#(I sometimes wish I just wouldn't have asked)

[elia-the-bibliophile]

The Fast Lane to Fashion (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 3,1k

The one where Max’s manager hired a personal stylist for him.

Max squatted on the floor, his two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, lounging nearby with the kind of indifference only felines can muster. Max, however, was determined. “Come on, Jimmy, you can do it,” he encouraged, holding out a treat like it was the Holy Grail. Jimmy blinked, his eyes half-closed, clearly contemplating more important things—like napping. Sassy, on the other hand, stretched luxuriously and let out a yawn that seemed to mock Max's efforts.

He had spent the last two hours trying to get them to high-five him, but his attempts were as futile. “This is hopeless,” Max muttered under his breath.

Just as he was about to admit defeat, his phone rang, shattering the atmosphere. He glanced at the caller ID—Raymond, his manager. With a sigh, he accepted the call and put it on speaker, still waving the treat in front of Jimmy's nose.

“Hey, Raymond, what's up?” Max greeted, his attention split between the phone and his uncooperative pets.

Raymond's voice crackled through the speaker, sounding unusually jittery. “Max, buddy, don't be mad, okay? Just hear me out first,” he began, words tumbling out like they were in a race of their own.

Max raised an eyebrow, casting a bemused glance at Jimmy, who had finally acknowledged his presence with a slow blink. “Yea, sure. What's going on?” he replied, curiosity piqued.

“I, uh, well, I've hired someone for you,” Raymond confessed, his tone hesitant.

Max blinked, momentarily forgetting about his feline training. “Hired someone? For what?” he asked, his mind racing through all the possibilities.

Raymond took a deep breath before blurting out, “A stylist, Max. I've hired a stylist for you.”

Max's eyes widened, and he nearly dropped the phone. “A stylist? You've got to be kidding me, Raymond,” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Why on earth would I need a stylist?”

Raymond let out a nervous laugh. “Well, you know, Max, there have been some… memes about your fashion choices. People are starting to wonder if that Red Bull polo is surgically attached to you!”

Max scoffed loudly. “Seriously? People think I have zero fashion sense just because I like to keep things simple?” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Raymond cleared his throat, relieved that Max wasn't outright furious. “Well, yeah. Something like that,” he admitted.

“What does it matter what I wear when I'm winning races left and right?” Max protested, his incredulity evident. “I mean, come on, mate. This is ridiculous.”

Raymond tried to soothe him. “I get it, Max, I really do. But image matters, surely it wouldn't hurt to switch things up a bit, you know?”

Max sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Fine, fine,” he relented begrudgingly. “But I'm not promising anything. And if this stylist suggests I wear anything other than comfortable clothes, I'm out.”

Raymond chuckled, sensing Max's reluctance but appreciating his willingness. “Fair enough, Max. Just give it a chance, okay? Who knows, maybe you'll discover a whole new side to your wardrobe.”

Max rolled his eyes, unconvinced. “Yeah, sure, Raymond. A whole new side of my wardrobe that consists of more Red Bull polos,” he quipped sarcastically.

Max sighed, turning back to his unimpressed feline companions. “Can you believe this, Jimmy? Sassy?” he addressed them as if they were humans. “A stylist. For me. It's like Raymond has lost his mind.”

Jimmy blinked lazily, utterly unconcerned, while Sassy stretched out and emitted a soft purr.

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Max's lips. “Sometimes, you know, I wish I was just a cat like you two,” he mused aloud, watching as they continued to bask in their simple, carefree existence.

════════════════════════════════════

Y/N sat in the waiting room at the Energy Station, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. She glanced around, taking in the impressive display of trophies adorning the walls—each gleaming trophy a reminder of Red Bull's dominance on the tracks. The sheer number of them made her feel like she was sitting in a shrine.

This was her first meeting with Max, and the anticipation was practically electrifying. She stole a quick glance at her reflection in a nearby mirror, adjusting her hair and smoothing down her outfit once more. It wasn't every day that she was called in to style a world-class athlete, and the pressure to make a good impression was almost suffocating.

She was acutely aware of the challenge ahead. Raymond had drilled her on the importance of not scaring Max away with any extravagant fashion suggestions. After all, Max was rarely seen in anything other than his team's merchandise, and the last thing Y/N wanted was to make him uncomfortable and lose her job on the very first day.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as a woman in a Red Bull shirt approached her. “Ms. Y/N L/N?” the woman inquired, her voice friendly. “Mr. Verstappen is ready to see you now.”

Y/N nodded, her nerves tingling with anticipation as she quickly rose from her seat. “Thank you,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The woman offered her a reassuring smile before gesturing towards a door at the end of the hallway. “Right this way,” she said, leading Y/N with practiced ease.

As they approached the door, Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for the encounter that awaited her on the other side. With a final reassuring nod from the woman, Y/N squared her shoulders and stepped through the doorway.

She sent a quick prayer that Max wouldn’t be too hard on her.

════════════════════════════════════

Max drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, boredom creeping in as he contemplated making a swift exit for the seventh time in the last ten minutes. Despite his mercurial nature, he prided himself on his manners, so he resisted the urge, albeit begrudgingly.

As the door creaked open, Max glanced up with a practiced poker face, giving nothing away. His gaze met the hopeful expression of the woman entering the room, her smile wide and optimistic.

“So, Y/N L/N, who exactly hired you?” was the first thing Max inquired, his tone laced with skepticism as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well, let's just say I went through quite a long interview process," she replied, her voice tinged with amusement. “Raymond, then Horner after that, and lastly, believe it or not, even Geri had a say in it.”

Max raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “All that just to hire a stylist for me?” he echoed, unable to hide his surprise.

Y/N nodded, chuckling softly. “They were very thorough. I guess they wanted to make sure you wouldn't bolt at the first sight of a new wardrobe.”

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. “Well, they got that right. I'm not exactly known for my adventurous fashion choices.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/N said, her tone light and reassuring. “I promise not to suggest anything outrageous. No sequins or feather boas, I swear.”

Max snorted. “Good. Because the day I wear a feather boa is the day I retire from racing.”

Y/N laughed, the tension easing a little. “Deal. Let’s start with something simple. Maybe a t-shirt that’s not branded with Red Bull? Or a straight jeans?”

Max pretended to think it over, stroking his chin. “I suppose I could handle that,” he said. “As long as it’s comfortable.”

“Comfort is key,” Y/N agreed, feeling more at ease. “We’ll keep it simple. I’m here to help, not to turn you into a fashion icon overnight.”

Max relaxed a bit, appreciating her straightforward approach. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got. But remember, if I don’t like it, it’s back to polos and hoodies.”

“Fair enough,” Y/N said, her smile brightening. “I’ll take my chances.”

Max then stood up and walked over to her, extending his hand with a cocky grin. “Max Verstappen,” he said, his tone playful but confident. “If you manage to impress me, then maybe, just maybe, I'll consider keeping you on the team.”

Y/N shook his hand, matching his grin. “Challenge accepted. But I should warn you, I don’t do half-measures.”

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, really? Well, let’s see if you can handle the challenge. I’m not exactly easy to impress.”

