#those big wet shiny eyes were UNNECESSARY

[leclercskiesahead]

Carlos Sainz opening the 2018 Rally Monte Carlo power stage

[illogicallylogicalthoughts]

i saw ur post about weapons and was curious if you have any examples in media you think did particularly good or bad with portraying them?

Well this has been sitting in my inbox for a while. Feck.

Welp, answering it now!

This is mostly just inarticulate word vomit, but if you find something useful in this, I will commend you for your efforts because god knows I can't find it in here myself what with the organization being a conflagration of chaos.

I think that, among most media, weapons are typically not often thought about outside of aesthetics, size and posing.

Most probably don't think of the center of gravity, the lever, how it would or wouldn't swing, how it couldn't or shouldn't be that big, etc, etc, because, well, face it, it's a lot of detail that most just won't notice.

I can't exactly think of anything that gets melee weapons perfectly right off the top of my head, because, again, small details that I don't often pay attention to, but what I do pay attention to is when they get it really, really, really wrong.

Example:

Shit like this.

No.

Holy mother of fuck, no. Good luck lifting that, let alone trying to carry it. The pole would be so impractically light compared to the head that lifting it, let alone using it, would be so cumbersome and awkward that it would be better to literally just use a sledgehammer. There has to be a balance, because if it isn't balanced correctly, it throws the weight off, and that makes it damn hard to use. Trying to pick it up would most likely just hurt you with squashed toes than it would the enemies.

Another example:

Stendarr's Hammer, from the Elder Scrolls series.

If you've been paying attention thus far, dearest reader, then you probably already know where I'm headed with this.

Why bother with that gigantic flat ass head-disk thing that only adds unnecessary weight and agility reduction when you have a perfectly fine hammer as it is. The flat head adds absolutely nothing, because it swings too slowly to actually build up momentum without a helluva lot more windup.

If you removed the big ass back spike and replaced it with something that actually looked like it could pierce armor and removed the flat disk entirely, you'd have yourself a damn fine hammer. They're simple weapons. Lever, Weight, Head, Bonk.

I get it, rule of cool, big weapons attract more eyes, attract more attention, give the character a brand, makes them more marketable and likeable, yada yada yada, but you're just as effective with a polearm that's only a little bit taller than your head than with a polearm that's taller than three building stories being flung around like a flailing wet fish (unless it's one of those comically long spears, those stay because they make sense in their niche).

--

Fuck it, let's also go on a tangent about how weapons are used in popular media.

STOP BLOODY SPINNING, FOR FUCKS SAKES!

FEET FIRM, STANCE READY, DON'T SHOW YOUR WEAK SPOTS LIKE THAT AND FOR GOD SAKES HOW DID YOU EVEN MAKE IT OUT OF BOOTCAMP?!

Imagine this.

You're fighting somebody.

You have a polearm with a spike on the end, and your enemy has a shortsword. You have much longer reach, they have "Superior Training" (TM).

Suddenly, in the middle of your impromptu duel, he suddenly fucking spins around and exposes his entire right side to you like roast on a platter, with his sword all the fuck-off way behind his head where he can't stab ya with it and you shank him right between where it hurts and where it hurts more because he just gave you his kidneys like an idiot, superior training my shiny plate metal ass-

*Clears throat*

Spinning does not make your attacks hit that much harder unless they have a lot of weight behind it.

Spinning a weapon with a light handle and a heavy head in your hands to build momentum? Absolutely, go for it, s'what they were made for.

Doing a fucking pirouette with a zweihander in your hands in the middle of a duel and giving your enemy a clean shot at your entire right side? Yeah, no, abso-fuck-off-lutely not, you've just cut your range in half and opened up a gigantic weak-spot and painted a target on it saying "stab me in the goddamn kidneys!" like an idiot.

Don't spin with light weapons like daggers either, same principal. I don't care how fast you think you are, the other guy is faster because you have your weapons in a disadvantageous position and your back is literally exposed to the enemy, and you have literally no range to back it up, at all. There's a reason daggers are either an "oh shit" button when you have literally nothing else or an assassination tool, or just by people who couldn't afford or find anything else.

THIS GOES FOR BOWS TOO!

The last place you should be with a bow is at the frontlines. If you're close enough to whip somebody with the sharpened ends, you've got bigger problems than performing ballet moves in the middle of a battlefield.

(Yes, the ends of a bow can be/are already sharpened because they're thin, whip-like sticks and you can use them to slash right through eyes through a visor or just blind some poor sod at point blank before retreating. This is absolutely not a replacement for an actual melee weapon, but it gives you something at least)

It's the survivability onion.

If you're in a battle, don't be seen.

If seen, don't be acquired.

If acquired, don't be hit.

If hit, don't be penetrated, if penetrated, don't die.

Don't go jumping off carts and throwing yourself into cartwheels through the air with a bow. Stick to medium-ish to long range (because a point blank arrow has all the force of a wet paper towel behind it, but an arrow that's already had time to build up speed and momentum is going to nail somebody like a sledgehammer to the gut, because, again, physics), shoot them before they shoot/see you, and if all else fails, run the fuck away, rinse, and repeat as needed.

AND BIG ASS SWORDS.

YOU DO NOT SLASH WITH BIG ASS SWORDS, YOU POKE!

Contrary to popular belief, swords are most of the time heavier than shit like maces and such, because they need more weight behind them to do the stabby stabby crap. So, take that concept, en-fucking-large it a lot, make yourself a pseudo-sword-spear-thing and BOOM, Zweihander!

Now, you absolutely don't try to bring this down on somebody on the horizontal edge like a moron, because not only is that ineffective, not only is that not going to do shit because that's not where your hitting power is, it's also really bloody heavy and tiresome to use like that.

Instead, you use the force generated behind the hilt to make large thrusting attacks, keeping your distance but making it incredibly difficult for them to close on you, because two-handed big swords like that do poking a lot better than they do cleaving.

----

welp that was. A lot, and I don't really know if this answered your qeustions because it is currently 12:30 as of writing this and my mental capacity is currently the rough equivalent to a burning flour silo. Ciao mate, hope this helped!

[siswritesyanderes]

Will you write a second part for the Tom Riddle with mother issues one shot? I was kind of curious on how it will end up . Btw, I like your writing. <3

Thank you so much!

Part 1 is here.

Okay, round 2! This one’s a bit more graphic than the previous, so let me know if you’d rather I reel it in or if you like it this way.

(N S F W) (TW: non-con) (TW: pseudo-incest) (not actual incest)

The amount of leeway Tom allowed you for protestations on the first night did not last.

When he returned the next day, there was no dinner waiting for him, and you immediately raised your wand and told him to stay away from you.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if you’d just performed poorly on a graded assignment. As soon as he reached for his wand, you tried to speak the word to disarm him, but the locket suddenly tightened around your neck, cutting off your air at the last second, and Tom’s cruciatus curse hit you square.

Pain lanced through you. You hit the kitchen floor, too tense to writhe, your eyes tightly shut, your scream filling the air.

It was only for a few seconds.

You knew that, because the locket had ensured that you were unable to take a breath before the curse, and yet your scream hadn’t run out of fuel by the time Tom let up. Panting, you opened your eyes and found that he was sitting on the floor, now. Cross-legged and straight-backed, over your sprawled form. He set his palm on your cheek and wiped at your lips with his thumb. You were embarrassed to find that they were wet; the saliva hadn’t stayed in your mouth, while you were screaming.

“I don’t like hurting you, Mother,” he said. “If you could learn to be more loving, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Your wand was still in your hand, albeit loose in your grip. You managed to point it at him, and your mouth sluggishly formed part of a spell: “Expel-”

“Crucio.”

You screamed anew, and you felt your voice give out as incomprehensible pain filled you. Once again, it didn’t last longer than a few seconds. The first thing you felt, when the agony abated, was the cool tile under your face; you had rolled over at some point, as if some instinctive part of you had thought you were on fire and hoped to put it out. You couldn’t see Tom, but you felt it when his hand descended on your head. You winced, but he only stroked at your hair. Soothing.

“We didn’t enjoy this, did we?” he asked. “We don’t want to keep doing this.”

You could feel your wand still in your hand, but no part of your mind could form a compelling argument in favor of using it. The fact that he hadn’t taken it from you, given so many opportunities to, had been the initial writing on the wall.

“Now, I want to be a good son. But you have to be a good mother, first. Are you going to be good?” He gingerly flipped you onto your back, again. He moved your hair out of your face with his wand hand. “Will you be good for me?”

You managed to nod.

(Unnecessary suffering was for Gryffindors. You weren’t subjecting yourself to more of that kind of pain just to prove a point that Tom would never accept anyway. If defying him would ever be the right choice, it clearly wasn’t now.)

Tom smiled pridefully and kissed you- a long, lingering press of his lips against yours, just on the surface, not mining your mouth like he had last night. When he pulled back, he asked, “Who are you, then?”

Keeping him satisfied gave you some measure of control over your fate. You were smart enough to keep him at bay, if your head would just stop spinning. “I’m your mother,” you answered him. Hoarse from screaming.

Tom eased forward and sank his weight onto you, his body spread over yours so that his head was tucked under your chin and his legs and feet extended past yours, on the floor; he was taller than you. Feeling him on top of you again, and feeling the way both of his legs had slotted between yours (implicitly preventing them from closing), caused a dull panic to spread inside you- dull, because what was there to do about it?

“Mother,” he sighed contentedly, and he smiled against your collarbone for a second. Then the second passed, and the smile fell away. “I didn’t like it when you tutored the other students, at school. Why didn’t you just tutor me?”

Oh, Merlin. So it wasn’t enough to play nice now; he also wanted you to retroactively explain away past infractions. And judging by the petty plaintiveness of his tone, you would be on the hook for those infractions until you gave an explanation that he deemed adequate.

“Well, you were already brilliant, Tom. You didn’t really need a tutor, did you?”

Though his enjoyment of the compliment was palpable, it didn’t seem to quell his dissatisfaction. “All the more reason; they were wasting your time.” His fingernails sank into your arms, not giving the impression of a deliberate punishment, but rather as if he was distressed that his grip on you wasn’t strong enough.

So flattery wasn’t enough. “I was just trying to teach you to share,” you said innocently. “All children should learn to share their things.”

His reaction to this was the inverse; he seemed not to enjoy it, but it satisfied him. He relaxed. Retracted his claws. “I don’t like to share,” he said. “Mother is only for me.”

So he liked to be flattered, but he preferred to be convinced. Not a good sign, that he wouldn’t just let you owl it in with mere praise; he wanted credible mothering behavior.

Awkwardly, you reached up and rested your hand on his head. He moaned and nipped at your neck, and it made you utterly sick, but his affection was still better than his torture.

“You shouldn’t be so tense, Mother,” he murmured. “Not if you love me.”

Relaxing your body, at this point, was like physically lifting a heavy weight, but you did it.

His teeth kept gently chewing at the skin of your neck; he kissed and he sucked, and you were wondering whether it was better to just do nothing or if you should suggest that you would make dinner and see if that got him off of you. Then his hand went to your right breast, and he started kneading at it through your clothes.

“Please don’t,” you breathed.

His hand went under your shirt. He took your breast in his hand and gripped it tightly. “Why not?” he asked, in a manner that could only be described as a dignified whine. “Don’t you love me?”

“Yes, I…I love you.”

“And don’t I deserve all of you? Don’t you want to give me all of you?”

You could feel his hardness through his trousers, pressed right against the natural seam between your thigh and…and…He was deliberately grinding it against you, now: subtle, minute movements that caused your dull panic to abruptly sharpen. Even through both of your clothes, his rubbing against that part of you was like an electric shock. His hand was still molding at your breast.

“Doesn’t Mummy love me?” he whispered, almost deliriously. “Don’t you want me?”

“Y-yes,” you lied, sick and wet and fighting the ever-climbing wave of terror.

“I love you so, so much. I want every part of you. And you want every part of me, don’t you?”

Your breath hitched; his technique was not as clumsy and desperate as it had been last night. Not by half. His every move seemed perfectly calculated to make you incomprehensible. “Yes, but…we haven’t had dinner,” you managed to get out. “Y-you’re a growing boy. You need to eat, so you can…grow big and strong.”

“Mmmm.” Again, he seemed displeased but satisfied by your explanation. You were annoying him in the approved way. The way a mother annoys a son. “You didn’t have dinner ready when I got home, so I get to decide what I want to eat. That’s the rule.”

“Alright,” you answered, indifferent. He could eat at the most expensive restaurant in the land with your Galleons, if that would get him off of you.

Before you could get too relieved, you heard “Immobulus,” and a blue light washed over you. The Freezing Charm was different from a Full Body-Bind; Petrificus Totalus would have made you stiff as a board, but under Immobulus, you merely lost the ability to move. More accurately, you lost the capacity for voluntary movement, which was why you could still breathe and your heart could still beat.

Tom sat up and began systematically undressing you, and for lack of anything else to focus on, you became preoccupied with the tantalizing feeling of your wand still in your hand. He didn’t take it from you, even once you were fully nude on the kitchen floor. In fact, he took care not to let it fall out of your grip as he moved both of your hands to rest on either side of your head.

He spread your legs and lowered his face to-

Oh!

“Oh!”

Another thing about Immobulus was, by preventing voluntary movement, it made it impossible to control involuntary movement. Keeping in your reflexive vocal responses to Tom’s ministrations would have required you to have control over yourself, which you did not. You could not keep the noises inside you, or moderate the volume, and it only made the situation more pitiful and mortifying: lying on your own kitchen floor, naked, wand in hand, helpless as a would-be Dark Lord fresh out of Hogwarts ran his tongue mercilessly and expertly between your folds, and plunged it within you (wringing blinding amounts of sensation out of every motion), and you couldn’t even restrain the whimpers and shrieks and moans and sounds for which you had no name- sounds which certainly had never escaped you before in your life.

He did not stop or even pause to speak until after you had come in his mouth. Even after that, he continued lapping at you relentlessly for another few minutes. When he did raise his face again, licking his lips lewdly, you were a clammy, whimpering mess.

He watched you for a while, and you hated that you were all shiny and short of breath, but you couldn’t control your breathing any more than you could control any of it. There was no way of disguising his effect on your body.

After he had apparently had his fill of looking, Tom stood and wandered the kitchen. He was doing something (You could hear as much.), but you couldn’t move your eyes to see what.

Another minute passed.

Then, he scooped you up into his arms- still making sure your wand stayed in your hand, the smug git -and set you down across the kitchen table at which the pair of you had shared tea just yesterday. Your head fell back, and you saw what he had been doing as he wandered the room: he had been opening all the windows.

Tom dragged you so that your rear end was at the edge of the table, spread your legs and bent your knees so that each foot was almost flat against the table’s surface, and then arranged your head so that you could see him. He was still fully dressed, but he had opened his trousers and pulled them down a few centimeters, freeing his organ. He set his wand down somewhere on the table- a carelessness that came with power -and placed both of his hands on your thighs.

“I enjoyed my dinner, Mother,” he said conversationally. His voice was only slightly breathy, to betray either his earlier exertion or his present excitement. “Thank you for making it so warm and tasty for me.”

He punctuated his coy mockery by rubbing his full length along your slit, and you had to let out a loud moan, and your heartbeat raced as a new level of humiliation filled you. Was this why he had opened the windows? So others would hear?

“You should get a reward for taking such good care of me, don’t you think?” He hooked his hands around the backs of your thighs, then, to pull you closer; your pulse stuttered, at his sudden tug, fearing that he would spear you with his member right then, but he did not. “I even thought about what you said about sharing. I liked hearing how much you…enjoyed” (Another surface thrust, another helpless moan- this one embarrassingly high.) “giving me my dinner, and I want to be a good boy and share those nice sounds with everyone.”

He gave no further warning before he lanced your entrance, and as he proceeded to thrust, to withdraw and advance, you were in equal parts humiliated by your own keening, yearning wails and his revolting exclamations: “Oh, oh, you take me so well, Mother! Mummy wants me so much! Mother, I’m going to come inside you! I’m going to fill you right up with all of my babies; you want them so much!”

Your orgasm was likely audible in at least a two-house radius. Your eyes were leaking rivulets of tears, and your hair was everywhere, and your lips were wet with spit again, and still it was at least another full minute before Tom came, himself.

Every breath you took was a whimper. You managed to turn your eyes away from Tom (the effects of the spell finally wearing off), and you started when you saw a face at the window: some mustached neighbor standing outside, watching.

Tom followed your gaze, picked up his wand, and made a lazy, matter-of-fact slashing motion. You saw a red line grow across the man’s throat before he fell out of view with a sound like a bag of rocks dropping to the ground.

“I said they could listen, not look,” Tom said, as if that was the part he had to justify. He finally pulled out of you, and he fastened up his trousers. “Haven’t I been a good son today?”

It was clear that you were expected to answer him again, despite being spent. Your vision blurred with more tears. “Mm-hm,” was the best you could do, but it was apparently sufficient.

Tom left the kitchen, wet a rag, and came back to gently clean the sweat from your face. By the time he returned, you had managed to close your legs; you were curled up like a shrimp, with your arms covering your breasts. His touch was much too loving, as he ran the rag over your cheeks. “Did you like sharing?”

You shook your head stiffly.

“Then that’s something we have in common,” he said brightly. “How about this: I won’t share anymore, if you don’t. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, just as stiffly.

He lowered his mouth to yours and gave a more invasive kiss than before. “I know that you’re tired,” he said generously. “I’ll draw you a bath, and I’ll make you some tea.” He dropped a peck on the tip of your nose. “You can prove how much you love me tomorrow.”

...

(Okay! I hope this came out good. Let me know what you thought.)

[lizhly-writes]

i do not have anything very new for you this week.  i do, however, have this revised version of the first chapter of the ‘villainess’ side of my heroine-villainess isekai bodyswap story, which is, essentially, a full rewrite.  i have made some changes that have brought our pov character a little more in line with my mental image of her.  to quote someone that i had look at this: ‘Before mina seemed more refined like she kills u by poisoning u thru ur tea and then "ohoho"ing as u slowly lose consciousness and die, and now mina seems like she kills u by straight up ripping ur spine out lol’

i always did wonder why i never saw the ‘original’ villainess in otome isekai stories do some major physical damage for funsies, y’know?

warning: this thing is 2k+ words long. 

Why’s it so fucking loud.  Who’s screaming bloody murder in here?  Shut up, I got the worst headache and whatever slick steaming pile of shit you think you are, you ain’t making it better.  If you won’t keep that hole in your face quiet, what if I just heal it closed?  You won’t get a choice then, how about that?

I’m laid out flat on the floor, too. It’s wet, there’s something soaking in my shirt and my hair.  It better not be vomit.  Three fucking faces of Knight, how much did I drink last night.

I crack an eye open. “Th’ fuck’s goin’ on.”

There are people with the dumbest fucking faces staring down at me.  “You’re awake!” one of them exclaims, like everyone else has useless holes for eyes.  Course I’m awake, that something you really feel you gotta tell the world?

“Shit, really?  Wow!  Never woulda guessed,” I say as I drag myself to my feet.  Urgh, feels like I drank my way through the entire bar.  Did I get run over by a carriage or something too?  I’m real fucked up — balance off, arms and legs ain’t landing right, everything aches, and I got clothes on that look like I stole them from a crackpot fashion student.  

Though, hey, looks like everyone here is dressed like that.  Maybe it’s the crackpot fashion student side of campus. I’m in some really shiny cafe, by the looks of it.  The aesthetic here is… really something.  Didn’t know we had this kind of place at the university.

