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httpsserene · 2 years ago

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httpsserene’s F1 Kinktober ‘23

summary: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you. and then winter break comes around, and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere—max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time, i think i may have slayed (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!

click here for f1 kinktober ‘23 table of contents.

overstimulation — 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑 & 𝐦𝐯. 𝟏 daniel ricciardo x max verstappen x fem!black!reader 6.5k words. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unprotected sex (practice safe sex, pls). safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of nudes. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system.

this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.

you.

daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.

they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.

after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.

“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”

max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”

daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”

max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”

a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”

max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”

daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.

the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.

as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”

daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.

dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”

daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.

the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.

they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.

on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest.

“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”

they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge.

before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.

daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”

daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”

grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”

daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner.

“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.

his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.

“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“

joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”

daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”

grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”

daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”

“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”

daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“

“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“

daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”

joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”

daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”

his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.

dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”

the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.

you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.

your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.

max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.

“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”

max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.

“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.

daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”

you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.

“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”

you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”

max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs.

“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.

“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”

max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin.

embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”

daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.

it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.

you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.

“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”

your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.

“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.

daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”

max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing.

“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.

you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”

dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.

“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.

“what’s your color, darlin’?”

with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”

you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”

a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!” but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.

the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?

max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard.

daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.

you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up.

daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste.

the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass.

he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.

when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”

you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable.

“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”

max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”

“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?

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weasleyreidstyles · 1 year ago

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Serendipity

chapter four

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): fainting, hospitals, talk of dark magic and curses

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Mattheo guided you to an empty carriage with his palm gently grazing the small of your back. If you were in your right state of mind, you'd shove his hand away. Probably.

But at that moment, he was the only person holding you upright. You had no idea what was wrong with you, what this overwhelming feeling was.

It's just the adrenaline, tesoro. It'll pass. Theo had barely spoken to you since school started, not including the few nights you'd been on patrol with him late at night or in Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. Everytime you interacted with Mattheo he seemed to become agitated, as though it wasn't his idea to have his best friend teach you control.

You sat in the far corner of the carriage silently as they deliberated what to do about the necklace that was floating between you all, and for some reason you felt an odd tingling, cold sensation wash over you as it came closer to you.

"Should we take it to Snape? Or straight to Dumbledore?" Zabini asked as he used his wand to rotate the antique, looking at it with distaste. Theo and Mattheo seemed to debate this as Enzo nodded in agreement immediately.

"No we take it to Madame Pomfrey." Pansy injects. "She's going to need to see what cursed Katie. So she knows how to heal her."

"She could've died." you say quietly into the warmth of your scarf. They all turn to stare at you. "The necklace is famously doused with a death curse. Over a few dozen muggles supposedly died instantly when they touched it with their bare hands. Had she not had her gloves on, she would have died."

They look stricken, as if this had not occurred to them at all. The air in the carriage went frigid, suddenly. And not because of the chill.

"All the more reason to get it to Dumbledore." Zabini insists, but you vehemently disagreed.

"No, Pans is right. Madame Pomfrey needs to see the necklace. I doubt she'll be able to treat Katie here, Hogwarts won't have the necessary resources for this sort of thing."

Zabini seemed to think on this and in the end you all agreed; when you reached the Hospital Wing where Katie Bell was writhing helplessly in a bed, you all but collapsed into Mattheo's awaiting arms.

~∞~

You've discovered that fainting is an odd sensation. One moment you felt fine, fine enough to function normally at least, then the next minute everything is a hazy void of nothing.

You wake up in a bed in the hospital wing, Hermione next to you, reading a muggle novel with a furrowed brow. She jolts up when she sees that you're conscious.

"You're awake. I'll get Madame Pomfrey, hold on." And she's off down the aisle of warded beds, back seconds later with the matron in tow.

Madame Pomfrey fusses over you for a moment, asking you all the generic questions, that you answer only with half-truths, before leaving you alone with Hermione once again when you answered sufficiently enough.

"How do you really feel?" your best friend asked, her face full of worry. "Harry and Ron wanted to be here, Ginny too, but they have Quidditch practice."

"I feel like I got hit over the head with a hammer." you say, your voice rough and hoarse. "What even happened? The last thing I remember is walking into the Hospital Wing."

"Nott said you passed out when you came to hand the necklace in. Riddle got you settled into bed and let Madame Pomfrey do her work. But she hasn't said what is implicitly wrong with you." she explained and you stared up at her incredulously.

"But I only fainted? It's not that serious, is it?" your anxiety spikes and, not intentionally, you blocked out Hermione's voice in order to get some answers.

I hear helped me into bed? I could've sworn you don't have a nice bone in your body, guess I was wrong.

You're awake. He sounds surprised...relieved.

Obviously or I wouldn't be communicating with you right now, would I?

Funny. His voice is filled with mirth at your sarcastic response. How do you feel, sweetheart?

Do you want the lie I told so that I could leave the Hospital Wing quicker, or the real answer?

I'd hope that all the time we've spent in each other's presence would warrant the truth, Meadow.

I feel like shit, Mattheo. I don't even know what caused it, I felt fine when we were in the carriage.

Did you? He doesn't believe you.

I mean– I think so, I– My arm doesn't hurt as much. Do you think that has something to do with it?

Maybe. Is Granger still with you?

Yes, why?

No reason.

Mattheo?

He doesn't give you a response.

Hermione is snapping her fingers in your face and calling your name as if she'd been doing it for a hot minute.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asks, concern written all over your face.

"You know, I feel a little fatigued, I might try and sleep it off." you feel like the worst person in the world for lying to your best friend, but you want answers, and Mattheo seemed like the only person who would be brutally honest with you.

"Alright. I'll come back tomorrow with the others if you're still here after lessons are over." she smiles at you and guilt eats away at your chest.

"Thank you for staying with me, Mione." She squeezes your hand affectionately before she stands up and leaves you alone.

~∞~

Half an hour later it's not Mattheo who comes to visit like you secretly hoped for (but you were denying this to yourself vehemently). Instead Professor Dumbledore walks into the Wing with his usual grace and grandure.

"Good evening, Miss Meadows." he says cheerily as he stands before you bed. "May I sit?"

Bewildered, you nod your head silently.

"There's no need for the confusion," he says, clearly using Occlimency on you. "I see you have a good grasp on your mind. When did you learn to do this?"

"I like to learn new things." you say, brows furrowing at him as he gets comfortable in the plush seat beside your bed. He hums at your answer, rubbing his chin with the fingers of his good hand.

"I believe you experienced something rather....odd this afternoon." he began, his usually twinkling eyes holding an emotion that you could not place. "Can you describe it to me?"

"Um...I guess it started when we got closer to Katie and Leanne-" you start before cutting yourself off. "Actually, how is she? Katie? What happened to her?"

Dumbledore sighs as he answers.

"She was taken to St. Mungo's for treatment. They have far better equipped staff for dealing with dark curses. Poppy does not do that sort of healing."

"But she'll be okay?" you ask.

"She'll live, miraculously." he says before he focuses on you again. "Now back to you, Miss Meadow."

"Right. We were walking down the lanes, behind them and then I think they had stopped walking while they were arguing and it felt like an eery shift in the air. I don't know how else to describe it but then Katie touched the necklace and went up into the air. When she started screaming that's when Matt– Riddle– that's when Riddle and his friends turned up behind us. Enzo and Blaise went to find Hagrid and Ron, Theo and Riddle helped pull her down. I tried to help but when I touched her, my arm started to burn." you can fell the sting like a phantom now that you think about the pain.

