#not all Christians there is no uniformity here

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

See, and one can be a fine upstanding Christian who holds these values and nobody will question you as long as you don't drink alcohol, use curse words, or masturbate. It is in fact taken for granted that this position is morally upright and decent.

This is precisely what I have been talking about today

[kg-clark-inthedark]

The old-heads hated my vibe at the other night’s Gojira and Korn show. I know damn well I slayed though so I’m showing off idc. And the Gojira members were hype af at how hard we went on our fits soooo *shrug* (Meeting them was amazing, their show was amazing, I love Gojira so so so much.)

[drgnflyteabox]

something to remember you by

pairing: soap x fem reader summary: your boyfriend wants some memorabilia of you to take on his deployments. only, he wants his superior officer to take the photos. w.c: 3.7k tags/warnings: dubcon, cucking, mild degradation, oral (m + f, rough), hair pulling, un-negotiated kink, dom!soap, clothed man naked reader, teasing scent kink (m + f), one (1) pussy slap, crying, squirting, unprotected sex, some anxiety, reassurance mid-fuck, overstimulation, some aftercare, abrupt but open ending, reader has some internal shame around sex/kink, reader doesn't rlly like her bf

At first, it’s nothing. Dirty talk, suggestive texts, passing comments while he’s on his second deployment with a hand around his cock and you pretending to be into it.

"Think about it, babe," he’s panting, but it’s less sexy when you can tell he’s deepening his voice on purpose like Christian Bale Batman. "Don’t you wanna give me something to remember you by? While I’m out here fighting for you?"

Corny. So fucking corny. Your feet are kicked up on your coffee table, fuzzy-socked, face schlopped with a cooling gel mask. Quarter past 8 o’clock, and he’s trying to sell you on letting one of his army buddies fuck you and take pictures of you. The absurdity makes you almost laugh.

"…babe?" Oh, shit.

"Yeah honey, I’m here." You’d kind of feel bad, if it weren’t for the ick factor. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, he was fine, it was just that since he’d joined the army he’d inched closer and closer to picking up a mic and dictating which body counts were okay to women over podcasts. That, and he’s gotten hornier. Kinkier.

Which is fine, really. Only you don't consider yourself adventurous. Sex is like a chore, something to put you to sleep, to relax the muscles. Relationships are quid pro quo - I suck your dick, you make my parents think I’m succeeding in life, deal?

Not to mention, you've never even considered stepping outside of the idea that sex is between committed couples only, sequestered away and hidden in the closet like old clothes.

"So, are you picturing it?" Schlap schlap schlap. He must’ve added lotion. "You can say no obviously, ughnnn, but I know this guy really well. I'd, ahhh fuck, sit in the other room."

"Thanks for being so considerate," you sound dry, but you’re honestly intrigued. Life has been monotonous since graduation, the transition from study to office… rough.

You aren’t adventurous. But you’re so fucking bored.

"Can I see him first?" On the TV in front of you, muted, Matthew Macfayden confesses his love tearfully in the rain. You want to be bewitched, body and soul. To feel something.

"So you’ll do it? Oh, fuck-" Not what I said, you think. His voice goes high, reedy, trembling with his orgasm. "See how fucking hot this makes me? I’ll send a pic, give me a sec."

It’s a group photo. He’s dressed in his uniform, head shaved, standing next to a group of a dozen or so men. Outlined, at the far corner with a group of guys big enough to dwarf a good third of the rest, is a man with building biceps and a smarmy grin and a confident, wide-legged pose. Hips jutted out. Fuck, he’s hot. You can see his bulge through his pants, through the picture, under a heavy tac vest.

"Get in, get in!" the apartment is clean for once. At least, clean without you getting sick of his clutter and playing maid. Did he do it himself to impress his friend? That makes you snort, but he doesn’t catch it, too preoccupied with his phone.

"Um, woah-" you start, taken aback. It looks like a porn set. There’s a plastic sheet on the ground in front of the couch. "I thought this was supposed to be casual?"

"It is, babe," he’s brushing you off, same as he did the few days leading up to this. You’d gone through some minor confidence and judgment crises, anxiety building like a balloon about to pop. All of which he’d brushed off.

It’s all fun and games, babe. Plus he’s done this before, he’s like a pro, showed me some videos - that was something you hadn't agreed to, just some pictures for him to take on deployments.

Still, trepidation makes you sweat, makes your thighs stick to the brown leather couch when you sit and try to sip water. Your socks crinkle the sheet.

You don’t turn when he arrives, still too nervous, knees stuck together and hands slipping on the glass from condensation when they start talking behind you. There’s too many what ifs - all reasons you’d used to avoid hookups in college, all reasons you wanted to break through your shell now.

Plus, you’re sick of hearing "did you finish?"

"This must be her," says an accented voice, gruff and maybe amused, "ye feelin' shy?"

No. You’re just nervous. Exposed. One of the only conditions you'd pushed was no cuck chair, but now you weren't sure how to feel to be left alone with him soon. This man is so big, so imposing.

"Hi," you say smartly. He looks just like his photo, only bigger. Bulging muscles and the same wide stance when he comes to stand in front of you. It’s only because you can’t stand sitting face-to-face with his crotch that you stand and hold your hand out to shake.

"And polite!" Loud. He introduces himself as Johnny, which makes your boyfriend's eyebrows raise. "So cute." he takes the liberty of bypassing your hand and grabbing your waist.

Oh fuck, he runs hot. His hands burn, even through your shirt. You feel self-conscious, plain, looking up at his probing blue eyes. They’re so intense, captivating, distracting you from the feeling of him getting closer and closer, till your tits are pressed to his.

"Hey-"

The moment breaks. Your boyfriend is looking at you both, unreadable expression on his face. Is he regretting this? Feeling emasculated, maybe? Hard to feel much sympathy when you’re the one about to get fucked.

And it was his idea.

"I’m gonna go to the bedroom," his eyes squint, flitting between the both of you before he scurries away, pants tented.

"Now that that's outta the way," Johnny grunts. "C'mere." And sits down with a grunt, pulling you to him.

You try to pivot, to sit next to him, but he's strong and coordinated so you wind up in his lap, back touching the arm of the couch and your legs slung over his, bum on one thigh.

"That's more like it, no?" there's that wolfish grin again, so close. One hand rests on your knee, possessively, while the other wraps around your shoulders and plays with your shirt. "Why don't we introduce ourselves?"

The hand on your knee moves to your face, gripping your cheeks in a grip hard enough to push your lips out into an embarrassing pout. You struggle a little, pulling at his wrist, but he doesn't budge.

He pulls his phone out, aiming the camera at your face, recording a video through a text-app. You can that it's a groupchat, assured by your boyfriend before that it was totally private, babe. This is jut between us.

"Now say hello," he puts his stubbly cheek next to yours, rubbing like a cat. "And introduce yourself."

"H'llo," you struggle through it, muffled by his grip. Your name is almost unintelligible, and your jaw starts to ache a little.

"Say, can I please suck your cock, sir?"

Your stomach tightens, right down to your pussy, which gushes a little into your panties.

"Cn'I please suck your cock, sir?" he's so fucking forward, just jumping in headfirst. The loss of control, your being told what to do, makes your clit jump. Sex has never been like this - you've never been so acquiescing.

"Of course you can, bonnie!" you're almost tossed to the floor, no gentleness as he pulls you toward him by the hair so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. He scoots to the edge of the couch, leaning back against it, and uses that strong arm to rub your face on his bulge. "Get me hard."

He puts his phone on the arm of the couch.

You flounder, hands finding his knees and trying to pull back. He doesn't let you.

"Use your mouth, kiss me," his hand finds a firmer hold on your hair as you start mouthing against him, tasting denim, smelling his musk, letting it get to your head and make you dizzy. "That's right, kitten."

His cock starts to chub under his clothes, and you almost wish you could feel it in your mouth. Oral isn't your favourite, but the way your pussy clenches around nothing and drips into your panties is making you think maybe you were wrong about yourself.

"Up, up," your face is rubbed a little raw by the time you sit up, looking at him. Waiting for instruction. "Everything off, except your panties."

You obey, stripping your shirt and bra and then your shorts. Your nipples tighten in the cool air of the apartment, goosebumps dancing along your arms and your belly. Self-consciousness almost has you reaching to cover yourself, until Johnny grabs you by the shoulders and twists you just enough that you're back to facing his phone.

"Look at these," he grunts in your ear, fingers finding your nipples. Pulling them, pinching them. It's not for you, it's for the camera. You feel like an object, an accessory, secondary to getting the shot of the rough pads of his fingers teasing you into whimpers.

You've never been more turned on.

"Nice, eh?" he pulls them up and out, which hurts, but draws a line of pure electricity from your nipples to your clit. "Whatd'ye think, L.T?" the name doesn't register. Army stuff, you assume.

You're turned back around sharply again to face his actual cock. He's pulled it from his fly, thick and leaking, while you were getting undressed. It's unfair, really, nice and long and curved.

"Ask me again," a statement. A command, phone discarded.

"Please can I suck your cock, sir?" the words make your cheeks burn, your body quiver, your clit jump.

"Ye can," laughter this time, worsening your embarrassment. His hand finds your hair again, pulling you down when you're too slow to touch your lips to the head of his dick. "I'm gonnae fuck your face, alright?"

Without waiting, he lifts his hips up and thrust into your mouth. It's not as deep as it can go, but you almost gag, unprepared. The next thrust is deeper, quicker. He's letting you build up to it, letting your hands rest on his knees for balance.

Your nose touches his pubic hair, inhaling the scent of him. Any attempt at hollowing your cheeks, sucking, licking, is futile. He's so quick that the best you can do is hang on for the ride, keeping your teeth in check.

Drool builds and spills past your lips, making wet sounds compete with his frankly pornographic moaning. He's a man possessed, using you while you squeeze your eyes against overwhelmed tears.

Finally he yanks you off of him by the hair, holding you up while you splutter from the unexpected change. Your hands go to your face, trying to wipe.

"None o'that, now," he bats them away, giving you a shake when you keep trying. "Leave it." like you're a bad dog.

Strings of spit connect your swollen lips to his cock, thin and gooey, that fall to your bare chest when he sits up.

You're turned, stood up and then guided to the couch to sit. Johnny slaps your thighs to get you to open them, lifting your feet for you so that your heels rest on the edge of the couch cushions.

"Awe, look how wet she is," he holds your legs, exposing your wet panties to him and to his phone, where he takes a few pictures. Again, you wonder about the appeal of this for your boyfriend. It's hot for you. Degrading, but hot. Or maybe more hot because of the degradation.

"Oh god," you say out of shock. You've never been so fucking wet in your life, and god forbid he sees how swollen with arousal you are underneath.

"Naw, just me," Johnny says, rubbing his knuckles over your pussy through the fabric. "She all wet and frustrated?"

You don't answer, hands keeping you sat up, chest heaving. You're still a little dizzy.

Johnny licks over your panties, mouthing over them not unlike what you did for him only a few minutes before. It's nothing, really, but you're so worked up that it startles a long, drawn-out moan from you.