Let’s put that aside for now.  I crack my neck and ignore everyone talking at me as I give the entire place a once-over.  No sign of Emily or Asher, which doesn’t sound right.  If I’m this messed up, normally Asher’d be right there with me.  Emily, at least, would’ve tracked me down and tried to kick me in the head or something.  Not that I’d need a kick in the head, it hurts bad enough as it is.  Maybe enough that I can say that I’ve knocked something loose.  Hearing’s definitely off, it’s doing funny things to my voice.  Not liking that very much at all.

“How much is a drink ‘round here?” I say, because while alcohol got me into this, I’ve heard great things on how alcohol can get me out of this.

“I don’t think you need a drink,” says an absolute fucking killjoy from somewhere behind me.

“‘Scuse me?” I say as I do an about-face.  The killjoy in question looks boring enough that I’d forget him instantly if it weren’t for the eyes.  Real pretty shade of blue, nice enough that probably some asshole’s tried yanking them from his skull.  It’s a wonder he still has them!  Maybe he’s a good enough fight that people don’t bother, huh?

He doesn’t react when I step in for a closer look — yeah, there we go, left eye, the scars are barely there, but it looks like someone’s been using their nails to make an attempt.  Honestly, you’d think he’d flinch a little with me getting that close to his face, it’s not like his glasses’ll be any good at protecting him.  But no, he just stands there and says, “I think you need first aid.  You might have a concussion.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re bleeding.  A lot.”

…Hmm.  

“Am I?” I say.  I reach for the bits of me that I’d hoped hadn’t been sitting in vomit and… yeah.  My fingers come away red.  

Trace a little further up to the back of my head, and there’s the head wound.  Not as deep as I’d think, but it’s there, along with a very long braid I don’t remember getting.

Maybe I am concussed.  Should’ve noticed both of those things a lot sooner.

“Yeahhhhh, okay,” I say.  “Lil later, then.”  After I fix myself up, maybe.

“I think you’re actually supposed to avoid drinking after a concussion altogether,” says Absolute Fucking Killjoy.

“Fuck you,” I say. Of all things, that’s what gets him to flinch.  Interesting priorities he’s got there.

About the drink, though.  He ain’t wrong.   I know how head wounds work.  But those rules on what to do with them?  That’s for other people.

“You need a doctor—”

Please.  Last time I needed a doctor was years ago.  

This kind of thing, it’s easy enough to take care of.  So easy that it should be already healed up, but whatever.  Just a little concentration, and —

And.

...What's this?  

“That’s new,” I say, squinting at the crackling light running over the palm of my hand.  Real fancy, real nice to look at.  Doesn’t feel like much, but I bet I could make something like this hurt if I wanted to.  Nice little add-on, this.  I like what I got — I’m the best with what I got — but power is power.  Nothing wrong with having a little extra in your punches.

Except this ain't anything I can do. This ain't anything I should be able to do.  That’s pretty fucking strange, isn’t it?

“What are you doing,” says Killjoy, voice sharp.  

The face he’s making is probably hilarious.  It’s less interesting than the way light curls over my fingers, trailing over my wrist as I twist my hand this way and that.  If I let it, maybe it’d spread further up my arm.  How much higher could it go, really?

I don’t get to find out, because Killjoy snatches my hand, snapping his own fingers over it until only light you can see has to fight its way out from where skin meets skin.  And then it’s not even that, dying away until it goes dark completely.

Oh this bitch.  

“Well, ain’t you forward, huh?” I say, baring my teeth.  “What d’you think you’re doin’?”

“You’ve got a concussion,” Killjoy reminds me, like he thinks I forgot.  I ain’t forgetting nothing, got it?  It’s easy to take care of — just a little thought, and maybe it’s taking a little more effort, but the skin knits up just fine.

I sweep a hand lightly over the back of my head, just to make sure everything’s in order.  The swelling’s gone down, the bruising’s gone, eyesight seems pretty clear.  Headache and bodyache’s still there, which is annoying.  There’s been some improvement, but that’s not what I’m looking for.  It should be gone.  Is it not physical damage, then?  What, is it psychosomatic or something?  That’s a shit explanation.

It’s only after my self-checkup that I realize that Killjoy is still talking.  “— can take you to the clinic,” he’s saying, sounding very earnest.  He’s still holding my hand.

I shake him off impatiently.  “That’s unnecessary,” I say, and push open the shiny glass doors so I can find Asher or Emily or someone and go on with my life.

I don’t get more than a few steps outside before I realize I’m running headfirst into a problem. Namely, that the outside that greets me is not the university.   Not even close.  Not unless the mayor sent the entire city crashing down and decided to rebuild from the ground up.  Not unless everyone collectively decided to take overly-caffeinated fashion students’ advice when it came to everyday wear.  Not unless somebody made far too many innovations in automobile development and decided to implement them on every vehicle I can see here.  Not unless all of that happened while I was passed out.

No.  I should have noticed that before, too.  I don’t pass out.  Alcohol fucks me up, sure.  But I’ve never drunk so much that I got knocked unconscious.  I’ve never been able to drink enough to knock me unconscious.

…I remember now.  I didn’t go out drinking last night.  No, what happened was that some asshole attacked me— or, you know, tried to attack me for maybe a solid minute before I started beating the shit out of him for daring to ambush me.  I was doing quite a good job, if I do say so myself. I know I broke some bones, broke his face, had my hands around his neck, and it would have only taken me a second or so more -- just one good squeeze! -- to pulp his windpipe, and he would be dead. 

But I didn’t get to that part.  The last thing I remember was putting just enough pressure on his throat to make him choke, and then… nothing.  That’s it. That’s all I have before I woke up in the cafe.

I’m missing something.  I know I am.   It’s pissing me off.   

That fuckwad.  What did he do?  Clearly I made a mistake letting him breathe for more than a minute or so, I should’ve just killed him on sight.  If I find him again — no, when I find him again — I’m going to squeeze the answers out of him and grind his skull into paste, I’m gonna make him wish he was never born, I’m gonna make sure he’s in so many fucking pieces no one can tell his —

“Hey,” says Killjoy, because I suppose he followed me out or something. “We really need to get you to a doctor.  I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but even if it’s not a concussion, it’s safer to get it looked at, you know?  You said you were on university insurance, right? So it’s not like it’s even going to cost —”

And then he shuts up, because I have him by the collar of his shirt and he’s suddenly bent over enough that he’s barely an inch away from my face.

“Please.  Would you kindly keep your mouth closed,” I say.  “If not, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you choke on your own teeth.  Do I make myself clear.”

Killjoy doesn’t close his mouth.  It’s hanging open gently, his pretty blue eyes wide and shocked.  But I suppose he understands the spirit of what I’m asking for, because he doesn’t say anything, even when I let him go and kindly push him back upright.

Well, no, actually, there is one thing.  There’s a name he whispers: Allison.  But it’s so quiet that I can generously pretend I can’t hear it and let him keep his mouth in one piece.  I leave him standing there, and set off.

Where?  It doesn’t matter.  I walk through black-paved streets and stone-slab sidewalks, speed past too-tall buildings and too-bright colors and hoping for — I don’t know. One familiar building.  Something, anything, that I can recognize.

But… nothing. It’s like I’m an entirely different country.  An entirely different world.

How long was I out?  Am I missing memories?  What did that sad excuse for an ambusher do?

As if this day couldn’t get any better, Killjoy finds me at the entrance of a tiny, cramped alleyway, shadowed by buildings rising tall around.

“You just never fuckin’ give up, do you?” I say, sharp smile sliding easily across my face. I don’t know where I am, but I know I’m a fair distance away from where I started.  He can’t have just coincidentally run into me.  He had to have either followed me or known where I’d end up.  It doesn’t matter which.  Either option means that he’s still thinking of me.

He starts when I turn around and face him — he probably didn’t expect me to figure out he was there that quickly, huh? Well, I have to give him credit, he really is quiet.  And he stays quiet, too, even as he scrambles backwards when I start stalking towards him.

“You gonna tell me I need a doctor again, huh?”

Go on.  Say it.  I gave you a warning, I told you what I’d do to you, it’s not my fault you can’t listen.  I’m looking forward to it, actually!  Thank you for showing up just when I needed stress relief!

“… not Allison,” Killjoy says, so softly I barely hear it.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not Allison,” he hisses, and oh, is that a sight — his eyes are aglow, the light behind them illuminating their blue so that it shines against the darkness.  How pretty.  How valuable.  Even more so than when I thought the only thing that stood out about them was the color.  Really, how good of a fight must he be that he still has them?

I’m gonna find out.

[eleanorbloom]

Eighth Deadly Sin (Bryce Lahela x F!MC) 🍋🍋🍋

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!MC (Eleanor Bloom)

Warnings: N.S.F.W content, graphic content not suited for minors.

Prompt: Day 3 of Kinktober. Hair Pulling | Office Sex | Swallowing

 A/N: Bryce Lahela deserves all the good things in life, and that involves filthy filthy plotless smut and intense blowjobs in supply closets. This is very self-indulgent work because Bryce is such a giver and I only wanted him to receive something good and filthy. I had a lot of smut written that I realized it wouldn’t make the cut in my series, so I decided to divide it in three fics. This one is the secuel of day 25 and prequel of day 23. 

Hope you enjoy it! 🔥🔥🔥

__

Eighth Deadly Sin

That Thursday had been a day like no other. Less hectic than usual,  with good outcomes,  and no Pitas. It was the middle of the afternoon when Eleanor got an unexpected text. The cherry on top.

“Hey hot stuff, do you have a moment? 😏.”

“In about five minutes, why?” —She replied. The emoji said it all, so it was unnecessary to ask why, but she had the hope that Bryce would give her some sneak peek. 

“Supply closet on the fifth floor, near the new wing.”

But no. Eleanor had a feeling what was that about, though.  The supply closet he was talking about was in a secluded area and most of the time Bryce convened her to meet there, they weren’t for  the most decorous reasons. Well, a meeting in any supply closet would never be innocent, honestly.

After finishing with a patient, she took the stairs to the fifth floor. She hadn’t even confirmed her guess, but she already was feeling a pulse under her scrubs. Even a kiss, just a hot kiss would cause her those sensations. That amazing was her boyfriend and that foolishly in love she was with him.

She bit her lower lip as the door of the supply closet was in her vision, and sauntered carelessly, checking subtly that no one would see her getting in the room. As the door opened, she found Bryce with one arm leaning against the wall, and his signature flirty smile all over his face.

“Hey”—Mirroring the smirk, she closed closing the door behind her. The very sight of him made her mouth feel dry.

“Hey yourself”—He replied taking her by the wrist and pulling her towards his strong body in one motion, leaving her curvy body flush against his. Their faces were inches apart, eyes observing lips until none of them couldn’t resist it, and cut the distance in one intense and wet kiss.

His lips were warm and hungry, and Eleanor could tell he was already aroused before she got in, because when she slid her hands over his toned muscles, she heard a brief pant in his breath.

“I think my suspicion was right.”

“You would suck at your job if you weren’t right, honestly.”—It wasn’t necessary to ask what was her suspicion, the fact that they were tangled and kissing frantically in a supply closet was eloquent enough.

“And I probably would be the worst girlfriend.”

“Luckily you’re very far from that.”

When she sank her hand under his scrubs, she felt his skin blazing and slightly sweated, making her pull up his scrub impatiently to kiss his chest. Bryce assisted her by taking it off,  her lips now traveling up to his shoulders and neck, leaving a trail of kisses in her way up to his jaw and down to his chest, devouring his skin avidly when she reached his pecs.

Eleanor slid the tip of her tongue over his nipple and looked up at him, expecting his reaction while the other hand was pinching and drawing circles in his areola.  

Bryce whimpered and bucked his hips against her body, making Eleanor notice the protuberance growing under his pants.

She stayed there for a moment, delighted as if she was savoring the sweetest beverage she had tried, his pleasure adding a complex flavor to her drink, spicy ending. She swapped sides, sucking now the other nipple, while her finger kept pinching the wet and swollen nipple on the other side. 

“You’re an angel with that tongue.” 

“And I haven’t even shown you everything I’ve got” —She murmured in a sultry voice, her hands now raoming down his abs, sensing how his body shifted as she was approaching his bulge, completely incarcerated, begging for release and ease.

He gulped as her hand kept going down slowly, every move studiously executed. 

Suddenly, she parted from him and pulled out her white coat and the top of her scrubs, leaving only her bra on. His eyes scanned her body in a second, remaining in her breasts, turgent under the indigo bra and making a cleavage that probably was one of Bryce’s favorites.

Before his hands could reach them, Eleanor got on her knees, her face perfectly aligned with his pulsing tight.  She placed her hands where they had been just a few moments ago and went even more down.

Every finger was touching him with conscious premeditation as Eleanor planted a hand over his crotch, feeling the warmth exuding under the fabric of his clothes. Bryce groaned at the sight of his lover giving him a mischievous smile while her hand began stroking his swollen member in a consciously—and agonizingly—slow and soft way.

“What do you want me to do, my love?”—Her voice is soft and compliant as her hands were now skimming between his muscled tights and sharp hips,  one hand returning to caress the prisoner and the other was roaming over his chiseled abs.

“You already know.”—He sighed, feeling how his patience was dropping as Eleanor wasn’t giving him what he wanted.

“Maybe, but I want you to tell me.”

“I want you to eat me out”

“Just that, just suck your dick?”—When she discovered where was the tip of his cock under his boxers, she drew circles and lines randomly with her fingertips, the touch tickling his skin as the fabric was making it feel rougher than it really was; all this without parting eyes from him.

“No…”—He groaned again”—I… want you to swallow me.”

“Okay…”—Her fingers were down, tracing all his length until she felt his balls.

“And drink everything I give to you.”

“Now we are talking about.”—In one swift movement, she tugged his pants down, leaving his boxers on and resuming her previous task, this time, closer to his skin.

The fabric was even warmer and a bit wet with precum. Eleanor couldn’t help but chew her lower lip at this view.

“Now tell me: how much you’ve wanted this?”

“Eh… Every day since you gave me the idea.”

“And where did you imagine it? At home? At the on-call room? Maybe at Donahue’s?”

“No, no, always in a supply closet, in this supply closet actually.”

“And here you have me.”

“And here I have you about to make my dream come true.”

He bucked against her once again when her hand gripped him a bit more firmly.

“What do you want, love?”

“I want you to touch me.”

“I’m touching you.”

“My dick. Not my boxers. I want you to touch me with your lips and tongue.”

Eleanor slid her fingers under the hem of his boxers, feelings the tip of his flesh viscous and soft, then she tugged it down and his penis, now free, exposed itself before her swollen, hard and erected, motioning straight to her mouth.

“Oh my god”—She gasped and watched it for about fine ten seconds, like a cat who found feast, before starting to plant feather-like kisses along his hips and pelvis, and teasingly just around his balls and cock. Then finally, she slicked her tongue in his balls, making him shiver at the contact.

“Fuck”—He sighed.

And she felt and saw how his length tensed even more with so little contact.

“I was waiting for this too.”

“You were?”

“Mmhhm—She hummed, giving short licks to his balls again, and then starting to go up the base of his member .— Is inevitable thinking about doing this to you…��And up—…when you’re looking so hot every fucking single day of your life—And up—You should be a deadly sin.”

Until her tongue found the wet tip of his dick, shiny with more precum, and it stayed there for a few moments, slicking it quickly.

“I’m… Oh fuck… I’m not an expert, but there is al… already one for that and it’s called lust.”

Eleanor chuckled at his effort for mantaining a conversation.

“Nah. This is completely different. Just seeing you it makes me hungry and horny and I can only be satisfied if I eat you out”—And now she went down, starting at the top, and going down to the base.—“A combination of lust and gluttony might be.”

He released a hearty laugh.

“You really know how to boost an ego, don’t you?”

“Actually yeah, it’s pretty hard to boost an ego as big as yours.”

And then up again, this time quickly. 

“But I’m not interested in boost your ego, actually. I just want to make you cum.”

Eleanor took his glans between her lips, kissing him softly at first, until she began to add a bit of tongue, alternating with soft strokes with her lips, her and her cheeks hollowing out.

“More…”

“More what?”

“I want all of it in your mouth, baby”

Eleanor obeyed, and took all of him in her mouth, feeling his warm flesh all around her tongue and past her throat, back and forth, until she goes down again, but this time drawing random patterns with her tongue until she began to move faster, bobbing enthusiastically while she heard Bryce panting.

“Baby, you’re amazing”—He sighed with his hands placed over her head, stroking her hair gently.

Then she took it out of his mouth to look at him under her eyelashes and smiling smugly. She knew he would cum soon so she stopped to observe him from below.

“Are you enjoying yourself up there?”

“Very much, babe”

She went to his balls, taking all in her mouth while she stroked his shaft with one hand. 

“Oh, god. God. Yes…”

“You taste so good, my love, that I want to eat you out every day.”

“And I’m not going to stop you, y’know?”

Then she started moving again, synchronizing her hands in circular motions with her tongue swirling around him, his skin feeling multiple sensations and pulsings each one different from the other. After a few more thrusts, she finally decided to go deeper and moved her head from left to right until she managed to feel the tip of his dick deep in the back of her throat.

He shuddered.

“Fuck, Eleanor stay just right there…”—Bryce pulled her hair roughly, keeping her just exactly where he wanted, his dick deep buried in her head, feeling her gagging. She nodded at first, but then Bryce saw her eyes glistering mischievously.

“Oggay”—The vibrations of her throat reached him, tickling the tip of her cock, and making him shiver instantly.  

“Shit, you’re insane.”

As she realized the effect it was having in him, she couldn’t stop.

“GGes”

“You’ll drink all of me, you hear me? Everything I’ll give you”

“Mmmmhhmm”

Bryce started to rock his hips against her, pulling her hair more tightly.

“Yes, fuck me, baby, you’re doing amazing…”—His words faded as Eleanor picked up pace, moving hard inside him, while her hands were grabbing her butt strongly. Bryce stopped her and he began to thrust her instead.

She moaned unexpectedly. The vibrations made him groan, but he knew she wasn’t teasing him.

“What is it? Are you turning on?”

She nodded.

“What’s turning you on?”

She took his hand on hers, suggesting he should keep bucking against her like he was doing.

“Oh, you want me to conduct you just as I like it?”

She freed his cock for a second.

“I’m not used to this commanding side of yours and it’s making me so fucking horny.”

“Oh, damn, and  you want me to boss you while you suck my dick?”

“Yes, please.”

She took him in her mouth again and sucked him hard. Bryce held her head still and resumed his thrusts. She had no choice in this, she was almost powerless, every move she was making was controlled by Bryce.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?”

The speed, the deepness, how much time she would stay there. Everything controlled by him. 

She couldn’t help but moan again. She felt his dominance growing, and instantly knew the power her confession had made in him. He had never been like this. She looked up, his eyes fluttering, the muscles of her arms taut around her head.

She hummed, tickling his dick again. It was all she could do, she had no power over everything else, just the vibrations inside her throat.

“Fuck, Eleanor.”

“Mmmmmhh”

He growled deep and he intensified his movements, his hips rocking quickly against her mouth, always reaching her throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. Baby I’m ccggggo”—He yelped while his hips bucked unevenly against her, until his release streamed down her throat. 

With herculean effort he managed not to scream, the sensations washing all over his body, leaving it numb. 

But he wasn’t done yet.

“Open your mouth, you dirty sinner”—He commanded as he stroked his dick with his hand and placing it over her tongue.

Eleanor stared at him big eyes while swallowing what she had received just now, and then she opened her mouth, her tongue out and firm, waiting for the lusty liquid to drip into her taste buds. A few droplets went down her chest, but she kept swallowing and drinking everything Bryce was giving her.

When he was ready, he looked down her chest.

“Take it all”

Eleanor took the liquid with her index finger and suck it hard, leaving it clean.

