#A World Lit Only by Fire

[geopolicraticus]

On Misjudging the Age in which One Lives

The Formation of a Persecuting Society.—Some years ago when I read William Manchester’s A World Lit Only by Fire I was particularly fascinated by his description of the changing intellectual climate as Europe made the transition from the late Middle Ages to the early modern period, with the latter primarily manifested in northern Europe in the form of the Protestant Reformation. The humanists of late fifteen century sometimes found themselves in unwitting violation of the new order taking shape in Europe in early sixteenth century, and their punishment was used as a means of meting out exemplary justice. The fate of three men in particular—Bonaventure Desperiers, Étienne Dolet, and Michael Servetus—interested me in a gruesome way. All three men misjudged the age in which they lived, believing that the rules that applied prior to the Reformation would continue to apply after the Reformation, but this conservative strategy of assuming social stability ill-served them. Desperiers, pursued by both Protestants and Catholics, committed suicide under dubious circumstances. Dolet, a printer of books disliked by the authorities, was hung and then his body was burned on a pyre with books that he had printed. Later the same year at the same spot, the Place Maubert in Paris, four additional printers were strangled and burned. Protestant and Catholic authorities vied with each other for the right to try, convict, and execute Servetus. Calvin ultimately secured that honor for Geneva. Manchester wrote: “A Protestant council sentenced him to death by slow fire. Now terrified, aware of his blunder, the condemned author begged for mercy—not for his life; he knew better than that; he merely wanted to be beheaded. He was denied it. Instead he was burned alive. It took him half an hour to die.” If we look around the present world it’s not difficult to recognize those who haven’t yet caught on that the world has changed, and that what worked for the previous generation will not work as well today.  

[intcritus]

ship tags pt. ii

[spextkrr]

hey. hey you guys should check out godflesh. you totally should.

[lemongogo]

i need 2 get back into painting fish

[samuraisharkie]

never truly got the phrase “knot in my stomach” until recently where it feels like my stomach has managed to tie itself into a certifiable Sailor Proof knot that refuses to get undone and hurt like fuckin hell. Extremely high levels of stress plus period plus physical issues equals very very bad time

[slut4megantheestallion]

୨୧Sukuna being weirdly infatuated by his human girlfriend (sfw)

cw: fluff, possessive behavior, sukuna being a menace, light darkish yandere undertones, mild language.

It started off with the weird weight of his stare.

You've gotten used to it by now-almost. The way his gaze settles on your sleeping face like a hand, heavy and hot and impossibly still. He watches you like he's dissecting something, like he's trying to unravel you with his eyes. Sometimes, you wake up with a jolt, and he's already leaning over you, arms folded, face unreadable.

"You're twitchy," Sukuna mutters, voice low and scratchy like something old. "Guilty conscience?"

You don't bother answering. You're used to his comments, the way they hover between teasing and threat.

Tonight, though, he's extra... weird. Not in a violent way - those days are specific, intentional, but in that offbeat way he gets when he forgets what being human is like.

He's sitting at the edge of the futon, one hand resting on your thigh. His fingers tap- annoying, steady. When you peek one eye open, you find him already looking down at you. Eyes glowing faintly in the dim room.

"You're not that interesting, y'know," he says.

"Then stop caring," you grumble, voice rough with sleep.

He grins. That slow, unhurried curve of sharp teeth and something more sinister than amusement.

"I could. But then I might miss how stupid your face looks when you sleep." His hands lifts, and suddenly, he's poking your cheek. Hard.

You flinch. "Sukuna-!"

He presses again. Now both fingers, tugging your cheek like you're some stress ball. "You're soft. It's weird. I don't like it," he says flatly, even as he keeps doing it.

You swat at his hand, but he catches your wrist easily, pins it to the bed beside you. His grip is warm - too warm. Heat coils off of him like a furnace, a reminder that he's not like anything that should exist in this world.

"You have so many expressions," he mutters, gaze dragging over your face. "It's exhausting."

"Then leave."

"No." His reply is instant. Lazy but final. "You're mine."

You stare at him, and he just shrugs like it's the most casual statement in the world. Possession, obsession - it's not romantic with him. It's primal. He looks at you like a dragon cluled around treasure it doesn't understand. He doesn't love you the way a man should.

But still... he stays.