"Interesting." he says as he pulls an old signet ring from his deep robe pocket, holding it out for you to take. "Can you tell me what you feel when you touch this, please?"

You do as he says and take the ring into your hands. Twisting it around your fingers, allowing your magic begins to swirl around it before it burns your fingers. You drop it in an instant. That same cold, tingling feeling you felt when Blaise rotated the necklace washed over you right afterward.

"It's cursed?" you asked, looking up at the Headmaster for confirmation, who is staring at you with knowing, inquisitive eyes.

"Something like that, yes." he says, his decaying hand twitches in response.

"Is that why your hand is like...that?" you ask, motioning to the appendage.

"Yes, rather nasty isn't it?" he says, tucking his hand away from your prying eyes. "I'm not sure what it is cursed by, but that is why I have asked Harry to befriend Professor Slughorn. I believe it has something to do with Lord Voldemort and Horis is the key to everything.

He ignores the way you instinctively flinch at the name. But thats when you notice that the ring that is still on your bed, holds the Riddle insignia. Mattheo's family crest.

"Sir, what's wrong with me?" you croak, as you turn the ring in your hands once again, letting your magic wash over it and dropping it into your lap when it zaps you with another stinging burn.

Professor Dumbledore removes the ring from your possession as he answers carefully.

"You're an incredibly smart witch, Miss Meadows." he states. "Professor Snape tells me of your incredible non-verbal abilities, and am I correct in assuming that you are also talented with wandless magic?"

You flush at this. "Yes sir."

"It is no surpise to me that your magic picks up on things that other witches and wizards may not." he says, tilting his head at you. "I believe you would make a good Unspeakable in the future, my dear. Or perhaps a curse breaker."

"What?" you ask, completely muddled by how cryptic he seemed to become. "Why do you say that? Shouldn't I be worried that I can somehow detect dark magic?"

"On the contrary...I believe it will be the most important skill you learn in this life."

With that note, he stands and with a simple goodbye leaves you lying alone in the bed with a thousand thoughts running through your head.

None of them bringing you any closer to a solid answer to the biggest questions you have:

Why the hell can you sense dark magic? Why did it cause your skin to burn? Why did it cause you to lose your grasp on consciousness?

~∞~

aaand the plot thickens...🤭🤭🤭

this was quite short but there will be more mattheo and meadow moments to come in the next one i promise xxx

comment to be added to the taglist!

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira

#mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter #albus dumbledore #serendipity series

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rubra-wav · 1 year ago

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[ Entry #9 ] Various Vox headcanons

A/N I've got a post coming up about what I think it'd be like to actually date him coming up, (alongside Snap part 2 ofc, I'm just taking my time w it to try keep things accurate) so here's some points which will lead into that next post + other misc stuff I've been thinking abt.

Cw: SFW above cut, NSFW below cut - 18+ MDNI, reference to manipulative behaviours

SFW

- While drunk, he's both very affectionate and cute but also gets really sad and clingy. If you stop paying attention to him for even a second while he's gonna start bawling like a giant baby. It's also the only time he's truly 100% honest with how he feels about you.

Basically; the mask falls right off, so he doesn't like to get drunk around people. He will deny all that's been said or done during this.

- He doesn't need to sleep but likes to - when he sleeps tho he doesn't really sleep in the traditional sense but instead goes into a preset 'sleep mode' for a specific set of time. He can also be rebooted remotely if you need him up before he's programmed to wake up again. (I discuss more abt this type stuff in entry #4)

- Follow up point: when he dreams while in sleep mode, his dreams play on his screen. He often dreams about becoming essentially king of hell and having people worship him like a god.

If you bring this up, he will be embarrassed as all fucking hell and will also deny it vehemently.

- He ends up getting water damage fairly often because he really loves swimming and aquatic environments ironically.

He's of course got ways of waterproofing himself properly, but usually he will do it badly or just not give a fuck about it and go swimming impulsively.

Will complain like a bitch after getting water damaged as well, holy shit. Blames everything but himself about it.

- Follow up: if you ever take this man to an aquarium on a date, he's going to be so fucking excited about everything he's seeing.

He will be trying to contain himself, but he may end up letting the mask of calmness slip at points and just start randomly talking a million miles an hour about whatever shark, fish, sea creature, etc. He's seeing. He loves sharks so much.

- Somewhat follow-up point: If you 1. don't tell him to shut up about shit when he starts getting excited and talking really fast and loudly AND 2. Actually listen?

He's gonna be so goddamn happy. Holy shit.

He's used to being told to shut up when he starts talking about ideas he has for a new VoxTek project, so if you give him feedback and your thoughts on it once he's done info dumping? He's gonna start internally screaming because he's so happy about it.

- Follow up follow-up: He doesn't take criticism well though. In fact, he's a baby. If you're in a relationship and you've gotten him out of his bs a bit with his ego being fragile as shit about everything, it'll be better but still pretty bad.

He needs reassurance that just because you disagree or think (y) would be a better alternative than what's his (x), that you still think it's a good idea, lmao.

- If you wear blue light glasses he can't hypnotise you, and he absolutely fucking hates it. In an argument or confronting him, you just put on bluelight glasses and cross your arms, and he's so annoyed about it.

You'd need to start wearing blue light glasses, because this asshole will be trying to hypnotise you into forgetting things if you see something of him that he deems 'undesirable' about himself for you to see.

- He's such a colossal attention whore that the second you are doing something thats not to do with him or talking to someone who isn't him, he's gonna be pissy asf about it.

Think glaring at you while pouting and loudly tapping his foot. He's such a little shit 💀

- He's so intensely touch starved it's not even funny. If you're doing anything his hands are gonna be on your hip, your back or your shoulders.

He desperately wants to be physically close to you but he also will never normally instigate cuddle sessions because he thinks it's embarrassing that he wants them so badly. If you instigate them, he will absolutely love it.

Just not in public, though. If you try to be super affectionate or maybe even affectionate with him at all publicly, he'll be pushing you away telling you to wait until later.

And will get mad if you try get a bit defensive about it with him.

NSFW

- He has barely any self-control and ends up getting unintentionally excited really easily - even in situations where he really shouldn't be. If you as his partner are cuddling him, sitting in his lap, touching his neck, or god forbid the ports, he's gonna get hard so quickly it's not even funny.

Him being touch starved is really a double-edged sword because he wants to be near you, but also he gets unintentionally way too physically excited about it and ends up embarrassed asf most of the time.

- Kinda follow up point: I feel as if he's extremely repressed sexually in general. He works extremely long hours to maintain his control over everything single day, and considering his tendency to start zapping things when he gets closer to finishing / overwhelmed, he'd likely not be taking any chances at all with that.

So when he gets physically near his partner alone (and also not even alone), his body just kinda goes 'time to make up for lost time'. 💀

- Most sensitive erogenous zones on him (outside of his dick obviously) are his neck and ports. I'm not sure if him having ports for nipples is canon or not, but if it still is, those are the more sensitive ones. The ones on the back of his head are still an absolute killer, though.

If you kiss his neck even softly, he'll be tensing up, and if you're kissing him or cuddling him and gently brush up against the ports on the back of his head, or your chest brushes against his and brings him nipple stimulation - he's gonna be getting a boner as quick as it gets.

- He doesn't really care too much about his partner's height, but I get the vibe that he'd have a size difference thing and would love a partner who's smaller than him (but not tiny still)

It would trip his ego so much to be able to physically look down on people in general, but with a partner? He'd be going mildly insane about it but in a different way.

Wear his clothes, and they're massive on you? He's gonna be turned on as absolute hell by that. Especially if it's one of his button ups and its neckline is plunging and giving him an eyeful of your chest.