“Good girl.”

“You taste so good, baby.”

“I can feed you whenever you want it, babe.”

“Even if it means to spend eternity in Hell, I’m all for it.”

After a few moments, Eleanor gets up from the floor while Bryce pulls his pants on.

“No uh”—He made Eleanor stop in her tracks, as she was taking her scrubs to put it on again. Bryce kissed her in the lips, feeling his own taste in her mouth

“I wanna know how much this turned you on.”

He took her by the hips and sank a hand under her panties

“Oh, fuck. You’re fucking soaked, babygirl.”

He captured her lips in his desperately, moving his middle finger in circles over her nub.

“Bryce…”—She whimpered lolling her head back— “I have to get back… soon. I’ve been away for too long and I have some pending with the Team.”

Bryce, pretending not hearing her, with his other hand tugged the fabric of her bra to one side and slicked his tongue over her nipple.

“Oh fuck, please let me go.”

"You don’t want me to make you cum just by sucking your tits?” —He sucked the other nipple, and then just made rapid moves, making her squeal.

“As if you have never done that before.”

“I know. And I want to do it again.”

Just has Bryce was about to unclasp her bra, her pager went off. She took her coat and checked the device.

“I have to go. It the DT.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fast.”—Bryce took her by the hips, kissing her jaw, and ignoring her again.

“No, if you’re giving me an orgasm like this, I want to enjoy it, savor it, so, it’s pending for tonight.”

Eleanor freed herself from his grip to put her clothes on as quickly as she could. 

“Hey, wait a second”

“What?” —She turned to him.

“You were amazing, baby. You gave more than I could’ve hoped for. As always.”

She chuckled.

“I’m happy. You deserve more, but you don’t let me.”

She gave him a chaste kiss in his lips, and then disappeared behind the door, her cheeks still suspiciously flushed.

____

Taglist: @romewritingshop​ @utterlyinevitable​​ @starrystarrytrouble​​ @lahellacute​​ @kiteplayschoices​​ @lahamseiroshoe​​ @lucas-koh​​ @fuseboxmusebox​​ @princesslahela​​ @mckenzie-bae​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​

Let me know if you wanna be added or removed from this taglist, that it’s exclusively for Kinktober :)

[cherry3point14]

One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23​ hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.)  This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo​

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you���re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

[aperfecttimeforscreaming]

AN EXCHANGE OF MEAT

Late valentines day ZADR drabble, extremely nsfw, takes place in the #izspacetrash universe NSFW 18+ Warning: Petplay, Zussy, Choking, Power play, Power theft, Over-stimulation, flirtatious bullying 

Back on Irk, coupling is illegal. It’s a big deal for humans because they can’t name a rock without forming an emotional attachment, for Irkens however, there’s no reason for the law to even be in place. As a species we have evolved past the need to interact with others. Every individual in the empire has the potential to be a sturdy, self sustaining island unto themselves. We’re built better than every sentient stain in all the known everything!! We have YET to encounter anything that even compares to our size and MIGHT. The last fertile cluster of Irkens died out a thousand decades ago. Every irken is cloned and easily replaced if not functioning at maximum capacity.

So, the desire to do more than indulge yourself is...low. There’s no reason to involve another irken in the matters of ones…..self congratulation.The practice of an EMOTIONAL and spiritual coupling fell out of favor long before we learned to control our natural impulses. 

If this is all true (and it is), how can I feel so much for the vicious neanderthal that calls me his? Dib was working on one of his drones as I sat in the dark pocket of the lower bunk bed, the bed itself built into the wall of a home on wheels. Dibs white rectangular fat assed Arr Vee was parked behind a dunky doughnuts so that we could stay out of the sightline of main roads and siphon power to recharge the vehicles battery. See, the outside of Dibs roaming home looks like any other shitty old caravan. In fact, it is more like Dib’s own mobile base. The battered shell outside the chrome and black and blue innards of the crisp sterile mobile lab are no more than a clever disguise. An infuriatingly smart trick. It’s a trick wrapped around stolen Irken technology and it’s to our collective benefit that everything stays hidden. It’s more comfortable being a prisoner, knowing that Dib has become secretive of his most prized belongings. Legs crossed, back pressed to the wall, chin in hand I was thinking my thoughts. 

My hand drifted down my neck to trace the soft top edge of the lined matte black metal collar locked around my neck. I felt at the difference in texture between the soft barely there fuzz on my skin and the smooth cool metal. It had been locked there for thirty one days, ten hours, six minuets and eleven seconds. It’s some fluke of nature that Dib is as smart as he is. At one point in my career as an invader I theorized that as  humans grew taller, their brain shrunk to make up for the increase in body mass. With Dibs lineage, this is less so. As an adult he is only more cunning, more dangerous, more cloyingly obsessive, more driven. He neglects his sleep to work. He works with the single minded diligence of an Irken researcher. His drive to excel in his field transcends the greasy smelly differences between our kinds. The efficiency he commands my own technology with rivals that of a practiced PAK technician. He’s studied the things I left behind on earth for 14 of his years, and it shows. With a single steady bare claw I traced the shape of the emblem embossed onto my collar tag. Dibs skull shaped symbol, displayed in shiny silver across the front of my neck at all times. An unnecessary humiliation that marks me as one of many stolen treasures. I feel its shape on the bare pad of my finger and silently kiss my teeth, stung by the reality that Dib thought of it first. If the world was just, if things made sense, things would have been flipped, things should have been different. If I really am the more advanced life form, I have no excuse for his subjugation. Thirty one days, ten hours, seven minutes and forty fucking seconds.

From my dark hideaway I could see him, hunched over his desk with the posture of a scoliosis king. A bright white desk light illuminates the front of him and reflects off the cobalt blue shine of his protective eyewear. The blue strips of emergency LED light that mark out the floor area catch the underside of his form, and stripe the wrinkles of his sloppy mechanics smock in toxic blue slivers. Through the gap in the curtains in front of him, I could make out a flickering yellow street light. Dibs sigh broke through the silence. He set down his tool and leaned back in his chair, away from the open shell of the drone he’d been repairing. I watched him drag a long fingered skeletal hand back through his greasy weird hair, and watched the unruly sprig of bone and black people fur spring back up as his hand passed it. “You’re quiet.” The human announced, obviously. Before he could twist the rotating chair around to face me I let my hand fall into my lap and folded both hands neatly together. “My brain is loud.” It needed no explanation, but Dib had demanded the cause. Slouched back in his chair, I watched him copy how I had my fingers folded into each other. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead and crinkled his sweaty brow. “You’re thinking? You’re capable of thought?” He’d lick his loathsome incisors and grin. “Damn, I’ll have to correct my notes. I thought the metal parasite on your back did all that for you.” “IT’S NOT A PARASITE! I TOLD YOU! It’s as ME as the rest of ME!” The corners of Dibs eyes crinkled with delight as he watched me retrace the fact. “MY PAK stores the thoughts of my brain jelly- it’s not responsible for my depthy, nuanced original thoughts. It’s all to my benefit. Your simple animal mind can’t BEGIN to perceive the archives of information, understanding and theorizing, locked away between my two magnificent thought centers.” On my knees at the side of the bed, I pointed to my skull, illustrating the thing Dib wished to understand but could never fully unravel. He reached up to peel the lenses of the goggles from the hollows of his eye sockets. As Dib deftly replaced them with the large circular frames of his glasses, he spat noise at me. “You’ve beaten that dead horse to a pulp, Zim. I don’t think your PAK is any different than a circuit board hardwired to the brain of a roach. You’re just as animal as I am. Only, your issues stem from being part evil cyborg, and mine stem from trauma.” Sunny as a blistering summers day, he grinned at me. Smugness radiates from him like pulsar blips, and my innards are assaulted by tight gripping trembles. I tense my core muscles to keep my tymbal from rattling at the slightest provocation. With my antenna pitched slightly forwards, I can smell the pheromones on his sweat. I crossed my arms over my chest, raised my chin, curled my lip at him to flash fangs. “Tch. Zim is no creature. You’re the animal here. You have the technology to advance yourselves into a race of space faring monstrosities, and yet all you want to occupy yourselves with is the pursuit of earthly pleasure. Your kind construct elaborate rituals just to try and rutt against each other. It could be so much simpler!!!” Dib scratched his chin, nonplussed. “Yeah, I never really got all that either. We do have dating apps and that can simplify things if you don’t account for catfishing, and people who straight up lie about themselves just to get their dick wet.” I grimaced at the mental image of a wet human phallus. I re-contextualized the image in my head and imagined the organ as Dibs. I bit the inside of my cheek. “Sooooo… what? As you get older you stop exchanging meats, and instead swap false personal information?” Dib laughed, quick and dry, brimming with unearned superiority. “Oh, fuck- what you mean like what we did back in grade school?” He sat up, leaned in closer to me. Elbows folded on his knees he hunched closer. I could smell his breath on my antenna. Coffee and sugar and bacteria filled my senses and the stalks flicked quickly backwards at the olfactory intrusion. “Yeah I don’t really know why we did that. I have a theory it’s all metaphorical, some kind of mind manipulation game the government was playing with kids to get them to associate “love” with “flesh”. I mean, you know what “meat” alludes to, right?” My face screwed up as I searched my brain for obvious answers. “MMHhn. HHHMN. Pain? Obviously, pain. Emotional...badness.Maybe hormone tampering. Disease?” Dib was already getting out his phone, snickering to himself as he does when he knows something I do not. I kept going. “Death? Blood? Salt? Disgust? The inevitability of the cycle of consumption? How you’re all doomed to be slaughtered by a greater predatory force?” “No. No- what?” He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up at me. I wanted to rip the piercing out of it. “No. Shut up and look at these.” Dib held out his portable telephone slab to me and on it I saw a digital gallery of meat related memes. The phrase “beat my meat” was prevalent. There were photos of hammers pounding sickly off grey slabs of deceased pig muscle, and a man dusting a sprinkling of salt or spice over a carved rib of bovine corpse.

My head pulled back, giving me the appearance of multiple chins of disgust. My gut churned as I turned my head away. “Why would you show me those??! THEY’RE REVOLTING!!”  

Dib frowned, irritated, and put his phone away. “The “meat” those memes are talking about? It references human JUNK- y’know, genitalia? The memes aren’t talking about actual dead farm animals. And, that’s what I’m saying.” He put his large warm hand on my shoulder and continued, sure to hold my eye contact as he put the curl of his thick broad thumb against my cloth covered collar bone. I tensed my guts to keep my tymbal from rattling. “The government has skool children trade literal meat, so we get the idea early on that we’re supposed to exchange our "meat" with people we're attracted to. So that way, we learn to breed, and the men in power get more workers and soldiers and grease for the wheels of their self destructing machine.” My eyes flicked to look at his hand- the long pale olive fingers, the beaten fight scarred knuckles. My gaze then returned to Dibs humorless expression. “That’s a… problem?” Dib groaned, he rolled his eyes, he took his hand off my shoulder. 

It slid down to my hip, his free hand mirrored the motion  and I was lifted up from the bed and onto my humans lap. He held me there and growled at me in frustration. “YEAh! Zim! It’s a problem! If people are going to have sex it should be their own choice to do so, it isn’t something we should be culturally brainwashed into accepting! And we don’t NEED to do it! Some people are asexual- some people don’t want children and-” Dib rambled, on and on, laying out the injustices of an archaic capitalist system reliant on the breeding whims of its workers. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the argument was fueled by Dibs xenophilic leanings and revulsion towards his own kind. I gave less than a quarter of a shit about the very political tangent my human was going off on, but I did like how Dibs lap made for a nice sitting surface, and how the heat of his angry body felt against my skin. As Dib spoke I smoothed out the front of his damp black wife beater absentmindedly, my expression unmoved. As my hand rested in the center of Dibs chest, I patted him, I then mock pouted at him. “Poor Dib, how he’s been rejected by his own kind at every turn. How hard it must’ve been for you! Brainwashed into needing the fuck, harassed by the need for fuck with noooo options for how to obtain it!!”

That got him to glare at me, and my spine tingled for it. I grinned as he countered; “You’re missing the point.” And I kept going. “Addicted to the unknown feeling he can never hope to attain, his vile monster meat might have shriveled up without the wetness- like an unwatered flower! Like a rotting length of carrot! Like a bundle of seaweed on a beach, growing drier and nastier the longer it’s left alone, collecting nothing but mold and botfly eggs and-” Dib grabbed me by the throat. His hand closed around my throat. He gave a warning squeeze as he told me to shut up and I peeped in response. 

Lowly, my tymbal rattled. 

Dibs narrowed angry eyes softened as he caught the surprised chirp of arousal. 

The words on my tongue stalled at the tight curling of his long fingers as they overlapped my neck.

“Even if that was how things worked, I’m not at risk of that anymore, am I?” 

Dib looked at me with a gaze that implored an answer, and I shrugged coyly. As he frowned and squeezed harder I gagged, my stomach fluttered and a chirp rattled out of me far clearer than the first. 

"Mhhn. That's what I thought."

Dib hummed, his human purr was deep and infuriating. He used his free hand to shift my placement on his long thigh, so that I straddled his thigh as he choked me. My eyes began to water as he raised up his knee and gently bounced my vent against his leg. 

There is nothing playmates can do for eachother that a squidgyblit cannot also achieve the end goal of. However, being choked while your nemesis grinds your pleasure center against his leg hits differently. 

I moaned with a grimace. I scowled at him as he drew another choked out squirm from my body. Unpleasant as the sensation of constriction around my throat was, we both knew the short term strangulation wouldn't kill me. It was a comfortable routine and Dib continued his gloating games. 

"You think you can resist all this? You think you can resist the urge to get absolutely wrecked- by someone who's going to lovingly put all your pieces back together when he's done? You need me as bad as I need you, you fucking moron."

He’s wrong. I don’t need him. But, his games are so amusing, they’re so entertaining. It’s such a thrill to be obsessed over. If he ever knew that, it would all go to his head. As bad as he already was, there was ample room for things to get worse. Dib pressed his fingers up underneath my jaw and held my mouth shut. My growl came out as a choking sound, I tried to open my mouth wider and he put his free hand on my shoulder as a threat. “Shhh. You don’t need to talk right now. Why don’t you show me what you want?” I glared, I tried to hack out a rebuttal, but he didn’t want that. Pink heat spread across the skin of my face plate, I chirped and ground my slick vent slowly against the black jean fabric of his thigh.  In doing so, I inspired an unhinged smile to pull across his gaunt snout.

He released my throat and my posture bent, towards him as I gasped. My throat opened back up, and my PAK hummed softly as it began to replenish its oxygen reserves.

Dib patted my warm cheek with his hand. “That’s a good boy.” He mocked softly. I was well within my right to bite him. His hands settled on the bone of my hips, I watched his eyes pass over my head and point towards the bunk behind me. The curious gentle twitching of my antenna caught the heat of his words as they stood on end, and I lifted my chin to glare up at him. “Is that really what your brain was being so “loud” over? You’re still angry about our arrangement?” My lip twitched, it’s downwards arch could not have been more dramatic. “HOW could I not be mad about it? You know better than ANYONE what a powerful beacon of mayhem my existence is- that I can be controlled by someone as misshapen and weasley as you is a blistering amount of shame for Zim- full offense.” As I spoke his fingers laid over the small of my back, he rubbed along my tense lower spine and his gentle ministrations forced my aggressively postured antenna to lower. “Oh, full offense taken. But I know you’re happy about it. Deep down, somewhere in your cold blooded brain, there’s a tiny Zim just glowing over how it feels to be fully appreciated. You’re a hideously evil space terror, I can’t take that away from you by loving you. And I wouldn’t want to.” The heat in my face wouldn’t stop, the fluttering sickly feeling in my guts wouldn’t go away. Like knotted strings being unwound or spider web being gently tugged by a trapped fruit fly, the vibrations of his words unwound my nerves. I had to look away from him to speak, the weight of his useless human affection was too heavy to bare the brunt of head on. It was blasphemy that something a horny ugly alien said to me could mean more than the approval of any tallest. “MMMhhNNG. Stop making words.” I growled politely. Dib chuckled without malice, he curled in over me to press his lips to the crest of my skull. “You love serving me.” “Phheh. Zim loves nothing.” “You love what I’ve done to you, Zim. And I can prove it.” Dib lifted me up to move us onto the bunk bed, and bumped the front of his proportionally massive head against the shelf of the top bunk. “Fuck-ow,” “HAH!”

I reached up to hit the button on the bottom of the shelf, and the top bunk folded up against the wall behind it. As the mechanical components hissed, Dib rubbed his five head. “Yeah? That’s funny? You think your master getting brain damage is just hilarious don’t you?”

“If my “master” (I used my fingers to make mock air quotes) is dumb enough to turn his brain to garbage when we aren’t even under attack, he’s not showing mastery over anything, is he?” Dib dropped me out of his arms and onto the bed, I landed with a yelp of surprise though the impact came painlessly. “HEY!”

With his teeth clenched and his eyes narrowed Dibs hands flew over my body, grabbing and groping, pulling off boots and leggings, striping me of the new uniform I’d been given, replacing dark blue cloth with an expanse of green skin. There was ample evidence to suggest Dibs need was as urgent as my own, from his feverish actions to the telltale tenting at the front of his tight emo boy pants. He needed me. I gave a quick shiver twitch at the feeling of air on my exposed skin, and hissed at him. He pinned my chest down with one hand, and sneered at me as the other cupped over my pelvis. “Your standards are way too fucking high for someone who screws up constantly.” I grinned at him with challenging eyes as my legs folded up and opened. “Where would your challenge be if I lowered them, Dib?” His middle finger split the wet slit of my vent open. He traced the sensitive pink interior and I had no choice but to draw in an afflicted breath. The finger slid deeper, he brushed the base of my wriggling dwarf ovipositor, and the distraction sent my antenna fully back. “You, crave conquest.” I crooned, distracted. Sensations continued. I felt the shivers of pleasure in the back of my teeth, my tymbal rattled with quick twitching clicks each time his middle finger teased the inch length of my pink wiggly hot button. “You don’t know what I crave, Zim.” I cackled, light and airy and I gripped the blankets beside my face. I bit my lip and looked at him. His thumb slid into my slit and he gently pinched his fingers around my “dick”. I gasped sharply. I kicked out a heel as he pressed firmly enough to make me whine. I could not help how my eyes wanted to roll back into my skull at the continued friction, but I swear I caught the reddening of his cheeks before vision became meaningless. I do know. I chirped, I moaned, I rubbed my cheek into the soft blankets stained with floral detergent as the tingling feeling of goodness rolled from my loins up the rest of my body. I felt good, and I made it LOOK good. Dib likes to watch me writhe, and in return he  rubbed over and over, again and again he rubbed, till it seemed I was breaching a new level of tingly bliss with every passing second. “But, I know what you want, don’t I?” I groaned in disagreement, his fingers stalled on my sex, then his thumb rubbed small twitching strokes at it’s base. I trembled all over at the teasing agitation, and breathed out hard. “MHn, you’ve… got AN idea, of it.” Dibs motions were less practiced as he set out to release his tube steak from it’s denim cage, but he didn’t move his hand from the source of my sultry keening sounds. He wouldn’t, I had been so SO fucking good to him. Letting him work uninterrupted without a single complaint of boredom. I hadn’t tried to attack him in DAYS. It was a personal best record at the time. I was overdue for a reward.

“UHM, EXCUSE YOU??” Dib took his hand out of my vent and I sat bolt upright on my elbows, glaring at him in a sex flushed daze as I watched him inch the clothing down his nearly non-existent ass. “I WAS BUSY. Who said you could STOP?”