His hand slides to your chin, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. He leans closer, like he's trying to memorize the tiny details of your face, skin, the way your lashes flicker with each blink. You feel the slow curl of his breath when he exhales near your mouth.

"I could crush you," he says softly, almost thoughtfully. "Break every part of you and put you back together wrong. You'd still look at me like that."

You don't respond. You're not sure how to respond to something like that.

He tilts his head, studying you. Then, with zero warning, he pinches your nose.

"What the fu-Sukuna!"

"Just checking," he says, snickering. "Wanted to make sure you weren't a corpse. You're so still sometimes."

You roll over, trying to shove your face into the pillow. He let's you, but you can still feel his eyes on the back of your neck. Like the heat of a fire that won't die out

"Go to sleep, freak," you mumble.

"You're calling me a freak?" He laugh, voice echoing in the low-lit silence. "You're the one who sleeps like a baby next to the King of Curses. You've got issues, woman."

His fingers brush a stray strand of hair from your temple. Gentle, too gentle. It doesn't match the way he talks or looks or breathes.

"I could watch you forever," he mutters, barely above a whisper now. "And maybe I will. So don't die on me."

You blink slowly, eyes closing again. There's no real comfort in his words - only a strange, twisted kind of promise.

You drift off, eventually, despite the awareness of his presence. The weight of his stare doesn't fade, but his touch becomes still. He watches.

He always watches.

And even when you sleep, sukuna is still there. Like a curse that chose you.

[fromdove]

THINGS YOU DO THAT THE BATBOYS FIND ATTRACTIVE ! batboys x reader

“God, you’re impossible. And I’m so screwed, because I think I’d let you ruin me.”

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts in jasons & bruces part (maybe dick too??)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

JASON TODD

the way you hold eye contact when you're angry

It started as a slow simmer—your voice, low and clipped, each word deliberate, sharp enough to slice through the heavy Gotham air. Jason wasn’t even sure what the hell you were mad about anymore. The way your eyes were locked on his, unwavering, lit from within by something electric—it drowned out everything else.

You stood across the room, spine straight, chest rising with each measured breath. Not yelling. Not crying. Just...burning. And looking at him.

There was something about that. The way you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Like you could take every jagged, bloodstained part of him and still meet him dead-on, like you’d never blink first. It made his heart twist in his chest, something old and animal uncoiling inside him. He’d faced down murderers, monsters, lowlife scumbags—but the fury in your gaze made his throat go dry. Not because he feared it. Because he wanted to touch it. touch you.

You took a step forward, the kind that didn’t echo but reverberated, and that subtle movement—how your hands stayed relaxed at your sides, how your mouth didn’t tremble when you spoke—undid him.

“Don’t try to bullshit me, Jason.”

There was a beat. One taut, blistering moment where the only thing louder than your breath was the pounding in his ears.

And then he laughed. Just a breath of it, almost involuntary. The kind of laugh you get when something hurts and turns you on at the same time. He didn’t even mean to. It just escaped him.

You frowned, and that only made it worse. He wanted to bite your lip just to see if your mouth would still taste like fire when it was pressed against his. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you so hard it left bruises.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re pissed,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, almost reverent.

You blinked at that—but didn’t back down. And the way your stare softened just a fraction, that flicker of confusion folding into resolve again... yeah. That did it. That almost ended him right then and there.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching a lit fuse. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to pull, to anchor.

“You gonna hit me?” he asked, tone dark and dangerous and barely hanging on.

You tilted your chin up. “Wouldn’t waste the energy.”

God. That. That right there. The grit in your voice. He could live off that kind of defiance. He wanted to.

Jason had never been good at softness. He didn’t know what to do with people who crumbled. But you—? You held his gaze like a storm, like a girl who could kill him with her silence, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was beg for a second chance to make you smile again.

Not because he deserved it. Because he’d die trying to.

DICK GRAYSON

the way you reach for him in your sleep

It starts small. Always does. You shift once, twice—barely there. Then your hand moves, unthinking. Across sheets warm with your shared heat, it searches.

You don’t know you're doing it. That’s what makes it criminal. You’re not asking to be loved in that moment. You’re assuming it. Trusting the world to place him where he belongs: next to you.

And Dick—poor, cursed Dick—is already awake.

He lies still, pretending. Letting you find him. Every nerve is alight, tuned to the sound of your breath, the whisper of cotton as your wrist brushes the inside of his arm. Then—finally—your hand finds his chest, right over the scar where a blade once tried to make him quiet forever.