He can easily pick you up and pull you against him in whatever way? Goes absolutely nuts about it.

I love it when I try to go,'this will only be short', then my brainrot takes hold, and my ideas just keep flowing. 💀

Masterlist

#hazbin hotel #vox #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox smut #i got multiple things im doing for other stuff but this is what came out first lmao #art takes a lot longer for me to get through

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aguineapigcouldntdothis · 1 year ago

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goyim who say that "antizionism is not antisemitic", or believes all jews have to be vehemently antizionist, are absolutely antisemitic. I'm talking about the original, true definition of zionism (the jewish right to self determination) and not political/revisionist zionism used by the israeli government. i hate what the israeli government has turned zionism into and even though revisionist zionism is technically a real form of zionism i think it makes a joke out of the other branches bc it throws a lot of core ideals out of the window. zionism is about building a safe place for jews in eretz israel, not trying to conquer as much shit as possible.

if a goy thinks jews have to antizionist then that alienates a huge part of the community. most jews i know are zionists to varying degrees. we believe we have a right to our ancestral homeland, and that we are allowed to connect to the history we have in israel regardless of where we live. I may be wrong about most jews being zionists! I'm sephardic and i interact mostly with other sephardim and some mizrahim. However, most jews are ashkenazim and im not close enough with any of them to know their opinions on zionism or im not aware that they are ashkenazi.

goyim cannot be against a sizable chunk of the jewish population without being antisemitic. it sounds ridiculous to say "i support this group but only if they disagree with that core belief that many of them have!" in order to talk about jewish people from an outside perspective then goys need to learn what defines us.

there's also two main options when a goy believes jews must be antizionist. they either know the true definition of zionism or they have no fucking clue what it actually is (yet still think they do). in the first case, theyre clearly against an important belief of jewish ppl, which as I said before, is antisemitic. in the second one, they are speaking for the jewish community without learning our history, which is also antisemitic. you cannot make decisions for a community you are not part of ESPECIALLY if you dont know shit about them.

it is very, very important that goyim learn about the jews before saying shit about us. expecting us to be against our right to self determination is complete fuckery. believing that we all have to agree on a complex topic is laughable. debate and arguments are a crucial part of our lives, and goyim should not attempt to take that away from us. we can't fuckin agree on what to flavor our rice with sometimes, much less an issue as complex as zionism. even though a lot of jews are zionists we still have our own unique opinions that may differ greatly from other zionists. we also recognize that antizionist jews are valid and they tend to feel the same about us.

zionism is simply our right to self determination and our right to be connected to israel, whether its an emotional connection or we actually live there. i also firmly believe in everyone's right to self determination, including palestine. i don't think that jews are the only ones who deserve that right. all groups that have been displaced or are currently being displaced are allowed to connect to their homeland however they wish. it doesn't matter if the displacement was yesterday or a thousand years ago.

if you're jewish id love to hear your opinion on this. if you're a goy, please sit back and listen. it is not your place to decide how jews should interpret our own history.

#jumblr #jewish

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trashpandato · 2 years ago

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Art

Kara is a doodler.

Anytime she has a pen or pencil in her hand, she doodles. Initially, it started off as a way for Kara to find a credible explanation for when she was drawing Kryptonian symbols on the edges of her school work in high school.

“Kara likes to doodle,” Jeremiah explained to her teacher who had pointed it out during a parent-teacher meeting.

Kara had to ask Jeremiah what doodling meant, and then vehemently disagreed with him that that is what she was doing. But then Jeremiah reminded her, again, that she could never let anyone know that she wasn’t human and really shouldn’t be writing Kryptonian words on anything that could be seen in public.

From that moment on, Kara learned to stay away from words and began to try and capture her memories of Krypton as images. She still doddled, as Jeremiah called it, because all anyone not familiar with Kara’s background would see on the page were circles (not Krypton’s moons) or abstract shapes (not the skyline of buildings Kara remembered seeing from her bedroom window).

Over time, Kara’s doodles became less about Krypton and more about things she had seen on Earth. Cat Grant famously asked her about a scribble of a cat in a tree that showed up on the upper left edge of a printed press release Kara had handed to her. Kara stammered her way through an apology and explained that she had rescued a cat during her lunch break and the image must have stuck in her head somehow.

Most of the time, Kara’s doodles are about food, though.

She draws little pizzas, dumplings still in their steamer baskets, croissants that make a decorative edge around the notes from her latest interview. It’s mindless fun and keeps her hands entertained when she’s bored or needs some release valve for her extra energy.

“It’s almost Freudian with you” Alex joked once when she found a small ink pen drawing of a box of donuts on a few notes Kara made while listening to a briefing at the DEO.

“I told you not to schedule the briefing over lunch,” Kara shot back and then immediately launched herself into the skies in search of her favourite donuts in National City.

And then she meets Lena, and it doesn’t take long for Kara’s doodles to include little chess pieces, loops that remind her of the earrings Lena wore that day, sharp lines that look a lot like a certain building with a large L on its facade.

It’s years into their friendship when Lena finally asks her about it.

Kara is sitting at her kitchen island, lost in thought. She’s spent the last few days frantically trying to help organize Alex and Kelly’s wedding. She’s exhausted, and Lena has offered to make them some tea to help Kara relax when she turns around and asks.

“What’s that?”

Kara frowns but looks up at Lena then.

“What’s what?”

“You’re, I don’t know, scribbling something. Or drawing. I’m not sure because it almost didn’t look like you were even paying attention to what your hand was doing.”

“Oh,” Kara feels a little like Lena caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle.”

Kara wants to cover up the paper in front of her but Lena is already there, craning her neck to see the small image that has appeared on the edge of Kara’s to-do list for the wedding.

It’s a small portrait of Lena. Next to a larger doodled heart.

It’s not subtle, but then again, none of Kara’s doodles ever are. It’s just that usually no one else sees them. But when Lena does see this one, she freezes. For a brief moment, Kara wishes a portal would open up in her kitchen so she could disappear rather than have to explain. But then, Lena turns to face her, eyes wide but oh so full of hope and Kara knows this is it, the final step for them.

Years later, Sam finds the framed doodle in Lena’s and Kara’s apartment, hanging just to the side of several photos they’ve taken over the years of their friends and family. Sam turns to Kara and smirks.

“This is high art. You should feature it more prominently.”

Kara smacks Sam’s arm but can’t help the broad smile overtaking her features.

“I’m sure if I move the Kandinsky to hang this one up by the fireplace instead, Lena is going to divorce me.”

Sam laughs but then says: “Lena loves you so much, she would let you doodle on that Kandinsky.”

And Kara isn’t so sure about that. It’s an original, after all. But she is sure that Lena loves her, so she just nods and pulls Sam back into the living room to re-join their friends.

Kara does draw a small portrait of Lena on the side of her Yahtzee score sheet later, though.

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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moodymisty · 2 years ago

Note

Request; Guilliman's partner comforting him? He is so sad in 40k, and has so much on his plate. The Lord Regent needs cuddles when he has a break!

Author's Note: #LetRollarcoasterGhilliesuitRest. I'm having fun writing all these cute requests while I work on some Konrad stuff >:3

Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None apart from Cato Sicarius being an stick in the mud because that's just who he is ✨ he just born that way ✨

Word Count: 932

Guilliman's chambers remain unchanged from when he had last entered them, a massive room adorned with the symbols of his legion. It is all ornate, golden, tapestries hanging and filigree tracing the edges. It's all decorative, indulgent. But none of it is his; The room feels nothing but sterile, to him. There isn't a single remnant of his life, only his legacy.