Y/N chuckled. “I’ve heard. But I’m not exactly easy to scare off, either.”

Max laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room.

Y/N playfully raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this will be my easiest gig yet, considering the bar is practically on the floor,” she said, her tone teasing.

Max's eyes widened in surprise before he hunched forward, laughter bursting out of him. “Oh, you’ve got no filter, do you?” he said between laughs. “I fucking like that.”

She shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Max straightened up, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “You know what? If this fails, screw it, I’ll just sign you on as my personal entertainer or something. Keep the team’s spirits up.”

Y/N chuckled. “Careful, Max. I might just take you up on that.”

He crossed his arms, his grin not fading. “Hey, a good laugh is priceless in this sport. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily. Because I’ve got high standards, you know. World champion standards.”

Y/N laughed. “I’d expect nothing less. But don’t worry, I’ve styled worse. Much worse.”

Max's eyes sparkled. “Worse than me? Now that’s something I’ve got to hear.”

════════════════════════════════════

Y/N balanced a stack of freshly laundered clothes in her arms as she approached Max's apartment. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Knocking on the door, she prepared herself. The door swung open to reveal Max, looking casual in yet another Red Bull polo.

“Hey, Y/N. Come on in,” he greeted with a nod while holding the door for her.

“Thanks, Max,” she replied, stepping inside and carefully setting the clothes down on a nearby table.

Before she could even turn around, she felt a light brush against her leg. Glancing down, she saw Jimmy rubbing against her with a purr, while Sassy sat nearby, her wide eyes fixed on Y/N with an unusual interest.

Max’s jaw dropped. “What the hell? They usually hate strangers. They’re acting like you’re made of catnip or something.”

Y/N laughed, bending down to scratch Jimmy behind the ears. “I have a way with cats. Maybe they can sense I’m here to help you.”

Max shook his head, still looking baffled. “Unbelievable. They’ve never been this friendly with anyone. Alright, come on, let me show you the infamous closet.”

Y/N followed Max down a hallway, Jimmy and Sassy trotting behind them like loyal sidekicks. They reached a door, and Max swung it open, revealing a walk-in closet that could easily rival a small boutique. Shelves lined the walls, each one meticulously stacked with Red Bull merchandise in every form imaginable—polos, t-shirts, hoodies, jackets, caps, even socks.

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wow,” she said, turning to look at Max like he was a lunatic. “This is… impressive. And slightly concerning. I didn’t know you could own this much team gear.”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Yeah, well, I like to keep things simple. Plus, they’re comfortable.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Simple is one thing, Max. This is an obsession. But don’t worry, I’m here to bring a little variety into your life.”

Max crossed his arms, grinning. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got then. But I’m warning you, if it’s not comfortable, it’s going straight back in the bag.”

“Challenge accepted,” Y/N said, her eyes gleaming with determination. She turned back to the stack of clothes she had brought and started laying them out, presenting each piece. “Okay, first up, a simple white t-shirt. No logos, just pure comfort. Try it on.”

Max took the shirt, giving it a skeptical look before slipping it on. He stretched his arms, testing the fit. “Okay, I admit, it’s comfortable. What else?”

Y/N’s smile widened. “Next, a pair of dark jeans. Classic, versatile, and they miraculously manage to make even a Red Bull polo look halfway decent.”

She glanced at Max, who was eyeing the jeans with a hint of skepticism. “And don’t worry, Max, I made sure they’re not the skinny jeans you seem to love so much. I couldn’t bear to put you—or anyone else—through that kind of fashion torture.”

Max grabbed the jeans and ducked into the bathroom to change. When he came back out, Y/N couldn’t help but beam. He looked good—casual but put together, like someone who actually cared about his appearance.

Max glanced at himself in the mirror and nodded approvingly. “Not bad. Not bad at all. What’s next?”

Y/N pulled out a light gray hoodie. “For when you need an extra layer but want to avoid looking like a walking billboard.”

Max slipped it on, zipping it up halfway. “Okay, I’m impressed. You’ve managed to find things that are comfortable and look good. Maybe you do have some magic up your sleeve.”

Y/N laughed. “Told you. Now, let’s talk about adding some color to your wardrobe?”

Max shrugged. “As long as it’s not neon, I’m open to it.”

Y/N grinned. “Perfect. I’ve got just the thing.” She pulled out a maroon half-zip, soft and stylish. “Try this on.”

Max took it, and as he changed, Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction. This was just the beginning, but she could already see the transformation. And judging by the approving look on Max’s face, he could see it too.

“Well, Y/N, I have to say, you’ve done the impossible. You’ve actually managed to impress me,” Max admitted, his tone light but genuine.

Y/N gave a mock bow. “Thank you, thank you. But we’re just getting started. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be turning heads both on and off the track.”

Max rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of excitement in his expression that even he cannot hide.

════════════════════════════════════

Max had just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist as he reached for his phone. The bathroom was filled with steam, giving the air a hazy quality as he scrolled through Instagram.

As he scrolled, his eyes widened in disbelief. There it was, a photo of him in that plain white shirt and the jeans that didn’t look like they were about to tear at the wrong move. The caption read, "Is this real life? Max Verstappen spotted in a non-Red Bull polo, and it’s not even race day! Miracles do happen, folks."

Comments flooded in faster than he could read them all. Some were filled with disbelief, while others were downright ecstatic. "I thought I’d never see the day!" one user exclaimed. "This is like witnessing the rebirth of a man," another commented.

Max couldn’t help but chuckle at the reactions. But there were also theories floating around. "Is Max hiding a new girlfriend from us?" one person speculated. "This has got to be the girlfriend effect," another chimed in. "Or maybe Red Bull has finally hired someone to ransack his closet," someone else joked.

Maybe this whole wardrobe makeover wasn’t such a bad idea after all. And if it meant keeping people guessing, well, that was just an added bonus.

He then scrolled through the messages, which has been buzzing incessantly with notifications.

A text from Charles popped up:

“Hey Max, just saw the photos. Are you alright, mate? Should we send help?”

Max couldn't help but chuckle at the concern in Charles’ message. Then another text came in, this time from Lando:

“Mate, what's going on with the sudden style upgrade?🤔😧 Is Horner holding you hostage or something?”

He typed out a quick reply to both Charles and Lando, assuring them that he was perfectly fine and that there was no need to send a rescue team. As for Horner's involvement, he simply responded with a string of laughing emojis, leaving the mystery of his wardrobe transformation to fuel their imaginations.

════════════════════════════════════

The next week, Max arrived at the Energy Station, still amused by the ongoing chatter about his newfound fashion sense. As he stepped through the door, he was immediately greeted by Horner and Geri, who wore matching expressions of excitement.

“There he is! Congratulations!” Horner exclaimed, clapping him on the back. "The reactions to your new look are absolutely fantastic. People can't stop talking about it!"

Geri's eyes practically sparkled with delight as she enveloped Max in a warm hug. “Oh, Max, I can't tell you how thrilled I am!” she gushed. “You look absolutely fabulous today, dear. That half zip and linen pants combo? Simply divine! Y/N has worked wonders on you.”