Your fingers twitch. Then still. Then curl.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

He’s not thinking about villains or masks or the weight of his last name. He’s not worried about who’s watching, or whether he’s enough. He’s just a man now.

A man undone by the way you, unconscious and vulnerable, reach for him like he’s home. Like your body knows him, wants him, chooses him—without performance, without pride.

And it’s just so fucking sweet. The sweetness that life had never thought him deserving of—never bothered to offer, as if the universe had forgotten him in some quiet corner—was suddenly there, in you. And only then did he realize what he had been starved of.

There’s something maddening about your vulnerability—how you press against him in sleep, skin warm and scent-heavy, mouth parted just slightly. Innocent, yes. But not harmless.

Not to him.

He could write an entire religion based on the way your breath hitches when his hand covers yours. He could burn entire cities if someone tried to pull you away while you sleep.

Because this—this secret, sacred moment where you choose him without knowing— is the kind of thing he’s never let himself want.

But now that he’s had it, he knows.

He’ll want it forever.

BRUCE WAYNE

the way you tilt your chin when you're defiant

It is the tiniest gesture—a tilt of the chin, so slight it might pass for nothing at all. But to him? It is semaphore, a flare in the dusk, a gauntlet tossed with exquisite subtlety.

You do it when you disagree. Not with loud words or theatrics. No. You just raise your chin. Barely. As if your body is saying, “I’m not afraid of you.”“I’ll meet you there, if you push.”

And God help him, he wants to push.

You do this thing where your jaw tightens just slightly, where your eyes go sharp and patient at the same time—like you’ve already calculated the cost of standing your ground and decided to pay it anyway.

You look… royal. As though Gotham’s grime never dared graze your skin. Like tragedy tried and failed. Like you’d walk into fire if it meant protecting what’s yours.

And that infuriates him.

Because Bruce—Bruce—knows what defiance costs. He’s worn it like armor. Bled for it. Buried people because of it.

But when you do it?

It doesn’t look like self-destruction. It looks like purpose. Power. Something beautiful he was never allowed to have.

He wants to touch your face when you tilt your chin like that. Wants to grab your wrist and pull you into him—not to overpower, but to understand. To memorize the blueprint of that defiance. To feel it against his mouth.

You make silence feel like war. And he’s losing.

Because there is something deeply, dangerously erotic about a woman who doesn’t flinch when she should. Who doesn’t soften to make him comfortable. Who looks at the darkest thing in him—and doesn’t look away.

He’s not used to being watched like that. He’s not used to wanting to be watched like that.

And every time you lift that chin, he’s reminded of exactly how easy it would be to give up the act, the mask, the fiction of the untouchable man—

—all for one person who sees him and doesn't look away.

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

HOLY SHOWER

Summary: After an exhausting day, you finally wanted to take a shower, but the water stopped running in your apartment, so you decided to go to your neighbor for help. But you got more than help.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, age gap, strong language, overstimulation, unprotected sex (piv), shower sex, more rounds

Masterlist

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You came home from work, exhausted and tired. Today was probably the worst day at work, the boss yelled at you, you almost got fired and you destroyed your clothes by spilling your coffee all over it, great. The only thing you wanted right now was a warm shower that would help you release all this negative chakras and relax.

On the way to the shower, you were already planning in your head how you're going to spend the rest of the evening, making popcorn and watching your favorite series while the vanilla-flavored candles were lit around. You'll only be wearing an oversized t-shirt and rabbit slippers that your moronic neighbor Wade Wilson bought you, after he almost set your flat on fire as part of his fight with some villian.

Wade is not a normal neighbor who occasionally throws parties and fucks with whores. He does this too, but he's really special. If you had to describe him in three words it would be a jerk, a narcissist and a wretch, but sometimes he's also nice, you have to admit that.

After you finally get out of your coffee-stained clothes, you threw them in the washing machine and went directly to the bathroom, naked. Opening the shower door, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Now, only well-being and relaxation begin, you may even practice yoga and meditate if you'll be sufficiently relaxed and full of energy. Just the thought encouraged you further and when you closed the shower door behind you, nothing and no one could stop you.

You turned on the hot water switch and took the citrus scented shower gel in your hand, you were about to squirt some on your palm when you realized the water didn't start running.