He pushed me back down, grabbed my leg and sharply fixed himself between my open thighs. “I’m not stopping, you know I’m not stopping you shrill shitty bedbug.” It spiraled into more routine. In the act of copulation I could always count on the sensation of his fingers sliding into my orifice to pull it’s tight walls steadily open. I could feel all the bumps and ridges, the rough calluses, the finger pad curling around my core and pulling delicious sensation from the thing inside me that made my guts twitch and tremble and rattle like a sack of angry crickets. It didn’t take much. I didn’t need long, and he wasn’t willing to hold off from indulging in the ambrosial clutch of a wanting Irken tunnel. I groaned as he withdrew three of his fingers from me, pulling with them a thin strand of pinkish slick that broke and collapsed over my cleft. I trembled, I hissed in disgust with myself as Dib aligned the head of his extraterrestrial shaft with it’s destination. As he looked down on me, he commanded. “Beg.” “What?” My head cocked, one antenna lifted while the other lowered, my hand reached up to wipe the pearling sweat from my brow. “Really???” He ground his length into the gooey mess he’d left my vent in, I grit my teeth as my tymbal rumbled. “Yeah. Really Zim.” “Mhgghh.” Eyes closed I tensed as the friction of dick on dick action swayed my compliance. “ Plleeeeeaaaase.” “Please what?~” I tried to scowl at Dibs goading, but his grinding made me bite my own tongue. “You have to say it, pet. I won’t give it to you unless you ask properly.” The nickname is a scorning stinging wound that burbles and pops like a pollution born wound, it feels like a hot sudden burn, it catches me the way his fingers do when they clamp around my most intimate points. In the most pathetic of tones and volumes, I answer my mate; “Please, please fill me with your cum, master Dib.” I was rewarded by a hand coming to stroke across my skull. He cradled the dome of my head and caught one of my antenna stalks between his fingers. With the same care he gave my cock, he gently strokes the black hairs to reward me. “Good boy. Good bug.” When the rutting commences sense tumbles out the window in a broken screeching fury, like an escaped chimp on meth, like a rat on fire making a break for water. I lose my fucking mind to the reactions of my body. The vehicle rocks under us with the power of Dibs mighty  thrusts.He fills me so deeply with his oversized ovipositor, I can feel his pulsing want bulging against the skin of my stomach at full hilt. When he finally spills in me I am so wound up that I have already hit my climax twice over. I snarl, I lean into him and the lips I have put to his salty skin part so I can taste his sweat on my tongue. My jaws open wider, and as Dib grunts, at the height of his peak, I bite hard enough to puncture his fragile skin on the edge of my teeth. The red taste of metal is smeared over my lips, on my tongue, over the pasty tan palette of his shoulder muscle. Dib hisses air in through his teeth. “You couldn’t- you couldn’t help yourself, could you?” His panting breath stalls his words, a red tinted smile spread across my fuck drunk face. I licked my lips as I replied, and watched a thin trail of human red meet up with the black fabric of his shirt and diffuse into it. 

“No, no I couldn’t.” I hummed back at him. In the state of high endorphine swing I am not fully myself. Everything was brighter, lighter, more exciting. A hazy happy drugged exisence takes hold of me and sways me to Dibs whims. As he pulls out of me, he sighs with a shivering buzz. “Then, you’re not done yet.” In a matter of minutes Dib is redressed while I remain naked, wrists and ankles shackled to the four rectangular points of the bunk via metal shackles that the walls of the Arr Vee spat out. I was only just beginning to come out of my fogy mental state when my human retrieved a black blunt vibration wand from a drawer of tormenting devices. Over the following hour I grew more and more delirious as Dib wrung my body out for increasingly mind crushing orgasms. Things stopped having meaning, Dibs taunting words lost their sense, and I rattled straight through to my bones. That I could not pull my limbs in towards myself and protect my body from the assault of sensation had at one point been disquieting, but then and there, it encouraged me to let go of my resistance. I had let go of my fruitless delusions, I had given myself up to Dib, and Dib did not stop till I was crying with the intensity of multiple peaks.

It made up for everything else that had happened. The blinding beacon of his smothering affections absorbed me in it’s garish embrace as he unshackled me from the walls. He cleaned me, he held me in a folded blanket  till the shaking of my overwhelmed body stopped. My prickly insults bounced off him like harmless pebbles of sand.  The Dib stroked over my antenna, groomed them with the sex scented oils of his fingers, the Arr Vee reaked of the smell of our sins. Accepting Dibs terms of affection is illegal, but I’m defective anyways, aren’t I?

[lay-d-l]

Zoyalai Modern AU

This spring I joined @grishaversebigbang and for whatever reason I signed up as a writer. Not a very smart idea it was very stressful and I don’t even like it that much, but y’know, next year, I’ll be ready. 

I worked with incredibly talented people who are, generally the sweetest human beings you could meet. 

Materialki:

@someofgennie x

@edmeom x

Corporalki:

@shelbychild

Fic summary: Zoya was living day for day, not caring really, not after him. After she bumps into a guy at her favorite coffee shop, her life gets interesting again. Will she let herself feel again?

you can find my fic here *it’s not there yet, so if you wanna see it, keep reading*

It was a wet Tuesday morning; it had been raining all night and I wasn’t feeling like going out. But things happen 24/7 and that means reporters, like me, work 24/7. I wiggled out of bed and went to the bathroom. Seeing what I saw, I groaned. It's Zoya's-Famous-Bed-Hair. Once, in junior year, I woke up late and didn't have time for hair and makeup. So, naturally, I put on the first thing I got my hands on and ran out. Which is usually okay, right? Yeah, well Os Alta Speciality School has uniforms. Though, they’re not like Ketterdam ones. In Ketterdam, it's regular pants-shirt-jumper; in Os Alta they wore keftas. That's not the point, though; the night before, Genya and I were out, partying, so I wore clothes from last night's party. The principal suspended me for the day. This morning, I braided my hair, took my laptop, and left for the Dragon Scale. Dragon Scale is a coffee shop just around the corner from my apartment. Since I started drinking coffee when I was fifteen I have always gone there; it felt safe. Mostly because no one, not even Genya, knew about it. Just like every other day, it was almost empty. One person at the counter and a few others scattered in the back. I went to the counter and Anna, the barista, smiled at me. "The usual?" she asked. "You know it," I smiled back. "Could you bring it to me though? I have a lot of work today." Not turning from the shelves she said, "No worries." With that I went to sit by the window. I liked looking at people as they passed by, even when it's not a busy day. I opened the laptop and started writing: the elections are nearing, are you ready to decide between our two competitors? Is it going to be the cunning Petyr or the sly Nikolai Lantsov? I was never into politics, but Shelby, my publisher, insisted I write about this year's election. I love my job, I really do, but this is incredibly boring and the campaigns don't start until a few weeks from now, so when Anna brought my frappe, I looked to the street. I was like a less smart Sherlock Holmes. Meaning I can't really deduct, I just notice how people walk and dress, or if they have any ticks. Like if their left shoulder is lower than their right one. There was a woman in a hot pink coat, which was an unusual choice considering not many people wear bright colours at this time of year. A pig tailed girl who had stuck a lollipop to her mother's jacket. And a guy who was trying so hard not to be seen, but who obviously failed. With nothing else to do I packed my laptop, took my cup and went out. As I was turning to say bye to Anna, I bumped into a wall. I said, "Really? Couldn't have told me I'm going into a wall???" She started laughing hysterically. "What?" "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm no wall." I turned around. He definitely wasn't a wall. "Witty remarks are really unnecessary." I said. He put his arms up in surrender. "I am sorry that I bumped into you though." “Don’t worry, it could have been someone not as pretty as you.” “Thank you, I think. I’m going to go now. Bye Anna!” as I was walking out I heard Anna talking to the man.

Next day, I was sitting in the park, trying to write something on the elections but it was a no go. I was closing my laptop when I felt someone sit beside me. I looked to my right and saw the guy from the coffee shop. “What does ‘Z’ stand for?” “What are you doing here?” I asked, “Are you following me?” “No, I was walking, and I saw a familiar face, thought I say ‘Hi’. What does ‘Z’ stand for?” “It stands for Zebra.” “Really?” “No, of course not, it stands for Zoya.” “Oh that’s a nice name, is it yours? What does it mean?” “Yes, of course it’s mine. It means ‘life’”I said. “And you are?” “Nikolai.” he looked at his watch, “As much as I liked this encounter, I must go now.” “Bye?” He bowed to his waist, “Farewell.”

I snoozed my alarm three times, but it kept ringing. Then I realised it's not a regular alarm, it's a Genya alarm. "What is it, Kostyk?" I said into the phone. "Oooh!" she exclaimed, "Kostyk, that sounds nice. Not used to it though." "I know that's why I said it. What's the rush?" "It's Saturday." "Oka-" "ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU FORGOT OUR WEEKLY MEETING???" "Don't yell," I said. "Of course I didn't forget, you'd kill me if I did. I just didn't think it'd be this early." "Early?" she asked, "Zoya it's 11:00 in the morning!" "Oops? Okay, well, I'm obviously awake now, so what were you thinking of doing?" I asked. "The Zoo! Winter is coming, and I want to see all the summer animals before they stop going out." "Sure, meet you at the park in two hours?" "Yeah, love you!" she said, and hung up. I got up and went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. It was empty, guess I forgot to go to the store. So I decided to go to a bakery down the street, hoping they still have something warm. Luckily for me, they did. I bought two dollars worth of mini-whinnies and got back home. It was a relatively sunny day, so I sat at the balcony. And for a Saturday, it wasn't really busy. Besides Genya days, Saturdays are usually the farmers market days too. Most people don't have time to buy groceries during the week. I looked up to the Grand Palace. Tourists always said it was the most beautiful building in Os Alta, but I could never see it. It's not ugly, I just found the Little Palace more interesting. The Grand Palace is like any other palace ever, with big towers and shiny roofs, I can see that in any place that had a royal dynasty. But only we have a huge library with a fountain next to the royal Palace. I looked at my watch and yelped, I'm gonna be late!, I thought. I changed from my sweats and tee, and put on jeans, a jumper and boots, In case it rains. Took the leather jacket and keys from the hanger and ran out. The park wasn't far from my apartment so I walked. When I got to our usual meeting spot, Genya was already there. I waved apologetically. She rolled her eyes: "At least you're here, let's go!" "Fine, fine, I'm going!", I laughed. We sat in her car and went to the zoo. During the ride we talked about what we did during the week, how's married life and how's David in general, but all that was dropped the moment we walked through the gates of the zoo. First we saw the birds; pigeons, eagles and those funny colored ones that sing. Next animals were sheep, llama and deer. Their cages were around a pavilion that had horses and ponies you could ride, but those are mostly for kids. Few years back, Genya asked if we could ride but they wouldn’t let us. She said “it wasn’t fair that only kids can do fun stuff…” and continued to tell me how when she has kids they will be free to do whatever they want. We walked next to the deer cage. David loves them so every time we’re here we tend to stay a bit longer. Today we saw there was a new addition to the family. On the cage it said she was a doe named Lola. Next stop were the ostridges and the emus, we skipped those, mostly because one ostridge bit me a few years back when I tried to feed it. Genya got it on camera. On the other side of the sidewalk were the bison, and we always acted as if they were the flying bison from Avatar: the Last Airbender. We named all of them Appa. The seals were sleeping so we went to the reptiles instead. Most of the snakes were also sleeping, as was the aligator so we decided to skip the hippoes too and went to see the wolves. Though they didn't pay attention to us as they were eating. The monkeys were mostly shitting onto their hands and throwing it at each other… The petting zoo was empty so we had all the little goats to ourselves! When I was a kid, and my mom still my mom, I tried to take one of the goats with me home, but I couldn’t carry it alone so it stayed in the petting zoo. When we got to the bears most of them were in the water, but there was one who went in circles around his pond, like he was trying to catch fish. Lions were lying around, hyenas were laughing at the visitors, which is not creepy at all… At that point we got tired and went to the big pond where the ducks and the swans are. I sat on a bench while Genya bought ice cream. “Strawberry?” she asked. I just nodded. "So," she started, "you're not seeing anyone, right?" I choked, "What?!" "Are you seeing anyone?" "Where is that coming from?!" "David recently got together with a childhood friend and when he got home, he said you'd like him and that you should go on a date." she said, casually. "Genya, you know I'm not the one for dating…" She touched her eye-patch and looked away. "I know, but just try? I mean, just meet with him, then decide what to do. Not everyone is like Alex…" I sighed, "Sure, wh-" "REALLY?", she exclaimed. "Yes, chill. Who is he?" "Oh, oh… I have no idea. David just called him Sobachka, but-" "Genya…" "But he can't be bad if he's friends with David. If you don't feel like staying, I'll pull you out." "Okay, Pinkie Promise?", I asked, and she smiled, "Cross my heart, hope to fly!" We threw the rest of our cones to the ducks, passed the safari animals, and finished this year's last visit to the zoo. Next to the zoo is an empty parking lot that has a small adventure park. Ever since I befriended Genya, after the zoo we go to the ferris wheel and the bumper cars.

Since I agreed to go on a blind date I decided it was best to do it in a familiar setting. So I told Genya that I wanted it to be in a coffee shop near my flat. I put on my battle armor, jeans and a sweater, and went out. The streets were empty, even for a weekday. I went into the shop and looked around to see a familiar face. Anna, behind the counter, Gennie in the corner, drawing probably. I sat in my usual place next to the window and waited. Anna came by the table. “Hey, what can I get you?” I looked up, “Nothing yet, I’m on a date…” “That’s a new one, how did that happen?” “I was out with Genya and she suggested it. And it’s Genya, she thinks he’s good, and she would not stop until I said yes so I’m here to see what happens.” She smiled, “Well, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.” “Yeah,” I said and looked behind her, “Gennie’s calling for you.” She turned around, “Oh, I better get that, she’s trying out a new technique.” Then she left. The set time was 17:00, I came a little earlier, just in case. I took my phone out of my pocket to see the time. He’s late. Door opened and Nikolai came in, he looked around and rolled his eyes when he saw me. He came and sat at the chair opposite of me. “Honestly Zoya, is it not tiring to follow me? You could just ask for my number.” I scoffed; ”Don’t flatter yourself I’m here for a date.” His eyes widened, “Come again?” “You thought you were-” “You’re a friend of David’s.” “What? How do you know that?” I asked. He scratched his head, “I, oh Saints…” “You’re my date, aren’t you?” “I would seem so.” I frowned, “Hey, don’t look so pissed I didn’t know either.” “Do you want to do this?” I asked. “I don't see why not.” he said. “I have no expectations, we sit and talk. If we click, cool. If not, we had an interesting afternoon. Deal?” He put his hand out. I shook it; “Zoya Nazyalenski, nice to meet you.” “Nikolai, my pleasure.” he smiled. Anna came by again, “This, it’s hilarious.” she said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.” Nikolai replied. She laughed; “ What can I get you?” “I’ll have a Frappe.” I said, “ What do you want?” Nikolai looked at me, then at Anna, “I’ll have what she’s having, and a plate of biscuits.” Anna nodded, “Coming right up.” “So,” I started, “do we start again, or do we just continue where we left off?” “We continue, can't pretend like you’re not my biggest fan.” i laughed, “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. On another note, how do you know David?” “We lived in the same neighborhood when we were kids.” he said, “One day, when we were 8, there was an explosion in his garage. I was playing in my backyard when it happened, I came running to see what happened, to see if he was okay. Spoiler alert he was, but I think he burned his eyebrows off.” “What happened?” I asked eagerly. “When?” I sighed, “What caused the explosion?” “Oh.” he looked confused, “I don’t know. I never asked. And how do you know David?” “I’m afraid my story isn’t so interesting, we met at highschool.” “You went to the same school?” “Yes but we were on different courses. I took journaling, he took engineering. He wasn’t social, I barely knew him before my best friend, his now wife Genya, worked up the courage to ask him out in junior year.” “Yeah, he definitely wasn’t a social butterfly. I was really surprised when I heard he was getting married.” “But I didn’t see you at the wedding.” I stated. “My father got sick, I couldn’t come” “I’m sorry to hear that.” he smiled; “I’m not, he’s an ass” “Who’s an ass?” Anna came with our order. “His father.” “My father” we said at the same time. I looked at him and smiled, he winked at me. “I see where you get it form” He gasped; “you didn’t” “I did.” Anna facepalmed. “I can see this is going great, so I’m gonna go.” “Thank you Anna.” Nikolai said. She waved him off. “Since we’re basically playing 20 questions, what else do you want to know?” I asked. He looked out the window, “Cliche, but, what is your favorite season and why?” “Winter, because there is nothing better than a wool jumper. My turn. Why does David call you Sobachka?” “This got very personal, very fast.” “Oh,” i said, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” “No it’s okay, no one is ever that direct with me.” he said and ate his last biscuit. “Why? Is it because you’re in this year's elections?” “I thought you didn’t recognise me.” “Oh please, I’m writing an article about you and the other guy” “Huh, he really is ‘the other guy’” he said. “So, are you going to tell me what’s behind your nickname?” “Right, ugh, I’m not my father's son, my mom cheated. Not many people know this. The ones who do call me Sobachka, y’know, like a dog.” “That’s rough buddy… So it doesn’t bother you?”I asked. “No, not really.” I chuckled, “Not many people are like that.” Indeed they are not.” he looked at his watch, “This has been fun, but I’m afraid I must go now. I would like to see you again.” “I would like to see you too.” I smiled.

I was walking down the stairs when I heard my phone ring. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Zoya?”said the voice. “Yes, and you are?” I sighed as I got to the bottom and went to check my mailbox. “Is my voice so plain to you that you do not remember it?” “Nik, it’s not like I have your number saved in my phone. How may I help you this fine evening?” “I was wondering if you are free tonight? For a stroll in the park.” “We saw each other two days ago!” “Please? I need a friendly companion.” he paused, “We’ll eat doughnuts?” “How dare you use doughnuts against me?! Of course I’ll come. Meet in front of the Little Palace fountain in an hour? “Done. I’ll see you there.” I smiled fondly. “Bye Nik.” During the past few weeks I have been seeing him more and more. One Saturday he and David tagged along on our weekly meeting. I got out of the building and went across the street. There were lots of cars so I decided against calling a taxi. It wasn’t a long walk to the Little Palace, but I had to go to the Library first. There weren't many people in the Library so it was a quick stop. The Librarian, Kuwei, is a friend of Nina’s so I paused to chat with him, but he had work to do so I left him to it. When I got to the fountain, Nikolai was already there. I kissed him on the cheek and sat next to him. “What’s up?” He picked up a bag and gave it to me, “Doughnuts first.” “Honestly I don’t know how can someone not like you.” I said and took a bite of the doughnut. “So good…” “Me or the doughnut?” he asked. “What?” “You said it’s good. Me or the doughnut?” “Oh,” I laughed, “definitely the doughnut!” “HA-HA, very funny. Look I didn’t want to ask you, but I really need help with my speech.” I wiped my mouth to get rid of any leftover sugar and took out a notepad out of my bag. “Sure, what's it about?” “Well, this showing is supposed to be about children. Their education, the schools, hospitals, even orphanages.” he rubbed his neck. “That’s great, children should be taken care of, we know that first hand.” “Yeah, but I don’t know how to phrase it. I thought you could help with that.” “Of course. You’re gonna tell me everything that you want to say, we’ll write that down and work our way from there.” We were working on the speech until the sun went down. I looked up at him and said:”It’s getting late, I should go…” Nikolai scratched his head, “Yeah, no, of course, we’ll see eachother on David's birthday, right?” “Yes. This has been fun, I’d like to be more involved with your campaign if you’ll have me.” “You’re always welcome, always.” he hugged me, “I’ll see you in a few days. Bye Zoya.” “Bye Nik.”