Max couldn't help but grin sheepishly at Geri's praise. He glanced down at his outfit, feeling a little self-conscious under the spotlight. “Thanks, Geri,” he replied. “I'm glad you think so.”

Horner nodded enthusiastically. “The fans are loving it, the media is eating it up—this is exactly the kind of attention we need.”

Just then, a group of Red Bull mechanics walked by, their eyes widening in surprise as they took in Max's outfit. “Whoa, that Max?” one of them whispered to his colleague. “Shit, I didn't even recognize him at first without the Red Bull gear.”

It seemed his fashion makeover was causing quite the stir, even among his own team.

Geri beamed at Max. “I've been thinking,” she began. “Maybe we should really consider keeping Y/N around. What do you say?”

He glanced at Horner, who was also watching him expectantly.

After a moment of consideration, Max let out a hearty laugh. “Well, I have to admit Y/N does have a talent for making me look presentable,” he quipped, earning a laugh from Horner. “I wouldn't mind having her stick around.”

Geri clapped her hands together in delight. “I'll talk to Raymond about making it official.”

════════════════════════════════════

That night Max lounged on his couch, his legs stretched out in front of him as he stared at his phone. The excitement of the day hadn't worn off yet, and he was eager to see if Y/N had any news about her contract.

His thumbs danced over the screen as he typed out a message.

“Hey Y/N, have you heard back from Raymond about your contract?”

He barely had time to set his phone down before it buzzed with a reply.

“Not yet, but I'm hopeful! What made you change your mind about keeping me around?”

What made him change his mind indeed?

He hadn't really thought about it, but now that he did, it was clear as day. With a grin, he tapped out his response.

“I guess I just realized that I need someone like you around.”

He replied, his fingers flying across the screen then he hit send.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 blurb #f1 fandom #formula 1 x female reader

[mochinomnoms]

Reading that of adopted children, yeah, I agree with Kalim and Malleus. I REALLY doubt they could have adopted children. Specially Malleus, like, you are telling me the next heir is not blood-related to Malleus, I think Briar Valley views Draconians as gods I swear hqbahw-- anyway, having adopted children means they won't get Malleus magic capabilities, so that's a no-no. Besides, Malleus is an only child, who the heck can they turn to IF is not Malleus' heir?

BTW, if you are using a magicless Yuu/Mc... good luck with Malleus Xd I wouldn't dare put adopted children in that position, still. Especially adopted children. What a combination, tbh! 😂

With Kalim AT LEAST, they can say, "Oh, well, let's get one of his siblings' children as the heir."But even then, that's asking for even more problems @×@ because... who would be?! He has a LOT, and I would feel bad for his adopted children being looked down just for not being blood-related.

Anyway, Mc/Yuu has to either suck it up and look for another partner, one that isn't from high class or at least first in line of some high ranking position (I don't think would be that much of a problem with Leona, but then again, I still wouldn't do it, just in case). That or simply have their children, lmao.

I think that with Malleus, they are able to have the kid via magic. Mild Chapter 7 spoilers but I believe that the egg and it's growth are attributed to magic and love. I think that potentially Malleus could create the egg and pour magic into it while Yuu could pour love into it (I'm sure it senses like the vibes or something).

The last ask was specific to adoption so I didn't mention it, but the thing is that surrogates and IVF are options for same-sex couples or infertile couples, or couples who don't want to be pregnant themselves for any reason. It wouldn't be that complicated to just do that for either of them, and the issue of bloodlines wouldn't be a concern.

The main issue I think would come up is that people sometimes don't consider adopted or stepkids as "true" members of a family because they're not blood related. But that's not the case at all, they're still family no matter what they say and with Kalim and Malleus, it would really come down to them setting their foots down to protect their families.

I also think that they wouldn't let something like other people's issues with adoption get in the way of their relationship. Both of these characters strike me as extremely devoted lovers, they'd put their spouse and their needs above everyone else. If their spouse doesn't wish to carry a child for whatever reason, then they will make it work.

The only issue would come if the spouse doesn't want kids, as both Kalim and Malleus also strike me as people who really want kids. If you don't want kids, and that's a hard ass line, then there might be a dilemma. Even in Kalim's case, where I strongly believe polygamy is accepted in his home (his father must have multiple wives for him to have over 30+ children...I refuse to believe that a single birth giver did that) if you don't want kids at all would still cause some strife, because you can't just ignore his kids from your other spouses. Otherwise, I don't think there would be any issue.

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #malleus draconia #kalim al asim #malleus draconia x reader #kalim al asim x reader #i think we might be making it more complicated than it actually needs to be #if bloodlines are a big enough issue for them to not want to adopt then surrogates are available and tube babies #for lack of a better word anyway but i have a friend who was conceived via ivf and it's very expensive but thats not an issue with these tw

[dazed-and-confused23]

Wouldn't Be Nice

Summary: After his divorce, Cooper Howard finds himself in need of a babysitter. That's where you come in.

Pairings: Pre-War Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: flirting and heavy petting. readers got a bit of a praise kink. Pretty domestic.

Masterlist

With the divorce came more responsibility, and that meant less free time with Janey and more searching for anyone who would hire him. He only had his daughter every other week, and while he did miss her - Coop always missed her - when Janey was with Barb it left him free to pursue other odd jobs that would keep food on the table. However, there were days that Cooper couldn't be there all the time, so after finding your ad in the paper, the ex-actor hired you to babysit Janey.

You didn't cost him an arm and a leg, and after the first couple of days, his daughter seemed to love having you around. That had won you enough brownie points from Cooper that he'd decided to keep you around. He had offered to pay you extra for keeping the apartment clean, Barb had taken the house, but you had shot him down, claiming that he paid you plenty.

Today, he'd come home, tired after working a children's birthday, and still dressed in his costume, to find you in the kitchen cleaning up after an early dinner. You greet him with a smile and a soft hello.

"Where's Janey?" He asks, keeping the same quiet tone. You nod at the bedrooms.

"Sleeping. She was tired after going to the park this evening. How was work?"

Cooper groans dramatically in response, and catching your soft grin is worth it. He kicks off his boots and strides into the kitchen, fetching himself a cold nuka-cola, "It was fine. The kids were great, but their parents always got somethin' to say."

Mr. Howard had told you a little about why his marriage had fallen out, but he intentionally kept most of it unsaid. You knew enough to know not to trust anything that Vault-Tec did, and you were fine with that. It wasn't any of your business what happened between them. Even if you were occasionally curious.

He watches you rinse the dishes out of the corner of his eye, taking in your soft curves and your messy bun. You're pretty and nice, and Janey loves you. He couldn't deny that he was attracted to you, and he'd caught the way you looked at him sometimes. It makes Cooper wonder if you'd want to stay here more often.

The ex-actor decides to throw caution to the wind and sets his cola down before he steps behind you, so close that he can feel the heat your radiate. He watches the line of your shoulders tense, and your movements slow to a crawl. Cooper drags his teeth across his bottom lip and then reaches out, his hands resting on your hips.

Cooper hears you swallow and catches your eye when you turn back to look at him, "Mr. Howard?"