"You look tired."

You sit small on his massive bed, Guilliman's gaze having turned to you upon hearing your voice. It's quiet in the massive room, nearly drowned out by the high ceiling.

He is tired. Incredibly so. Perhaps mentally more than physically. Though the sight of you serves to act like some sort of drug to give him a boost, abit only temporarily.

He works tirelessly, endlessly, with no goal or end in sight. The Imperium is no less rotten, galaxy no less plagued since he'd last looked. You serve to be a small candle for him, a hope for a future, but a candle can't light a cavern. But still, he hates to imagine his life without you now.

Though Chapter Master Marneus Calgar and the Commanders of the Legion had not taken well to it. To you. It seems their Primarch having wants and desires beyond his supposed godhood is upsetting. They seem to almost speak of it, of you, as if it's an illness- being in love. Wanting a life beyond war.

Gulliman still remembers Cato Sicarius' attempt to discipline you for referring to him as Roboute so casually, spitting venom at your supposed disrespect.

The holotable shined against blue painted armor and skin, sickly green blending with blue and gold. Guilliman had been expecting a moment alone with you, to voice his thoughts, though it has quickly seemed to have turned into a meeting of sorts. You moved to take your leave, as you know well you were unwelcome in the Ultramarine chapter's private dialogues. Guilliman doesn't disagree that you shouldn't overhear, but his chapter takes it much more seriously. Vehemently so.

You look up at him, holding your hands close to yourself.

"I'll be in the Librarium, Roboute-"

Cato Sicarius turned his gaze to you, searing even through his helmet. His stance across the holotable was firm and unmovable, one hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He is ever the epitome of Ultramarine valor.

"You will speak of Our Lord Guilliman with the proper respect-"

Guilliman turned to the Ultramarine, who's zealotry has been wearing on him like waves against a ragged shoreline. To him he can begrudgingly deal with it, but he will not let him trample you.

"She can refer to me however she wishes," Guilliman said, his armor making noise as he resisted balling his hands into fists. "Do not speak for me again."

The Primarch had shut the Astarte down within moments. But the burn still remains. Their overwhelming zeal has proven irritating, but in that moment it finally turned him to anger.

They treat him like a god, speak of him as such; You are the only one who still treats him like a man. Perhaps he might be far removed, but he is still human, underneath his overwhelming size and power. At least he feels he is. Sometimes he isn't quite sure anymore.

"Perhaps I am. Sleep is rare for us all." He finally responds to your comment, neither disagreeing or agreeing fully. Despite it, you look up at him with this soft, caring face- It reminds him of Euten. You gently pat the bed.

"Can you come here?"

The Primarch listens, coming closer. He gently sits on the bed to avoid jostling you, watching the way you curl your hand to gesture him closer. He furrows his brow.

"What do you have in mind?" Guilliman watches you intently, trying to read you and figure it all out. You just give him that same sweet look.

"Just come closer. Lay down." When he doesn't move, you sigh.

"Please?"

Then does the Primarch finally give in, laying back; Feeling your hands as you adjust until the back of his head lays across your thighs. Your hands brush through his hair, and Guilliman swears for a moment he could die right here and be satisfied. With such a simple gesture, you've healed him just a bit from the horrors gnawing at him.

His eyes are hooded, not quite closed as he looks off. He looks deep in thought, or tired. More than likely both.

"You have the time to sleep, if you want." If he returned here, it could only mean he finally had managed to obtain a moment to himself. He's looking away from you when he responds.

"I don't wish to weigh you down for so long." Your hand brushes across his cheek for a moment, brushing a chunk of short blonde hair behind his ear.

"I know you Roboute; You won't be asleep for that long."

The sentence makes him let out a dry laugh. You had him down to a science within months; His Legion barely knows him, and they worship him.

His hand reaches up to gently cup your face, and it swallows so much of it. You lean into his palm none the less. You put your hand on his own for a moment, before returning it to his head.

"Take a moment to yourself, Roboute. You've fought for everyone else for so long. The galaxy can spare you a minute."

He doesn't remember anything else, after. Just the soft look in your eyes and the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

#roboute guilliman x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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aforestescape · 1 year ago

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konig - unplanned pregnancy

…just because i got my birth control removed and i’m in the mood for it

content includes: unexpected pregnancy, afab!reader, gn!reader, pervert!konig, fat!konig supremacy, mentions of co-erced pregnancy, descriptions of sex

you and konig at this point have spent a few months being friends with benefits. it was entirely your choice not to cross any boundaries past that. a decision that konig vehemently disagreed with but he kept it to himself. now wasn’t the time to pressure you into dating. he could enjoy your days hanging out or studying together. the texts in the middle of lecture to meet at your dorm for a quickie between classes.

no matter your conversations on relationships and you being steadfast in not wanting to date, konig knows that you’re his. maybe it’s a bit malicious, the joy that goes through him as you sit on his bed in tears. head in your hands as you try to speak past the need to sob at your predicament.

you should’ve known. should’ve been more careful. with the amount of time you two spent in each others beds or really any place you could manage privacy. betting on all the plan b’s you’d taken to keep your from getting pregnant even though you were aware it wasn’t safe to take so many frequently.

all the times you’d moan out around him. nails digging into the rolls on konigs back as he pounded into you. his own pathetic whines echoing in the space with yours. strings of english and german. asking, begging you to let him cum inside of you. to let him fill you up, how gorgeous you’d look swelling with his seed.

he loves the idea. thinking of you round and glowing with his baby. maybe even twins, they run in his family after all. wondering if they’d have your skin complexion or his pale freckled one. if their hair would grow in ginger like his as a baby only to change to a deep brown when he got older. if they’d have your love for reading or his for video games. if you’d look at them with as much joy as you did your nieces and nephews.

it was something he’d hoped he’d be able to convince you with time. you’d spent so many months at this point with each other. he’d let you cry in his chest when you were having a hard time. let you complain about classes to him and he’d spoil you with his money. eager to show you how well he could take care of you if you’d just give him a chance.

surely you’d realize soon enough he was the one person for you. and he’d thought about this outcome too. trapping you with him for life. if you wouldn’t date him, wouldn’t admit the feelings he was sure you had for him then he’d just take matters into his own hands. it’d be so easy to knock you up. you were so greedy when it came to his cum. quick to get on your knees and worship his thick cock. eager to lick the copious amounts of cum from your hand after giving him a handjob.

everytime he begged to cum inside of you, to mark you as his he could fill you tighten up around him. your perfect cunt milking his cock till he was overstimulated and whining into your neck.

he’d recall the times you’d ask him to cum for you, to fill you up whenever he had to take his hard and leaking cock into his own hand.

think about how good you always look rolling your hips as your soaking cunt rubbed against his fat stomach. using him as a toy while begging for his cum as if you weren’t denying yourself. a part of him angry to be wasting what’s yours. wasting his potent seed when he could be filling your perfect body up instead.

so konig could hardly hold back the joy he felt as you sobbed next to him on his bed. arm wrapped around you in comfort as you tried to speak through your tears. crying about being pregnant, how you both should’ve been more careful. you’re still in school, both still studying for the separate futures you wanted to build. and now those plans were taking a sharp turn with two little pink lines.

he’d rub your back as you cried into his chest, tears soaking his shirt. mind already filling with baby names and how he’d introduce you to family. they’d love you, he knew it. his family would easily accept you with his babies swelling inside of your belly. you’d grow to love and accept him now, you had no choice.

once again found a finished work in my drafts i forgot about whoops. have a few more so i’ll prob post something tomorrow, hope you enjoyed🙈🫶🏽