“Botkin is making a reunion.” “What, when?” “I don’t know, some time after today.” Genya said. “Hold on, how do you know that?” “Didn’t he call you?” “Not that I know. Wait let me check,'' I took my phone from the table and looked at my phone log, “Oh, right I do have a missed call from an unknown caller. But do I really have to go, I mean I’ll see everyone I like tonight.” Genya sighed, “Zoya, it’s a party, you are going, you are going to have fun.” “But-” “End of discussion.” “EnD oF dIsCuSsIoN” I mocked her. “Oh, piss off. Just don’t be late.” “That’s you Kostyk. Gotta go, love you!” I ended the call. We are celebrating David’s birthday tonight, I had to go and buy him a gift. A normal person would have done that by now, but I just love to do everything last minute. I dressed up, took my wallet and went out to the hardware store. It started to rain during the taxi ride, I was, naturally unprepared for that, thus making me a bit damp when I entered the store. One of the older workers came up to me and said:”A bit unexpected, isn’t it?” “You have no idea.” I replied. “How can I help you?” “It’s my friend's birthday, and he likes to repair regular household items, or just make up new things, so i thought to buy him a new tool kit because his old one is really worn out and probably very rusty or just damaged.” “Right.”he said, “Would you like a completely new tool box, or separate objects and a tool box?” I looked around, “Well, if it were for you what would you get?” “Is there a price range?” “Not really, no. But let’s not make it more than a weekly paycheck.” After a series of isles and relentless explaining of different brands of the same monkey wrench, he recommended a box with wrenches of all sizes, seven different screwdrivers and some kind of special doorknob key that is also in different sizes and very useful. When I bought the tool box, I went to the liquor store to buy Genya’s favorite wine, but the rain hadn’t stopped. I was dripping wet when I came to their apartment. I knocked, twice, when David opened the doors, he went in for a hug, I put my finger up “No, no, we’ll do that when I’m dry.” He shrugged. “If you say so.” “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” “Thank you Zoya, come on in.” he let me through.I pointed my finger at Genya, “See, not late! And not the last one to get here.” “Not to burst your bubble, but you are the last one.” it was Mal. I looked around, Mal and Alina were on the couch, Nina sitting beside them. Toyla was on  the armchair next to the couch. Tamar and Nadia were on the loveseat opposite the couch, near the kitchen. Leoni and Adrik on the floor beside them. Genya was on a stool, her back turned. “No I'm not, Nik isn’t here”. I took off my jacket, and sat on the edge of the couches arm rest.. “Nikolai isn’t coming, his father got worse. Didn’t he tell you?” “No…” I took my phone out of my pocket, “I really need to get this serviced, don’t I?” Nina raised a glass and said: “Yes, yes you do.” I stuck out my tongue to her, “Shut up.” “To change the topic, Zoya, are you going to the reunion?” Leoni asked. I groaned. “Yes… But I don’t really want to.” “Why is that that?” “I don’t like people from highschool, plus, half of them hate me because I acted like a bitch. “ i said, “You all are enough for me.” “That’s cute.” Adrik said. I smiled, “Yeah, cute. And honestly what can we do there and not here? I mean the only highlight of that reunion is Botkin.” Genya looked at me, “Zoya. You are going. You can Ask Nikolai to come with you.” “I doubt Nik would say yes. It’s a highschool reunion full of people he doesn’t know.”   “You’d be surprised.” said Alina. “And with that comment we conclude this topic...” I said.

“That’s enough talking about food, It’s making me hungrier than I already am.” David said after an intense discussion of ‘Are Waffles Better Than Pancakes’. If you ask Nina, they are. Though, for Nina, waffles are better than anything. David stood up, “The boys and I will go to Jess’ to get pizza, you try to be nice and leave some wine for us, okay?” We started to laugh, “We’ll do our best.” said Tamar. “Oh, do you think Darina’s working?” asked Tolya. “Why?” asked Mal. “Well, she likes to draw, if she’s working, we could ask that she draws David with ketchup on one pizza, and write ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ on the other.” “Huh, could be fun.” said Adrik, as he went after the others and walked out of the flat.   “Bring umbrellas, it’s still raining!” yelled Nadia after them, “Idiots…” she muttered. I looked at Genya, “Kostyk.” “What?” “Go bring out the good wine.” I said. “Ooh, yes, bet! Alina, with me, we need to find the wine.” They stood up, and went to the kitchen. "Okay," Tamar started, "so there's this game Tolya and I used to play as kids, when the boys get back do you want to try?" "Yeah, sure." I said and turned my head towards the kitchen, "Girls, Tamar has a game idea, come here!" They stumbled back to the living room. Alina sat down and asked "What's the name of the game?" "Um, I don't really know? We always called it Nervous Breakdown, cause no one would believe Tolya, but I think it's called Werewolves." she said. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" yelled Leoni. "I think I know that game, but we called it Mafia. You played it with cards?" Genya sighed, "That's great and all, but we don't know how to play." "True." I pitched in. "Okay, so this is kinda complicated so no interruptions and questions are after I explain how the game works, cool?" Tamar asked. "Yes mom." we said in usion. "Genya, go grab the cards, rest of you sit around the table." When Genya got back and sat down, Tamar started to take the playing cards. She started explaining: "Point if the game is to find out who's the werewolf. We sit in a circle. Everybody has a card that's in front of them, that's your card and there's a card in the middle. After you see what's your card and  what role are you playing you put it down and don't touch it. You put your hand next to it and close your eyes. Then when I say your role you wake up and do your roles part "Since it's seven of us there's eight playing cards. Two Jokers, they're the werewolf, they change the middle card with anyone's card and touch the person who's card they changed. But they touch with the card not the hand. Nod if you understood." We all nodded. "Then there's a Queen, she's the helper for the werewolfs, she wakes the same time as them and does nothing during that time, but when we all wake she tries to convince the rest of us that she's the werewolf so we'd kill her instead of the real werewolf so that the werewolfs would win. "Then there's the Jacks, he's a psychic, he can see anybody's card and the middle one, but he doesn't touch and he can't see his card in case it's been changed during the werewolf time. "Next up is King, he's a thief. He changes his card with anybody's card and touches the person who's card he changed. And then there's the Aces who are villagers and do nothing." she finished. I looked at all of them one by one and started laughing. Everyone was throwing a fit, there were a lot of spilled drinks. "No joke now, I think we could try, but everytime someone makes a mistake we drink!" Nina said. "You're gonna be the first one!" We started laughing again. And after a few more useless tries, we got serious. They all had so many questions that took a long time answering, boys got back with food before we could even play. So as we ate, we tried to convince them to play, but it was useless since they were drunk off their minds. To be fair I wasn't much better. We spent the night eating and drinking. Mostly drinking. And eating. It was getting late, most of the group left. Alina, Mal and I were still at the flat. David and Mal were talking in the kitchen, Alina was in the bathroom. Genya and I were on the floor.“Zoya?” “Yeah?” “You’re drunk, right?” asked Genya. I looked up and back down, the room was wobbly. “Yeah, definitely.” “Do you like Nikolai?” “Of course I like Nik, he’s a great friend.” She shook her head, “Do you like Nikolai? Like, like-like.” “Oh…” “Well?” “I- no. Maybe, how does one know that? Is there a test I can do online?” Genya started squealing, “HA! I knew it!” She turned toward the kitchen, “I raise my bet to 20 dollars!” But I didn’t hear that. I was thinking of Nikolai, of his face when we see each other.

I came home from Genya and David’s. I showered and put on my pajamas. I fell asleep. I woke up. My phone was ringing. It’s election day. I fell asleep. I woke up. I tried to write. I tried to eat. I fell asleep. I woke up. I got another text. “We won the election. -Nik”. I fell asleep. I woke up. I failed to write. I failed to eat. I fell asleep.

When I finally decided it was time to get out of the house, I went to Dragon Scale. It was extremely windy outside so I put on a beanie. When I walked in, my head was bowed, I went full face into someone. “I’m so sorry.” I said and continued forward,when someone took my hand. I turned around and saw Nikolai. “Zoya.” “Hi.” “Why didn’t you answer my calls? Genya said you were alright but you scared me to death!” I just stared, "Zoya, talk to me!" "Can we go and sit?" I asked. He followed me as I  went to the corner booth and sat down, Nikolai a few steps behind me. "I got really drunk at Genya and David's. And I said something to Genya. And I got scared, because if it's true it might end bad for me, just like last time." "What are you talking about?" "i was in many relationships, but none were very serious until I met this guy, it was years ago, when I was in highschool. He was older than me, and I really liked him, at the beginning. But as it went on I realised he was being toxic. It… escalated." "Ecsalated how? Did he hurt you?" Nikolai asked. "No, not me, but Genya. You know that eye-patch she wears?" He nodded. "He did that, I don't know how, I was at work when it happened. I asked her to tell me but she refused, I just stopped pushing." I bowed my head. "Zoya." I looked up. "Nik, if I were to tell you that I was in love with someone, what would you do?" "I tell you that I'm happy for you and that he is an extremely lucky guy." He looked kinda sad. "And what if I told you that I'm in love with you, what would you do?" He shot up in his seat. "What?" I smiled, "I'm in love with you Nik." "I-" "Do with that what you will, but I don't want it, this, to ruin our friendship." "I'm afraid it did." He got up, leaned across the table and kissed me.

Next month was full of TV screening and restless nights as Nik and I wrote his speeches. But Botkins' reunion was soon, so he would take a few days off to have fun. I spent every free moment with Genya and Alina, shopping for the reunion. As much as I didn't want to go, shopping was fun. Genya found a dress in the same shade as her hair and Alina found a bodysuit in black and gold. I had a really hard time finding something I like. But the day before I found a perfect dress in victorian blue. Nik wore a gray suit and had this beautiful waist coat. When we got to the ball room in the Little Palace, it was already full, but we kept close to the outer ring. Most of the people were dancing, even Genya and David, but I went to talk to Botkin. "Mr. Botkin." He turned to face me, "Oh, Zoya dear, how has life been treating you?" That was his signature line, "Good. I just wanted to see how have you been doing?" "Never better dear." he looked behind me, "Now go off, there's a handsome young man waiting for a dance." "What?" I turned around and saw Nik. "Oh, thank-" he was already off to talk to someone else. I walked towards Nik. He bowed, "May I have this dance?" I looked around, nobody seemed to notice us. "Yes, yes you may." The music changed to a slow dance. We twirled around, and around. Once we stopped, I realised we were alone on the dance floor and there was a light on me. I turned to face Nik, but he was kneeling on the floor. "Nik," I said carefully, "what are you doing?" He took a box out of his inner pocket and opened it. Inside was the most beautiful emerald I have ever seen. I knew what it ment. “Would you do it?” he asked. I looked up at him, puzzled, "What?" "Well, y'know…" "No, I don't." He sighed: "Make me the happiest man alive. Would you do it?" "Yes." He got up and hugged me, I thought I was going to fall over, when these balloons started falling from the ceiling. I kissed him. "I love you." I said. He smiled, "I know." And kissed me again. When all the balloons fell, Genya came through. "Do you like it?" she asked. "What? Wait, how do you know?" "Oh silly we all knew." I looked around to see my friends standing around us, laughing. Mal said: "We had a bet on when are you getting official." Tolya raised a hand, "I won!" "You lot are unbelievable! Come one, you are being punished, this is a group hug!" That night ended up to be one of my favorites.

I didn't want to wait. We booked a venue for our closest friends. Genya bought me my wedding dress for "being strong, and being my best friend". It was a floor length dress with long sleeves. Top of my hair was in a bun, while the bottom part flowed in the wind. Alina even bought me a crown. I was walking down the aisle when someone came bursting in. I turned to see who it was. "I don't know why am I surprised, you always were a bitch." Genya answered, "What do you want Alexander?" Nik ran down to me and took my hand, "That's him?" he whispered. "Yes, stay here." I told him. "What do you mean "what do I want"? Isn't there a part when I get to the object?" I looked at him. "Alex, if you do not walk out right now, I'm gonna call the cops." "They didn't stop me then, they won't stop me now." "Ugh, you're so full of yourself." I said. Long story short, the cops stopped him. We continued with the ceremony. The priestess looked at me, then Nik and said: "If you went through that, on you wedding day, you can go through anything. Are the vows really necessary?" We shook our heads. "Then, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride." And oh boy did he kiss me.

We're at McDonald's. And we're celebrating. Genya took her milkshake and stood up. Everyone followed her. "For our friends, may they have a long, happy life. Cheers!" There was a long choir of cheers going around. I sat back and looked at Nik and his Happy Meal, "Is it too early to get a divorce?" He looked me and said, with his mouth full of french fries: "Why'd gou go dhat?"

[sharkbait-writes]

I’m going under

Fox-Week, day #1 dancing/mind control

Title from Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi

@loving-fox-hours

To be quite honest, CC-1010 didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Apparently the Empire held fancy parties where their elite drank fancy, sparkly beverages while dressed in big, elaborated, fancy clothes with fancy make-up in a spacious, fancy hall that had the largest, most expensive, fanciest chandelier in the entire solar-system and big, fancy windows and walls, fancy tables, chairs and dishes. Literally everything was fancy. And very shiny. CC-1010 really wished for some better eye-protection, otherwise he would become blind one of these days from all this unnecessary light and shine.

At least the music was sometimes good. The only thing that made these parties tolerable.

As it was, this big and fancy party was more of a gala and if it wouldn’t end soon, someone wouldn’t make it out alive. If not from CC-1010 then from someone else, because, really, who thought it was a good idea to put all the Empires Elite in one room where they are all so easy to get assassinated? Yeah, that was going to need some security, which unfortunately for CC-1010, he was responsible for. That’s the reason why CC-1010 was here anyway, along with two other clone troopers.

Once it was different. Once there had been thousands of them, specialized in various branches of protection. A big one had been the Coruscant Guard, made solely for the purpose of protecting Coruscant. Like CC-1010.

However, that time had ended and now, there were hardly any clone troopers left. Replaced with storm troopers who were nothing compared to CC-1010’s vode. Those troopers weren’t warriors, didn’t have it in their blood like the clones had.

They had steadily been replaced, which is why the only clones in this gala were CC-1010 and two other clones, the rest all shock troopers. If one were to ask his opinion on this decision, he would without any doubt say how bad it was. But nobody would want to hear it because he was a clone. Nobody cared about his kind.

Still, CC-1010 was a commander and responsible for the entire security of tonight. Although he shouldn’t have, he did feel great delight in commanding those shock troopers though, especially since they thought they were better than the clones and looked down on them.

A rambunctious round of laughter started again, which pulled CC-1010 out of his thoughts and made him sigh. He officially had had it with the gala.

Fortunately, it seemed the galaxy was listening to his please for once and the guests started leaving. Soon only the staff and security were left. While the cleaning crew started cleaning, a few guards started to leave. CC-1010 searched for his two vode. Both weren’t originally from the Coruscant Guard and were therefore not familiar with staying up this long, while only standing to the side and being ignored. Once he found and stood in front of them, CC-1010 immediately felt their exhaustion and let them go to get their well-deserved sleep.

Since CC-1010 was responsible for the security and that everything went smoothly, he had to be the last one to leave. He waited until the last guard and staff member was gone, before he made his route through the entire building, looked into the rooms they did and didn’t use. He made sure everything was closed and all the lights were off and then walked back into the main hall, where the entire party had gone down.

By the time he arrived there, the moon had already begun to set and the stars began to fade as the sun rose once again.

CC-1010 was alone.

And wasn’t that just the story of his life. Even with so many vode, CC-1010 always felt a little lonely and with the years, that feeling only grew.

CC-1010 was alone and he let himself free.

He took off his bucket and combed his fingers through his hair. It was curly -different than that of his vode, whose hair was either wavy or straight- and longer than it should have been. However, CC-1010 rarely had to take of his bucket -perks of being a clone-, so the only people who ever saw his face were vode, who didn’t care how he looked like. In a place where everyone looked the same, no one hated on differences.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he let it go, he pressed a button and music flew out of the speakers of his helmet.

It was nostalgia. The music he always heard towards the end of these kind of galas was always slow and melodic and reminded him of a time he couldn’t remember but was his biggest dream to. He always associated it with his vode. Why, he didn’t know -but kriff did he want to.

Slowly but surely the music enveloped CC-1010 until it was the only thing he heard, he could focus on. The only thing he knew.

As he absorbed it, he let himself move. First small steps but with time, they became surer and wider, growing along with the volume.

He cradled his bucket to his chest as if it’s the only thing he had -and really, it was, wasn’t it?

CC-1010 didn’t think and he was alone, but he let himself free.

He drowned in memories that weren’t his. Of vode who had laughed and played with him. Vode who had loved him. Of a time, he had felt happy -or at least happier than now. He danced like he only ever did when he was loved and accepted, and he remembered.

Slowly the music quieted to a stop and CC-1010 stopped with it. He opened his eyes and realized he lost himself in the music. The sun shone through the transparisteel, highlighting flowing pieces of dust in the stale air and shining on his armour, making it almost glow.

But, as CC-1010 opened his eyes, he realized.

Almost frightened, he lifted one hand to his face and touched his cheeks. Slowly he took them away and looked at his fingers, only to saw them wet. And he felt it. He felt the tear tracks on his cheeks, his puffy and red eyes and the way his mouth trembled. He felt all of this, but at the same time felt nothing. He felt the absolute nothingness that had its home in him. The nostalgia and melancholy vanished away into nothingness. There was nothing and he felt nothing. Emotionless. Catatonic.

Like always. It always happened when he did this.

It’s the price he had to pay just to feel like himself for a small moment.

Shaky hands raised his bucket to a clammy forehead. He shut his eyes, trying not to cry, and yet, a few tears still escaped. They trickled down his cheeks and fell on his bucket, where they left tracks on the side as they dripped down onto the floor. He fell to his knees and broke down sobbing.

He was alone and he let himself free, weeping as he let go.

Because Fox had never felt so lonely and trapped before.

Translation:

Vode - siblings, (it’s what the clones call each other if you haven’t realized by now)

kriff  - an expletive

[star-spangled-steve]

His New Partner

Chapter 15: The Naughty List

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 2179

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, oral sex, fingering, nudity, wrist bondage, Daddy!Kink, Dom!Steve, sub!Reader, dirty talk, cussing.

A/N: Let’s just pretend that it’s even close to Christmas when I’m posting this. Go listen to some Bing Crosby before you read, maybe that’ll get you in the mood.

The roads of Washington, D.C. were snowy on the cold winter night of December 24, 2013. Steve rode alone on his motorcycle as he headed back to his apartment building, ready to call it a day. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy his job working for S.H.I.E.L.D., but being away from home for such a long time got very saddening. Being away from her.

He opened the door to his place and dropped his keys in the dish, running a hand over his handsome face. Guilt is the only emotion that Steve felt. Guilty that he let his girl down, that he couldn’t be home for Christmas.

He took off his thick winter jacket and hung it on the coat rack, kicking off his brown boots. The ever so famous shield got perched up against his apartment’s wall, ready to be taken to work the next day. Ready to be a symbol to the nation.

As Steve went to get himself a glass of water in the kitchenette though, he noticed something peculiar about his bedroom door. It was closed, and Steve had hardly ever closed it. But more importantly, there was light leaking out from beneath it. Steve Rogers always turned off a light when he exited a vacant room.

He quietly picked up the shield and walked to the bedroom door, making sure to stay as close to the wall as possible. To avoid any other unnecessary noise, he slowly turned the knob, taking a discreet peek inside.