"You do such a good job looking after Janey, Sugar," Cooper murmured, and inches forward, his chest brushing against your hair, "You won't let me pay you more, so how about somethin' else?"

One wet hand curls around his wrist, nails biting into his skin. Your voice is just above a whisper, "I don't think that's such a good idea, Mr. Howard."

Cooper drags his thumbs back and forth along your hips, the touch anything but innocent, "What have I said about calling me that?"

"It makes you feel old, and to call you Cooper," you rattle off, the words memorized by how often the ex-actor says them to you. Cooper nods, his chin grazing your hair.

"Good girl," Cooper praises, and his lips curl in a wicked smirk when he feels the way you shudder at the praise. His hands inch forward, fingertips brushing your inner thighs, and Coop wishes that you weren't wearing pants, "Come on, please? You do so much for us, baby. Let me give this to you."

His fingertips slip between the apex of your legs, dragging over your clothed sex, and Cooper sighs at just how hot you feel. You make a soft, startled sound, but you don't pull away from him. He presses himself along your back, molding himself to your curves as he hooks his chin over your shoulder to press delicate kisses to your throat.

Arousal pools in your lower stomach, and you can't help the way that you press into those devious touches to your core. You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat, and feel the grin the ex-actor wears against your flesh.

The hand around his wrist releases him, and Cooper doesn't waste time sliding his palm under your shirt. He strokes your stomach, trailing his hand up and beneath your bra to tweak and pinch your nipple. Coop pushes you into the counter, using the leverage to grind against your ass.

Cooper’s fun is suddenly cut short by the sound of a door creaking open. Your head jerks up, wacking the ex-actor in the nose hard enough for him to grunt, and tears come to his eyes. He stumbled back just in time for Janey to come be-popping around the corner, a stuffed dog held tight in one hand.

You round the bar in the kitchen, smiling down at Janey while Cooper is making sure he doesn't have a bloody nose. He watches you crouch in front of his daughter, speaking softly enough that he doesn't catch whatever you say to her. Whatever it was makes Janey laugh and toddle back to her bedroom, a tired smile on her little face.

The two of you look at one another once she's gone, and then the two of you are giggling like children, red in the face after being interrupted by Cooper’s daughter. He meets you in the living room, hands resting on your hips as he faces you. You grin, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

"Is your nose okay?"

Cooper snickers and nods, "It's fine, baby. Come on, we should probably talk, hmm?"

#cooper howard #fallout #fallout prime #x reader #cooper howard x reader #pre war cooper howard #wouldn't be nice

[resident-idiot-simp]

Wendigo drabble

Non Feeding Your God AU Wendigo drabble please enjoy (Inspired by @cthulhusstepmom and this post

Roach had grown up deep in the Appalachian mountains with stories of horrors hidden in the trees. He had heard his name called by his mother's voice even when he knew she was at the house. He was part native had grown up with the stories from the local people.

He respected the mountains and the things within them immensely. When he went out and joined the military he brought the stories along with him wishing to pass on the tales as the others had to him.

Over the years he had traveled around the world seeing many sites meeting lots of people. He was superstitious everyone know sometimes they made fun of him for it other times they asked him for advice. He's inclined to believe that he was more aware of the things in the wild then most. When he was recruited into the 141 The only thing that was different was him.

It was a situation that he did not wish to recall and especially didn't like to talk about. He had almost died in fact it was the mission that got him the moniker Roach. For all accounts he should have died and no one knew how he didn't. But Roach knew he had turned into one of the things he's so respected in the trees. He turned into one of the things that would whisper your name to call you in to eat you If you didn't know better.

He told no one his parents didn't need to know what he had become he felt guilt about it but he couldn't change it now. So he would hide it.

The 141 treated him like family ignoring his oddities and quirks. They ignored how he would almost constantly be eating while putting on no weight. They ignored his affinity for dark and the wilderness. They ignored his aversion to fire assuming it was because of something that had happened to him in the past… They weren't completely wrong.

They ignored everything and for that he was thankful he didn't know if he could explain it to them. He doesn't know if you could take their rejection.

He continue telling stories now sprinkling in his own tendencies. Nothing changed but

everything had. When the 141 were sent on a mission like any other he was surprised it just how quickly it had backfired. Betrayal and treachery to a degree he had not yet experienced.

He was worried for them his family. They were his and he couldn't let harm come to what was his his instincts wouldn't allow it and neither would he. When Graves had turned and shot Soap he couldn't stop himself.

Before he could blink he was lunging snapping snarling. He wanted to drag him into the trees string him up and eat him alive. The bullets did nothing as they sunk and his flesh. They wouldn't kill him nothing could nothing but fire, but fire was something Graves didn't have.

He took the attention away from the others allowing Ghost to get the upper hand. And for Alejandro to find his way out of their hold. He joined the fray soon after not wanting to be left out of the fun as his instinct screamed to hunt them hunt the ones that had tried to hurt what was his.

It was laughably easy as the shadows fell leaving just Graves still breathing looking scared.

Good

"W-what are you!?" Graves demanded. Roach just laughed his voice raspy from disuse. "Don't you know I recognize the accent. Don't you know the stories of the things in the trees? Of the monsters that will call your name in a voice of someone you love? The things that will drag you into their domain and eat you alive?"

Graves eyes went wide as Roach slowly removed his neck gator and goggles revealing his pale sunken complexion.

"Don't you recognize old monsters when you see them. Monsters that have hunted on the land You call home since the first people arrived from the ice age?"

Graves faught helplessly under the creature.

"I'm something that's hungry Graves and you dare touch what's mine."

Graves scream was cut off as Roach tore out his jugular.

He was so hungry…

When he came back to himself half of Graves was gone and he realized what took him out of the trance was his name being called. "Roach." Ghost was calling him. One of his oldest friends a man who had been through more with him than any other.

He turned dreading what he would see he couldn't take the disgust It might finally kill him. But Ghost didn't look disgusted unnerved sure, but not disgusted. Not fearful. It was all he could hope for.

"What's going on bug?" Ghost asked tensely and Roach moved off Graves despite how much his instincts screamed that he needed to feed that he would never be full.

"I-I fuck. Yo-you weren't supposed to find out no one was supposed to find out…. They'll kill me and they'll be better off for it." The last part was whispered in fear as reality crashed in.

"It doesn't matter what's going on. We can talk about it later but for now we need to get out of here." Ghost ordered and as much as Roach was something else he was still a soldier and his lieutenants orders would always be first priority unless he was lost to his mind.

So he grabbed Graves corpse unable to part with the only fresh source of food he had had in…days.. and followed behind Ghost as a apprehensive Alejandro let them to the safe house.

Later they would learn the truth of what he was and they wouldn't care. Later he would be allowed to be more of himself with them. Later Laswell would bring him food of people they wanted gone.

But that was later.

Now he walked.