#konig cod #konig x reader #konig x gn!reader #pervert!konig #perv!konig #aforestescape

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exquisink · 1 year ago

Text

@lupanaoflaminar || thanks for the suggestion! apologies for the delay. enjoy!

aang notices a change in the dynamic between zuko and katara.

how does he notice this shift?

appa detects that dramatic shift first--nudging him and pointing out how much closer and intimate they've gotten. from exchanging little whispers, maybe sweet nothings for all that aang knows, or stealing glances when they can. it must cease in aang's world, because he does see katara first and that means she's his turf, thank you very much.

appa disagrees.

never does he feel more betrayed, but if there's anyone's judgment aang trusts more than anyone's, it's appa's. so he knows when to wave that little white flag in the realm of his disastrous excuse for a love life. katara seems interested in zuko, as much as she vehemently denies it to his face.

appa knows better; now aang knows better.

it's another evening of watching those two fumble around each other like imbeciles. ok zuko's the imbecile, especially for weasling his way into her radar like this; katara's the smartest, prettiest, most powerful girl in the world in aang's eyes (though her interest in zuko has him reconsidering that judgment). appa adjusts his position where he is by aang and yawns, just before taking action.

zuko and katara choose to sit next to each other by the fire, but there's a healthy distance between them. something aang appreciates, but apparently appa has other plans. zuko relaxes his posture, tension releasing from his body and feeling at peace in katara's presence. aang continues to glower like a jealous partner. that's just like aang always feels around her. zuko does seem to want to make a move but is petrified about proceeding. firelord title aside, he's just like any other awkward teenager working through complicated emotions like feelings for a girl near and dear to him.

aang tries to ignore the jealousy pooling in his gut. really, he does. he's given the time to back COMPLETELY off. he knows katara doesn't belong to anyone, and she can be with whoever makes her happy. if zuko makes her happy, then that's that. appa has a great judge of character after all and zuko is still his dearest friend above all else.

while katara's attending to some strands of hair that have gone astray from the humidity, zuko admires her with the most soft affection glimmering in his amber eyes. it makes aang sick to his stomach. that's how AANG always looks at katara . . .

he catches zuko glancing at her every now and then, and almost tries to reach his hand out to her, but retracts at the last minute. he's probably groaning to himself, and appa, as fed up with these antics as he is, nudges zuko hard by the shoulder and now he's barely centimeters from smelling katara's freshly washed hair.

"s-sorry! sorry. don't know what got over appa and i uhhhh -- am i invading your personal space?"

katara glances up at him with a puzzled expression before shaking her head with a smile.

"not at all zuko." in fact to zuko's delight and aang's disapproval she scoots into him, practically in his lap. "is that better?"

"i, uh, yes! of course," zuko stammers. appa groans before returning to aang's side, pleased with his role of zuko's personal wingman.

"you know you're supposed to be on my side," aang whispers. "but i guess it's just not meant to be with us."

appa grunts in response, as if to affirm what aang said is true.

#atla #atla zutara #zutara #zuko x katara #atla zuko #atla katara #the gaang #gaang #appa #atla appa #katara #zutara drabble #atla drabble #erixtales

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scoobydoodean · 6 months ago

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wait hi op i made that bitchy post about deangirl real world consequences. popping in to clarify bc i have #autism and can’t stand miscommunication even if we both have vehemently diff spn opinions and will still incredibly disagree once i communicate. i meant real world consequences in terms of ‘deangirlism has consequences To The World’ in terms of general ability to recognise abusive dynamics irl and even that was tongue-in-cheek/i don’t actually think that. i especially do not think in a million years there are real world evil biblical consequences for Being A Deangirl💕the samgirls as catholics post was funny tho so props to u

I think samgirls like you should work on your own ability to recognize abusive dynamics in real life. Starting with a primer on DARVO. That's fair enough about not intending a spiritual angle, but I don't think it makes you look any better if I'm being honest (though I'm sure you don't care, since I certainly don't care what you or your friends think of me).

I'd appreciate it if you and your circle stopped talking shit about other bloggers you don't like by name. It's dogshit behavior. Some of your followers took your post as an invitation to come on my page and hate scroll for a while and send me hate mail. You publicly complained about several of my mutuals—including one person who I know your friends (if not you yourself) have piled on before specifically for pointing out canonical events that occur in Supernatural that don't support your agenda. What if reminding one of them about it caused them to start up their harassment again? Or was that what you wanted deep down? I don't happen to be bothered by the middle schoolers who follow you messaging me to try and hurt my feelings. But I don't appreciate you inciting harassment against my friends at all.

I find it funny that even now, you're on your page playing victim about being vagued about by two strangers you openly talked shit about by name out of the blue. Tbh it's easy to see why you and your equally catty friends identify with Sam. You all love to pretend you're the victim in every interaction you've ever had. When something you chose to do even vaguely bites you in the ass, you act like it was everyone else's fault but yours and take no responsibility, and even now, all you care about is clarifying that you aren't religious instead of apologizing for publicly complaining about a group of strangers to your toxic, harassment-prone followers because you can't figure out how to filter a goddamn url.

Please type "scoobydoodean" into your Tumblr word filter and be free of my allegedly inescapable posts forever—and don't ever talk shit about my friends ever again.

#this is sideblog fyi so I can absolutely see your posts #and why would you use someone's name ass out on main and assume /none/ of their followers would see it anyway #do you have any idea how many times i've been sent posts about me by anons completely unprompted?#including from what I've heard other samfans trying to stir up drama?

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loversfms · 6 days ago

Text

[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you ? i figured because you totally just missed summer bradford walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who she is ? they kind of look like olivia holt and i could be wrong but i think that they might be twenty-seven years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last two years. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of regina george from mean girls. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working as an economist. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the tenacious of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty abrasive at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty vehement to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that three bedroom home beside me over in emerald point. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you !

STATS:

full name : summer elaine bradford nickname(s) : n / a birthplace : westport, connecticut date of birth : august 2, 1997 parentage : hank bradford & annalise bradford sibling(s) : __ bradford ( older brother ) relationship status : single gender identity : cis woman ( she/her ) sexual orientation : heterosexual occupation : economist faceclaim : olivia holt

BACKGROUND: ( tw: mentions of body image, mentions of misogyny )

being born in westport, connecticut, life was supposed to be easy for summer bradford. she came from money and was a beautiful girl. why did she have to make things so hard for herself ?

she's the youngest of two, only three years separating her and her brother. from the jump, she was raised to expect everything yet nothing, all at the same time.

her childhood was shaped by numerous nannies who knew more about her than her own parents. her dad was too busy working or networking ( aka playing golf ) while her mother was too busy having brunch with the other westport housewives.

they were the typical american nuclear family -- a son in sports, and summer was taking dance. it was clear their parents wanted them to take on what was expected from a son and a daughter.

summer took on the feminine role well. she liked being a girl and mostly all that came with it. still, she knew something wasn't quite right.

she had begun outperforming her brother and quickly. she had more drive and more interest to learn. but, that didn't mean anything to her parents. her mother would tell her things like honey, you won't need math -- you'll marry a man with so much money, things like that won't matter. her father would say i really wish you wouldn't read so much. i don't like the ideas it puts in your head.

it didn't make any sense -- how could they have such high expectations for their son and absolutely none for their daughter ?

that was the beginning of what her father would call her DISAGREEABLE PERSONALITY. he wanted her to be gentle and meek, to sit down and shut up. unfortunately for hank bradford, his daughter possessed many of his own traits, and knew just how to use them against him.