He continues like this, never actually making contact with where you need it, with your skin. Every one in a while he turns his head to the side and grins, taking a picture or a videoclip while you tip your head back and resist begging him to just get on with it.

His nose presses on your mound, where he drags it down to your hole and sniffs.

That's what breaks your resolve.

"Please," you whine. Your voice is rough from taking his cock in your throat.

"Please what?" he opens his mouth and puts his teeth on you, not biting, just letting you feel them. Gnawing gently.

"Please do it," you look down at him, and even though he's on his knees you know you aren't the one in control. "Please lick my cunt."

A laugh, mean and condescending. Your eyes close in shame, pussy burning for attention.

"This cunt right here?" he pulls the gusset aside, whistling. "This desperate little cunt?"

"Yes, please," you curl your toes into the couch.

Something shifts in his eyes, some unrecognizable flash. It feels like danger, like you're in over your head. Johnny takes two fingers and rubs them over your clit, slowly at first, and then quickly when he feels how slippery you are.

Somewhere, a volcano erupts and it isn't comparable to the heat or the feeling of your clit finally getting attention. It zings through you, making you squeeze your muscles, taught and trembling.

The pads of his fingers are a rough sensation on your swollen skin, the worlds best vibrator, ribbed for your pleasure. All he does is rub, up and down over your clit, quickly and until your face starts to scrunch together in orgasm, trembling hard.

Then he pulls back and slaps you so hard on your pussy you scream.

You almost come from it, shocked, legs kicking out, skin burning and clit pulsing with desperation, back bowing. You keep making sound after, a long and drawn out aaaaaahhhhh while he grins like the cat that got the cream. Takes another picture, the click of the camera loud in the face of your disappointment.

The intensity of it almost brings you to tears, looking at him with betrayal and vulnerability in your face. You feel weak all of a sudden, cored, devoured, pulled apart as soft as slow cooked meat.

Your panties fall back over your skin, a minor comfort against the sting.

"Poor girl," Johnny says with false sympathy. "Let me make it up to ye."

Then you're up again, pulled and pressed against Johnny's chest until he pulls your underwear down and rearranges you to sit on his lap over his spread legs, yours dangling on either side.

"Gonna bounce ye on my cock, alright?" you nod. "Sit on it."

You lift your hips, using his knees for balance, and he guides the head of his cock to your hole. Stops you from sitting back right away with a hand on your hip, squeezing the soft flesh there, and holding you there.

"They're kissing," he laughs. You feel it, your cunt mouthing at him like a conscious being, separate from you. "Ye think they want tae meet each other?"

"Can I?" you don't fight to keep the whine out of your voice. You want to come, you want this aching and this emptiness to end.

"Can ye what?"

"Sit on your cock, please."

"Well, since ye asked so nicely," and then he notches himself properly again, and forces you down with two hands on your waist. You shout, arching, head thrown back. "Bounce on it now, kitten. Show me how badly ye want to come."

And oh god, you do. You rock forward, shaking at the feeling of him, no technique to guide you just pure intuition, brain and cunt and body as one. Distantly, the sound of the camera registers, but it only makes you move faster.

He spreads your cheeks, exposing where you're connected, putting the camera close to the wet clench of your cunt around his cock and - oh, he's filming it. There's no click, just the wet sounds of you riding him.

"Thas'right," he murmurs lowly, maybe for show. "You wanna come?"

"Yes!" you lean back, then, sweat slicked back sticking to his shirt, forgetting where you are and why you're here. Everything narrows down to your pussy, but you feel compelled to keep your hands off your clit even though you know it would make you come quickly.

You want to listen to him, to wait for permission. The thought is searing heat through your core.

Fingers find your face, slipping into your mouth. Your lips wrap around them, sucking like you would've his cock.

His other hand lifts his phone in front of you both, snapping shots of your unfocused eyes, your tits pushed into the air, his smarmy expression. He hooks his fingers then into your cheek, pulling back like a fishhook.

"Good girl," his lips against your ear, stubble scratching the hot skin of your neck. "I'm gonna fuck you for real now, alright?"

You nod, desperately. He pushes you up and off of him, face down in the cushion. He's still clothed, for gods sake, jeans rubbing against the backs of your thighs when he drags your ass back toward him.

The mushroom head of his cock finds your cunt again, pushing in, driving you nuts. You're moaning helplessly, letting him take your boneless arms to hold them behind you.

He fucks you like a man possessed, in a short strokes, barely leaving the hot clutch of your pussy. The sounds, if they were bad before, are worse now, wet and humiliating.

Every thrust feels like he's slowly inflating a balloon inside you, like something pulling taut, like pressure about to burst.

"Fuck, wait!" you shout and turn your head. The pressure is insane, mixed up with a building orgasm, twined together. He hasn't even touched your clit, and yet you're on the precipice.

Johnny leans down, lips on your ear. He slows, but doesn't stop.

"What is it, bonnie?"

"I have to pee," you'd have mumbled it before, but the feeling is so strong you can't help but whimper and cry. "Please let me up."

"Ye aren't gonna pee," he laughs. "Trust me, just trust me." Then keeps pistoning into you.

You feel like jello, like mush, the only solid part of you is about to burst and somehow it makes you feel real anxiety, dampening your enjoyment.

"Johnny-" you whimper, emotion clogging your voice. You feel vulnerable, held down and bared.

In need of reassurance.

"You're alright," he leans back down and nuzzles your wet cheek. "Ye can let go, kitten, I've got ye."

You gasp, pulsing hard around him, the feeling back again, before you gush around his cock, a spray so intense you cry as it forces him out of you.

"Good. Fucking. Girl!" he slaps your ass once, twice, on both cheeks. Rubs your flank like a horse and then plunges back into you when you finish dripping down your legs.

This is purely selfish, him fucking you hard now, jackrabbiting his hips into yours. You hear the phone again, just barely, as your ears ring.

You're raw from coming without any touch to your clit, a weird limbo between being on-edge and oversensitive.

"Gonna give me another," he's growling now, getting impossibly faster. You actually really cry when he reaches around to twist your clit, thrashing under him, not sure if you want to leap off the couch or crawl right back into him. "Come for me!" he shouts, pulling up the hood of your clit to really get at you, rubbing rough circles around your beleaguered little nub.

The second orgasm melts your brain out of your ears, so long and drawn out that you're still shivering with the aftershocks as he pulls out of you and paints your back with his release.

You pant, arm one arm dangling over the edge of the couch while you the other covers your eyes.

Johnny rubs a hand on your thigh, light and gentle, patting your bum as he stands. You move your arm just enough to squint at him.

His jeans are soaked.

You laugh, uninhibited, delirious. He laughs with you.

"All you, darlin'!" he takes another shot of you, pulls your legs apart and takes a picture of your wet, sore hole.

"Is she good?" ah, your boyfriend. He has his own wet spot on the front of his pants.

"She's good," Johnny confirms. "Ye need to take care of her now, right?"

Something in his voice changes. A different kind of authority to the one he used on you, one reserved for soldiers. For men beneath him. At that thought, your pussy makes a valiant effort to clench.

"Yeah, yeah," you hear. Your boyfriend has his phone out, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "These are great man, thanks."

You start to sit up, still shaking, but not wanting to have him see you that way.

"Man, you weren't kidding!" he goes on. Johnny frowns and steps forward to clap him hard on the back and grab his nape.

"Run a bath, do it now. Ye got granola bars?"

"Uh, yeah. Hold on."

You're touched by his concern, and wind up soaking in warm bubbles after he leaves. You wonder about the photos, about what you look like. If your boyfriend is satisfied, if Johnny is.

If you were good.

Feels like you were, but somethings changed. Johnny found a soft spot knife-deep inside you and dug himself in, made you fly and made sure you were brought back to earth after, tenderized and then wrapped in comfort.

Beneath the water, you touch your pussy. Not to masturbate, just to feel the soft sore flesh, to remember the feeling of fullness.

Maybe, after his deployment, your boyfriend will want more pictures.

Fresh material.

Beneath the water, your finger curls into yourself and you sigh, satisfied.

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym. 

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes. 

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season. 

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day. 

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place. 

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special. 

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname. 

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain. 

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body. 

And then you went about destroying your legs. 

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates. 

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer. 

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.” 

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it. 

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.” 

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through. 

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed. 

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.  

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

[runawaymun]

So….are we going to be homophobic about this or…?

If we are then I’m taking all my fics straight off this tag. Fabulous to know I’m not welcome on it 👍

So the Salt and Light tag on AO3 is now up to nearly 700 works in just a few short days, and the really marvelous thing about it is that, owing to its nature, it's probably the only tag with as many works as it has where the filter categories look like this:

Absolutely no E-rated fics, Gen dominating, and no M/M or F/F shipping. It's honestly quite the sight to behold and a breath of fresh air in a medium and a website that's heavily dominated by gay ships and smut writing.

[saddleups]

𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 4.4k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . series of one shots, ongoing STARS!ALBERT WESKER X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . boss x employee dynamic . slight dom/sub ( nothing too out there ) . use of honorifics ( "sir"/"captain", at the moment reader will not refer to wesker by his name ) spanking . creampie . unprotected . incredibly down bad behavior. ask for triggers man i'm doing my best out here ;-;

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .  you are a receptionist at s.t.a.r.s headquarters and are quite popular among the employees for your many charms. captain albert wesker , your boss , is not your biggest fan. so one night you decide to stay late to get some extra work done and you find yourself creating a new , unexpected relationship with the man you swear is such a jerk.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . none of this is very christian of me. anyways. this was a series of drabbles i wrote a while ago but never shared until i decided to re-do this account. it's just pure smut. there's a few parts to this so if this is something you're interested in keeping up with just let me know !

The skirt you wore today was short—not scandalous, but toeing that fine line of propriety. You hadn’t planned it, much like those days when the office AC was set just a bit too cold, and your body betrayed you through thin fabric. It just… happened. And apparently, it worked; the men in the office seemed to linger longer by the receptionist desk, asking about your day, chatting about lunch options.

Today, it was Chris Redfield who made his way over, his broad shoulders and strong arms accentuated by the fitted uniform he wore like a second skin. He leaned casually against your desk, biceps flexed just enough to catch the eye, and gave you a friendly smile.

“So, what are you doing later?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his tone.

You smiled back, coy. “Haven’t decided yet.”

“Maybe I could help you decide?”

Before you could respond to his playful offer, the familiar sound of precise, deliberate footsteps filled the room. Captain Albert Wesker approached, his presence like a sudden chill. He stopped a few feet from your desk, and his gaze, sharp as ice, settled on Chris.

“A slow day for you, Officer Redfield?”

Chris straightened immediately, clearing his throat. “No, sir.” He cast you a quick, apologetic glance before retreating down the hallway, his footsteps fading as you rose to stand in front of the captain. You adjusted the hem of your skirt, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Captain,” you greeted, polite as ever.

Wesker’s voice was low, almost a warning. “I don’t appreciate distractions in my department.”

“It wasn’t my intention, Captain.”