(I posted this on Ao3)

#call of duty modern warfare #cod modern warfare #john soap mactavish #wendigo #Wendigo Roach #Wendi!Roach #gary sanderson #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #ao3

[s7ven-art]

NAMES (PLURAL)

#dnd 5e #dnd #dnd art #dnd 5e art #dnd oc #drow #oc: molly #seven art #MOLLY WAS CREATED EXACTLY THREE YEARS AGO!!! #and to celebrate that he got to talk face to face with his patron for the first time two days ago #he isn't! doing great! #btw I need to tell someone this #I REALLY #wanted to caption this piece with NAMES (PLURAL) but if I were to follow my usual convention of song lyrics #I wouldve used Roland Faunte's Ceremonies #(I sometimes wish I just wouldn't have asked)

[paging-possum]

Who up listening to good luck babe by chappell roan and having it resonate not in the way intended but resonating nonetheless. About to go ham in the tags about the overlap of being a lesbian and being aromantic...if u even care....

#my art #gore #organs #its 2am so not a lot of this is going to be very coherent but this song makes me feel a lot of things about it all #like. its the Expectations #the expectation that im going to date men and the expectation that im going to date at all have always felt equally stifling #theres that feeling of not trying hard enough or not realizing it at first or trying to lean into what you're told you should feel #and having it not pay off time and time again and wishing you could just make it work #because everyone else around you has it just fine and you dont get why you're struggling with it so much #THERE ARE MORE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN THE TWO IS WHAT IM SAYING #like obviously figuring out aromanticism is especially weird because its a lack of something BUT THEYRE PRETTY SIMILAR #realizing I dont want to date anyone mirrors realizing I didn't like boys but like. idk man its worse sometimes? #I wouldn't trade it for the world it means a lot to me but its almost like people go out of their way not to understand it sometimes #at the end of the day I am the you in that song #it was a very very long road to being okay with never falling in love because that was something I wanted for a very very long time #at the end of the day I will never have to be someones wife and I think its better that way #but its also hard not to get jealous sometimes #like I know its irrational I know I get physically ill at just the thought of being asked out but like #sometimes ill see my friends with their girlfriends and ill feel like clawing my own chest out with want #but also if anyone asks me out I will have to dig myself into a pit and never come out. I think. #I want to be with women but I dont want to Be With Women if that makes sense #its another layer of difficulty that I dont think I'll ever be able to get past #I feel like at this point I should just be trying to conditioning myself out of any form of desire because its just not an option for me #which definitely isn't true and like chappell roan says. you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling. #but its also so tiring to have to sit here with the feeling and feel bad for having the feeling. #I dont know #I think if I felt a little more or a little less I’d be fine but I’m stuck in the middle #it feels very weird talking about this openly but also its very difficult to talk about with friends because most of them dont get it #anyways something something Josies monologue from bottoms #im going to bed

[sae-mian]

Send 💄 to see them in their going-out attire :)

just something simple, for them. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ something pretty and simple.

(im so sorry nira'sae is literally so boring. they wear like. One Outfit for Everything normally OTL)

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

FFXIV Screenshot Meme

#ffxiv #ffxiv oc #nira'sae #gpose #ask meme #ask answered #another fit i've had since the early days of having Cwimes #i do wish they had more interesting CANON outfits sometimes #cause honestly if they have to go somewhere that doesn't involve their usual rotation of clothes they probably just Wouldn't Go afsahflj #thank you for the ask!

[nostalgia-tblr]

Re: Hunting for Sport Poll though, I do want to add (separately) that you don't have to feel bad about not knowing the history of every place on Earth, even the famous bits. The world is very large and history is very long and there is no way you'll ever know even a basic outline of everyone's national histories unless you spend all day every day doing nothing else. Think of how much time you spent in school in a history class and it's no longer quite so shocking that you don't know even quite major things from the history of wherever you live.

So, like. Don't beat yourself up over things you didn't know because nobody ever taught them to you. And hey, you know now!

#i have a history degree and there's huge bits of just UK history i know nothing about. because history is rly big! #it's like that douglas adams quote about space but with dead people in it #and after undergrad it'd be increasing detail about less and less span of history #you didn't choose your school's curriculum did you? no you didn't. #and you also had (still have really) all of science and animals and art and literature and etc you could learn about! #i def sometimes think “i wish more people knew about [THING]” but i know there's a lot of (sometimes very good) reasons they don't #besides beating yourself up for your past ignorance doesn't really help anyone with anything anyway does it? #i still remember when someone i knew suddenly asked me “have you ever heard of the Armenian Genocide?” - she wasn't into history really #she'd found out because she'd visited the Vatican while an Armenian was being made a saint and it was mentioned in the service #(do they call that a service?) there was an Armenian priest and he talked about it and she'd then spent several weeks when she got home #asking people if they knew about. because she was so shocked that nobody including her knew about this thing #but now she knows! and so do the people she told about it! she has kept that information circulating among people who normally #wouldn't ever hear about it. #(i can't even remember why i'd heard of it - it might have come up at university when we did the Nazis?) #history stuff #like idk don't revel in ignorance but don't guilt endlessly about stuff you just didn't know yet because nobody told you #you can't google something you didn't know even happened right?

[caffeinatedopossum]

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I deleted my blog

#i wont without warning but i consider it #idk why i tend to have a good time here #i especially love talking to ghost #i wouldn't just delete that #but sometimes im so tired #i dont like that people can see what ive said when i know i wont have the energy to stand up for myself #i used to... i dont know what happened #i love seeing people reply to my posts or add things in the tags #i love getting asks and anons and talkinf to people on here #but i dont have the energy and i wish i did #i feel like im fading away completely and the only thing thats real about me is my fear #and its like i cant stop it from happening #i guess i dont want it to be public if i lose myself #id rather just disappear quietly

[kelpiemomma]

my grandma got her (less than a year old, untrained, unhousebroke, has been in a total of 3 different places her whole life) puppy a service dog vest.

we're doing this again, huh?

#she also got her last dog a service dog vest #and had her registered as an emotional support animal #her last dog had almost no recall and very poor training #my grandma would take her to senior centers and senior housing areas and the dog would just run up to people #jump on their legs and jump on their laps without being asked #i really wish she wouldn't have gotten another dog #she doesn't pay it any attention #she sits watching tv & doing stuff on her phone and just. exists with the dog. like to the point where when the dog WAS alerting #that she had to go out and go potty (back when she did that) my grandma would straight up just ignore her bc #'oh she just wants to go outside she won't go potty' #and now we have a dog who sometimes uses potty pads and sometimes uses the fucking living room carpet or the tile #but never alerts to needing to go outside #the most my grandma interacts with her (genuinely) is taking her to go potty (a couple times a day) brushing her (or attempting to. idk if #she still tries to brush the dog bc it would scream and nip at her when she did) and bringing her out for the am and to bed in the pm #i feel bad for not liking the dog bc i know its not her fault its my grandmas #but also the dog is annoying as fuck and will not leave its crate when my grandma is out of the house. you open the door and she just. #stays there. and stares at you. #you can walk away and leave the door open and she won't go anywhere. #I'M. SO. TIRED. #its going to be ANOTHER fucking 10-13 years of HER DOG pissing on the floor i just know it