,,That's…weird” you said to yourself and reached for the cold water switch. Nothing. Not a drop came out and you were slowly starting to get furious inside. You reached for both switches at once and turned them to full power, but still nothing. You really held on, every nerve in your body was ticking not to explode but it happened anyway.

"Fuck!" you scream across the whole apartment and drop your head in your hands. This was something you had been looking forward to all day, you dreamed about it at work and the idea of ​​warm water running down your naked body was discouraging you from having a mental breakdown in the bathroom. The shower was your reason to get through the day and they're going to take it away from you like that? Fuck no.

You weren't going to just give up, the feeling of lukewarm water cleansing your body and your darkest thoughts, right now you need it more than anything in the world.

A light bulb went on in your head and you were out of the bathroom in no time. You quickly threw on an oversized white shirt, didn't even care that you’re not wearing anything under it, and went forward. Your face was focused on only one goal, Wade.

He's a devious bastard who's tried it on you countless times, but right now you're at the stage where you're even able to sleep with him just so you can indulge in that holy shower.

You knocked on the door right next to your apartment and waited for an answer. You started to be a little suspicious, because the apartment was truly gravely silent, but the creaking of the door interrupted your assumptions about what it might be. You took a deep breath and were ready to blurt out everything that had happened and convince Wade to let you take a shower at his place, but your words got stuck in your throat when Wade wasn't standing in the doorway.

Instead, there was standing a tall, old muscular man with a brown beard and sideburns, his hair was in the shape of beast ears and he had a stern expression on his face that immediately caught your attention. Wearing a white tank top that beautifully highlighted his body underneath and most importantly, showed off his shoulders which were way more massive than your thighs. You swallowed loudly in fear and blinked a few times to bring yourself back.

"Um hi! Is Wade here?"you asked and no matter how hard you tried, your voice was quiet and shaky, the guy definitely had to sense that you were so fucking nervous.

"Who's asking?" a deep grainy voice answered you with a question and leaned against the doorframe, as he crossed his hands on his chest, making his biceps pop out. He was really manipulating you with them, you had an incredible urge to stare at them and your brain was already automatically creating a million scenarios of what you wanted him to do to you with those hands. Luckily you were still somewhat conscious and didn't let your dirty toughts take over you.

"I am his neighbor...right next door" you pointed your head to your apartment, trying to keep your smile on your face. That man slowly looks at the direction you pointed, then looked back at you. "Wade's not home right now” his stern voice made you flinch every time you heard it, because it sounded like you just killed his parents and now you're going to pay hell for it.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded a few times. "Oh...okay well, when he comes back tell him I was there" you smiled again, hoping your smile would soften him up a bit, but you're too naive for even thinking this would work.

He was just looking at you, no response, not even a tiny movement of his face, nothing. You probably understood that you should finally get the fuck out of his face, and that was what you had planned. You turned on your tiptoes and walked back to your apartment, but he stopped you in your way there.

"Hey!" You immediately turned to face him.

"What do you want from him?" his biceps still hypnotizing you.

"My water stopped flowing and I really really need to take a shower" you put on a cute-innocent expression and your tone sounded so convincing that even a kidnapper, who was going to cut your throat, would let you take a shower.

He looked like he thought whether or not to let you in, even though he already knew his verdict long ago. "Come in" he nodded and disappeared in the apartment, thinking you were following him and you really did.

You were so grateful and happy that you would blow this man right here right now, not just because he was ridiculously handsome, but also as a thank you gift.

You closed the door behind you and the man made himself comfortable on the couch, a loud groan came out of him as he dropped himself there, making you feel that weird burning feeling in your lower stomach.

Although you knew Wade’s apartment layout even with your eyes closed, you still found it a bit inhospitable that man didn't even tell you where the bathroom is, but you didn't worry about it for too long. After all, you're not here to teach that grandpa good manners, you're only here for the shower.

You were almost headed to the bathroom, but something stopped you in your tracks. Thirst. Your apartment has no water and god knows how long it won't work and since it's quite late at night, all the shops here will be probably already closed.

You had to take your chance, that's why you backed into the kitchen and looked at him subtly. "Um, could I have a glass of water?" you asked politely. You only got an annoyed look and a stiff nod as response. You rolled your eyes and went to the kitchen.

You swallowed the water as if you had just been in the desert for few days, even that bastard noticed it too, but he didn't say anything.