Beneath his calm, unyielding exterior, it was impossible to read his true thoughts. You were used to the effect you had on people; most found your charm and warmth inviting, and it was part of why you’d been hired. Clients and staff alike appreciated your ever-present smile, the soft touch that eased the tension of the office. But Wesker was a fortress, all business, no play.

With two taps on the edge of your desk, he dismissed you. Without another word, he turned, striding through the double doors to his office.

You turned to a nearby coworker, rolling your eyes. “He’s such a jerk.”

“He's your boss,” they teased. “Not everyone can fall for your charms.”

The day wound to a close, and as the office grew quieter, Chris circled back to your desk, his smile as easy as ever. “So, any chance I get to steal you away for a bite tonight?”

You tapped the stack of paperwork on your desk with a rueful smile. “Long night for me. Maybe next time, Chris.”

He chuckled, giving you a wink. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Before long, the office had emptied out, and the eerie quiet of after-hours set in. Only a few dim lights remained, casting long shadows across the empty cubicles. You checked the time and decided to finish the remaining tasks in the morning. Gathering a few scattered papers, you noticed a sealed letter addressed to 'Doctor Albert Wesker' buried in the pile, something you’d overlooked in the day’s shuffle.

Your gaze flicked to the closed double doors of his office. Knowing how he already seemed to regard you with thinly veiled disdain, the idea of interrupting him after hours felt daunting. But you were determined to make a good impression, so you took a steadying breath, stepped to the door, and gave two light knocks.

“Come in,” came his voice, firm and unyielding.

You entered his office, a space you rarely saw, and felt its chill immediately. The room was as stark and impersonal as its occupant: dark stone walls, polished surfaces, no hint of comfort or warmth. He sat at his desk, the dim light casting sharp lines across his face as he worked. Only the sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor could be heard.

“Yes?” he asked, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he pored over some report or another. For a moment, his eyes flickered up to meet yours, you felt like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator.

You hesitated a moment. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but…”

“What is it?” he pressed, clipped.

You steadied yourself, lifting the letter. “You received a letter, sir.”

He extended his hand, expression unreadable. “Then give it here.”

You stepped forward, letter in hand, feeling the weight of Wesker’s attention settle briefly on you before his eyes dropped back to his paperwork. His fingers tapped impatiently on the desk.

"Here’s your letter." You placed it in his hand, waiting a beat, hoping he’d say something more than his typical brisk responses.

But his gaze remained fixed on the document in front of him. "Thank you," he replied curtly, not looking up. As he grasped the letter from your possession, his fingers brushed against yours for the briefest of moments. An unexpected strike of electricity shot through you at the contact.

You shifted your weight, trying not to feel foolish for expecting more. "Long night for you as well, I suppose?"

"Yes," he said, dismissively, barely glancing at you. "As you can see, I’m a busy man. Not much time for idle chatter." His tone held a distinct edge, one that made it clear he saw this exchange as a disruption.

You felt a slight flush creep up your cheeks but pushed on, hoping to soften his walls even a little. "I just thought it might be nice to… check in, make sure everything’s in order before I head out."

Wesker’s mouth barely twitched, his voice all business. "Everything is in order. You’re dismissed."

The finality in his tone stung, yet you nodded politely, preparing to leave. But as you turned, your hand brushed over the stack of papers on his desk, causing them to cascade on the floor in a chaotic rain of white.

"Apologies, Captain," you murmured, quickly bending down to pick it up— cursing under your breath while doing so.

Bent over gathering the papers in a haste, you felt your skirt inching up, however you were too focused on your task to notice the slight pause in Wesker’s movements above you. The room fell silent, save for the quiet rustle of your clothes. The short skirt you wore betrayed you, exposing your black lace thong and the garter belt holding your stocks up.

Finding balance on your feet, you shake in your heels. Hair always neatly placed had now become undone, strands hang loosely to frame your face, cheeks flustered in a pinkish hue.

If the skirt hadn't had it's fun already, it was now your blouse, just a half-size too tight. The button had spoke it's last words while you were occupied with gathering the papers on the floor. It revealed the bra matching your thong, black lace with a tiny pink bow at the center. Eager to leave after dropping his papers, you hardly notice.

"Here," you said softly, placing the paper back on his desk. "I am... so sorry."

Wesker’s face was as impassive as ever, though there was a slight tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He stood to tower over you, you could feel his aura— authority. It left you breathless.

He says your surname, low and menacing. "Did you think this little performance would change my opinion of you."

Through the tint of his glasses, you could sense his eyes lingering to your chest. The pinkish hue on your cheeks now coursed through your body, leaving you flustered and embarrassed beyond belief. Attempting to hold your blouse together with a weak hand, Wesker is unable to shift his gaze elsewhere, enthralled by your two mounds being propped up by your delicate, manicured hand.

You look up at him, trying to muster some semblance of defiance. Perhaps as a last ditch effort to spare your dwindling pride. "I don't know what you mean, Sir."

Wesker's eyes raked over you, burning into your soul. "Do not lie to me. I see that you look at the men in this office. The way you dress to provoke them. You can try your luck with the likes of Officer Redfield…" He leaned down, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin.

"But do you really think you can seduce me?"

Your pulse quickened, swallowing hard you respond. "No, sir. That's not what I was trying to do."

Wesker rose from his chair and towered over you, his face unreadable. "Over my knee," he commanded with a voice that brooked no disobedience. His intense gaze never wavered from yours, pinning you in place with the weight of his scrutiny.

As fear and excitement waged war within you, hesitation flooded your senses. But there was no escaping his will, and deep down, maybe a part of you didn't want to. So with a racing heart, you walked over to his desk and bent over his knee.

Your eyes fixated on the floor as sweat formed on your brow, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

To your surprise, Wesker's touch was gentle as he lifted the hem of your skirt, exposing your bare backside to him. The wetness between your legs couldn't be ignored, and you stammered out a feeble, "d-don't look."

With a dark chuckle, Wesker replied, "My dear," causing your throat to constrict. "You and I both know that's not what you truly desire."

His hand came down hard on your exposed flesh, the sting of the impact reverberating through every nerve in your body. You gasped, gripping onto something - anything - to ease the pain.

"That's for lying to me," Wesker growled, his fingers digging into your skin. "And for thinking you could manipulate me."

Before you could respond, his hand landed again, this time even harder. The overwhelming sensation sent electricity coursing through your veins, flooding your body with a heady mix of adrenaline and arousal. You couldn't help but squirm beneath his touch, craving more punishment from your boss.

You could feel his erection pulsating against you. Even clothed, tucked away— you could imagine the length and girth of it begging to break free from its confides. Yet you don’t dare to disobey, frame cemented over his knee until he wills you in another position.

“Captain, p-please…” your stutter is pathetic, trembling with need that further stokes the fire burning in Wesker’s chest.

Wesker’s grip tightened, his fingers wrapping around your waist like a vice, keeping you firmly in place as he surveyed the sight laid out before him—a juxtaposition of power and vulnerability. The corners of his mouth curled into a prideful smirk, dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as he savored the moment, each second stretching into eternity.

“What is it that you want?” The question laced with mockery, dripped from his lips like honey, sweet yet tinged with a hint of risk. Your heart raced at the implication, knowing all too well there was no room for mischief when it came to Wesker. Every whisper of your deepest desires hung unspoken in the air between you.

“Just—just more,” you breathed, desperation spilling from your lips before you could reign it in. The thrill of his dominance sent shivers coursing through your body, igniting something primal within you that thrummed with longing.

“More?” he echoed, your admission seeming to fuel his ego. His hand traveled down lower, fingers trailing along the curve of your backside, teasingly light despite the forceful position.

“Is that what you think will keep me interested? Dear, do you truly understand what you're asking for?”

A tremor ran through you at the challenge hidden in his voice.

"Yes, Sir," you whispered, trembling. The heat of his hand lingered on your skin, a reminder of both the punishment and your willingness to submit. The air was thick with tension, a charged anticipation that made your knees weak beneath you.

Wesker chuckled softly, a sound that sent both dread and thrill cascading through your veins. His fingers grazed the edge of your garter belt, teasing but unyielding.

"You think you know what you're asking for. But I assure you, this isn’t just a game." He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear,

"And I am not one to play lightly."

The flutter in your stomach intensified as he emphasized each word, filling you with a mixture of yearning and fear of the unknown. You wanted to speak again, to assert yourself in any way you could—but the words fizzled out at the last moment, trapped by the weight of his intense gaze.

He’s such a jerk, isn’t he? Never a smile, barely a glance your way, and he ignores you so thoroughly it feels deliberate—like you’re nothing more than the potted plant on your desk. So why, exactly, did you want this?

“Do you want more?” he repeated slowly, savoring the moment like it was an exquisite wine. “Then you will have to prove yourself worthy.”

With that, Wesker's fingers gripped tighter around your waist, lifting you effortlessly back up to standing position. You found yourself pinned against his desk, back pressed against the cool surface while he towered over you yet again—with knees pressed together you watch as your boss situates himself, fiddling with the collar of his work shirt as he prepares to undo the buttons.

In a haze, you force yourself upright, shaky hands fumbling toward the same buttons Wesker had begun to unfasten, your touch hesitant but fueled by intent.

"Allow me, Captain," you murmur, voice barely a whisper as your fingers trail over his collar.

Wesker’s smirk widens, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he tilts his head. "It seems you’re learning your place rather quickly."

"I'm a fast learner," you reply, feigning innocence, each button slipping free under your fingers as you slowly reveal the toned expanse of his chest. The firm lines of muscle, the coolness of his skin under your touch—it sends a thrill through you, amplifying the steady thunder of your pulse, beating wildly against the quiet.

God, you don't just want this. You need this.

Your hand rests flat against his chest, feeling his heartbeat—steady, controlled. A stark contrast to the furious rhythm of your own. His eyes are locked onto you, unreadable yet searing, like a hunter watching every twitch of its prey.

Wesker’s expression remains calculating, composed; he’s in his element, the hunter is savoring each second. The tension between you is palpable, a rush of arousal and adrenaline flood your system. Despite your best efforts to maintain composure, rival his steadfastness with your own, your legs trembled beneath you— a testament to the power he wielded over you.

Wesker lets go of your waist but only for a second—long enough for him to unbuckle his belt and loosen his pants. His erection sprang to life, long and hard, pulsing with need. The head glistened with a bead of pre-cum. Your breathing becomes ragged at the sight of it, the curvature of it. The pulsating vein that ran up the shaft. How far it’d go inside you, poke at your womb and fill you.

“Lay back.”

Your heart thumped wildly against your ribs as you situated yourself on his desk, eyes never wanting to leave his throbbing proof of arousal. This was what you craved deep down—submitting fully to him, deferring to his every whim and command. A part of you relished in the humiliation; how far would you go for this? How much could you endure?

You shivered under his intense gaze, feeling a thrill of excitement course through you. His fingers trailed along the edge of your garter belt, skimming over the curve of your hip before dipping lower, brushing lightly against the thin fabric of your thong. You bit your lip, trying to stifle a moan, but it escaped anyway, a soft, needy sound that only seemed to fuel his determination.