[bpdamandayoung]

the longer i think about it the more rational it seems for me not to let anyone in my life just on the basis of how crazy and unstable i get

#having a partner?? when like last week i was hallucinating that strangers around me had faces of some random celebrities?? #when sometimes all food tastes like blood?? when i can smell cigarette smoke alone in my room at 1 am?? #i'm not subjecting anyone to my insanity it just doesn't feel right #wish my type of borderline wasn't this one and if i could i wouldn't have bpd at all but that's not how this world works #also today i went to biedronka and it hit me i shouldn't have kids so i was almost breaking down in the instant noodles section #therapy is going great thanks for asking #time for a new vent tag i guess behold #bpd and stuff

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

ah well gosh hi???

in what i said was gonna be a one day break from, well, life tbh, i seemingly realized that i don't just have school coming SOON, but that i wasn't prepared to wake up at 2pm to find out i only have a few days left of total free time not spent struggling and stressing out over exams of all things

so like any average person i went and made plans with friends to hang out and get my mind off of everything- and while it was good while it lasted, i really wanted to be, yknow, clear

i have artworks at the ready, and if i ever become desperate enough to start getting a hang on drawing with a mouse all the time i might as well, but as things stand i really do not know what the heck i am doing-

i'll try my hardest to at least look for a way to fix the pen cause that's just the most important and expensive part of the damaged stuff, but i'm thinking the cable is perma-broke so i'll have to look for a way to replace it

to cut right to the chase: i have some art i can post. but i dunno when, if, or which to post because most of them have some context that i would've normally been all too eager to explain, but as things stand? man i don't think i could muster the energy to try

so? i dunno yall- i mean i could start writing again? i've entertained the idea long enough and this might be just the opportunity to finally get some practice without getting distracted by drawing :'D

i could do small stuff with a mouse if i feel like sharing some art, but the illustrations? i feel like i can only post those once i feel a bit more alive mentally and physically to interact with others without feeling so drained all the time (but knowing that school's coming, i can't really promise anything :'))

thanks a lot for the sweet words and patience guys- it means a lot that you won't immediately, idk, ditch this blog once you realize i might not post much if not at all (hopefully not gosh) for an undetermined amount of time? you really made me realize this wasn't as bad as my mind's been pushing me to think,

so trust me i WILL bounce back and reblog stuff and have entire essays in your tags eventually- i just need to stop feeling like it has to be today, or tomorrow, or any days afterwards, just that it will happen when i feel like it<3

#rambling #delete later? #it feels so funny to get bothered by something that would be trivial to future me in like...idk a year? #i'm not as upset as i thought i'd be too- just mostly numb i guess.. #also the reason why i can't bring myself to post the artworks i had- can i really talk about how much fun i had drawing them? #when i'm barely wrapping my head around the fact that i can't no more? and for an uncertain amount of time where i'll be too busy #too tired and too short on money to even think about drawing in the first place? i don't think i wanna get used to that but well #if there's one thing i can take from these vacations is that while you guys can't see it i really did have fun improving on my art #and gosh do i love what i'm doing so much that i personally wouldn't mind if it were just for me alone to see #but after sharing my ideas and works into the wild and watching people gather around to share ideas back- #i can say i like my art and the why is because it makes me happy! and it apparently does for you guys too so why not share! >:) #i also guess one of the reasons i'm not as active is cause of the whole need to compose myself and find the time to breathe and enjoy #the works of the others and mine and think of ways to express my feelings to everyone #and trust me sometimes i wish i could just write nothing and post/reblog- but it feels so empty #if i wanted to do that i'd make another account #no i want to talk about what i love with y'all and if i start rambling well no one's complaining! #if i see something made with the thought of me behind it then ain't no way in hell i'm not climbing rooftops yelling how much i love it #so if i somehow don't do that then i'm either too busy to even check tumblr- dead- or doing even worse somehow- so nothing against you! #guess i had that on my mind for a while now so please! i'm not ignoring you on purpose! i'm probably too wrapped up in my stuff to react #same for asks btw i am not joking there's so many and i live in constant shame xD :') #if you made it this far i am so sorry for yet another long post but i feel it's justified a little x) goodnight everyone! have a nice day<3

[s0re-loser]

.

#self harm and suicide trigger bc i dont know where else 2 say this but #.. ......................... ......................... ......................... ......................... #after saying she wasnt gonna my mams leaving 2 go 2 her bfs tmrw and all i can think is abt how itd be so easy 2 kill myself #bc the house will be empty and i keep spirlaing emotionally and i dnt want to be alone but if i ask her to stay she looks at me like im suc #a burden and she does fhat because its true and i am and i just wish i was dead im sorry 4 posting all this but i dont wanna be a burden on #maybe 2 friends i have abd even tho sometimes like mutals will ofter 2 talk to me when i feel bad #it makes me feel so guilty that i wouldn't even know what to say because i dont feel like i even deserve the help or even fhe friendship #and fhen i feel guilty abt not taking it also i just want it to stop

[violetclarity]

started last night online shopping for new bras/bralettes because mine have gotten gross af, ended it looking at crochet bralette patterns so I could make a rainbow top for pride. I solved a different problem??

#here is my issue. here. is my issue. #I want the bra(lette) to be *not hideous* #I also have larger boobs. apparently. #like I don't think they're large tbqh esp. compared to my general body size/shape #I don't find it painful or especially annoying to go braless at home but it probably wouldn't be appropriate to do so at work #(it seems like a lot of people I know who do have large chests do *not* go braless which is why I said they don't seem large to me) #so I don't need something that is like miraculously supportive or whatever #I just need it to FIT my goddamn CHEST #I cannot stand the weird line/bump where the bra ends and you can see it through my shirt which is my issue with my current bra(lette)s #so even though I probably *should* try to find a better brand I think I'm just gonna buy the same brand again in a larger size this time #and hope for the best #(I went to get a proper bra fitting last year because I was more annoyed about how bad my bras looked then) #(and they fit me into an underwire bra that at the time I thought looked/felt good) #(except when I got it home and tried it on it was SO PAINFUL) #(like cannot wear for more than ten minutes painful. save for special occasions painful.) #(sometimes I put it on thinking I'll try to wear it for work and give up before I leave the house) #(it would have been okay if I'd only bought the one bc I could suffer through for the occasional special even but I bought two) #(and didn't return the second one in time and it. was. EXPENSIVE.) #(also can't ask my mom for advice again bc I don't want to admit to her that I did that lmao anyway) #why does she suddenly care about her bras again? haha well. um. well. #if someone *else* is going to see it I don't want it to be stained y'know?? #I have some standards. minimal. but they are there. #anyway wish me luck with my crochet rainbow bralette for pride #I'm walking in the parade this year w my sports league so I gotta look Extra Cute y'know #if one of the men in charge tries to tell me we all need to be fully dressed I will simply bite his head off #bras cw

[milfbro]

(I have to keep saving my anti-corset rant to drafts asdfghjkl, no one cares alice)