so, she kept reading. she would call out his politics at the dinner table, much to her family's dismay. she would look for any reaosn to ruffle his feathers, the way he had ruffled hers so many times. as she grew up, it was rarer and rarer for her to complete a full dinner without being sent away.

in true summer fashion, she also made sure to be petty in the only way she knew how. by playing along. ninety percent of westport women cared about their looks, her mother included. she took dance classes, went to workout classes with her mother, regularly attended the hair and nail salons, and had a closet many girls could only dream of. on the outside, she looked like the perfect westport daughter. that's why it was SO FRUSTRATING to her parents that she couldn't just be that.

she knew society's expectations for her, and she could play that part too. she could smile and bat her eyelashes enough to get herself out of anything, had wit quicker than most of her peers could even think, and possessed a confidence that simply drew people in ( whether they liked it or not ).

it all comes to a halt when she's fifteen years old. her father, tired of dealing with her ( especially now that his golden boy has gone off to college ) sends her off to florida to stay with her mother's sister and her new family.

it was an adjustment, moving from a town like westport to a town like palmview. but she was a smart girl, she knew she was going to thrive anywhere she went.

and she did. she'd built her reputation from the ground up ( who didn't want to be friends with the mysterious new rich girl ? ). she'd made the world her bitch, just like she knew she was destined to.

of course, once she graduated, she couldn't wait to get the hell out of florida. she'd worked hard and was able to go to mit and get her master of applied science in date, economics, and design of policy.

to her, becoming an economist just made sense. she had been surrounded by money and following trends her whole life, did it not make sense to combine the two ?

the most embarrassing part of her life was the move back to palmview. she tells herself it's because she loves the beach, and not because the closest thing she had to family was here.

PERSONALITY + HEADCANONS:

as stated, she has a disagreeable personality lol

unfortunately everyone has to hear her big mouth because her dad wanted her to just be a gossiper with her friends ( which she still is, but she'll happily talk bad to your face as well )

secretly ( not so secretly ? ) a big nerd. she likes to prove there's more that meets the eye and subvert society's expectations.

but she's, like, a HUGE NERD. very secretly into games of all kind ( board games, video games, tt/rpg games ). definitely has a desktop setup and probably owns a playstation too. goes to the arcade often just to keep herself busy -- it seems like a more socially acceptable way to play games she likes.

has definitely participated in multiple d & d campaigns but only online so no one knows she's doing all that LMFAOOOOO

listens to and watches everything. she must have an opinion on literally everything !!! it's just who she is. also, she would hate for a reference to go over her head 💔💔 fomo fr

she also likes to just lose herself in the media she likes. she loves analyzing things and discussing them with others ( and seeming like the snobbiest & smartest person in the room ), but for however long, it's nice to not have to be ON. as much as she loves pushing people's buttons, it's nice to not have to always be on defense.

has literally every form of social media you could imagine. she's not an influencer by any means, but i can imagine she has a lot of followers. who wouldn't want to follow a beautiful girl with the picture perfect life, or the most correct opinions ?

fiercely loyal to those she cares about, but the list of people she cares about is quite short.

in short, she's a mean girl cus she wasn't loved enough as a kid sorryyyyyyyyyy maybe she'll change but probably not!!!!

#as always...... graphic later!!!!!#palmviewintro

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asterdisaster06 · 2 years ago

Text

i love you ain't that the worst thing you've ever heard?

ghost x reader [exes], slight soap x reader [mostly platonic], platonic 141 x reader

Pt 1. Pt 2. 3.

summary > Soap interactions with you, bringing you food after you skip dinner in favor of taking a nap, Price wants to see you - see pt 1 for overall fic summary

word count > 1.6k

warnings > should be none

a/n > future chapters should be longer, this just felt like a nice cutoff and I'm just starting to get the hang of fanfic writing. gotta love our boy Soap though. it might be a while for the next chapter though since i'm working on other works too

ao3

“Goddamn, who let a little birdie in here?” He laughs.

Soap. You had heard quite a bit about this particular Scotsman from your ex lover. You had an inkling that you two would’ve gotten along, even bringing it up to Simon once or twice about meeting him. He denied your request, sighing goodnaturedly about how you two apart are already the death of him - let alone together. You claimed that this was all the more reason to meet him, or at the very least, let him know of your existence. Simon had always paused around this point and you had never pushed it, and now you’re kind of glad. The last thing you needed was another person that was no longer a stranger around this base. You were supposed to be having a new start, and that would be very difficult if MacTavish knew of your existence beforehand.

However, you hadn’t expected to run into one of Simon’s teammates so soon into your arrival on base. The world seemed to have different plans though.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to get to my room?” You ask politely, pulling out your information to show him.

“Aye, I do happen to know the way, follow me, Lass.”

You were honestly counting on him not knowing, but you’re realizing now that he’s the kind of person that would figure it out whether he knew initially or not. It seems like you’re stuck in the company of this man and his mohawk for a little while longer. It’s not like you particularly disliked him, in fact it was quite the opposite. It’s just the memories of your past are being dredged up by him, and his association with Simon wasn’t helping.

“So, what’s up with the mask,” He asks, drawing out the ‘a’ in the last word, coming off as teasing you.

You were attempting to come up with a half truth, because you truly hadn’t worn this mask minus on missions at your old base. It was simply this place that brought out that side of you. Or maybe it was a person rather than a place.

“I just find it comforting, y’know?” You decide on, finally. It wasn’t a lie, the mask truly did offer you comfort around here. It just probably isn’t for a reason that Soap would detect.

“I think you’d get along well with one of my masked comrades, maybe bond about hiding identities or somethin’” Soap chuckles.

You offer a slight smile in return, the anxiety that had recently left coming back in full force. You knew exactly who he was talking about, and you vehemently disagreed with what Soap had to say.

“You should join us for dinner after you get settled in, I could be your little tour guide,” Soap says, winking at you.

“I’ll have to think about it, stranger,” You offer back, smiling.

“Oh yeah! The name’s Soap. Soap MacTavish,” He laughs.

“You can call me Angel,” You say, blushing as you realize the implications.

He sends you a curious look with an eyebrow raise. “Oh? Let me at least take you out to dinner first, Bonnie.”

“Very funny, it’s my callsign. Like I assume yours is, unless your parents really hated you,” You joke, almost enjoying this banter with Soap.

“Oi, we don’t judge around here,” He laughs, referring to your silly callsigns.

“I suppose I’ll see you around, Soap?” You ask, ready to settle down in your own space. With your own silence to accompany you.

“Is that a yes to dinner?” He jokes, aware of the double meaning of his sentence.

“Oh knock it off, I’ll have to think about it,” You smile, wondering if this is how it could’ve been in another life. A life where you had actually gotten to meet Soap under different circumstances. You unlock your door, entering and turning back to see Soap still there.

“Don’t think too hard! I wouldn’t want you to worry that pretty little head of yours too much, Bonnie,” He teases, already deciding on a nickname for you it seems.

“We hardly know each other, and you have no clue what I look like,” You laugh, pushing him out of your doorframe, amused at his antics nonetheless.

“Oh, I’m sure you look slightly better than a troll under the bridge at least,” He says with a toothy grin. “You’re not ugly, are you?” He asks ironically.

“Quite the opposite,” You offer up with a crooked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” He says with a smile that rivals the Cheshire cat. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”

“You’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll be fine alone,” You say, tiredly. It’s not like you wanted to cut your friendly banter with Soap short. On the other hand, you didn’t exactly feel like socializing. Not after your tiring day already.