"Do you want it?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Do you want my cock inside you, beautiful?"

Your cheeks flushed hot at the crude words, but there was no denying the truth in them. "Yes, Captain, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I need it. Please, I need you… Sir."

His hand slaps your wet cunt. The sound echoed in the small office, and you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you. He repeated the action, again and again, each slap harder than the last, his eyes never leaving yours as he punished you for daring to beg.

"Beg properly," he demanded, his voice cutting through the haze of arousal clouding your mind. "Tell me how much you need it."

You whimpered, your body trembling under his ministrations. "Please, Captain," you sobbed, your voice breaking. "Please fuck me. I need your cock inside me, Sir. Please, I can't take it anymore…"

His lips curled into a slow, prideful smile. "Good girl," he murmured, his tone approving. "That's what I wanted to hear."

With one swift motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your thong and yanked it aside, baring your aching, wet pussy to his gaze. You could feel the coolness of the air against your sensitive flesh, and it only made the ache in your core more unbearable.

Wesker didn’t keep you waiting. He stepped closer, positioning himself between your spread legs. His huge cock, already hard and throbbing, brushed against your slick folds, teasing you mercilessly. You gasped, arching your hips up in an attempt to get more contact, he held you still with a firm grip on your thighs.

"Control yourself," he growled, his voice gruff.

But you couldn’t wait. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, your need growing more urgent with each heartbeat. "Please, Sir," you begged again, desperation coloring your words. "Please, just put it in…"

Finally, finally, he granted your wish. With deliberate slowness, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, teasing the rim before slowly, oh so slowly, sinking into you.

"Captain!"

The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of fullness and pressure that made your entire body tremble. You clenched around him instinctively, your muscles spasming as he filled you completely.

Wesker inhales a breath, chest rumbling. "Fuck," he groaned, closing his eyes briefly as he adjusted to the tightness squeezing him. When he opened them again, they were dark with lust.

"Tight… so damn good."

You could barely form a coherent thought, your mind consumed by the incredible sensations radiating from where he was joined with you. Each slow thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the feeling of being claimed by him.

Wesker wasn’t content to let you languish in blissful ignorance. With a harsh command, he wrapped his hands around your wrists, pinning them above your head as he began to move. His thrusts were controlled, restrained, each one precise and calculated to drive you wild.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice brooking no disobedience. “Don’t look away.”

You met his gaze instantly, your eyes wide and vulnerable as you stared up at him. Even through the tint of his glasses, the intensity in his eyes was staggering, a searing heat that seemed to burn right through you. It was impossible to look away, even if you’d wanted to; his stare held you captive, ensnared by an invisible force stronger than any physical restraint.

“Good,” he purred, his expression almost feral. “That’s what I like to see.”

As he continued to thrust into you, his pace increasing, your vision blurred with tears of ecstasy. His cock pounded relentlessly into your cunt, pushing you ever closer to the edge. Each stroke rubbed against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice rough and demanding. “Say it.”

“Y-yes,” you panted, the words torn from you by sheer force of will. “I’m yours, Captain… all yours…”

He grunted in approval, his movements becoming even more aggressive. You could feel the strain building within him, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second. But still, he held himself back, refusing to let go until he was absolutely sure you were ready.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice cracking with urgency. “Now.”

And just like that, the dam broke. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, roaring through you with such force that your hips raised up from the desk, bucking against his uncontrollably. Your walls clamped down on his cock, milking him with desperate intensity as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Wesker followed you over the edge, his own release coming hard and fast. His cock erupted inside you, filling you with his hot seed as he came deep within your pulsing channel. His grip on your wrists tightened painfully, but you barely noticed; all you could focus on was the incredible sensation of being so thoroughly claimed by him.

A moment of silence washes over you as you attempt to catch your breath. Wesker's eyes bore into your own, an almost primal connection that made your heart race. His fingers delicately moved through your hair, pushing stray strands away from your face. His touch was gentle, thoughtful yet it felt like a claiming.

"Thank you," he swallowed. "You've been…exemplary."

His hand trailed down to cup your cheek, thumb gently caresses your skin. The warmth of his palm against your skin was comforting, the simple act of affection amplified something within you. Your breath hitched, and you could feel the heat radiating between your legs, even though he had already taken you to the brink of ecstasy.

Wesker leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You may go now."

With that, Wesker straightened, his movements precise as he strode over to a cabinet behind his desk. He retrieved a fresh work shirt, pressed and ironed to perfection, every detail meticulously in place. As he slipped it on, buttoning each button with practiced ease, the familiar aloofness settled back over him, as if the brief moment of vulnerability had never existed.

The dismissal was unexpected, but the way he said it made it clear that this was not a suggestion but an order. You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment wash over you. Relief because the intensity of the encounter had been overwhelming, and disappointment because you craved more of his attention, more of his control. Regardless, you can't help but to think: dude, you just came inside me and now you're asking me to leave?

As you began to gather yourself, Wesker was now seated behind his desk, his eyes never leaving you. The silence in the room was thick, filled with unspoken words and lingering touches. You stood up, your legs still slightly shaky from the force of your orgasm, and adjusted your clothing. The thong you wore was damp, evidence of the passion that had just transpired.

Without a word, you turned to leave, but before you could take more than a few steps, Wesker's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned back to face him, curiosity and anticipation mingling in your chest. He gestured for you to come closer, and you obeyed without hesitation.

When you reached him, he stood up, towering over you once again. His presence was commanding, and you felt a rush of adrenaline at being so close to him. He reached out, his hand gripping your chin firmly, tilting your head up so that you had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"I want you to remember something," he said, his tone authoritative but not unkind.

"You are mine. In this office, you belong to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Captain," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Wesker released your chin and stepped back, his gaze raking over your body. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, assessing, admiring, wanting. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Now go," he said, his voice softening just a bit. "But know this—next time, I won’t be as merciful."

You nodded, feeling a thrill run through you at his words. Merciful? What was merciful about this encounter? Wesker had been anything but, and yet, there was a part of you that yearned for more, for the relentless dominance he wielded over you so effortlessly.

As you left his office, you couldn’t help but replay the scene in your mind. The way his cock had filled you, the sounds of your flesh meeting his, the taste of his skin when you dared to kiss him. Each memory sent a jolt of desire through you, making it hard to focus on anything else.

By the time you reached your car, you were a bundle of conflicting emotions. Exhausted from the physical exertion, yet energized by the raw power of the experience. Gripping the steering wheel, you contemplate to go back. Demand him to take you again, or at least take you home. Yet you don't, you follow his order and drove home in a daze. Your mind constantly drifting back to Wesker’s office, to his command, to the way he had made you feel.

He made you feel desired in a way that went beyond the clothes you wore or the subtle charms you wielded around others. There was an allure in his unexpected charisma, a pull that felt impossible to resist—as if you were caught in a spell only he could cast.

When you finally arrived at your apartment, you stumbled inside, stripping off your clothes as you went. The sheer stockings clung to your legs, still wet from sweat and arousal. You tossed them onto the floor, along with your blouse and skirt, leaving a trail of discarded garments leading to your bed.

Finally you unite with your bed, the sensation of Wesker’s cum inside you was unmistakable, a warm reminder of what had just occurred. You closed your eyes, letting the memories wash over you, each one more vivid than the last. The feel of his hands on your body, the sound of his voice commanding you, the sight of his intense gaze locked onto yours.

You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Wesker, of his office, of the next time he would call you into his domain. And as you slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, that there was so much more to come.

[asmogorna]

Ok so for the last couple days ive been ill in the head about The Black Parade as mcr's alter ego/characters and i wanted to share some thoughts i had so far :3

It doesnt align with the canon lore that we have (i didnt really use it for reference at least) so it can be viewed as some sort of an au

I dont know if im gonna give them new names that just sound similar to the names of mcr themselves, so for now i will be referring to them by the names of the band members

So far I've been thinking about the typical "chosen by fate" scenario, where the characters lives lead them through a path for a specific cause

So

Post WW2 England

5 kids under their own circumstances witness a big parade (I will be doing some research and see if it could be some kind of victory celebration parade? It's just that I'm not sure if England had those. Not that I'm aiming for historical accuracy atp it's simple curiosity)

The kids get heavily impacted by that event and carry on (ha) that memory throughout their life

Now to the specifics of the characters cus by God they all gave me a headache

Heads up: they're all british orphans lol

Frank and Bob are students/residents in a Christian orphan school, and later on in life are priests in the town church

The reason why is that they both have badges on their uniform with crosses that could be associated with christianity

(I couldn't find any info about what exactly certain design details could be referencing, so ig it's up to interpretation)

The military theme in Gerard and Mikey's costumes will be explored on later (Mikey's medal could be either The Victoria Cross or The Distinguished Flying Cross, and the symbol on Gerard's shoulder is most likely the Order Of The Garter star)

And I couldn't figure out what to do w Ray, because I'm not sure if his uniform design details reference anything specific 🤷🏾🤷🏾🤷🏾

Now, Gerard and Mikey lost their father to war, and their mother passed away when they were both very young

And after that they ended up in the same orphanage as Ray, befriending him and finding out about their shared passion for music

This doodle was made abt that specifically <3

Later on in early adulthood they decide to start a cabaret band, in which Frank and Bob both join them later, deciding to leave their priest lives behind (partially because iirc both of them kinda fanboyed their way into the band irl lol)

After receiving little recognition, the band decides to take a train to America, to try their luck there. With a lot of hope and determination

That, sadly, doesn't last for long, for the train crushes with no survivors on board

The group crawls out of the collapsed train in their no longer physical forms. Yet, even after their death, they still have a desire to move forward. And that desire, though thoughtlessly, forces them to go forward. The souls of all the other people who lost their lives to the train accident follow them, through the landscape that no longer feels like earth

They then reach the end

Walking in one by one people disappear, finding their own peace and meeting their own finish line

After it's done, The Black Parade now have officially made themselves into what they're supposed to be. Gaining a new purpose and a new sort of life

I got too poetic for my own good here I fear .. anyway

Their job now is to lead the lost and the forgotten to the afterlife

They could be referred to as some kind of a grim reaper, I guess

I'm still thinking about adding more to the story, and maybe I will change some things, but so far this is all I can share really !! I hope if you've read this far you found this entertaining .. this is all for the satisfaction of my urges so I might or might not have too much fun w it in the future :3

The story was mainly inspired by this specific post from Gerard himself, because i liked the concept a lot ..

Also

She's gonna be here as a separate character too probably...... Cus I'm self indulgent and I love the ideas bubbling in my brain

[teaboot]

I'm Singaporean, I just saw the posts about schools in Canada vs Korea and now I'm kinda curious how things vary within this half of Asia.

Looking at your questions for the Korean asker, dyeing your hair isn't allowed but how strict the teachers will be about it probably depends on school. My secondary school (age 13-16) had one teacher who made a classmate with (presumably naturally) lighter brown hair dye it black, which was hilarious. If necessary for explanation, it was a Christian school with pretty strict rules on grooming no one had the energy to follow leading up to graduation.