“Holy shit.” Steve rasped out, jaw slightly dropping. The sight in front of him was definitely not one to be afraid of, but instead, one that could nearly make him cream his jeans.

There she was, his girl. Not hundreds of miles away, where she was supposed to be, but laid out on his bed. Almost naked.

Y/N was clad in a red lace bra and panty set, with high heels the same colour. Though, that’s not the only thing that caught Steve’s eye. She also had a thick red ribbon wrapped around her waist, tied in a huge bow. Almost as if she was a gift ready to be unwrapped. Unwrapped by him.

“Merry Christmas Eve.” She spoke, batting her eyelashes in what she hoped was a sexy way.

Steve was still standing in the doorway, surprised as ever. “D-Doll, what are ‘ya doing here?” He closed the door behind him, but not before leaning the shield on the wall outside of it.

“Giving you an early Christmas present.” Y/N bit her lip with a nervous grin, rarely having done anything this bold before. “Surprise.”

“And what a damn good surprise it is.” Steve smiled, throwing his shirt over his head and making her giggle. He hopped on the bed, directly overtop of Y/N, and gave her a big kiss on the lips. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” She said, slightly trying to push him off of her and fix her little outfit. “But you’re going to crinkle the bow.”

“Like I wasn’t just going to take it off, anyways.” Steve smirked, encouraging her to give in and wrap her arms around his neck, bringing him down for another kiss. “I knew that giving you a key to this place would be good idea.” He stated when their lips separated.

“Though your neighbour, Kate, caught me sneaking in. I had to explain to her that I was surprising you and make her promise not to tell.” Y/N told him, running her fingers through his sandy blonde locks. “Pretty sure that she thinks I’m a weirdo now.”

“Who cares?” Steve shrugged. “You’re here and that’s what matters.” He leaned down and began to suck on the crook of her neck, making her moan. “As sexy as this is,” he ran his fingers over the cups of her red bra before bringing them to the clip on the back. “I’d prefer it on the floor, baby girl.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip at his words, watching as nearly a quarter of her outfit got tossed to the side. “Really missed this.” She sighed, feeling Steve attach his mouth to one of her perky breasts.

“Tell me, darling. Tell me how much you missed me.” He said in between kisses to her chest, suddenly stopping to look her into her eyes. “Tell me how much you missed your daddy.”

Y/N shuddered, nodding her head a couple of times. “I missed you so much, daddy.” His kisses to her breasts continued, and she rubbed her hands on his bare shoulders. “I missed your touch, missed your kisses. I-I need you, daddy.”

“That’s what I want to hear.” Steve lifted his head and smirked, moving his hands down to her cherry coloured panties. “Such a little baby for me.” He took them off of her legs, adding them to the growing pile of clothing on the carpet. “Such a special princess.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, eyes trained on Steve’s naked chest.

“Tell me, little girl.” He began to untie the red bow that was wrapped around her waist. “Have you been naughty or nice this year?”

“Nice, daddy.” She gulped, wiggling her feet that were still clad in stilettos.

“Hmm… I don’t think so.” Steve took the stray ribbon and began to tie Y/N’s wrists to the bed post, secure enough for them to not slip through. “I think you’ve been real naughty.” His lips trailed down from her sternum to her bare abdomen.

“Aren’t you going to take these off?” She asked, using her chin to gesture to her high heels.

“No, no. Those are staying on tonight.” Steve smirked and continued to lay kisses down her smooth skin, taking in small breaths of her unique perfume every now and then. “This scent is new. What is it, baby?”

“Mistletoe.” Y/N answered, giving him a small smile as he peered up.

“Mistletoe?”

“Yup.” She giggled. “That way, you have to kiss all over me.”

Steve shook his head at her antics, letting out a small laugh. “Oh yes, you’re definitely on the naughty list.” His face made it’s way down to her pussy, fingers slightly spreading her open. “So fucking beautiful.” He rasped before plunging one in.

“O-Oh.” Y/N gasped, slightly tugging on the ribbon.

“Feels great, huh, princess?” Steve gave her a cocky grin, adding another digit and beginning to thrust them in and out.

“S-So great.” She wrapped her legs around his head, forcing him closer.

Steve continued to work her with his hand before giving a cool blow of air to her clit, pressing his tongue against it. The sounds that Y/N was making just urged him on even further.

“Daddy, I’m ‘gonn-I’m ‘gonna-”

“Does my naughty girl want to cum?” He spoke against her folds, fingers never stopping. Steve’s other hand strongly gripped her thigh, sure to leave a mark.

“Yes, please. Please, daddy.” Y/N mewled, subconsciously bucking her hips against his mouth.

“Do it, baby.” He insisted, rubbing a sharp circle around her clit with his tongue.

And so she did. Like a dam inside of her, Y/N’s warm juices drenched Steve’s mouth and hand while she let out a high-pitched moan. She continued to lay panting on the bed, trying to draw herself back into reality as Steve stood up on the floor.

“Mmm.” The man licked his lips. “Now that’s a taste that I most certainly missed.” He stocked forward, pushing his pants down to his knees and standing right in front of Y/N’s head. Steve’s dick was hard with arousal; long, thick, and ready to be sucked. “Come on, open up, baby.”

She eagerly widened her mouth and invited him in, rubbing her tongue against a vein to get him extra exited. Not being able to use her hands was making this job a little more difficult, but Y/N made sure to do her best.

“Fuck, N/N.” Steve groaned, throwing his head back. He placed his hands under her jaw to keep her in place, beginning to plunge in and out of her wet opening. “Good girl.”

His words made her smile around his cock, trying to take him even deeper. Y/N felt the tip against the back of her throat and began to gag, small tears welling up in her gorgeous eyes.

“Sorry, sweetie.” Steve groaned, still continuing to thrust at a relentless pace. “Ah, shit.”

And before she knew it, Y/N felt his sticky cum spill inside of her mouth. She swallowed every drop, catching her breath when he finally took himself out.

“You’re a good girl, taking my cock so well.” Steve spoke in between pants of breath, completely ridding himself of any leftover clothing. “Such a pretty little mouth.”

Y/N gave him a cheeky smile, biting her lip and tugging on the restraints for show. “I want more, daddy.”

“Well that’s a great thing then, because I’m going to fuck you hard, babydoll.” Steve stayed. He put on a condom, from the little stash that he used when she visited, and settled himself between her legs. “You won’t even be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Please, daddy.” Y/N whined, raising her hips as high as she could. “Please fuck me.” She could feel the tip of his cock teasing her dripping hole, and she was beginning to get impatient.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Steve quipped before quickly thrusting into her.

“Oh, oh.” She moaned, eyes fluttering closed. The girl’s hands instinctively tried to grasp onto Steve’s body, but the red ribbon was quick to remind her that she couldn’t. “D-Daddy.”

“Damn, baby.” He grunted as began to move inside of her. Steve’s thrusts started out slow, almost torturous to Y/N. She needed more. More speed, more strength.

“P-Please.” She whined, fingers wiggling above her head. “Fa-Faster, please.”

At her request, he sped up, large hands grasping her hips. Steve leaned down and began to attack her breasts with kisses, hearing Y/N moan even louder. “I love the noises you make, doll.” He smirked against her chest. “Love you so goddamn much.”

She gave him a heavy sigh of pleasure. “I-Oh, I love you too.” Y/N made eye contact with him, sparkling E/Cs meeting shiny blues. Though there was hardly any blue left to see, the majority being covered by his lust-blown pupils. 

“Fuck, darling. You’re squeezing me so hard.” Steve rasped while trying to hit every sensitive spot inside of her. It was definitely working.

“Daddy, I-I ‘wanna cum.” Y/N breathed out, pulling even harder on the bonds. Damn, these things are strong, she thought. Those are the knots of a military man. “Can I-? Oh, god.” She felt Steve begin to play with her clit, making her arch her back.

“Cum for me again, baby.” He said, lips pressed against one of her nipples. “Cum for daddy.”

And with a squeal she followed his instructions, cumming around his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Steve groaned at the feeling of her clenching him, instantly releasing himself as well.

The pair stayed in post-coital bliss, trying to catch their breath. Sweaty, naked bodies practically stuck together, hair all over the place. Y/N wrists we’re starting to get irritated from all of the heavy strain, and she whined to get Steve’s attention.

“What is it, darling?” He questioned before looking up to find out what was bothering her. “Oh, I see.” He untied the dutiful knots, tossing the worn-out piece of ribbon on the floor. “That wasn’t to rough, right?” Steve asked thoughtfully, earning a shake of the head ‘no’ in response. He threw out the condom before laying down on the smooth sheets, pulling Y/N into his arms.

She kicked off the sharp red stilettos, wanting to get comfortable as she settled into his warm embrace. “So,” Y/N broke the silence, leaning her chin up on his chest to look him in the eye, “am I still on the naughty list?”

Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle, tucking a stray piece of H/C hair behind her ear. He moved his hand to cradle her beautiful face, giving her a small grin that never failed brightened her day. Steve had a tendency to look at Y/N as if she was the most adorable thing that he’d ever seen, and that’s because she was. “Not if you keep being a good girl like that.”

She giggled before laying her head on his warm chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath that he took.

The couple didn’t get times like these often. Or anymore, at least. So when they did, they really had to cherish them. Cherish each other. And the dim lights from Steve’s lamp, mixed with the afterglow of sex, made it the perfect moment.

“I love you, Stevie.” Y/N spoke against his skin, breathing in his familiar cologne.

He couldn’t see her face, but he just knew that she was doing her signature smile. “I love you too.” Steve stroked her head with his large palm, trying to sooth his baby to sleep. “And that was the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.”

Next Chapter

Feedback is always welcome!❤️

[lemonsandstrawberries]

Figaro Drabble #15

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Figaro universe, Superfamily (Tony and Steve adopting Peter Parker)

summary: Tony and Steve have no idea what caused Peter’s night crying fit and help comes from an unexpected place.

warning: PARENTHOOD

length: 1 273 words

a/n: I had this idea in my head for a longer time, but the recent events in my life, finally motivated me to write this. hope you will like this fic!

————

Figaro Drabble #15

Steve's hands were shaking and he spilled water all over the counter and watched it drip down to the floor. One deep breath later, he steadied his hands and tried again, this time a nice amount of water from the kettle landing in the bottle. A scoop of powder then shake vigorously. But first, close the bottle with a cap. That was very important, as he once had made that mistake and shook the bottle without closing it. Shake, shake, shake and mix, mix, mix.

Looking back at his life, Steve would say that being in the army and a soldier was the easy part. He had orders, people to protect, he followed the orders, he saved people. Simple. Maybe sometimes it was brutal, some decisions more painful, but the goal was always clear.

This situation was more complicated. What was worse, there was no simple solution. No amount of training could prepare him for this.

He was stuck between two crying people, absolutely not knowing what to do. What was worse, those were the last two people he wanted to see upset.

"Oh my God, Pete, come on, it is okay, it is okay, little bee," Tony repeated frantically, pacing around the baby room, holding his and Steve's almost one-year-old son in his arm. Peter, red-faced and screaming, kept crying bloody murder, big tears rolling down his cute, chubby cheeks. For some reason, whenever Tony heard Peter crying, he immediately started to tear up too, and Tony looked like an absolute mess - he was ruffled from sleep that had been brutally interrupted by the piercing cries, eyes circled and wet and shiny and a frantic, panicked look in them.

"I am here, I am here!" Steve barreled into the baby room, almost tripping over some toys laying on the floor. Still better than stepping barefoot on one of the colorful, wooden blocks, Peter liked to toss into a basket and then dump everything out. He skidded to his weeping husband and handed Tony the bottle.

"Thanks," Tony whimpered out, shaking the bottle for good measure and putting close to Peter's mouth hoping the boy would start to suck. Please suck. Peter's small lips found the bottle and locked on the teat. Some soothing, gulping sounds. Silence.

"Oh God," Tony slumped in the armchair, holding Peter close and letting him eat. "Yay," he cheered quietly, sounding exhausted. "Good boy," Tony praised, looking at Peter with adoration, tears drying on his cheeks.

Steve let out a long, tired breath, enjoying the silence. Parenthood was hard, but the sight of Tony and his son together was the most beautiful reward. It was all worth for such sweet moments.

Sweet moment ending, when half way the bottle, Peter wriggled his mouth away and started to cry again.

"What - whyyy," Tony didn't understand, tears building up back in his eyes. "Hey, hey, look, there is still food," he tried to put the teat back into the boy's mouth, but Peter just looked more distressed and kept arching away.

"Maybe his diaper is full?" Steve tried to help. Tony turned Peter around in his arms and did something most of parents preferred to avoid - he smelled the diaper. Just one of the many charming things almost every parent did but, but didn't brag about - like eating food that fell out of your baby's mouth and was half-chewed. Still, the sniff test was the quickest way to tell.

"Negative!" Tony called back, and Peter kicked his legs with another ear drums ripping scream, not liking this position.

"Heeey, shhhhh, come to daddy," Steve rushed forward, taking the boy from Tony and bouncing in his arms. Fed, diaper clean. Steve checked for fever, but except the heated cheeks from crying, their baby looked perfectly healthy. Peter sniffled some more, wailing in Steve's arms for a change, clearly unhappy. "Maybe he's sleepy," Steve said, feeling that his mind was slowing down because of the late hour.

Tony laughed wetly and almost hysterically. They all were. It just seemed like one of those nights that crying happened for very little reason.

"Shhh, you want to go back to bed? Let's try. There you go."

Crying dimming into sniffling. Sniffling continued and it appeared it would stop entirely and Tony looked with wide eyes in the direction of Steve leaning over the crib and cooing to Peter. Fed, clean diaper, sleep. Maybe it was the answer.

"WAAAH!"

Steve straightened up with a pained grimace on his face, when Peter started his crying concert again, safely nestled in his crib, but bothered for some reason. Tony curled in himself and buried face in his hands out of desperation. It seemed no one would get any sleep in this house tonight.

Really, no one.

A sound of soft paws on the carpet, made Tony look through his fingers. Figaro, with his tail straight up, marched into the baby room, going to the source of the commotion, which was Peter. Even from the distance, Tony could see that their cat was angry.

"Steve, catch him!" Tony called, watching Figaro getting ready to jump into the crib. As for such a huge cat, Figaro was very gracious and easily jumped between Steve's hands, softly landing on the mattress next to screaming Peter. At first, Peter didn't notice the cat, but then Peter's brown, wet eyes met with Figaro's vivid green ones, and the full-blown crying slowly dimmed down into whimpers once again. Figaro didn't move, just looked at the baby, having some silent conversation. Steve watched cautiously, ready to interfere at any moment. Figaro wasn't an aggressive cat, but who knew if he wouldn't suddenly lash out. Tony ran to the crib, standing next to Steve and watching the situation unfold with a rapidly beating heart.

Suddenly, Peter took a lungful of air. Steve already panicked, knowing the drill - Peter would cry out, Figaro would get scared, angered, and sharp claws would meet with soft baby skin. Tony clutched to Steve's arm, fearing the same scenario to happen.

The lungful of air was a calming one, and Peter reached his hands to Figaro, babbling softly. There were still some wet traces of tears on his face, but no new ones building up. And then, with all eight teeth Peter had, he smiled, all while looking at the cat.

Figaro's ears twitched and he swooped his tail, Peter's bright eyes immediately following the movement and finding it amusing, chubby fingers trying to reach and touch the tail. Figaro didn't allow that, and walked a semi-circle around Peter's head and curled in the corner of the crib, forming a fluffy donut and closed his eyes. Peter babbled some more, turning on his tummy to better see Figaro. Somehow, the presence of the purring cat soothed him, and soon, Peter leaned his head down and closed eyes to sleep.

Tony and Steve exchanged surprised looks, before smiling at each other in relief. Thanks to Figaro, the rest of the night would be calm.

"Get some sleep," Steve whispered, not wanting to disturb the sleepy silence and kissing Tony's forehead. "I will look after them."

Tony nodded, barely standing from being so tired and not arguing with this one. He sent a last, love-filled look directed at their son and cat, and silently walked out of the bedroom. Steve took a blanket from the back of the armchair and sat down, covering himself, staying just in case, which in the morning turned out the be unnecessary as Figaro was wonderfully patient and Peter was happy to wake up next to his furry friend and there was no usual morning fuss happening.

[meet-me-in-the-kitchen]

Imagine: Trick or Break In

TRIGGER WARNING: criminals, thievery, blood loss, attempted assault, and unconsciousness. angst**

The one where she’s home alone with a small baby bundled near her chest, when the windows shatter and they invite themselves in.

“What is it, Honore? Are you hungry again? Oh, please don’t cry...”

Y/N was in panic mode, to say the least.

Harry was at an important talkshow, having left just fifteen minutes ago with a kiss to her lips, and one to his dissettled little princess. As soon as the door was to close, the baby started to cry in that way all newborns do. Less tears and sound, and more of erratic inhales and crumpled faces. Shooting her a pleading look, Harry hesitated before deciding it was best to leave.

To make matters even worse, it was October 31st: Halloween. The rushing overflow of doorbells ringing and children and early teenagers (who were still, really, children) sent y/n into a frenzy. The sounds of a restless, hysterical baby crying on one arm, and a dozen ‘Trick or Treat’s by the door. By the time she had a moment to catch her breath, she exhaustedly left the doorbells and went to tend to her baby.

“Are you missing daddy and hungry at the same time? Is that what’s happening,” y/n coos to the small infant squirming in her grasp, before sinking into her comforting touch. Reaching over to grab her phone, she unlocked it quickly and set the device safely near Honore’s green eyes. A picture of Harry and Y/N was the wallpaper, and it had the baby stop snuffling for a while, babbling to the picture of the man whose eyes, hair, and smile matched her own.

Thanking a higher power, y/n unlatched her bra and then pulled her shirt up to reveal one breast. With Honore now content, she pulled the soft baby closer and positioned her lips at her chest, where she latched on immediately, sucking hungrily. Reaching over to grab a woolen blanket to cover the baby feeding on her exposed chest, Y/N finally sat back on the bed and relaxed for the first time in a long time. Trick or Treaters were relentless, ringing the doorbell and ,lingering until it was answered.

Y/N didn’t mind them, but it did get quite creepy when little children would peek from the window and press their noses against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of human life from the blinds and curtains. If light and/or human life was detected, they’d ring the doorbell while Y/N tried to placate the fussing baby in her arm (to no avail), and grab a handful of sweets.

Honore wasn’t the biggest fan of being camped downstairs by the door while children caused noise outside and throughout the house, and her daddy was nowhere to be found. Now, her eyes were flickering, her only movements and sound being of the ones caused by her taking in her much needed meal. Y/N took the time to flick through a few trailers on Netflix before deciding what she wanted tp watch. Deciding on Casper, seeing as the time seemed to be right, she slumped against the pillows and rubbed her baby’s small back as she fed, before eventually growing still and snoring in that way babies do. 

Humming softly, y/n cooed at a fast asleep Honore, pondering if she should answer the few doorbells that rung, but deciding against it. Then, a few loud sounds of the doors and windows rattling shook through the house. Y/N remained still, trying to console a confused and fussy Honore, who was close to breaking into tears, back to her quiet self. The wind, that’s it, Y/N decides, cursing the weather and removing Honore’s small hands from her pumpkin costume, as she was trying to rip open the costume with her tight grip.

“Rockabye, baby, on the treetop...” she sang lowly, removing Honore’s costume, leaving her in her diaper. Her cries started growing faint. For some reason, shivers touched y/n at the back of her neck, and began to spread across her body.

“When the wind blows, the cradle will drop,” y/n changed her daughter into a fresh diaper, and some soft pajamas to keep her warm through the night.

“When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,” smiling warmly at the baby’s closing eyes, while Honore sucked softly on her thumb, as she had the tendency to do.