#I hate them so much I wish they would all burn #No but it makes me mad. It makes me mad. That people who have to wear them for long shoots keep saying #'i don't wanna wear them cause they hurt' #and people keep making a billion posts about how they don't /actually/ hurt #yes they do! yes they do!!!! #when I wore one for work (it was for back support and it helped a lot for that particular thing) #I couldn't eat without getting cramps #and sometimes the cramps would last days #and I didn't even wear them that many hours #and after a couple weeks it began to fold in the middle where my stomach folds when I sit so any movement would make it poke me #and sitting got worse so I just avoided sitting and my shitty ankle joint would hurt #and I needed to run around and move up and down and that again would make it fold in so like #if I had had anything to eat I would basically be squishing my full stomach so I just didn't eat #which was awesome. to do a lot of exercise and just not eat. #i wouldn't ask a soccer player to wear something that restricts movement and breathing so I will never ask that of an actor ever #acting is such a physically demanding job. Specially if you have a ton of lines #so if the corset is not necessary like if you don't need the back support like I did. It's just for aesthetics #then you don't need them. hot take

[inkbybambi]

bodyguard!simon riley who takes a bullet for you —

words: 2.9k rating: e warnings: nightmares, guns/shooting, gunshot wound, hospitals, smut, creampie, cunnilingus, mentions of threats against reader, threat against reader, lowercase writing — please let me know if i missed any! notes: 18+ content, minors dni. warnings have been provided.

he's been assigned to you for two-ish years now. you weren't thrilled at first, and neither was he — but he didn't make it as obvious as you did.

"i don't need a babysitter," you had damn-near hissed when he was introduced.

"i wasn't hired to be one," he counters coolly, which only serves to irritate you further.

actively ignoring his presence — as much as you could when your company moved him into your apartment — even though you begrudgingly made room in the counters and fridge for his things, even going as far as investing into a better kettle so he could make his tea and clearing out an entire cabinet for all his tea, sugar, and steeper.

he trails you quietly as he was hired to; keeping close enough to always have you in his sights but far enough away that people wouldn't be able to clock his association to you — or so he thought.

six months into his contract with you — an unknown amount of time left, as price never answered and soon he stopped asking — he wakes in the middle of the night from a scream he never thought would come from you.

he rushes into your bedroom, gun in hand with his finger resting on the side and not the trigger. the front door is locked as he had left it, windows unbroken. he almost thinks he might've associated it with one of his own nightmares, until he sees you.

curled in on yourself, face tucked into your knees, fingers threaded through your hair as you struggle to breathe properly, hiccups and sobs breaking between your stuttered breaths.

he knocks gently on your door, not wanting to startle you. you jump just a little, regardless, but lift your head to look at him.

"'m sorry," you mumble, voice rough, "i didn't mean to wake you."

and you hadn't. you thought you were done with these awful nightmares, the ones gnawing at the edges of your mind during the day.

"'s'alright," he replies, tucking the gun into the waistband of his sleep shorts, walking carefully towards your bed. "you okay?"

the look he receives damn near breaks his heart.

he learns, that night, that an attempt had been made on your life before. more than once.

they never got close enough to do any harm, you say, but then swallow thickly and clutch your bicep where simon sees a scar that he never took notice of previously. they didn't get close enough to do anything worse, you amend, chancing a look at him.

"i had security then, too," you explain, wiping your tears with your hand, playing with the blanket. "it didn't change anything."

something shifts after that.

he starts cooking for you — with you, when there's time — and you bring him a cup of tea each morning. the bookshelf in the living room, previously only half-filled, collects simon's books. you give him the login to all your streaming services, and ignore the pointed look he gives you when he sees some trashy reality tv show in your "continue to watch" queue.

he doesn't complain much when he stands behind you during an episode, arms crossed, asking a question here and there. you sigh, exasperated at having to explain everything, telling him to sit down and you start the series from the beginning.

nine months into his contract, your nightmares become more frequent, and worse. you don't understand why. you were getting better, you cry in simon's arms after a particularly rough night.

"sometimes these things happen," he tells you softly, gently carding his fingers through your hair, tucking you under his chin.

"make them stop, please," you beg, even though you know he can't. he wishes he could.

he starts sleeping in your bed.

he's so warm, your cheek pressed into his chest, feeling more secure than you have in months when the weight of his thick, tattooed arm slings around your waist. he presses a kiss to your forehead at night, and you burrow into his side.

he starts taking the balaclava off at night.

a morning where you blessedly don't have to be up early, grey clouds hang in the sky, the promise of a storm later.

"g'mornin'," he says, voice rough with sleep, feeling him flex and stretch beneath you, groaning as his body relaxes. a flash of heat snaps through you.

"morning," you reply, only half-awake, tilting your head up to drag your lips across his jaw, prickling with stubble.

his fingers are in your hair, thick and comforting, tilting you back until his mouth slants over yours. he cradles the back of your head as his tongue slips into your mouth, hot and heavy.

the sheets rustle as he moves to lay over you, free arm resting by your head as your legs hook on his hips, trying to draw him closer to you.

he nips at your bottom lip as he rolls his hips, the heat of his cock through his boxers frazzling your brain. you mewl, his tongue back in your mouth, moving his hand to grip your waist and drag you up against him, moaning low in his throat when he feels the wetness seeping through your panties.

"fuck," you breathe out as his mouth moves over your cheek, down your jaw, kissing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"say please," he rumbles.

"simon, please," you whine, fingers curling at the base of his skull and scratching, and he snarls against your skin, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck as he tears your panties off, pushing his boxers down enough to free his cock.

you're so wet for him, slick coating your thighs as he drags his cock through your folds.

he usually takes his time — using his fingers and tongue to open them up first, wanting to feel the wet heat of their cunt and the spurt of their release to know they're relaxed and ready for him. he eats pussy like he'll die if he doesn't, will happily spend hours between your legs if you let him.

but you? he feels feral with need.

"it's big, sweet thing," he rasps into your skin, right above the mark he sucked into your skin, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. he's not trying to brag, it's just a fact.

you claw at him, the sting of open scratches burning his skin so pleasantly.

"it's okay, don't care," you pant, gripping him hard enough to leave deep crescent marks in his skin, angling your hips up to draw him into your cunt yourself.

he grips your hips with both hands, slowly pushing his thick length into you, nails digging even deeper the more he pushes in.

"feels so fucking good," he says, tongue laving over your throat to collect the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin. "could fuck you forever," he groans, your breath hitching.

you make a strangled noise low in your throat. it's been awhile since you've fucked anyone, and you've never fucked anyone as big as him before.

the stretch feels so good, though. your cunt clenches around him as he sinks in deeper, mind glazing over as you focus only on him.

"fuck," he whines when he finally seats himself fully into you, nuzzling into your neck, overwhelmed by the heat and slick, "good fucking girl, taking me so well."

he swallows thickly, waiting a couple heartbeats to enjoy this — it's been awhile for him, too.

"think you can take it, love?" and his fucking voice. you would agree to do anything as long as you could hear that rough accent along your throat, teeth skimming your skin.

"yes," you breathe out harshly, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, needing him close, close, closer.

for a man of few words, simon has a filthy mouth as he fucks into you, accompanied by groans and growls into your collar.