We have uniforms up until you finish secondary school, then it depends on where you go. You have to buy them yourself unless you're on financial assistance or getting some kind of government subsidy, in which case I'm not sure how it works exactly.

And now the actual asking part of this ask: do y'all split math up into different subjects and if so, why??

Kids had to dye their hair to match as a group? What the fuck???? What the hell does hair matter???? Then again... bra straps and shorts don't matter either, and those are restricted everywhere, so maybe school is just dumb everywhere.

And math!!! Not super sure what you mean, but until about grade 10 here in BC all math is taught in one math class that's just "math". In grade 10 you can take precalculus or... the other one? And the idea is that Precalculus is for students going into university and the other one was for students going into trades. You NEEDED precalculus to go on to higher learning, is what we were told.

"Math" was just all math. Multiplication, geometry, algebra, etc.

"Precalculus" was all the basic skills meant to prep for calculus used in STEM stuff- polynomials, trigonometry, more algebra, that junk.

I failed it hard two times but passed the government exam so they weren't allowed to fail me again.

Also I'm good at math so they can kiss my ass now 👍

[monabee-draws]

Made some designs for yansim because I am still deep in nostalgia land. Light colours and fabrics for summer with waist coats rather than blazers for the boys.

And dark colours with heavier fabrics, more coverage and longer skirts for the girls, with full blazers for the boys. The gold buttons have the Akademi crest stamped onto them!

Also these are 'Official' uniform posters I figure would be put up outside the sewing club at Akademi (the comment about 'wearing the uniform correctly is uncharitably scrawled on by some delinquent.) It's a rich kid/elite school - every uniform is handmade for the student and tailored to fit. Both sets were inspired by the uniforms I wore at my Christian all girls high school lol.

Check out my comm prices here

[tanadrin]

But Germany’s performances of repentance have their limits. They do not extend, for example, to the genocide the German colonial army committed in Namibia against Herero and Nama people between 1904 and 1908, killing tens of thousands. Germany did not officially apologize for those bloody acts until 2021 and has not agreed to pay meaningful reparations to descendants of the victims. If the new German identity relies on isolating the Holocaust as a shameful aberration in national history and nullifying it via solemn remembrance, there is little room for the memory of colonial violence in the nation’s self-mythology. Genocide scholar Dirk Moses named this approach the “German catechism” in a 2021 essay that sparked heated debate. “The catechism implies a redemptive story in which the sacrifice of Jews in the Holocaust by Nazis is the premise for the Federal Republic’s legitimacy,” wrote Moses. “That is why the Holocaust is more than an important historical event. It is a sacred trauma that cannot be contaminated by profane ones—meaning non-Jewish victims and other genocides—that would vitiate its sacrificial function.”

Accordingly, Germany now sees its post-Holocaust mandate as encompassing not a broader commitment against racism and violence but a specific fealty to a certain Jewish political formation: the State of Israel. Germany has relied on its close diplomatic relationship to Israel to emphasize its repudiation of Nazism, but its connection to the Jewish state goes even further. In 2008, then-chancellor Angela Merkel addressed the Israeli Knesset to declare that ensuring Israel’s security was part of Germany’s “Staatsraison,” the state’s very reason for existence. If asked why it is worth preserving a German nationalism that produced Auschwitz, Germany now has a pleasing, historically symmetrical answer—it exists to support the Jewish state.

To that end, in recent years, Germany’s laudable apparatus for public cultural funding has been used as a tool for enacting a 2019 Bundestag resolution declaring that the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement targeting Israel is antisemitic. Although the resolution is technically nonbinding, its passage has led to an unending stream of firings and event cancellations, and to the effective blacklisting of distinguished academics, cultural workers, artists, and journalists for offenses like inviting a renowned scholar of postcolonialism to speak, tweeting criticism of the Bundestag resolution, or having attended a Palestinian solidarity rally in one’s youth. A network of antisemitism commissioners—a system explored in this issue in a feature by Peter Kuras—has been deputized to monitor such offenses. These commissioners are typically white, Christian Germans, who speak in the name of the Jews and often playact Jewishness on a public stage, posing for photo ops in yarmulkes, performing Jewish music, wearing the uniform of the Israeli police, and issuing decrees on who is next in the pillory. When they tangle with left-wing Jews in Germany, canceling their events and attacking them as antisemites in the pages of various newspapers, they suggest what Germany’s antisemitism commissioner Felix Klein has said directly: That the Jews are not being sensitive enough to what antisemitism means to the Germans—that, in fact, these Jews do not understand antisemitism at all. In a perverse twist, the fact that the Germans were the most successful antisemites in history has here become a credential. By becoming the Jews’ consummate protectors, Germans have so thoroughly absorbed the moral lessons bestowed by Jewish martyrdom that they have no more need for the Jew except as symbol; by the logic of this strange supersessionism, Germans have become the new Jews. This is not only a matter of rhetorical authority on Jewish matters but is also often literal, as this self-reflexive philosemitism has led to a wave of German converts to Judaism. According to Tzuberi, “The Jewish revival is desired precisely because it is a German revival.”

If Jews are negated by this formulation, Palestinians are villainized by it. Last year, when the German state banned Nakba Day demonstrations, only days after the murder of Palestinian journalist Shireen Abu Akleh, police justified this suppression by claiming, in a familiar racist trope, that protesters would not have been able to contain their violent rage. Indeed, in Germany Palestinian identity itself has become a marker of antisemitism, scarcely to be spoken aloud—even as the country is home to the largest Palestinian community in Europe, with a population of around 100,000. “Whenever I would mention that I was Palestinian, my teachers were outraged and said that I should refer to [Palestinians] as Jordanian,” one Palestinian German woman speaking of her secondary school education told the reporter Hebh Jamal. Palestinianness as such has thus been stricken from German public life. In The Moral Triangle, a 2020 anthropological study of Palestinian and Israeli communities in Germany by Sa’ed Atshan and Katharina Galor, many Palestinians interviewed said that to speak of pain or trauma they’ve experienced due to Israeli policy is to destroy their own futures in Germany. “The Palestinian collective body is inscribed as ontologically antisemitic until proven otherwise. Palestinians, in this sense, are collateral damage of the intensifying German wish for purification from antisemitism,” wrote Tzuberi.

July 5, 2023

[mj-iza-writer]

We see plenty of human weapon Whumpee, but what about human weapon Caretaker. -MJ

Christian followed the Director into a separate room. Their child walked behind them bored out of their mind.

"So CT42/ is right there", the Director pointed.

Christian followed their finger and saw someone running on a track ring.

"They're fast", Christian noted.

"Fast and strong", the Director replied, "CT42/ is top of their class and has been waiting for their chance to work. Due to your circumstances, I believe they would be best fitted to protect Dylan. We went ahead and trained them on the medical needs Dylan requires. So once they learn the correct routines, they will be able to do it all. They are completely prepared for the job you need them to perform."

"Is that their name? They're supposed to blend in and not draw attention. It's kind of hard to blend in when I have to call them that", Dylan frowned, "do I really have to have a guard?"

"How many times have you almost been killed or taken hostage because you are related to me? Yes you are getting a guard", Christian frowned.

"That's just their serial number. You will be able to call them by the name of your choosing", the Director smiled, "they will be able to blend in wherever you are. They are trained in circumstances where they must improvise, and will be able to act like your best friend. At your command or if the situation arises, their switch will automatically flip. Your protection will be their top priority."

"Why aren't you getting one then?", Dylan looked at Christian.

"I have one, who do you think Paullie is?" Christian continued to watch CT42/ run.

"You're fri.. wait you mean?"

"Exactly", Christian frowned.

"CT42/, I need you at attention", the Director called for them, "your employer is here."

"Sir yes sir", they called and ran over quickly.

"CT42/ this is your assignment and their parent", the Director looked at them.

CT42/ stared straight ahead, they only took a quick glance at Dylan.

"You have received your assignment notes already. Everything you needed to know was in those files. Have you read through them yet", the Director watched.

"I read through them every night before bed, sir. I almost have it committed to memory sir", CT42/ quietly answered.

"Why are you not answering loudly", the Director frowned, "this is not how you answer questions."

"I apologize sir, the one named Dylan does not like loud noises, sir", CT42/ replied.

"Oh, understood", the Director nodded, "please go to the offices to receive your uniforms and mask. Return to my office to receive your name and last instructions, oath, and salute. We will be there working on signing your forms to release you."

CT42/ ran off without another word.

CT42/ stood at attention while receiving final orders.

"You may wear your mask for your oath, after that Dylan will give you your new name", the Director watched them put on their mask.

They held up their right arm

"I, serial number CT42/, do solemnly swear to protect, serve, and care for their handler. The mask shows that I have completed all training required of me. I pledge to take care of my handler, I swear allegiance to them and will obey orders to the best of my abilities", CT42/ turned toward Dylan and saluted, "please assign me my new name."

Dylan frowned, "I-I don't want to name you."

CT42/ made a confused face, "uh", they stammered. Thar was not what they expected.

The Director stepped in, "it's only a code name, their serial number will be replaced by the name you select."

Dylan frowned and looked at Christian, "you named yours Paul, that isn't their real name?"

"Yes, it's fine though", Christian frowned, "don't make this difficult. CT42/ wants you to name them. That is their last step before they become a weapon. It's an honor thing."

"That's a person", Dylan pointed, "I'm not... not doing that."

"Maybe CT42/ isn't a good fit for them", they looked at the Director, "they may prefer a different weapon. I may not be good enough."

"No, you are the weapon that was trained to take care of them. We absolutely need and want you, they are just feeling uncomfortable with this situation", Christian frowned at Dylan.

Dylan frowned.

Christian nudged them.

CT42/ watched Dylan longingly.

"North", Dylan whispered.

"North?", Christian nodded, "is that the name you choose?"

"Yes", Dylan sighed.

CT42/ went back to their salute.

"Codename North accepted", they turned to the Director.

"I salute to you. Do our organization a great service, care for your charge", the Director saluted.

"Yes sir", North saluted back.

Dylan side eyed North the entire ride home.

"If you have any questions, you may ask me", North turned to them, "I can answer anything you like to know. I have also been taught things within your special interest as well."

"They really trained you, huh" Dylan sighed.

Christian sighed, "North I'm sorry, Dylan will get over their rudeness momentarily. If I have anything to do with it that is."

North nodded, "please don't injure them."

That night, Paul came out and found North staring up at the stars.

"Doing alright North? You seem a little unsure", Paul frowned.

"Oh uh. I'm not sure how to read my charge. They seem to have no interest in me, I didn't know it would be like this. I thought my charge would be happy with me, I trained so hard for them", North sighed, "I'm uncertain right now."

"Yes they've been a little off with me since they found out I was a weapon as well", Paul sighed, "it's just something to get through, you'll be able to get through it. I know you will."

North knocked at Dylan's door.

"Come in", Dylan answered.

North took a deep breath before entering.