"And um...you're Wade's partner?" "Fuck no" you wanted to start a conversation, get to know the stranger a bit, but this was probably not a good start. He looked disgusted, just thinking about it. "I'm his roomate, Logan" you finally got to know something about him and it wasn't just one thing, but even two. Wow, you're moving somewhere.

"Ah, nice to meet you" you said with a smile and poured yourself another glass of water which you drink like an animal. Logan just stared at you, scanning you and sensing that you were only wearing a light white fabric and literally nothing underneath it. Quite risky, he thought.

"And you're name?" he finally continued the conversation and you couldn't help but smile even more. Maybe you softened the grump a bit after all.

,,Y/N...” you fizz looking at Logan who just nodded and looked away. You felt it was time to finally indulge in what you were here for. Without another word you therefore went to bathroom, ripped off your shirt in one graceful motion and stomped into the shower, but you couldn't ignore the smell that clearly screamed Wade was touching himself here. Whatever.

Trying to ignore the smell, you reached for the hot water switch. The water finally touched your naked skin and you threw your head back, nearly blinding yourself with the hot water. After a while it started burning, so you reached for the cold switch, but it got stuck.

You tried to turn it with all your strenght, but nothing. So you quickly turned off the hot water and decided to ask Logan for help. After all, he has much bigger muscles than you, he will definitely be able to turn it on.

You didn't even bother drying off, you just threw your white shirt back on and went straight to Logan. When you stood next to the couch and waited for him to look at you, he wasn't just looking at you, he was admiring you.

You didn't realize that you were all wet and the white shirt was wet too, stuck to your body and practically transparent, revealing everything. Logan surprisingly cleared his throat and stopped breathing for a moment but still with the stern expression.

"Would you please help me with the shower? The switch is stuck and I can't turn it on" you beg, having no idea that your shirt is pointless to even wear at this moment.

Logan didn't take in a word you just said, he looked away from your body to your face and just stared. So you repeated your request to him and he instantly nodded in agreement. You were a little surprised that he was suddenly so active, but you didn't complain.

Logan quickly got up and went to the bathroom without giving any sign of being annoyed by your request. You walked right behind him, his whiskey scent tickled your olfactory cells.

When you entered the bathroom, you ran ahead of Logan to show him exactly where the problem was. "Here...s-see?" you struggle as you tried to turn on the cold water, but again, no avail. Logan just quietly took over the switch and effortlessly turned on the cold water, like it was nothing.

You laugh from the excitement of finally being able to enjoy a shower. But the thing was that the cold water was not only flowing on you, but also on Logan. His previously dry white tank top that covered his divine body was no longer dry and is definitely no longer covering anything. You looked at each other, your smile fade away in a second.

Your gaze locked on his body. His hairy body, developed and veined, his abs looked so eatable, so does his arms and boobs. His hair was damp, he looked irresistible and you fought your demons not to jump on him like an animal.

You, on the other hand, were practically naked in front of Logan and he hadn't seen such a beautiful woman with a beautiful body in a long time. The way the water drops ran down your neck, under your wet t-shirt, around your chest to your stomach, this was the end for Logan.

Without any warning, he pounced on you like a beast, cupping your cheeks with his big hands, almost surrounding your entire face. You automatically joined in and cooperated, wrapping your arms around his veiny neck and just gently digging into him with your fingernails.

Deep passionate kisses were making you vibrate more and more from excitement. Your tongues fight with each other for dominance, sure thing that Logan won. You were so hungry each time your lips touched, so desperate for him, for his body and what it can do to you.

Logan couldn't wait any longer, he grabbed your shirt and took it off pretty briskly, even though it was practically useless. But he didn't leave you alone and took off his tank top too. You broke the kiss just to see the treasure he offers. Naturally, you reached for him and gently ran your fingers around his abs, which caught your breath.

,,You like it?” he asked hurriedly and smiled as he saw your shocked face. For someone who is really truly old, he's not bad at all. You looked up at him and smiled, giving him a chance to start kissing you again, more likely, guzzle your face. He was rough and wild but at the same time tender and loving. This combination makes a total waterfall between your legs.

He was holding you by your weist, really digging his strong fingers into your flesh, making you moan into the hungry kisses. That itself make his erection begging to finally free him from those thigh boxers, what really keeps him trapped.