She set down Honore into her crib, once against fast asleep. Y/N covered her with her blanket, and kissed her forehead, mumbling an ‘i love you.’

Crack

“And down will come baby, cradle and all,” an unfamiliar voice boomed in a terribly quiet tone. Y/N gasped at the sudden shattering of glass behind her and turned, leaving her baby behind her in the cradle.

A man dressed in black appeared from the shattered window, his hands coated in dark blood, tinged with shards of glass, but he didn’t seem to mind. His appearance was adequate, relaxed, even.

Y/N felt fear creep into her. She blocked the feeling of guilt and hopelessness as she heard the small breaths her baby took, grumbling and beginning to cry at the noise the shattering of glass had caused. She prayed Honore wouldn’t cry.

She opened her mouth to speak.

“Go. Away,” her voice enunciated, gritted and unusually soft, but with a certain sharp edge. Her words were icy and swift. They were protective of the small being in the room, who was far too precious after nine months of being carried around in a safe place to be hijacked like this. “I’m going to call the police, and you’ll rot in a jail cell for the rest of your pathetic life.”

The man laughed. It was a sound that sent chills down Y/N’s back.

“No can do, sweetheart,” he stepped closer to her, a trail of blood behind him as his seared, cut up hands oozed the thick substance from his gashes. “I believe we need something from you and that rich, stuck-up husband of yours.”

We?

Suddenly more men began to enter the room in heaps, not minding the glass and jumping their dirty soles onto the hardwood floor, looking around and wearing dirty smirks as they sized y/n up.

“You fuckers,” instructed who seemed to be the leaders, “go downstairs and begin looking. You three spread out and lock every window and entrance. The rest of you, look around this floor and keep an eye on these bitches.”

“Don’t call my daughter that,” y/n snarled, “you filthy l-“

Coiling his fingers tightly around y/n’s throat, the leader got so close to y/n, she could hear and feel the warmth of his breath, and the foul smell as he spit onto the ground. She gasped as he wringed her throat in his hand, so hard it would probably bruise. She was having trouble breathing.

“I’ll call you and that spoilt little bitch anything I want,” he breathed, y/n glaring as her eyes glazed with tears from being nearly suffocated. Her baby’s cries hurt her heart.

“Don’t worry,” one of the guys muttered in his thick, growling accent, “I’ll take care of this one,” he gestured to y/n, licking his lips and fixing his gaze on her chest.

y/n wanted to scream, but she rolled into herself and locked her gaze onto a pie of big, shiny green eyes filled to the brim with tears.

I’ll figure something out. We’ll be fine.

“Fine. Someone shut that little shit up. Or lock her in another room, I couldn’t care less. Throw her outside. I don’t give a fuck, just make that noise stop.”

“No!” y/n found herself pleading, despite herself, “please let her sit with me. I can calm her down.”

Sighing boredly, the leader gestured to the perverted gang member near y/n before leaving the room with the others.

I don’t want his hands on my baby, she thought to herself as more tears cascaded down her cheeks, please God.

“Since you said please,” he growled, handing the baby to her while slipping his hand dangerously close to her breasts.

“Too pretty. Won’t tie you up... yet.”

Hissing, y/n indicated it would be dangerous to step any closer to her. She clutched her baby close to her chest and kept an eye on the perverted man, who merely raised his arms up in defence while muttering obscenities and wearing the same, stupidly dirty smirk on his ugly face.

“It’s okay, Honore,” she hummed shakily, rocking the whimpering infant back and forth, “it’s alright. Mama won’t let any of those bastards near you. Daddy’s coming home, any second.”

Harry, y/n thought to herself, he was their last hope. With everyone locking the entrances and confiscating her devices, she wasn’t able to contact police or any other authorities. Harry was the only one with the key to the house, but who knew when he’d finally be back home.

The baby glued to her chest stares up at her with wide, scared green eyes and trembling lips. Babies and other small beings had the habit of picking up on emotions and sadness. Y/N had to keep her cool.

It wasn’t even like they could make a clean escape. It was better to wait than have Honore her injured while she tried to safely jump out of a window. Please come home, y/n thinks to herself, an unfamiliar wetness traveling from her sore eyes down to her cheeks as the doorbell rang with the knocks of impatient trick-or-treaters, and a flame of hope diminished inside of y/n everytime it wasn’t Harry.

Honore.

She was so small. If anything happened, it should to y/n. If anything happened to Honore, she would never be able to forgive herself.

Then it hit her.

The gag gift. The one Harry had given her last Christmas before giving y/n her actual gift. The gag gift was a lady bug shaped, buttoned phone parents gave their children in order to “train them” to use phones responsibly. The only two places you could call were the police station and home. Y/N thought it was unnecessary and a waste of material, until now.

But the phone was inches away in y/n and Harry’s bedside table. Y/N’s eyes flickered to the man who was supposed to be keeping an eye on her. And keep an eye on her he did, his eyes running up and down her figure, making y/n feel uncomfortable, sad, exposed, and above all: angry. Formulating a plan in her head and hoping it would work and she wouldn’t regret it, y/n stood slowly, the man suddenly grabbing a gun and pointing it to her while wearing a shit eating grin.

Setting the small bundle in her arms down onto the carpet, Honore slept obliviously while y/n stepped closer to the man, pulling her shirt down and walking until she was so close, he could smell his dirty breath. She could hear his breath hitch and see his grin widen. She leant in. Just as he was about to touch her, with her being so close his back hit the table behind him, y/n snaked her arm behind him and grabbed a vase. Then, she whacked the shit out of him with it. The vase broke and the shards either sunk into his skull, or slid to the ground, soaked with crimson blood. His eyes flickered shut, the only noise being of his body hitting the ground.

Breathing heavily, y/n glanced back at the baby and padded quickly to the door and locked it. Then, she swung open the bedside table drawers and rummaged quietly and frantically for the phone. She had a few minutes before the man could gain consciousness. Anxiety filled her as the clock ticked and her hands were yet to find the object she so desperately needed. If only they had left her phone with her...

“Thank you,” she whispered to anything and nothing when the bright red device was clutched in her sweating palms. She couldn’t dial for the police, because as soon as they’d pull up with the flashing lights, the sirens, and the noise, they would find out. Harry. Harry. Harry.

Pressing down onto the button which would direct her to her husband, y/n stifled a sob once the toy like phone began to dial with terribly loud music. Sitting on it to muffle it, y/n gasped and craned her neck to hear if any footsteps were approaching her.

He didn’t pick up.

“Harry,” she muttered in urgency to the inanimate object, dialling once more while praying to a higher power.

He picked up.

“Y/N?” Harry broke into laughter. His sweet, beautiful, deep voice. “Baby, are you using the ladybug phone?”

He snickered as y/n’s eyes flickered to the door and to Honore, making sure everything was still and untouched.

“Harry,” she mumbled low and urgently, “I need you to listen carefully.”

“What is it?” He asked, still chortling slightly.

“I went upstairs to feed Honore and a bunch of men broke into our house. They’re taking things and they have guns. They’re downstairs, right now?”

“What? I’m coming home right now,” Harry spoke quickly, an edge of panic to his voice. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay-“

“We’re both fine,” y/n interrupted. “Whatever you do, don’t come inside using the front entrance and don’t call the police. That’s a dead giveaway. When you get here, try going through the back and page me if there are more criminals outside. We can’t take any chances. If we get out, we’ll call the police and tell them to appear silently.”

“And if you don’t? Get out, I mean,” he spoke softly, his strong accent hiding an underlying pain.

“Then, you don’t come in. I give you Honore, and you run, Harry Styles.”

“y/n...”

“Harry,” she countered.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. And you will get out. I love you and this is all my fault,” he sounded frustrated with himself, she could hear him gritting his teeth.

“Harry, stop blaming yourself. Stop overthinking. We just need to get out,” her voice thick as the whole gravity of the situation rains down onto them. “I love y-“

She’s just about to finish when a hard object is slammed against her head, and the world goes gray, her vision blurred with a thick substance pooling onto the floor from her head upon impact, and a man leaning over her with a tall, hard iron rod. Gasping slightly, her eyes widened, y/n falls back with the phone crashing to her side. She stares up at the man, unable to speak as the baby cries. A metallic noise is echoing throughout her brain. She tastes the saltiness of blood on her lips. She feels it ooze out of her head in streams.

“What you did back there wasn’t very nice, you bitch,” he growled loudly, kicking at y/n’s sensitive stomach, causing her to scream inwardly as the stitches the doctors had carefully stitched after she’d had her C-section tore apart, gushing blood. Inhumane noises escaped her throat as the man beat her andher eyes filled with tears, unable to meet Honore’s.

“Slut,” he spat, suddenly crouching down. “Slut, slut, slut!”

He made a motion to remove his belt as the phone besides y/n erupted in worried, threatening screams directed to anyone who tried to lay a finger on Harry’s wife.

“No,” she slurred when y/n realized what was happening, but the man simply growled and tried to get closer to her, forgetting of discarding his belt, as y/n thrashed in his arms. All of a sudden, Harry stepped into the room after emerging from the broken window. He charged to the man holding y/n captive and began punching him and aggressively fighting him while y/n tried to compose herself, laying on the floor bleeding from the head.

The baby’s cries and Harry’s threatening yells filled the room. The crack of the man’s nose breaking was audible.

“I’m going to kill you,” Harry hissed, his green eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m going to fucking strangle you!”

The man gasped for air as Harry truly began to strangle him, squeezing hard at his fleshy throat while scratching into his skin and stick shards of glass into him from the broken window.

y/n moaned in pain, Harry glancing back at her with his eyes falling in a totally different way after eyeing the cuts and harsh flow of blood traveling down from her wife’s wet head.

“y/n.. wait a second, baby. I’m calling 911-“

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a calm voice infiltrated from the entrance of the bedroom. The leader was back, his eyes dark and cool. There was a lack of expression on his face, other than slight amusement and bitterness. Harry’s eyes widened and y/n felt a sob in her chest, unable to be choked out because of all the pain she was in.

He was holding their baby girl with a gun pressed to the side of her small head. Her mouth was open and her head was thrown back as her cheeks turned red as she cried loudly for her parents, high pitched and abandoned.

“You won’t want to do that,” he repeated in the same, hauntingly calm voice. “Now, put the phone down, and back away, close to the window.”

Helplessly, Harry moved back, his glazed over eyes moving to his wife’s dim ones, which were lively hours ago. His daughter’s desperate ones, her innocence and confusion shining through.

“There’s no reason to cry,” the gang leader whispered to the uncomfortable baby dangling from his arms.

“Rockabye baby, on the treetop,

When the wind blows, the cradle will drop...

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,”

Stopping for a moment and ceasing rocking the fearful, trembling infant, the criminal looked Harry straight in the eye. He raised his left arm.

The sound of shots firing filled the room, and the woman in the center of the room gasped as bullets entered her, right in front of her husband and baby, and the last of her blood oozed out of her, every drop pooling around her...

“And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

The one where they’re alone until they aren’t, and she’s breathing, until she’s not.

i actually think this is trash, but idk just thought i’d write something since it’s been a while. please read this.

MASTERLIST| Requests are open!

[guylty]

Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick Into The Storm for a rewatch, had ITS not been on Irish free TV at the end of January. That already preempts my verdict to some degree.  You see, I don’t think that it is what we call “ganz großes Kino” in German [great cinema]. To stay with the metaphor, it’s probably more along the lines of “ganz großes Damentennis” [great women’s tennis]. Ok, those are in-jokes for those who can speak German. Very bad form, Guylty, very bad! What it means is: ITS is not a triumph of early 21st century cinema. And this is why:

Recap

It’s an ordinary day in Silverton, Ohio, where single-parent assistant principal Gary Fuller herds his teenage sons Trey and Donnie to school. Trey is documenting the day with his camcorder; Donnie, the elder of the two, is pissed off with his dad. Daddy Gary at the same time is distracted by the preparations for the afternoon’s graduation ceremony. Meanwhile, a motley crew of ‘storm chasers’ have come into the area because they expect a strong hurricane to landfall. And it does – but it’s the mother of all hurricanes, a monster storm that wreaks havoc in Silverton, scatters the graduation, and, worst of all, traps Donnie Fuller together with love interest Kaitlyn in a disused mill where they nearly drown – if it hadn’t been for Daddy Fuller, the quirky brother, and some unexpected help from the storm chasers. But all’s well that ends well: daddy comes to rescue, the youngsters are saved at the last minute, the nasty career-storm chaser gets his comeuppance but simultaneously redeems himself, and the Fuller lads are one happy family again.

So, we’ve got the ingredients for a regular summer blockbuster here: (natural) disaster with opportunity for big time CAD, vaguely topical issue (global warming), family dynamics (dad vs son), small little love story (Donnie & Kat, Gary & meteorologist Allison), nasty slave-driving boss getting what he deserves, single-parent mother separated from her child because of work, two country-bumpkin eejits for light relief, major, nail-biting drama and a happy ending. Maybe some of what is wrong with the film is already visible in that list: There is too much in it, and it doesn’t *quite* know what it wants to be. It takes on too many things, and instead of just being content with being a two-dimensional, silly disaster movie along the lines of Sharknado, it wants to take itself seriously, attempting “issues” in order to attract viewers. The strength of disaster movies is usually the special effects or the computer design of the catastrophe. So why obscure that silly fun with serious issues? Global warming as the cause of intense weather phenomena? Of course, we know that. But do I look to a summer movie to learn more about the effects of climate change? Eh, no! Just as much as I don’t want to get into a subtle subplot about single-parent issues and the strains of having to separate from your child in order to earn money. Just get on the with the disaster, throw around a few 10-ton-trucks and jumbo jets, and I’ll be happy.

Not sure where this gif comes from – credit to the maker

In that sense, the strongest scenes in the movie are the action/disaster sequences. When Gary runs across the street after his car is inadvertently crashed, and a pick-up truck smashes into the pavement about ten feet beside him, then that is great (disaster) cinema. Armitage clinging on to a car door for dear life – and to save met lady Allison from being sucked up into the tornado: predictable but essential ingredient to a disaster movie. And bonus: wet bum shot. Of Armitage! Not the woman! *That* would be sexist! A whole group of helpless humans, huddling in a massive drain for shelter against the storm, being thrown around by mother nature – great both in terms of providing scale as well as giving more opportunity for heroics. But all that sentimental crap about Allison not being with her daughter, Gary and Donnie’s relationship being strained, and Pete the storm chaser pressuring his underlings into risking their lives – unnecessary and not believable.

  Cardboard Cut-outs

Not least because the characters are mere cardboard cut-outs, stereotypes, and as such just a cheap trick to offer a quick n easy way to identify or engage with one of the characters. Yet I found it strangely difficult to get invested because the characters were just too stereotypical: The hard-working father who is trying his best to bring up his sons; elder son has an issue with dad being over-protective. Young son OTOH is happy-go-lucky popular kid. Met lady has small daughter who lives with grandparents because mum has to travel for work: I should’ve latched on to these people immediately because I share one massive characteristic with them – I am a parent. (Happy mother’s day, btw.) But that one facet in a person is not enough for me to connect and engage with a character. I understand that ITS is a film that is basically telling a story in real time. So there is no opportunity for massive insights or for character set-up. Or maybe there would’ve been if the film had concentrated on fewer characters. Apart from Pete the head storm chaser, did we need Allison and the other storm chasing crew? We certainly didn’t need the town eejits, and we probably could also have done without the burgeoning love story between Donnie and Kaitlyn. If Gary Fuller was the main character, then the film should’ve focussed on him – and his heroics. That would’ve done the trick.

As for Armitage in the film: No complaints as such. His performance is solid – as it always is. You can sort of tell that this is basically his first time playing an American character. The accent doesn’t sit well with him – it just doesn’t sound right imo: When he speaks, his whole voice changes. It’s deeper in tone, and not as melodious as usual. Which is a pity, because his voice (and his vocal talents) are always an asset to any show. Otherwise he gets away with portraying the great looking, fit and healthy athletic All American dad, right down to those beautifully regular white and shiny front teeth. I do buy his act as a dad – in fact more so than his act as the vice principal of a small town high school. The man just is too gorgeous for such an existence. Casting fail *grins*.

The effects in the film work well – once you suspend your disbelief, everything is possible, and the fire tornado or the monster hurricane that bounces jumbo jets around as if they were matchbox toys, look reasonably real. The climactic storm scene – with Pete’s (literal) comeuppance – OTOH is designed straight from baroque altar pieces (see right).  Towering clouds fading into white… You almost expect the eye of providence to pop up on top of the screen. And so sickly sweet with its bright clouds and shining light and predictable that it spoils the otherwise hair-raising disaster porn.

For me, the greatest regret of the film is that its concept obviously changed at some point. The initial idea of basing the majority of the film on “found footage” – was actually a great idea, both in terms of aesthetics as well as story telling. But that concept eventually is thrown out of the window even though little brother Trey, who executes the concept at the beginning of the film by shooting a ‘time capsule project’, continues to carry the camera with him. From the middle of the film found footage is not happening anymore – which makes the film strangely asymmetrical. One wonders whether the film was significantly reshot after screen testing? There definitely were reshoots, as can be seen as early as the first scene of the film when Gary’s hair is definitely shorter than a scene later…

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Miraculous hair growth. Well, RA has mentioned before that he has won prizes for growing his beard faster than anyone else… Looks as if the Armitagean follicles are stuff of legend and miracle!

Final verdict

Unfortunately, the second time ‘round, the film doesn’t improve. When I watched it in the cinema – summer evening, teenage son with me, bag of pop corn at the ready – it really did what it set out to do: It was a meaningless summer flick, more aimed at the boys than the girls, easily whiling away 89 minutes with lots of rain, thunder, assorted farm equipment flying through the air and the occasional jumbo jet twirling across the airport concourse. Four and a half years later, the film hasn’t exactly become a cult classic. And it’s easy to see why: It’s neither excruciatingly bad, nor exquisitely good. Maybe the audience wants to see even more extreme effects – or the opposite is true and in light of global warming the audience *doesn’t* want to be reminded of the havoc that the climate can play with us. And without any particularly exciting human interest story in the film, ITS has been laid to rest in the mid-week movie graveyard. That’s not what Richard Armitage deserves – who gives his best as he always does. Maybe all it was for him, was an elaborate screen test. He certainly comes across well. And at least he has ticked another genre off his list.   

What about you? What do you think about the film? Comment below or write a post on your blog and link back to me so we can discuss! 

PS: April is coming! And we need a new re-watch. Suggestions?

Re-Watching Into The Storm – Not Much of a Twist Apart from Michele lobbying for this film in the wake of the horror of Hannibal, I wouldn’t have considered 2014 disaster flick…

[otterandterrierwrites]

Leather and lace

A/N: As always, I'm both proud and deeply sorry about this, but I guess you all signed up for it. This is mostly explicit smut and includes the bj act (also my first time writing that??), in case it’s not your thing and you want to skip it. Also the Falcon, leather gloves and some emotions. Enjoy!!

Both of them had topics that they just let each other ramble on about until they were done. They fully knew the other person sometimes didn't care or understand as much as to offer more than the occasional sounds of assent or sympathy, and that was okay. Leia's was politics; Han's, starships. If they really needed the other's attention and opinion, they let the other know in advance but, sometimes, they just needed a good rant.

That was the kind of situation Leia found herself in currently. They were standing in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon, at the final leg of an (unnecessary, in her opinion) tour of the ship, during which Han had pointed out to her all of the new equipment he had recently installed to soup up his “baby”.

Leia knew the basics of ship maintenance; she was a good pilot and enjoyed the occasional short high-speed race when she needed to inject some adrenaline into her system, but for her, all vehicles were still mostly a tool to get her from point A to point B.