"I apologize, but I need to give you your medicine before bed. May I do that for you?", North peaked in, "I will retire and store myself away after that."

"Oh uh, normally my maid does the medicine", Dylan frowned, "I forgot that was one of your duties now."

North nodded, "yes."

Dylan watched as they approached and pulled out the medicine from the top drawer of their dresser.

"I get a little uncomfortable around needles", Dylan watched as they applied gloves and drew the injections.

"I understand, I often get a little uncomfortable getting medicine by shot myself. I've learned to do this quite well so you may be as comfortable as possible", North poured a few pills into Dylan's hand.

Dylan reached for their drink.

"So you said that you were trained in some of my interests."

"Yes", North nodded, "you can test my knowledge if you like."

Dylan smiled, "favorite band, song, and which of these stuffed animals do I sleep with", Dylan pointed at three on their bed.

"You have four favorite bands. My Chemical Romance, Black Veil Brides, Motionless in White, and Twenty One pilots in no specific order. Your fifth favorite depends on your mood at the time. As of yesterday your favorite song is Masterpiece by Motionless in White. As for the stuffed animal", they looked over the options, "you sleep with Teddy who is actually up on that shelf. You hide them up there so no one would touch them. These three are decoys", North smiled.

"Wow", Dylan was impressed.

"May I", North held up the injection and alcohol swab.

"Yes", Dylan eyed the shot, "dose of 15?"

"Nope, dose of 10, 15 is too much", North smiled again.

"I see stumping you might be harder than I thought. My maid has to check every night. I ask it that way to make sure people are paying attention."

"Yes, you've been purposely overdosed", North frowned, "this is why they only want me to do your injections now. You won't have to judge if someone will take care of you or hurt you."

Dylan nodded, "will you count down before you do it?"

They looked over in shock when they felt North putting on a bandaid.

"Oh uh, sorry, it's done, though. I will remember the count down next time if you like", North nodded.

"How did you do that? I didn't feel anything", Dylan watched them stand.

"I am very good with giving injections, and when I'm able to take your mind off of me doing this while I do it. I can make this easier for you", North cleaned up and disposed of the needle, "I know you are uncomfortable with this situation, but I am happy to be here, and to be able to offer you the best care and protection I can provide. Please let me show you what I am able to do."

After a few days of bonding, Christian requested they go on their first outing.

North quickly packed their things and changed out of their uniform and into their street clothes.

The only part of the uniform they carried on them was the mask. If the situation needed it the mask would protect any human identity. They were only a weapon when their identity was hidden.

"I was wondering what you would wear. I didn't know how well you'd blend with your uniform", Dylan watched them approach.

"Yes, though I like my uniform a bit better as I can move in it easily, I blend in better for you. I do have my mask though, as per orders", North smiled weakly, "does this outfit look okay?"

"You look fine", Dylan looked them over.

North followed closely behind Dylan while they shopped.

They constantly blocked Dylan's personal bubble when people got to close.

"They are being so rude", someone commented under their breath.

Dylan glared at them until they looked away.

"I'm sorry.... people are getting closer than....", North apologized.

"No, you are doing what you were apparently trained to do, and I do honestly feel safer with you here", Dylan smiled, "I appreciate you."

North sighed in relief.

As they walked out of the store, North's suspicions arose as they saw someone standing beside a wall. They had seen them earlier watching.

Movement....

North quickly darted beside Dylan in time to block a knife.

North kicked backward into the person's knee, spun around, and grabbed the knife. They delivered a final kick into the person's chest causing them to fly into the wall.

They turned again and grabbed Dylan, then took off running. Dylan buried their head into North's shoulder.

"Are you okay?", North asked in concern, they didn't think they allowed for an injury, but now they weren't sure.

"Scared, I always get scared when this happens", Dylan whispered.

"I understand", North finally found the vehicle.

The driver had seen the commotion and had pulled out to pick them up.

North opened the door, and fell in with Dylan.

"Drive", they ordered.

North held Dylan down for a few minutes.

"No one is following", the driver frowned, "I've already contacted the police and they should be arriving. Dylan's parent will deal with the rest."

"Okay", North whispered, and started to get up.

They helped Dylan into the car seat and buckled them in.

"Are you injured anywhere, any bumps or anything?", North studied them.

"I may have a few bruises, but you're bleeding North", Dylan gave them a concerned look.

"I know, it's okay though. You are my top priority, I'll get that taken care of later", North started to get into their bag, "my role has switched to weapon. I must wear the mask now."

Dylan frowned, "okay."

Dylan was helped out of the vehicle by a butler.

"We have already heard of everything that happened. We set up a calming area for you to calm down. We will serve lunch..."

"North is stabbed, they need help", Dylan finally cried out.

"I'm right here, I'll help North", Paul ran out, "come on Dylan, everything is okay."

Dylan whimpered but allowed the butler to pull them along.

Paul quickly looked into the car.

North looked back, they took deep breaths as they stared at Paul.

"You okay?", Paul reached in and helped slide them up.

"No", North frowned, "what kind of weapon gets stabbed on their first attack?"

"A good one. You got your handler home safely. You're still breathing. Looks like a job well done to me", Paul helped them out of the car and helped them up the stairs, "let's get you patched up."

"Will you cauterize it for me?", North held onto the wound.

"Yes", Paul took them into their own bedroom.

Right as Paul was going to insert a numbing agent into North's side, the door opened.

Paul looked up, "Dylan you shouldn't be in here."

"I'm worried about North", Dylan hurried to their side.

North had taken off their mask, but now hid their face from Dylan.

"Are you okay... they don't like needles", Dylan frowned when they saw it.

"Dylan I am going to take care of them, but I need you to leave this room", Paul grabbed Dylan, "go back to your room", they carried them out and stood them in the hall. The door was closed and locked.

Dylan knocked on the door a few times before it went quiet.

North looked up, "I didn't want them to see their weapon like this", they frowned, "weak and injured", North frowned, a tear trickled down their cheek.

"Why am I crying... weapons don't cry."

"They do cry", Paul stuck the needle in, "we cry, we feel emotions. We care about our charges. It's all normal. Dylan cares about you as well. They connected with you better than I thought they would", they started to heat up their tool, "that bond is going to grow stronger as well. That is what you want."

North watched as the tool was brought close.

It was glowing red.

"This sucks", North took their belt into their teeth.

The metal pressed into their skin causing them to arch up in pain.

"One... two... three", Paul started to count.

"Mmmmm", North groaned loudly.

"Done", Paul sighed, "let's get you cleaned up and bandaged."

North looked around the house for a few minutes before finding Dylan. They had been served lunch, but was quietly picking at it.

North took in their puffy eyes and red face.

Christian walked in...

"Hey North, thankyou so much for protecting them. You did good work; I really appreciate it. Paul said you got injured though", Christian stopped walking, "I'm sorry about the injury. The police got there and were able to apprehend them, and the knife you grabbed was given to them as well. I'm so grateful for you."

"Oh uh thankyou", North smiled, they never knew what appreciation felt like before this.

"Your injury is it okay.. you got stabbed right?", Christian brought them back to reality.

"Oh yes, Paul was able to cauterize the wound for me. It's a little sore now, but it's alright", North nodded, "thankyou."

"Oof, you got it cauterized, that seems painful. I've seen Paul do it to themself", Christian sighed, "I will be messaging the organization to let them know of your good service already. I'm happy Dylan has you."

"Thankyou", North smiled.

North sat beside Dylan, "you feeling okay?"

"Just sad, I-I didn't ask for this life. I don't want this", Dylan continued to fiddle with the food.

"I understand, I promise to help keep you as safe as possible", North looked at the food they were picking at, "does it not taste good?"

"I don't know, I haven't wanted to eat it", Dylan sighed.

A butler came in carrying something.

"I apologize, I was told they had forgotten to put this seasoning on top of your food. They said just sprinkle a little on, may I?", the butler showed the seasoning bottle.

Dylan nodded and pushed the plate to them.

Paul came in and smiled.

North watched the seasoning closely, they took a few wiffs of the scent.

"Wait don't eat that", North frowned as the plate was given back to Dylan, "may I see the bottle?"

North opened the bottle and took another smell.

"Paul do you... do you smell what I smell?", they handed it to them.

Paul took a few wiffs, then stuck their fingers into the seasoning.

"I do", Paul nodded, then licked their finger, "that's poison."

"Why are you licking it then?", Dylan questioned, "haven't I had enough problems today without getting poisoned?"

"We have been trained to ingest rather large amounts of poison. That way we can recognize the flavor and also survive a poisoning attempt. Can't let something as simple as poison stop us. This is a weaker type of poison, but it would put you in bed for a few days", Paul frowned, "I'll investigate and bring this to Christian's attention."

North nodded.

Dylan's shoulders shook, "I'm sick of this", they got up and ran out of the room.

"Wait", North called after them, but was stopped by Paul.

"Go make them some food while I investigate", Paul sighed, "the kitchen is fully stocked, and staff can't tell you to leave."

Dylan cuddled with a pillow in their room.

*knock, knock*

"What", Dylan huffed.

North came in carrying a tray.

"Hey", they talked quietly, "I made you something comforting to eat. I held the poison for you."

Dylan sighed, "I-I'm sorry, but I'm not hungry."

"I understand, but I do need you to eat something your afternoon medicine requires you to have food in your stomach. I'm sorry, but I need you to have a few bites at least."

Dylan sighed.

North set the tray on the bed, then knelt down on the floor.

Dylan watched them hold the spot the wound was located. They watched North wince a little as they got comfortable.

"Unfortunately I don't have the same cooking skills as the chefs in your kitchen have. I can only make simple survival meals", North lifted the cover from the tray to reveal a bowl of noodles, "I hope you like it, that is something I eat when I need comfort. It follows you diet needs even."

"Is this Macoroni and cheese?", Dylan looked up, "I love Mac and cheese."

"It is, it's five cheeses. I'm sorry you had a rough day today", North sighed, "Paul had the butler try to point out the person who gave them the seasoning. They had to look through the camera feed. The person escaped. We believe that the stabbing and the poisoning are connected."

Dylan nodded as they started to eat, "this is really good."

"I'm glad", North smiled, "I know you like comfort meals, so I made sure to learn a few recipes that work with that."

Dylan ate another fork full happily.

North watched, they took in their charge fully.

'This is what I trained so hard for. This person right here. I promise you, I will protect you through everything. I will try my best to give you a normal life', they thought to themself.

Dylan watched them weirdly, "are you okay? Are you in pain?"

"Yes I'm okay, just thinking of how honored I am to be your weapon", North smiled, "I'm happy to be here."

Dylan relaxed a little more, they couldn't lie at first they didn't want them. They now couldn't imagine being without North. They had saved them twice in one day.

"I'm happy you're here as well", Dylan smiled, "thankyou."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived

@sacredwrath @porschethemermaid

@monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz

@bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

@notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots

@whumpbump @everythingsscary

@skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr

@theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee

@candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers

@starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

@lumpofsand @watermeezer

@indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains

@3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe

@whumprince @kaz-of-crows

@mis-graves @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

@sausages-things @sunglasses-in-the-bentley

[suethesocks]

Egyptian Ben 10 AU!!