He didn't wait for another sound of yours and quickly started unbuckling his pants, his clumsy hands tried to take them off as quickly as possible and you tried to help him. Your hands touched, but there was no time for romance, his growls and your sighs said it all.

When you finally managed to unzip Logan's pants as part of your cooperation, they were on the floor next to the shower in no time, along with his black boxers. His dick sprang free, making a slappy sound as it hits his belly. You needed a moment to adore his little friend, and your eyes widened from his length. How can he even walk around with this thing?

He chuckled as he watched your surprised face once more, and got your attention by grabbing your chin and lifting your head up. "My face's right here, sweatheart" you melt at his words, his tone not as stern as it used to be just moments ago and his eyes...fuck his eyes were full of lust and desire just for you.

The rules have changed a bit, the shower is no longer what you longed for and can't live for, now it's Logan. You need him badly, like breathing or eating, you need him so badly that your knees almost start to buckle in desperation and Logan knew it and sensed it.

After all, he needed you just as much as you needed him. So he decided not to delay any longer and pinned you to the wall, the shower still continued with a flow of cold water that smoothed you at least a little, but still, you were burning with arousal and passion.

He glued his lips to yours again, his body was just as glued and his cock was poking you in your inner tight, unintentionally provoked your wet folds by moving his hips to feel at least a little friction. Of course, this movement made your neck make noises you didn't even know existed.

"I won't last long with you bub" Logan mumbled between kisses but he continued with both his movements and his uncontrollable kissing and biting of your numb lips. His wolfish voice excited you whenever you heard it and your legs were already shaking with anticipation.

Logan's tip started leaking with precum and this was a clear sign for him that he should finally fuck you like you deserved.

Before you could blink, he grabbed you by the neck, but not too hard to hurt you, but not too loose to not have control over you. He found the perfect center that suited both you and him and at that moment, he began to slide it into you.

Your jaw dropped and your eyes shut tightly as you felt his tip stretching your throbbing core. Logan growled, his face pinched but his eyes open to see your pleasing face. Oh he will remember this face for the rest of his life.

He was already fully in, fitting in perfectly as if you two were just meant for each other. Logan waited a while for you to get used to him and you had the opportunity to open your eyes for a moment and admire his wet head. How the drops slowly ran down his face, down his whole body, it was so fucking hot.

After a while, when you started getting impatient and get used to his length, you started moving your hips, just a tiny moves, but Logan knew damn well you were ready for more. That's why he helped you a little by pulling out and pushing back his member into you, making you whine his name out loud.

It was peaceful steady movements, he played with you like a toy and you marveled at it. Your eyes were opened and you were holding eye contact with Logan the whole time. Every time he pushes into you, he squishes his nose and hisses and he does that again anytime he pulls out of you.

It was pain but also a thrill for him going so incredibly slow, but both of you enjoyed it like nothing else. The thing was that you were insatiable barbarians who kept wanting more and more. Logan decided to indulge both of you.

He let go of your neck, leaving big red marks and fingerprints there and moved his strong hands to your hips. He needed to keep you in a place, because what was going to happen wasn't for some weaklings.

You looked at him with hope and curiosity of what was going to happen, and you found out really soon. Without any warning or hesitation, Logan started thrusting into you with no mercy. Now this was exactly what you needed.

His animal awoke in him, his teeth clenched as his balls was slapping against your ass. It all makes easier the running water, which served as a natural lubricant, keeping you both still wet, even though you didn't really need it.

He kept muttering something under his breath as he aggressively rammed his cock headlong into you. You just let yourself be led, he had full control over you and you fucking loved it. Your hands were tightly glued to his back, your nails digging deep into his flesh but it was just a tiny, hardly felt pinch for him.

Soon you started to feel that strange feeling in your lower abdomen, that need to go to the bathroom, that burning flame, that twirling writhing feeling, all together clearly proved that you were on the edge and you won't hold it in for long.

Logan was stretching you really hard, but you were still full of his dick inside you. From time to time, his base was touching your sensitive clit, making it even harder to keep you quiet. The moment you knew you loose it completely, was when he grabbed you by your ass and lifted you up so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and you weren't touching the ground. In this position, he easily found your g-spot and he was hitting it with rage and passion, sending you straight to your orgasm.