For Han, flying was like walking, and taking care of the Falcon was more important than taking care of himself sometimes. Smuggling had been sort of a forced career choice; she knew he didn’t miss the part of working for mafia bosses who were as likely to take him under their wing as to put a bounty on him, or of risking capture by the Empire. But he had been good at it (generally). The shipping company he now co-owned with Chewie was thriving, and it fulfilled most of his job requirement checkboxes. Leia knew he still missed the adrenaline of his old life, though, if absolutely nothing else.

When he’d told her he had been invited to fly in a series of races for charity, Leia also knew he had to say yes.

‘... and to compensate for the gravimetric charge imbalance of the magnetic field above Unalo, I’ll just re-route power through the hyperwave pulse initiator,’ Han was saying, patting a switch on the aft bulkhead that might or might not have been there before, Leia couldn’t be sure. She nodded even though his technical explanations (gushing, more like) had lost her long ago.

She was thinking instead of the Dragon Void Run, the race Han had agreed to join in as a covert mission for the Alliance. It was this event, along with his famed flight prowess in battle, what had made Han a coveted asset for this year’s Seven Suns Spin. There had been so many risks at play in having Han run the Dragon Void, and even though they had been clashing more than usual at that time, Leia, watching the race from their base on Arda-1, had been scared for him.

Space racing was dangerous, which made its participants admirable. Han already had his admirers from all over the galaxy; this would make him even more desirable. She felt a tingling in her lower abdomen that was the opposite of jealousy. That feeling was the knowledge that it didn’t matter how many fans fell all over Han: he was unequivocally hers, and she was the one he would come back to, and it was her who could make him come undone, as much he could do it to her.

He had been working until late the day before and dragged her out of bed early that morning even though they tended to sleep in on weekends. If it wasn't for the caf and hotcakes he'd made for her, she wouldn't have been awake enough for this. He was still fresh from a shower, hair fluffy and shiny, cheeks smelling of aftershave. His hands occasionally flexed and tugged at the leather gloves he used for driving and flying, which he'd left on. She had given him those for a birthday, made of authentic nerf-hide leather.

She suddenly felt overwhelmed with longing in advance for his upcoming absence. Without a second thought, Leia pushed herself off the nav seat against which she had been reclined and headed out of the cockpit. Big viewport in a busy hangar, she thought.

‘Hey, where are you going?’ she heard Han's confused voice trailing after her, followed seconds later by his footsteps. The cockpit's hatch whooshed closed by the time she reached the main hold, and Leia turned around to face her husband, who was looking disgruntled. ‘You could just tell me if you were bored.’

Leia waved a hand and circled him until his back was against the Dejarik table. ‘That wasn't my problem,’ she said, tilting her face up as she stepped closer. She deftly unbuttoned his shirt, eyes focused on the task. Han chuckled and his chest vibrated under her hands. ‘So what was your problem? All that talked turned you on?’

‘You turned me on,’ Leia replied, hands sliding over his chest as she leaned in and pressed open-mouthed kisses on his warm skin.

Han sighed exaggeratedly. ‘It's a curse, bein’ this handsome.’

Leia paused to roll her eyes at him. ‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, and he obliged by bowing his head and kissing her on the mouth, one of his leather-covered hands touching her neck and sliding down her throat to the gap of her blouse. The leather was smooth and cool on her skin as fingers pushed her bralette aside and glided over her nipple. She gasped into his mouth and felt him grin.

‘You like that?’

Leia hummed but, reaching for his hands, she pulled them away. Her eyes fixed on his as if she was putting him into a trance; her fingers unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants. Surprise flicked briefly across Han's face before his hands gripped the table behind him in preparation. Stooping down, she kissed his stomach, letting her breath tickle his skin as she dragged a light path down the trail of hair that disappeared into his underpants with her fingernails, feeling him shiver nearly imperceptibly.

After pulling down his clothes down to his ankles, she kneeled in front of him and curled her hand around his cock, rubbing her hand along the length of it until she felt him harden. While her fingers stroke the head, she looked straight up at him and licked him, watching him shudder and groan.

‘Tell me what d'I do to get this?’ he asked hoarsely, one hand coming down to rest on her neck.

‘I thought I'd give you something for luck,’ she said, grinning before taking him in her mouth.

For her, it wasn't the pleasure of blowing him what made her do that, although she had become good enough that it was bearable. The pleasure was in knowing she could render him speechless, vulnerable, that she could turn his muscles to jelly and make him see stars, that he was willingly powerless in her hands---or mouth. Just the way she felt about him when he did this to her.

His hand stroked her neck, fingers drawing circles on her skin as she licked and rubbed and scraped her teeth ever-so-delicately against him. He began to knead her muscles, dragging leather tips along the curve of her neck, sinking on the hair behind her ear, and although her full attention was necessarily on her task, Leia couldn't help but groan into him, which made him let out a gasping sort of chuckle.

‘That good?’ Han asked, but Leia ignored him. Eyes closed, she focused on the mechanics of her mouth and hand, her other hand caressing a path from his hip to his buttocks, listening to his groans and his calls of go on, right there and kriff, Leia until he gave a warning, and a second later he was coming in her mouth with a hoarse yelp.

Leia slowly stood up, looking intently at Han with a small smile. He was half slumped back over the table, hands gripping the edge so hard his knuckles were white, panting with his eyelids shut. She gave him a couple of seconds before pulling his pants up, which he took from her halfway to finish the work.

Her forehead touched his chest and she stayed there, feeling the rise and fall, but Han had other plans. Leaning down, he bunched her skirt up at her waist and lifted one of her legs until her foot was on the table. Leia smirked up at him and he winked. Reciprocity.

Han began to unbutton his gloves; at once, she said, ‘Don’t.’

He gave her a look that was a mix of confused and amused. ‘Seriously?’

Leia shrugged. ‘If you don’t mind.’

He didn’t. His free hand clutched her ankle and dragged its way up her leg heavily, the leather rubbing her skin. It stroke the curves of her bottom and her hip before sliding to her inner thigh. His touch was like a fluttering along the edges of her lacy underwear, teasing, until he pressed a knuckle and began to move.

‘Inside, hotshot,’ Leia breathed out, one hand clutching his shoulder as the other held his open shirt on a fist.

‘Will you ever be patient?’ Han chided.

The leather felt better than she would have expected. Dirty, she thought, when his hands slipped under her underwear, cupping her before trailing three fingers between and around her lips. Leia leaned heavily into Han, chest heaving against his, and bit his bicep lightly as she ground herself against his hand.

‘I’m never washin’ these gloves,’ she heard him growl into her hair. She could picture the leather, dark at the fingertips with the wetness she felt between her legs. She imagined them days from now, long dry, pressed against her husband’s nose as he lay on his bunk missing her.

‘I hope so,’ Leia gasped, riding his hand harder as his thumb both increased and alleviated the ache of her swollen clit.

‘Oh Han,’ she let out in a strangled, high-pitched voice as her body contracted, nails digging into his flesh, and she let her orgasm take over.

Han held her as she recovered, and when she started to pull back, he kissed her knee and gently set her leg down, lowering her skirt.

‘I take it you’re done with ship talk?’ he asked, finally taking off his gloves and dropping them on the table.

‘I’ve had enough for today, if you don’t mind.’

He smiled as he buttoned up his shirt. ‘You know what you just did is the best way to get me to stop, sweetheart.’

Leia grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips to press a kiss on the inside of his wrist. He flipped it to brush his fingers against her cheek.

‘I’m proud of you Han, and happy about this opportunity,’ Leia began. ‘But---don’t take any unnecessary risks. Please.’

‘Hey. It’s just one race, Leia, I’ll be fine,’ he answered, but she shook her head.

‘It won’t be. It shouldn’t be, if you end up enjoying it,’ she said sincerely.

Han seemed uncertain, but he nodded. ‘I promise, I’ll be careful. Or---well, you know me. Won’t get myself killed. Gotta come back.’

‘Thank you.’ Leia let out a breath and brushed some stray hairs behind her ear before patting his butt. ‘Let’s go get something to eat.’

[tometender]

Stormchaser 

by Cherry Adair

No one charters the depths of passion on the high seas like New York Times bestselling author Cherry Adair DESIRE RUNS DEEP Somewhere off the coast of Greece, a king’s ransom in gold, emeralds, and silver coins lies waiting at the bottom of the sea. Finding this ancient treasure would be a dream come true for marine archeologist Calista West. But that’s not why she’s here. She didn’t climb aboard Jonah Cutter’s magnificent yacht seeking fortune or fame. She’s come for revenge—against the sexiest, most seductive, modern-day pirate she’s ever encountered… Like his famous half brothers, Jonah is a master of salvaging ships—and driving women mad with his movie-star looks and raw animal magnetism. Tall, dark, and devastating, he manages to make Callie forget her mission. Every moment they share under the hot Mediterranean sun is an erotically-charged adventure neither can resist. But when Callie discovers what he’s really after—the lost city of Atlantis—is it too late to change the course of her heart…or go all in with the lover of her dreams? The Cutter Cay series is: "Action-packed drama." —Fresh Fiction "Sizzlingly sexy." —Booklist "Enticing." —Seattle Post-Intelligencer AUTHOR BIO: Cherry Adair has garnered numerous awards for her innovative action-adventure novels, which

include White Heat, Hot Ice, On Thin Ice, Out of Sight, In Too Deep, Hide and Seek, and Kiss and Tell, as well as her thrilling Cutter Cay series for St. Martin's Press. A favorite of reviewers and fans alike, she lives in the Pacific Northwest. BUY LINKS: Amazon Barnes & Noble Books-A-Million Powells IndieBound Macmillan SOCIAL LINKS: Author Web Site Facebook @CherryAdairAuthor Twitter @CherryAdair

HURRICANE by Cherry Adair Rydell Case’s ship is his home, his heart, and his reason for being. After his ex-wife left him—taking his brand-new megayacht, Tesoro Mio with her—she sailed off with a royal billionaire and out of his life forever. Now Ry spends his days searching for treasure—until his ship is hijacked. With the prospect of his salvage business tanking, he needs both the ship and his ex back—if only she didn’t despise him more than any man on earth. . . When Addison D’Marco boards Tesoro Mio to find her ex-husband in her cabin, she’s furious. Ry is more handsome, more annoying, and more determined than ever. Addy can’t believe he has the nerve to demand the ship back after the way he broke her heart. With her fiancé about to board, she doesn’t want Ry back in her life to ignite painful memories and never- forgotten desires. But could it be that, amid troubled waters, Addy and Ry can salvage what they once had and have a second chance at love. . .or does fate have something else in store? Hurricane by Cherry Adair is part of her Cutter Cay series.

Excerpt ONE The day didn’t look like second hand revenge. Instead of ominous dark clouds hanging low over a pewter sea, the hot Greek sun reflected glittering sapphires off the Mediterranean. The wake of the motor launch frothed blindingly white as it carried marine archaeologist Dr. Calista West to the megayacht Stormchaser, anchored in open waters south of Crete. Salt spray cooled her bare arms and legs as the Riva Iseo cut through the dark water. The sleek, twenty- seven foot Italian work of art, with yards of glossy mahogany, soft leather, and sleek lines, looked like something straight out of a James Bond movie. Expensive and ostentatious. Draco Thanos, the short, wiry forty- something chief engineer of Stormchaser sent to collect Callie from Heraklion, controlled the fast tender with all the deference of a guy handling a sleek sports car. Callie wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore. A short flight in yet another ostentatious, expensive toy, a private plane from Athens. A twelve- hour flight from Miami, an hour flight from Athens to Crete, and another two hours by luxury tender. She was hardly at her best to deal with Jonah Cutter. Tuning out Thanos, who’d kept up a steady conversation in broken English for the duration, she spread her feet, bracing her hands on the rail as they hit some chop. Her stomach did a somersault that had nothing to do with the waves. The closer the motor launch carried her to Stormchaser, the harder Callie’s heart pounded. Anticipation. Fear. Excitement. Thanos pointed unnecessarily. The massive ship was freaking impossible to miss. “There she is.” Callie’s fingers tightened on the rail as the ship loomed large against a sparkling backdrop of calm azure water and robin’s- egg- blue sky. Brilliant sun bounced off acres of white paint and gleaming brass. Twenty, thirty mil? Callie guesstimated, put off by the unnecessary fl aunting of the Cutters’ wealth. “Spectacular, isn’t she?” Thanos said proudly as he slowed the tender, angling it sideways to dock aft next to the wide dive platform where a guy sat reading. He got to his feet as they approached, lifting a hand in greeting. Callie waved back. She used both hands to tuck any loose hair back into the neatly tucked French braid on the back of her head, even though she knew there were none. She was too controlled to have flyaway hair. Her penchants for order and organization were perfect for her chosen career. She’d come by them the hard way. By now the traits were ingrained and comfortable. Without the fi ne cooling misted spray of the water, and wind generated by the fast movement over the sea, the sun beat down unrelentingly, drying her damp clothes in minutes. “She’s something, all right.” Too big, and far too fancy for a dive boat, but wasn’t that the Cutters all over? A family of modern- day treasure hunters, they flaunted their wealth like robber barons or nouveau riche Internet millionaires, with total disregard for anyone daring their ownership of the seas. For a moment Callie had a niggle of misgiving for what she was about to do. Jonah Cutter hadn’t done anything to her personally; she’d never even met the man. Never met any of the Cutters. But they adversely impacted people she loved. She was uniquely qualified to balance the scales. Straightening her shoulders, Callie grabbed her duffel before Thanos could reach for it. Ingrained and as sure as her dark hair and green eyes was her in de pendence. Drawing in a salt- laden deep breath, Callie let it out slowly as the tender bumped the edge of the wide dive platform where the older man, dressed in cargo shorts and a yellow polo shirt, waited to grab the rope. And the game begins, she thought, braced to disembark, her fingers tightened on the bag’s handles. Lying was against everything she believed in. Been there, spent a lifetime perfecting the skill. Just because she was good at it didn’t mean she liked doing it. But not only did she have to lie through her teeth for the duration, she had to be convincing as well. She reminded herself that these people were not her friends. She could not soften and bond with them. Growing to like anyone on board Stormchaser would make what she was going to do harder. She’d known going in that she’d have to keep to herself as much as possible. She was here to do a job. Making friends would muddy the waters and certainly complicate things. And, she admitted, make her second guess herself— which she unfortunately usually did. She tended to overanalyze things before jumping in. Indecision was, she knew, her worst characteristic. Still, once she’d made a determination, after weighing it from a hundred different angles, she tended to be like a dog with a bone defending the decision. Her friends tried to get her to be more spontaneous. But it was hard for her. Every decision had consequences, and those had to be weighed and calculated and looked at from every angle. What wouldn’t be hard? Pretending. That she was damn good at. If anyone knew how to pretend, it was her. She’d done it from kindergarten on. When she’d learned to lie for her parents. Why they’d forgotten to sign her up for school programs? Why they weren’t there to pick her up after school? Why she rarely had a lunch packed, or money to buy lunch? She’d known instinctively that to say her mama was passed out from Jack Daniel’s would be bad, and mentioning that sometimes her dad didn’t come home would be worse. These circumstances weren’t the same, but she figured she’d honed her acting chops. She could do this by mentally tarring everyone on board with the sins of the Cutters. Which were too numerous to count. And by keeping as low a profile as possible. The gray- haired man held out his hand, helping her from the boat to the diving platform. “Saul Pinter.” His full, mostly gray beard was neatly trimmed. Fit and athletic, he had a nice smile and firm handshake. “Welcome aboard, Dr. West.” “Thanks, call me Callie.” A cursory glance revealed the dive platform geared with the usual dive equipment and a row of wet suits ready and waiting. At least she’d get to do what she loved. Dive. Discover. “Is Mr. Cutter diving?” Saul shook his head, jerking his thumb toward the ladder leading to the deck above where they stood. “Jonah will have seen you, and be on his way down. Heads up, he’ll meet you halfway.” Oh, Callie doubted that very much, but she merely smiled as her heart thumped. Anticipation—no, dread? After all the planning, things were finally happening. “I’m looking forward to seeing our wreck.” “You haven’t missed anything. We only arrived late last night ourselves,” Saul told her, returning to his chair and the book he’d been reading. “We’re all eager to get started.” Was that a jibe because she hadn’t joined them two weeks ago? Callie mentally shrugged. Climbing the ladder, she observed in a quick sweep the spotless decks, the gleaming bright work and shiny brass. Stormchaser was spit- polished. She’d heard Zane Cutter’s ship was a piece of crap, but so far she couldn’t fault his half-brother on the maintenance of his ship. Several men, in the whites of crew members, leaned on the rail on an upper deck watching her curiously. Callie lifted a hand in greeting and kept going. It was a perfect afternoon to dive, the ocean smooth with just a slight chop. A light breeze loosened strands of hair off her face and neck and brought with it the faint smells of fresh paint and yeasty baking bread. Water slapped the hull, and the sound of voices died as the men dis appeared from view. A gull cried as it wheeled in a perfect circle overhead, then dived like a jet, skimming the water after some hapless fish. There wasn’t anyone else around, and she walked toward a set of sliding doors just as a man stepped out onto the deck ahead of her. His face lit up as he came toward her. Jonah Cutter. Callie stopped to wait for him, the sun hot on her scalp, the glare off the water bright despite her dark glasses. The opinion formed before the man even opened his mouth. Her assessment was quick and unflattering. But then she was predisposed to disliking him. Cocky. Self- assured. Entitled. Exactly what she expected. Her shoulders relaxed. Handing Cutter his ass wasn’t going to be difficult at all. The Matthew McConaughey look- alike wore blue, flower- printed Hawaiian board shorts, a too- tight red T-shirt stretched over sculpted muscles as if it had been painted on. She’d heard that youngest brother Zane was the vain one, but clearly his half-brother gave him a run for his money. Under six feet tall, sun- bleached shoulder- length hair, movie- star good looks, and boy, didn’t he know it. Cutter was like a peacock spreading his tail as he removed his shades to eye her up and down. Shorter, less attractive, and more smarmy than she’d been led to believe. And she’d been led to believe the worst. Maintaining a friendly smile, she extended her hand when he got close enough. He was about the same height, so they were eye- to- lecherous- eye. “I’m Calista West, thanks for including—” “Now, aren’t you just the prettiest addition to the team, darlin’?” he cut in with a southern drawl and a heated look from unremarkable blue eyes. His lingering handshake was the opposite of firm. Callie disengaged and resisted wiping her hand on her shorts as he looked at her like a dog staring at a juicy bone. Raking his fingers through his sunbleached brown hair, the better to show off his physique, he gave her a wide, white smile. “Welcome aboard.” Never had two words sounded so suggestive. Smoothing a hand over her tightly constrained hair, Callie made sure the sun glinted off the plain gold band on her left hand. Although she suspected a guy like this wouldn’t be deterred by a wedding ring, she had other methods to repulse if the ring didn’t work. Copyright © 2017 by Cherry Adair and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

My Review

Stormchaser by Cherry Adair Jonah has the chance of a lifetime, uncovering the treasure all hunters dream of. The only problem, he can’t the cool, reserved doctor off his mind and every chance he gets he finds himself making reasons to spend time with her. Smoldering sexual tension and a vividly told adventure, Stormchaser brings the reader through a gambit of nail biting circumstances. I did find the ending a little rushed but I highly enjoyed Stormchaser and adored the premise. I recommend you dive right into Jonah’s and Calista’s story. I received this ARC copy of Stormchaser from St. Martin's Press. This is my honest and voluntary review. Stormchaser is set for publication March 7, 2017.

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