A long while ago i got the idea of making an au where ben is an Egyptian Orthodox Christian (the idea entirely spawned off a joke my friend made about a hypothetical ben like that having to explain his fasting to rook)

At first the idea was gonna be that his parents are Egyptian immigrants and he was born and raised in Bellwood, but last second before finishing his character bio i decided to flip everything over and make this AU *in* Egypt

The timeline i have in mind for these bios are all at around right after the highbreed arc, but also before season 3 straight up starts. I feel like thats a good jumping-on point

In terms of aliens mostly i just get to explore what the aliens would look like as teenagers since uaf and ov didnt really do much with that (they didnt even bother giving wildmutt a tail) and have fun trying to make his flannel into outfits for the aliens. Hoever if i get any cool ideas for entirely revamping aliens id definitely do it

I tried to make fourarms darker skinned not sure if its showing. Id have done the same with stinkfly but the uniforms colorscheme wouldve crashed. I wanted to try giving wildmutt black fur because this ben has darker hair but nothing really quite worked hsjhds wildmutts obnoxious orange is just too iconic

Prep school is mostly an american thing, here the closest equivalent for the early 2000s would be an international school. Also i changed lawyer to doctor as thats the sort of "go-to" job that makes a lot of money, lawyers in egypt arent usually as fortunate

Here she doesnt wear her uniform this is just how she dresses. I tried to fit the cat motif like OS but i couldnt really think of something that fit. If i were drawing UAF or OV gwen in my own take id have given her cat imagery but i think for Jwanas personality it actually makes more sense for her to be boring and lose the cat

Jwanas also a lot more angsty about her magic (and it is magic) since her parents and basically entire surrounding community both Muslim and Christian are very against magic and consider it sin. Shes also a lot more angsty in general because like the bio says shes under alot of stress and is very jealous of ben, which is conflicting because ben is also her best friend and she doesnt wanna feel this sort of animosity to him. She also doesnt realize how much he looks up to her as someone who is a lot more intelligent and disciplined than he'll ever be (for example the concept of jwana having the spark isnt here, ben just can never learn magic because he doesnt have what it takes)

Kevin much like ben is more or less the same as he is in the show. With jwana i went with my own take but Ben and Kevin are more of, culminations of what i think are their best parts in the series and then just fleshing that out more

I felt like the outfit he has in earth-prime works best with a few touchups. Prime kevin has consistently had that rugged guy-who-lives-in-a-garage look so despite being the most basic outfit it works the best with a few touchups

I did change his anatomy, i wanted to make him look like a mutant freak. I gave him this sort of frankenstine's monster posture (a small reference to him being an amalgamation in os). He also has these stretch marks all over his body since his material absorption doesnt just create a coat around him but also alters his skin itself (so these markings arent there for os-era kevin) He also has a lot of weird bumps over his body

This kevin is 100% mutant no alien shenanigans. If i do aggregor i'll uhhh think of something else for him to be. His transition to the lightside is a lot longer and for the majority of the highbreed arc hes not even there hes more of an occasional ally if he feels like helping

Was his dad a plumber or not im not sure tbh, im leaning towards not though

Next post is gonna be a bunch of villains for funsies

[hassibah]

"Accordingly, Germany now sees its post-Holocaust mandate as encompassing not a broader commitment against racism and violence but a specific fealty to a certain Jewish political formation: the State of Israel. Germany has relied on its close diplomatic relationship to Israel to emphasize its repudiation of Nazism, but its connection to the Jewish state goes even further. In 2008, then-chancellor Angela Merkel addressed the Israeli Knesset to declare that ensuring Israel’s security was part of Germany’s “Staatsraison,” the state’s very reason for existence. If asked why it is worth preserving a German nationalism that produced Auschwitz, Germany now has a pleasing, historically symmetrical answer—it exists to support the Jewish state.

...

A network of antisemitism commissioners—a system explored in this issue in a feature by Peter Kuras—has been deputized to monitor such offenses. These commissioners are typically white, Christian Germans, who speak in the name of the Jews and often playact Jewishness on a public stage, posing for photo ops in yarmulkes, performing Jewish music, wearing the uniform of the Israeli police, and issuing decrees on who is next in the pillory. When they tangle with left-wing Jews in Germany, canceling their events and attacking them as antisemites in the pages of various newspapers, they suggest what Germany’s antisemitism commissioner Felix Klein has said directly: That the Jews are not being sensitive enough to what antisemitism means to the Germans—that, in fact, these Jews do not understand antisemitism at all. In a perverse twist, the fact that the Germans were the most successful antisemites in history has here become a credential. By becoming the Jews’ consummate protectors, Germans have so thoroughly absorbed the moral lessons bestowed by Jewish martyrdom that they have no more need for the Jew except as symbol; by the logic of this strange supersessionism, Germans have become the new Jews. This is not only a matter of rhetorical authority on Jewish matters but is also often literal, as this self-reflexive philosemitism has led to a wave of German converts to Judaism. According to Tzuberi, “The Jewish revival is desired precisely because it is a German revival.”"

[talesfromtheclub]

AJ was an average American guy. White, Straight, and of course Christian. so he didn't know what possessed him to come here, a strip club of a places. yet, there he sat, watching the club from the bar.

He didn't know where the bartender was but he failed to draw his gaze away from the stage, from the poles, from the... male dancers. Why did their sensual and fluid motions draw him in so much if he liked women doing the same?

His gaze was only shifted once another dancer approached him, "Hey cutie, care for a private one on one?" He chuckled. AJ didn't know what to say and frankly, he didn't have time to. Before he knew it, this wildly handsome man took his hand. He brought AJ through the entire club, through crowds of men and women huddled around dancers.

Finally they arrived at a private room with a stage and pole in the center. The dancer sat AJ down on a couch, getting up on stage and beginning to slow dance. AJ couldn't tell why it suddenly felt a little bit cold. Why the neon lights felt hotter, why on earth he had stripped down to his underwear.

It didn't make sense because THIS was not his body, he didn't have muscles or beautiful abs. He didn't have flawless skin that was soft and smooth. It was like someone had torn him out of his real body and placed him in some giant sex doll. But his eyes remained fixed on the dancer, watching him slowly remove the mesh covering his tan body.

It felt right to watch this man dance, to watch him do this, to learn. AJ had never felt like he belonged more than this. He never felt so comfortable, so at home or at peace. Like someone was slowly messaging his brain, getting rid of all the insecurities and worries. No that wouldn't do for the beautiful Aaron James, no.

The negativity was all replaced by soft and warm confidence. The confidence expected of a stripper. AJ could feel his hair slowly getting longer, his body becoming better. Yes, he wasn't just a stripper, no, sex was his stock and trade. Men all over town would come to Aaron James to have the best time of their lives, and leave with a new number in their phones.

AJ felt so good, watching the dancer remove the final piece of clothing, now naked in all his masculine glory. He gestured for AJ to join him up on the stage. AJ crawled up to him, looking at every spot of skin, beginning to kiss him passionately.

AJ didn't exist, now he was Aaron James, called AJ by co-workers and lovers. The dancer pushed AJ down, feeling up the new products body, kissing every inch of his legs. Slipping his hands into his underwear, and ripping it off.

AJ walked down the staff hallway, doing as instructed by the dancer who showed him everything. AJ saw HIS uniform, slipping it on before walking out to the stage as the announcer called out his name "Welcome to the stage, the seductive Aaron James!"

AJ found his home.

Of course, near the shows sexy finale, he saw that lone man sitting at the bar. Aaron James needed his partner, and the bar needed a tender.

[miryum]

I had a thought—

So Hogwarts was founded around 990 CE, right? Up to when Harry attended, that gives us about 1000 years that Rowling didn't cover or explore. And that means 1000 year of troubles that I have questions about

1000-1300 CE: Okay, so like, medieval times. Can we talk about the sexism that would be here? How did the professors handle that? The girls would have to wear these horrid clothes and expect to have flying lessons? Or were flying lessons only for the boys? How much of Hogwarts was gender segregated? And the Holy Roman Empire was all the rage. That means ultra-Christianity. What if a kid from upper Scotland came in and worshipped polytheism? What then? Would the other kids have burned them or killed them?

1400 CE: This was when witch burnings/huntings were getting popular. I'm assuming that the kids were safe when they got to Hogwarts, but what about Muggleborns? If a guy dressed in robes came to this peasant's mudhut and said "your daughter's a witch!" you're telling me that those parents wouldn't burn their daughter at the stake? And yes, wizards/witches could easily hide their abilities once they graduated, but what if they had a kid that came out magical? How would you explain that your baby is levitating to the townsfolk? Or what if you married a muggle? Would you have to hide your identity your entire marriage? Would you have to hope your kids weren't magical like you? And what if you're a woman who then marries an awful muggle man and you know you're stronger than him and can kill him extremely easily in his sleep, but you can't because it's 1400 CE?!?!

1500 CE: We're getting to the Renaissance right now, okay? So all these kids are beginning to explore literal magic and you're telling me they didn't mix that with the new inventions of the era? Was Galileo or Michelangelo really a wizard? And if all these inventors/thinkers were wizards, who else? Magic has spanned all of time, apparently, so were the pyramids built with magic? (sorry, that was a small side tangent.) And then the Reformation came along and split everyone into different religions. Were there tensions among Catholic/Lutheran students? What about the teachers? What if a Lutheran fell in love with a Catholic at school? What then?

1600-1700 CE: Now lemme ask about social classes. How big of a problem was that? And I think we all know that this problem spanned much longer than just the two centuries I'm giving it. Imagine if a Dutch aristocrat's daughter was admitted to Hogwarts and "oh, it's just a fancy boarding school?" you tell the parents, "great! she can go" so then she gets there, all dressed to the nines with the ballgowns and big wigs and finds out she has to room with a peasant girl and an artist's daughter. Can you imagine?! And yes, maybe they would've become friends, but realistically, probably not. The daughter would demand her own room, but the headmaster couldn't do that, so what would happen? Would she order her new roommates to help her get dressed each morning? Would she look down her nose at them? Would there be different tables in the Great Hall for the upper class? I'm assuming that the professors would have different viewpoints concerning what their background was, so would the Dutch daughter be aghast when her professor (who used to be a blacksmith's apprentice) takes her down a notch and hits her in front of the whole class? And what would recreational activities be like? Yes, everyone would have the same uniforms during class, but can you imagine a guy walking up to you on a lazy Sunday dressed in his powdered wig and golden coattails with their weirdly high white socks and buckled shoes?

