your family. One of the first being your dinner of a burnt tomato rigatoni pasta.