“Alright, alright rookie. But I am bringing something around later to make sure you eat. If it wasn’t me it would be Price, so don’t think it’s any trouble,” He says, predicting your words before you could even voice them.

“Who are you calling a rookie, Sergeant?” You chirp out.

“Are you not one? Price just mentioned that we would be getting someone new, or maybe I was zoning out when he mentioned your details. Actually no, I definitely was. I think I was throwing crumpled up paper at Gaz - you’ll meet him later,” Soap explains, smiling at the end.

Gaz. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick. Simon had spoken less of him specifically but whatever he did have to say, it was only full of praise. That or another story of his unfortunate luck lending him time hanging from a rope out of a helicopter. That story had always made you laugh.

“I’m technically a Lieutenant,” You manage to say between laughter.

“Jesus Christ, another one? I wouldn’t have coined you for one,” Soap exclaimed.

“And why’s that?” You ask, curious but already knowing the answer. People have always underestimated you based on looks and size. Starting from your first days at the academy to when you first got your callsign to even after you were nicknamed the ‘Angel of Death.’ Other soldiers had only reinforced Simon’s words that you weren’t worthy of your position, let alone the opportunity to even try.

“Just the way our Lieutenant, or I guess I should start referring to him as ‘First Lieutenant’ now, responded to the details that I didn’t hear. He almost seemed to be. . . worried about having someone else to worry about. Looking at you now though, I can tell we’re going to have nothing to worry about,” He ends with a smile.

Huh, that was new. You didn’t expect that from Soap, but you suppose he’s just full of surprises. Fitting for the demolitionist that has a knack for gunpowder filled surprises. Nonetheless, you had luggage to unpack and sleep to catch up on. You eventually get Soap to leave you alone to your devices, putting on your playlist and unpacking about half of your shit before getting too tired to continue. Laying back on your freshly made bed, your eyes flutter closed and you fall into unconsciousness.

A knock at your door wakes you and you shake off your sleepiness - rubbing your eyes and stretching as you do. The blurriness of both your vision and mind makes you almost forget where you are. Only for a second though.

“Open up, Angel!” Soap yells through the door.

He really had no capabilities of being subtle, did he. You stumble a bit getting out of bed but find your footing and make your way to the wooden door, turning the knob and opening it. The brightness of the hallway makes you flinch slightly before your eyes adjust to the lighting.

“What do you want?” You ask the man who’s simply standing and staring at you.

“You- you don’t have your mask on-” He stammers, seemingly caught between staring and shielding his face out of politeness.

“I mean, I don’t sleep with it on, and you did kind of wake me up, MacTavish,” You sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Oh right! Here’s your food,” Soap smiles sheepishly, taking the tupperware out from behind his back. It has a silly little doodle of himself in cartoon form saying “Food for Angel, No touchy” which you found amusing enough to smile at.

“Thank you Soap, genuinely,” You offer up, taking his gift of food from his hands.

He smiles back at you, sending you a mock salute before heading off to presumably his room. Before he gets to the end of the hallway he suddenly stops and turns, yelling back at you that Price wants to see you in his office after you finish eating. He really waited until the last minute for that one, didn’t he? Despite the slight annoyance you held, it was overshadowed by the simple amusement you had watching the man. He might not have known you knew of his famous shenanigans before you even set eyes on him, but you would get there. You take a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of what the mess hall had to offer for today. It exceeded your expectations, but that could just be the fact that your old base had shit food.

You truly wondered what Price had to say to you, deciding that he was calling you down to fire you for the disrespect you had shown him and your apparent partner by leaving so suddenly. Obviously, it was not going to be that dramatic, but you still worried a tad bit. You were aware that you would likely be working alongside Simon, and some small masochistic part of you accepted this job despite it. Maybe in spite of it. You wanted to prove yourself to him, though you’re now realizing that he’ll eventually need to know your identity. Something you aren’t keen on sharing.

That part of you had been shed long ago, and now your new feathers have grown in.

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speculativeartisan · 3 months ago

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A Chapter by Chapter analysis of Amgydala by Sam Fennah

Preamble: My favorite kinds of novel tend to be ones the author has written entirely for their own gratification. Without worrying about what might be "marketable" or "relatable" to an audience. These books are not always good, sometimes they are infuriating, but they are never boring. I disagree vehemently with the politics of Dean Koontz but I am fascinated by his material. Anne Bishop's 'The Others' series frustrates me in deep and complicated ways, but I don't regret having read them. And in the same vein I adore The Black Jewels trilogy for doing exactly what it set out to do.

Amygdala, the first book in what is to be an eight book series, is exactly this. Written by Sam Fennah, it explores a world of his own creation, full of creatures of his own creation, and aims to tell a sprawling story about the birth and struggles of a newly formed society. His stated aim is to use this exaggerated parody of civilization as a lens through which to examine ideologies of all stripes. I am keenly interested to know if he succeeds at this. I am reading from the Second Edition of the book, which contains a few scenes not present in the first, and some editing for brevity.

Disclaimer: This is not a takedown, sporking, or otherwise derogatory look at Fennah's work. Likewise I'm not here to kinkshame about the decapitation stuff. Let he who is without a weird fetish cast the first stone, and that is emphatically not me. I intend to engage with this book in good faith, if you are interested in that then we will begin with chapter one below the cut.

Chapter One

We begin with an overview of where we are and what we're dealing with. The narrator introduces us to the Kivouack, a pre-big bang mass of chaos that operates under different laws of physics, chemistry, and geometry than the world we're accustomed to. The landscape is wild, eldritch, and the animals that live here are as strange as the place that birthed them. Kivouachians, or Kivva for short, have no real shared body plan save for three navels, cross shaped pupils, and their method of reproduction. Outside of that the sky is the limit as far as appearance, environment, diet, and gender go. Sex is binary, but vestigial, which is to say all Kivva are capable of siring and bearing young and secondary sex characteristics are cosmetic. A bit of a handwave on the part of the author to explain why gendered pronouns, or even gender itself, exists in this society. I too understand the pain of trying to invent a neo-pronoun for your race of functional hermaphrodites that doesn't sound jarring or silly, so I'm willing to accept it. And honestly breasts as a vestigial organ is a very funny concept to me. Like being born with or without that tendon in your wrist that lets you throw things a little farther, but for tits. They are also immortal; like lobsters they don't die of old age and will keep on trucking until they are either killed or rendered incapable of sustaining themselves.

The explanation of all that comes a little later on though, for now we get a brief history lesson. In the beginning there was Freyda, a very large and volatile kiv who basically rampaged her way across the landscape eating and fucking whoever and whatever she wanted while all her smaller brethren mostly just tried to keep the hell out of her way. Eventually she spawns Locket, who looks at this mess and decides she wants something better. Locket organizes an army, takes down Freyda, and when the dust settles she establishes the Underbirth, the first real city the Kivouack has ever seen.

What this historical overview wants to impress on the reader are two things. One, that Locket's society is driven by the idolization of competence and a fear of failure. Sink or swim culture taken to a logical extreme. In order to discourage complacency, death is touted as the ultimate failure and the bodies of those failures are done up in elaborate poses called 'bows' meant to humiliate the victim. If you fail in the underbirth not only will you die, but other kivs will bend your corpse over backwards and use it as an armchair in order to further add insult to injury. Life in the underbirth is all about that #grindset and falling behind means you could be someone's dinner or decoration depending. I should also note here that Kivouachians are the only species of animal around and thus the only available source of meat, though it is not specified in this chapter if kivs require animal protein in their diet or if it's just a preference. Largely they appear to be omnivorous.