1800 CE: Slavery. We know that had to have been racial segregation, right? And even if Europe was all progressive and abolished slavery starting in the 1400s, some countries definitely still had slavery. And don't even get me started on America and Ilvermorny. Being a Southern belle and then having to take classes and eat in the same room from the same plates as someone that looks like the slaves your father owns? (What about the fucking Civil War?! Confederates and unionists in the same school?!) And I'm sure the same thing happened in Hogwarts! And I didn't even mention the Transatlantic Slave Trade in the 1500-1800s!! How did Hogwarts handle racism? If they just banned all non-whites from the premise, then they lost a large chunk of the next generation of wizards and witches. And those poor boys and girls they banned. Imagine having all these strange phenomenons happen your entire life and have no idea why or trying to hide them because you didn't go to Hogwarts and learned what they were or how to channel them!

1900-2000 CE: Oh my fucking god. Where to begin? The style is drastically different from the 1600s. Now students are coming in with flappers dresses and their hair slicked back and everything and professors are like, "what the fuck?" Did the Yule Ball have different types of dancing? I'm assuming so. Were their more dances because the students loved it? And then the fucking Great Depression hits and now most students can't even buy the necessary textbooks to come to school. Most are needed by their families for work (AND ALSO!!! I didn't mention, but in medieval times, did parents even let their kids go to Hogwarts? They needed them to work the fields or stuff.) Then, growing anti-semitism starts up and some of the students are discriminated against because of their religion, just like back in 1000-1300 CE. The World Wars happen and what if a German kid (who's being indoctrinated and I can go on a whole other rant about children in Germany I swear, don't get me started because I will defend the kids until my last breath) is proudly wearing a swastika just like his daddy and then sees a Jewish kid and starts yelling slurs, just like his dad does? How many kids did Hogwarts save from concentration camps? Did the magical kids beg for the muggle siblings to come and stay at Hogwarts to save them from Auschwitz? Then there were hardly any boys for a generation because they were all off fighting a goddamn war! Things started to chill out for a while until kids came into Hogwarts wearing bell bottoms and tye-die and the girls were burning their bras and were the boys cheering them on or was there serious backlash? How much fucking weed was passed around in the 70s? (This is the marauder era btw.) Did the gay wizards/witches finally feel safe enough about coming out? Or were there too many people against them still? OR, did the homophobic people learn to be more accepting because they had to be? Because they were in the same classes, same dorms, same everything as gays? What about magic birth control? Or, was everyone too worried about Voldemort to burn their bras and come out as gay? How much did Voldemort truly influence the Wizarding World? And then Harry fucking Potter came along, the 90s happened and now, his kids have just graduated! I'm assuming Hogwarts has to have changed with technology, but how much? Do professors think magic is losing the battle to technology or are Muggleborns actually still more fascinated by magic than their phones (I'm assuming if you saw someone change from a human to a cat, that'd be more cool than a TikTok, but who knows?!) Does Hogwarts have WiFi and outlets? Or are kids forbidden from technology? And how did kids from the 80s-90s keep up with technology? Did they all just trapse down to a small town by Hogsmead and have to catch up with all the blockbuster movies there?

In short, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

[bellewintersroe]

Sebastian Vettel x RBDesignEngingeer! Reader.

Set in 2013 during the GP, Jennifer is fresh out of uni and has made a name for herself within the F1 world. She joins Redbull-Renault as one of their engineer designers and easily fits into the team, forming friendships easily. Most of all, she captures the attention of three time world champion, Sebastian Vettel.

Part 7 omg time for some angst, let’s just say Sebastian doesn’t know how to handle his jealousy so well and it’s obvious when Jen has a conversation with his rival Lewis Hamilton… here’s the LINK to part 6.

Hungary, July 2013.

“Look at you!” Sebastian face lit up as I laughed out loud, amused at the fact I was in his oversized Red Bull uniform. “You’re like a pint sized driver! I love it!” His eyes scanned me up as down as I couldn’t help but snicker. “Let me take a picture!” Sebastian pulled out his I phone, clicking several pictures of me. Others crowded around, amused at my outfit change. We were just having a bit of fun, even Christian and the bigger managers were finding it funny that I was practically drowned out in his jumpsuit. “She looks better than I do.” Seb then commented, standing up off the edge he was perched upon. “And I’m gonna steal her for myself.” He teased, wrapping both arms around my waist and lifting me off the floor. He practically took off as I held onto his shoulders, bouncing around.

Sebastian was giggling to himself, smiling and grinning wildly like a child who’d just stolen a handful of sweets from the shop. “Where are you taking me?” I asked I amusement, feeling him momentarily put me down and pick me up in a more bridal style manner the moment we got through the garage doors. “It’s a surprise.”

“Wow, so romantic.” I giggled as he smiled back to me, carrying me towards his car. “How do you get in?” “I’ll put you in.” He gently spoke, slipping my legs into the Red Bull as I felt a momentary feeling of horror that I was sat in something that costs millions. “I love it!” Sebastian clapped as I froze, holding my hands out. Gaining a burst of excitement, I started pretending to turn the wheel making car noises. Sebastian snapped more pictures of me as I giggled excitedly. I’d worked around these cars for years, never once had I actually been in one. “I think I could drive one of these.” I confidently nodded, Seb leaning against the car with a smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” “You need a helmet first.” Sebastian pointed out as I pretended to press on all the buttons. “Fuck the helmet. I won’t be crashing.”

“Of course…” He played along as I looked up to him with a smirk, playfully rolling my eyes. “I can’t even drive in the first place.” “You can’t?!” He exclaimed. “No, I failed my test twice then gave up when I went to uni.” I glanced around the car, slowly pushing myself out. “It’s a bit dangerous with nothing in front of you, no?” I pointed back to the front bit. “Maybe… that’s why we have our helmets.” He knocked on my head playfully. I sat back down, analysing the car. “What do you think we need?” He asked, resting his his chin on his palm, on the side of the car. “Something for protection, that won’t obstruct the view. I dunno, I don’t know how many people would like something there.” I looked back, watching him attempt to see the same thing I was. “Would it be safer?”

“Yes.” “Then I agree with you.” I stood up once again, allowing him to help me out as I thanked him softly. “Do you want to come out for a few drinks tonight?” “Yeah, sure, who’s going?” I began unzipping the suit seeing as I was growing a little warm in Sebastian’s jumpsuit. “Uh- I can ask around…” he slowly spoke, giving me a funny look. “Okay!” It wasn’t until after that conversation did I realise what he was asking me. Did he mean drinks just him and me? Did I ruin that? On my way out I was deep in thought, not looking where I was going when I thumped into somebody’s shoulder, my phone going flying across the floor. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” The stranger spoke, running over to pick up my phone. Except, it was no stranger, it was Lewis fucking Hamilton. My breath hitched, “no, no, I’m sorry, I should’ve been looking where I was going!” I exclaimed.

“That makes two of us then.” He handed my phone back over. “Thank you.” I awkwardly laughed. “You’re Jennifer, right? You work at-“ he pointed towards the Red Bull garages. “Red Bull, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. It’s Lewis isn’t it?” I laughed, glancing back to see Sebastian looking over slightly. I offered him a quick smile before turning back to poor Lewis who I’d just barged into. “Yeah.” He laughed gently, showing me a row of his really white teeth. He definitely was a pretty boy.

“I was always a Mercedes fan growing fan growing up, don’t tell anybody.” I admitted. “Oh really?” Amusement lit up on his face. “Maybe you’ll have to come find a job in our garages.” He nodded back to the other one as I choked out a small laugh, surprised.

“Noo, I couldn’t do that.” He was smiling at me, in a way that seemed almost flirtatious, I couldn’t tell. “I’m just messing with you, it’s nice to meet you anyway, I’ll see you around.” He patted my arm. “You too.” I politely spoke before we moved back into our own directions. When I turned back up to the Red Bull garage, Sebastian had a frown on his face, as soon as he saw me look back he disappeared. Something about it didn’t sit right with me, but I continued making my way back to the hotel. I wasn’t sure why he looked so pissed off, or why exactly he was watching, I know Lewis was one of his biggest competitions, but we were just having a conversation? That evening I took all night to get ready, texting Loretta who had decided to come out for a couple drinks as well. I was walking around in my towel, taking breaks in between each makeup step. That’s when I noticed a door in between my hotel room and somebody else’s. Maybe nobody was in there? I curiously spun the lock, causing it to fling open. I gasped in a panic and it revealed no other than Sebastian laid on his bed watching TV. He had an immediate look of surprise on his face, not even moving as his eyes widened, taking in my towel cladded state. “Oh, hello.” He began laughing as nervous laughter racked through me. I love how he didn’t even question the fact I’d opened the door between our bedrooms.

“Hi- I got curious and started twisting it, I didn’t even realise it would open!” I quickly spoke as Sebastian shrugged. “I knew it was you, could hear you singing in the shower.” Great. “Oh- I’ll go now anyway, sorry.” “No, no it’s fine. Leave it open, I could do with the company.” ���Company listening to me get ready for the next hour.” I teased as he smirked towards me. God, the way he was looking at me like he wanted to devour me. He nodded gently as I offered him another smile. “Okay. Fun.”

When I was ready he was wandering around my room, smelling my perfumes, watching the TV. “I saw you talking to Lewis earlier…” he pondered whilst looking through the several perfume bottles I had. Part of me thought he wasn’t actually interested in them, he just wanted to look occupied whilst bringing Lewis up. “Oh yeah?” I glanced back to him in the mirror whilst I topped up my lipgloss. “Mmmmh.” He hummed, smiling to himself. “I almost took him out, didn’t see him.” I giggled.

“He is quite… small I suppose.” I spluttered out a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I spun around, leaning against the dressing table with an amused smile.

“Nothing- you look beautiful.” He was quick to shake it off, the comment going straight to my cheeks that blushed a vibrant colour. “Thank you.” I giggled turning down to the floor. “Still, why is Lewis small?” I probed sensing he was feeling a little jealousy. “No reason.” Seb snickered, fixing his hair slightly in the mirror besides me. I made eye contact, smirking and glancing him up and down before spraying myself with 4 different perfumes. Excessive, but I couldn’t decide which one I preferred. Hannah and James knocked on my door, joining us as both Seb and I spilled out the room earning some weird looks. Nobody said anything but I knew exactly what they were thinking. The club was booming, the music was loud and the drinks were flowing too easily. I’d been drinking a lethal cocktail of alcohol, buzzing to be in the party atmosphere with all my friends.

“Was he flirting with you?” A voice questioned, I turned around to see Sebastian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Who?” I spoke into his ear. “Lewis.” I playfully rolled my eyes, shaking my head.

“No, I don’t think so, why?!” “No reason.” He smirked. “You’re jealous.” With a bit of Dutch courage I poked his chest, “never.” Sebastian’s hand was grazing over my hip as I spoke to him, rubbing his shoulder. His head tilted to the side, smiling down to me with a knowing expression. “You are.” I firmed as it was his turn to roll his eyes. “No need to be jealous.” I shrugged, hand sliding off him. “No?” He asked. “No.” I firmed smiling back up to him. There was a singular second before I felt a hand on the back of my head, pushing both mine and Sebastian’s faces together. James. Way to ruin it! I sighed, taking myself back to the bar to retrieve another drink, stealing one more glimpse to Sebastian who was chatting a way to a bunch of mechanics. Maybe a little more alcohol would help me make a bolder move…