But Logan wasn't much better off. You were so incredibly tight around him, your pussy was literally just perfect. His veins were pulsating and his dick was twitching inside you, his heartbeat accelerated and he already lost control over his movements. He was so consumed by his climax that he had no idea what his hips were doing and how hard or fast he was thrusting into you.

He snarled like a beast, watching the part where your bodies connected, being so desperate to cum inside you, filling you up so that his sperm would drop out of you. You were already losing your senses, your eyes rolled back and you make a really long and deep bloody lines on Logan's back by your sharp nails, as you were really close.

,,Logan I-" you wanted to warn him, to inform him but it was useless, because before you could finish your sentence, you clench tightly around his member, your lower body started vibrating and the pleasant feeling of relief finally flooded you all over.

Your juice started dropping on the floor and you tried to catch your breath and gain your senses back, but Logan was still going in his full speed and strength. He was really frantic trying to catch up his orgasm, which he succeeded in after a few strong and wild thrusts.

The last one was the strongest and loudest one, he screamed really loudly, not caring if Wade was already home or not, the most juiciest and the most deepest.

The only sounds in the bathroom now were your heavy breathing and the steady flow of water that didn't stop. You felt dizzy, overstimulated, but the feeling of pleasure and relief was irreplaceable. Logan felt the same as you, although he didn't see twice unlike you, but this was an unforgettable experience for him. But he didn't want to stop yet.

"You ready for round two?" he asked, keep trying to catch his breath. This question woke you up like a slap in the morning and you looked at him with wide eyes. He was serious, he meant it and you were speechless. Although you were tired, you knew that the moment Logan will let you on your feet you wouldn't keep your balance, but of course you wanted a second round.

Logan waited impatiently for your answer and when you nodded your head, it warmed your heart to see a sparkle in his eyes. Immediately, his lips were on yours again, his dick that never leave your insideness started moving again, heating you up and creating another arousal.

The overstimulation was insane, you knew you would cum soon again and it made you feel a little embarassing, but Logan was on the same boat as you. His balls were so full that he could explode at any time, he needed to empty himself inside you.

He was starting to pick up his pace and speed again and before long you were in the same situation as few minutes ago, his hips thrusting into you with no limit, you mercilessly destroying Logan's back and praying your pelvis won't crack.

If he could, he would have turned you around and fucked you from behind like a brute, but he could feel your legs being weak and practically non-functional, so he held you tightly around his waist and continued in a position that soon brought you both to your second orgasm.

You both whimpered and wailed as you struggled to fill your lungs with oxygen. Logan was still full of energy but you're only human and when a beast like Wolverine jumps at you, there's no way you'll end up in better condition than him.

After you finally breathe normally and calmly, Logan started laughing out the two powerful orgasms and dropped his forehead to yours. You joined him and you both laughed like idiots while you were still inside each other and the freezing water was pouring over you.

Wade is going to be really surprised when his water bill comes.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[coffee-and-geto]

“you sure it’s not ugly?”

a low, soft and light chuckles escapes your lips. “never. they’re the most beautiful thing i have ever seen in my life.” you press an umpteenth trail of kisses onto one of the long silver scars on satoru’s pale body.

you’ve tackled his back, and now his hip. since his victory over the king of curses, satoru has recovered well, more relaxed than ever in the peace that surrounds him. one element remains, however. or rather...

a complex.

satoru gojo, the holder of six eyes, with his unshakeable charisma and breathtaking beauty that he has never doubted, has developed a certain anxiety about the traces of his fearsome battle: the scars that mark every inch of his body.

in the dark night lit only by the moon’s rays, you, his devoted wife for whom he had only eyes, never ceased to kiss every inch of his body, cherishing and worshipping the evidence of his courage and a testament to the fire he survived.

“you’re even more beautiful, satoru,” you whisper in a breath, your warm, steady breathing tickling his back to the point of giving him goosebumps. “don’t look at them like they’re a burden or another curse. but rather as a blessing.”

he turns his head slightly towards you, his cerulean eyes finding yours in this moment of vulnerability. “a blessing?”

you nod. “exactly. the same as your birth. a blessing.”

he repeats the word in a whisper, hinting at something new, like a touching new perspective he’d never thought of before.

for the first time, someone said it. in the eyes of the one person in the world he loved most, he wasn’t seen as a weapon.

but as a blessing.

he simply nods and rests his cheek back against his cold pillow, which warms by the second. something happens in his body.

his heart, startled by gentleness, stammers like wings remembering how to fly.

a/n: definitely gonna write for more scarjo :)))

[amirasainz]

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[theresatzu]

Blue Lock characters and the pretty interviewer

Pairings. Blue Lock character x reader

Starring.//Isagi Yoichi//Bachira Meguru //Itoshi Rin//Michael Kaiser//

Tags. fluff//future fic//interview

Isagi Yoichi

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Nervous mess all the way

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Stammers when asked questions

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Keeps stealing glances at you, but it's literally so obvious, it's painful

"So, Isagi-san, what did you think of today's match's outcome?" You asked, turning to him.