Two, a premium is placed on physical fitness. Disability and sickness aren't unheard of, but they are uncommon and medicine as it exists in our society hasn't really taken off. See the previous paragraph about no other sources of meat being available outside of other Kivs. Why heal the sick when you can eat them? That's much more economic. Jonathan Swift would do numbers here though the satire would probably be lost. I am of course being moderately facetious, this is obviously where the 'exaggerated parody' bit of the setting comes into play. You spend your whole life working until you can't and then you die. The ways in which society can kill you have just been made more direct, and the need for blood to grease the wheels has been made social text rather than social subtext.

After our introduction to the setting we are introduced to one of what will be a fairly sprawling ensemble cast. Lucy Lacemaker is something like our protagonist, at the very least she's the one who's going to get the ball rolling on a whole mess of circumstances. And as far as introductions go I think this is a good one. Lucy is a fowler, a juvenile kiv yet to fully mature. Fowlers don't really have rights until they reach adulthood, and so spend their adolescence trying not to get eaten by adult kivs. They're small and nimble and generally get by stealing food where they can get it and figuring out what sort of trade they'll want to get into once they hit adulthood so they can get a head start on learning it. Lucy is small, inquisitive, reckless, and deeply curious about the world she inhabits and the people that inhabit it with her. She's fascinated with body language and learning to read it, a hobby that is one part survival mechanism and one part sincere interest in the lives of others.

This is also the part of the chapter where we get a more detailed explanation of how these critters reproduce. So when a kiv is beheaded they enter a state called rottulation. They aren't dead, they're basically unconscious, and the head can be reattached at any point after provided the brain isn't damaged in some way. However if two other kivs… look there's no way to put this delicately, if they cum on the body it gets absorbed into the skin and the body becomes a 'vessel' for a litter of fowlers. Who will then proceed to eat their way out of the host Aliens style and then scamper off before something else can come along and eat them. Notably the vessel does not contribute anything genetically to the offspring, it's just there to incubate them until they're ready to come out. So in addition to only having each other to eat, reproduction means killing at least one person.

This is probably the setting detail Fennah gets the most shit for and… well yeah it's kind of a uncomfortable and graphic thing to center your OCs around, but again as someone with several physically impossible kinks of my own I'm not going to throw shade here. Plus if you want to make your alien and inhuman cast feel alien and inhuman, well yeah mission accomplished. That does it. Everything we learn about this society just further underscores the violence inherent to the nature of these animals. It's a point Fennah wants to make sure you get. This comes naturally to them, so much so that they barely stop to question it. It's just what they are. They aren't without empathy or compassion, they are social animals, but in the sense that a band of 10 or 20 chimpanzees will socialize with each other and then go out and absolutely fuck up another band of chimps without reservation.

We set this backdrop not to be oppressive, but to highlight the small moments of tenderness experienced or offered by the cast. For example: Lucy is lucky. She's got a mentor. Sally Sefton, who owns what is essentially a fucking huge general store, went against her own instincts when she found Lucy rummaging through her things. And instead of eating her decided to take her on as something like an apprentice. She cares for Lucy, and Lucy for her, and it is thanks to this that Lucy had the opportunity to study and learn in a place of relative safety, helping out around the book burrow in exchange for lodging and the occasional meal. The underbirth is a cashless society. Apparently they tried currency once and it went so badly they decided they weren't doing that again. Instead everything is done by barter. Goods for goods and services for services, underpinned by what appears to be a complex social credit system where a person's reputation is nearly as valuable as their skill set when it comes to finding work.

Lucy meanwhile has been stalking an ex-friend, trying to grant herself some closure for the way things have turned out between them. You see Goldune was another fowler, until he hit kivic puberty and became a legal adult (kivs don't age gradually like humans, rather they undergo a sort of metamorphosis after an indeterminate amount of time and get one massive growth spurt, settling into an adult form). Once 'safety in numbers' became less of an issue for him he immediately ditched his old crew and got a job. Lucy, hurt by this betrayal and wondering what he's gotten up to, follows him around the city for a bit where we see him try unsuccessfully try to peddle a mysterious substance to several vendors who all tell him they don't want any part of his bullshit. Lucy for her part has two objectives here. She wants to know what's in those bottles, and she wants a chance to confront Goldune for abandoning her. And maybe wave the letter of recommendation she just got from Sally in his face a little, show him that she doesn't need him and she definitely doesn't care that he left. He didn't dump her, she's dumping him! While observing him waiting for this chance, she overhears a number of suspect conversations that imply Goldune has gotten himself mixed up with some shady business. A few important names are dropped, but otherwise this tailing sequence is a way to explain a little more of the city and how it works, as he stops at several locations trying to find someone who's willing to sign a contract with his employer.

Of course the confrontation ultimately goes sideways once it happens. Goldune laughs in her face, tells her he never really liked her, and that whatever 'friendship' they shared was completely mercenary on his part. A means to an end. Once he made it to where he needed to be he dropped her like a hot potato and because she's so good at reading faces she knows he's not lying. She loses her cool, picks up the little glass bottles (a substance we learn is called Mire) and starts chucking them at him in a bit of a tantrum. They start breaking on impact, which is unfortunate because whatever this stuff is supposed to do, it is extremely volatile. The dollhouse they're in, this setting's amalgam of brothel/playhouse/music hall/dance company, goes up in flames and both Goldune and Lucy are caught in the blaze. Lucy makes for the window before noticing that Butika, the dollie Goldune had hired earlier, is still unconscious on the floor with her head off and unable to move. After a brief hesitation she goes back, puts her head back on, and yells at her to move before making her own escape.

At the end of all this Lucy is left bereft. Goldune is dead, and while she was furious with him this wasn't actually the outcome she wanted. Her letter of recommendation has gone up in smoke, and she can't go back to sally and admit that she was so stupid and careless. And without that letter potential employers won't know her name from mud when she's old enough to work legitimately. Honestly as far as inciting incidents go this is a very solid start. We're presented with a clear conflict that has clear and direct consequences, and an opening intrigue. Lucy is thrust into a disadvantageous position of her own making, and now must figure out how she's going to survive going forward. It's also a very, well, human conflict. At several points other kivs tell Lucy she doesn't need to confront Goldune about anything. He made his intentions perfectly clear when he left. All she needs to do is accept this and let it go. But she can't, she can't accept that she was so disposable, she needs to hear it from him before she can really believe it. She's young and impulsive, and this feels realistically like the kind of mistake a young and impulsive person would make.

There is also an overarching theme to this novel which can be summed up by Sally's advice to Lucy:

As much as this chapter is focused on establishing the particulars and peculiarities of the setting, it is also the thesis statement for the rest of the novel. "It's just a little thing" will become an arc phrase, to signal when something will be the first in a line of dominoes leading to something more spectacular. Lucy herself is referred to often as a little thing, and we get a swift and flashy example of how her involvement escalates as situation with the fire at the dollhouse, which will follow her throughout the rest of the book.

While the writing trends towards overly poetic and bombastic in places it's ultimately very readable. I do think it plays better as an audiobook. Fennah knows how he wants the material to sound and that comes across in his narration. When listening to the chapter the dialogue sounds fairly natural. When reading it tends to come off as kind of stilted. The usual issues with a self published work are also present, grammar and punctuation errors, formatting issues, nothing egregious but the sort of inevitable little mistakes that slip through when you're trying to get an 800+ page behemoth out the door without the oversight of a dedicated editor. Still so far I'm having a good time with this. Writing any novel is something most aspiring authors struggle to make happen. Writing eight hundred pages of novel with seven more on the way borders on madness. One must be impressed by the sheer ambition of it all if nothing else.

#Amygdala #The August Few

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