"never had a cunt this perfect." "fuckin' made for me." "can't wait to get my tongue in you, feel you cum on my face." "no one else can have you." "you're mine."

and you, normally far more verbal than him, are reduced to nothing more than mewls and pleas and moans for more.

you mouth and nip at his jaw when you can, wanting to mark him just as much as he's marking you. you'll be his forever if he lets you, but you'll be damned if anyone else gets to have him either.

"simon — " is the only warning you give before you cum on his cock, head thrown back as you moan through the waves of pleasure, release coating his legnth and thighs.

"that's it, baby, good girl, give it to me," he says, blunt nails digging into your waist as he grinds himself deep into you. you feel so warm and pliant, the pleasure numbing your mind as he rocks himself into you.

"wanna feel you give me one more, angel," he bites at your throat on the other side, wanting to give you matching marks. he hooks your legs over his shoulders, fucking into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your toes curling.

you grip at him again, clawing as he fucks into you, the sound of your wet cunt taking each thrust creating a symphony with his groans and your cries. he feels so fucking good, splitting you open and making you whole, desperate for him to cum inside.

the way your nails dig into his shoulder is the sign that you're getting close, and he thrusts just a little harder, a little meaner, your cute whines growing more desperate as you walk the precipice of another orgasm.

no one's ever made you cum more than once — sometimes, not even once — and you've never been able to do it yourself either.

but simon? fucks a second orgasm out of you like it's his life mission, ankles tightening around his neck as pleasure lines your veins, shaking as he continues to hit that spot inside you as you cum, prolonging it as much as he can.

"baby — " he chokes out, sharp teeth on your shoulder, thrusts getting sloppy. the slick of your two releases sounds so loud in your bedroom, feeling the desperation as he thrusts, deeper, harder.

"cum inside," you mumble against his cheek, nails scratching at the base of his skull as he thrusts once, twice, three times — the warmth of his release flooding your cunt.

he fists the sheets in one hand, nails dragging down your thigh as he pumps deep into you, your slick and his release seeping out of your hole, dripping down his balls and your asshole.

you stay like that, lips brushing, breathing in each other's air as you slowly come down from the high.

simon gently — so gently — lowers your legs, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort, settling them on his hips, hands moving up and down your thighs. "y'alright?" he asks. you swallow thickly and nod, both hands now at the base of his skull, affectionately scratching at the nape of his neck.

he slowly pulls out, and you miss the stretch and the warmth immediately. you push up on your elbows, watching as the mixture of your pleasure leaks out of you, biting you lip.

"fuckin' beautiful," he says almost reverently, mesmerized.

he spends the next hour cleaning you up, and you think your nails create permanent marks on his shoulders.

time bleeds together.

his contract renews on the twelfth month.

he heard rumors that price might switch him out for another guard.

you're at the meeting — it's your bodyguard, after all, they figure you should get some input. price has two separate folders prepared. a sharp look from simon is all price needed to know about how he feels. the tongue lashing you give your higher ups has price raising his eyebrows, and simon sits forward a little more should he need to haul you out over his shoulder.

he wouldn't mind that too much, he thinks, but he'd rather not.

ten minutes later and you're angrily signing his renewal papers, a blotch of ink at the start of your name as you didn't even read the contract before signing, lungs burning from your rant about personal safety and what the fuck are you thinking and i didn't just buy an entirely new tea set for nothing.

you grip his wrist as soon as he signs himself, dragging him to the nearest bathroom.

his hand covers your mouth as he fucks you deep and slow.

"don't worry, darling, 'm not going anywhere."

eighteen months into his contract, and he's never felt so little control before in his life.

he's meticulous, prepared, tactile.

there's a gun in his holster for distance threats and a knife in his sheath for those who dare get too close.

he makes sure to memorize the exists before you even get to the venue, now making no effort to conceal himself.

he's like a shadow, or a guard dog.

you've never felt more secure. more protected.

until —

he doesn't know how it slipped past him.

he let his eyes linger a little too long on the curve of your neck, where a new diamond pendant lay with his initial engraved on the back. he admires the dip of the dress you wear, open-back that shows the enticing expanse of your back, the dress covering you above the curve of your ass. you look back at him briefly while whomever you're with speaks, eyes sparkling in the bright light of the room, a smile reserved just for him.

he hears the cock of a hammer and his eyes snap to a gentleman who brandishes a gun like he's never held one before in his life. his eyes, though. his eyes are like fire, black with rage, staring at you with such hatred.

you look one second too late.

simon is on you right after the click of the trigger, pushing you to the floor and caging you with his body.

"stay down and don't fucking move," he growls as he reaches for his own weapon, up in a flash.

you can't hear anything except white noise and screams that sound muffled, heart pounding and making it hard to breathe. two shots ring out, in tandem, and there's the telltale sign of a body hitting the floor.

simon is by your side, eyes scanning, frantic, looking for any signs of harm.

"you okay?" he asks, carefully outstretching his hands to let you stop him from touching you should you want. you don't.

"fine," your voice cracks, and you can't stop shaking.

"you're okay, you're okay," he says, cradling your cheeks, thumbs wiping under your eyes. "i'm so fucking sorry," he adds, guilt heavy in his chest.

you grab his wrists lightly, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look him over. you gasp, unable to catch a real breath, unable to look away from his stomach.

"simon — " you say, horror laced in your voice.

he looks down, seeing the red seep through his shirt.

fuck.

at least it wasn't you, he tells himself.

nineteen months into his contract, and he isn't dead.

while he's been shot before — a fact he tells you, assuming it would comfort you, but only got him a venomous glare in return — it's been awhile.

the hospital, the stitches, the gauze and needles. he hated it then and he hates it now.

price comes to you in the hospital — they're keeping simon for a little, to make sure there's no complications with his healing — offering another guard in the interim while simon recovers.

you've never shot down a proposal so quickly in your life. the nerve.

twenty-two months into his contract, and the last of the moving boxes are taped shut and labeled. some of them in your writing, the others in his. the keys to your new house are tucked into his pocket, alongside a black velvet box.

"why do we have so much shit," you whine when packing, only two boxes deep and so many rooms left to go. you're too busy stuffing a manatee shaped steeper into a box — mana-tea, you giggled when he opened it, him rolling his eyes fondly in reply — and don't see him pause, looking at you softer, never hearing "we" before like that. never dreaming he could hear it like that.

a lot of stalling on your part and encouragement on his, and the last box is packed and placed in the back of the truck.

he laces your fingers together as you drive to the new house, a bottle of champagne already chilled.

twenty four months into his contract, and you come home with something hidden behind your back.

you smile like you have a secret, which would be a first.

it's awkward to bring around from your back, but there's a large german shepard puppy wiggling in your grip, tail wagging furiously.

he feels his heart stop for a moment, unable to take his eyes off the puppy, and then the band that's sitting around your finger. he touches his own subconsciously.

you set the ball of fur down, who immediately launches at simon, whining and wiggling and trying to give him kisses.

there's a collar and tag already there, and you watch with your heart beating faster than ever, unable to stop the smile on your lips, as he wrangles the pup enough to read it.

riley.

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