Isagi , who had been silently glancing at you, flinched, his eyebrows shooting upwards, cheeks turning an adorable pink.

"Uh... me?" He pointed at himself, looking very much like a dear caught in clear daylight.

"Yes, you." You chuckled.

At your slight laughter, Isagi went even more red.

"Oh... uh, it was great. Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

When you inclined your head to continue, Isagi 's mind went blank.

He blurted, "I think you're really pretty."

You shot him a confused look.

"UH, I mean, the match went pretty. Pretty well." He poorly corrected himself.

You eyed him amusedly. "Oh? Care to share some of your insight for your adoring fans?"

"My... insight?" Isagi repeated, a little breathless.

Because it was warm. Because he was warm. From the match.

(The match had already concluded three hours prior).

"Uhm... there were some really good... uh... plays." Isagi answered, stealing a glance at you, only to see that you were already looking at him.

His eyes widened, darting away. "And... uh..." What the hell was he even talking about? "Rin had some nice saves."

"Rin?" You tilted your head, "He wasn't in today's match, was he?"

"Oh! Oh." Isagi's lips parted, his eyes flicking from left to right to come up with an answer.

"Uh... I meant... he would have made a few good saves if he were in the game. You know... with uhm..." He faltered.

You nodded at him, beckoning him to continue, eyes attentively set on him. Isagi swallowed arduously.

His throat ran dry. Isagi coughed.

The silence stretched on.

He had to answer, now.

But with what? Rin with... with what?!

You were still looking at him, eyes expectant and so pretty-

"Pretty eyes." Isagi blurted out.

You frowned, confusion on your face. "Pretty eyes?"

Isagi went bright red. He could hear Bachira next to him shaking, doing a poor job of concealing his gleeful cackles at Isagi's predicament.

"Uh... did I say pretty eyes?" Isagi chuckled. It was strained and awkward.

"What I meant to say was... uh... predator's vision? Like when... when your vision of the field becomes really limited, you know?" He finished rather lamely.

"...Yeah." You slowly nodded your head, eyeing him with a mix of befuddlement and concern.

Then you turned to Bachira next to him, and Isagi could breathe a little bit easier. Though, his heartbeat didn't settle down, his cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Keep it together, Isagi. He said to himself. He was a goddamn world class footballer. He didn't do nervosity.

He had faced off Itoshi Rin and survived.

He had led Japan to the World Cup and carved his name in the football world.

He had become the top striker of his generation.

There was no way he was going to start being nervous now.

But he still felt his heart doing a little jump every time you looked at him.

Bachira Meguru

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Just sits close to you, his eyes barely leaving you

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Thinks every question is directed at him

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗Is just one ball of sunshine, especially when your attention is on him

"So... Isagi-san, what is your opinion about how Japan has thus far fared in the World Cup?"

"Oh, well I think--"

"We're doing amazing! Did you see my super special dribble?" Bachira excitedly interjected.

"Dude." Isagi nudged him, an unimpressed expression on his face. "That was my question."

"Oh! Oh." Bachira deflated, sitting back again.

You chuckled. "Don't worry Bachira-san, you'll get the next one."

Bachira's eyes lit up at that, but they dwindled when you directed your attention on Isagi again.

Isagi began talking again. Bachira leaned back in his seat.

He bounced his leg impatiently, Isagi's thorough analysis on Japan's performance fading into the background.

Bachira's eyes flicked to yours, his bottom lip jutting out a little when you actually seemed captivated in Isagi's story.

Bachira eyed the two of you suspiciously, noting that Isagi was also sitting the closest to you.

Pursing his lips, Bachira stood up.

Isagi shot him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"This seat is uncomfortable. Can I sit there?"

Bachira pointed at Isagi.

You let out a snort. "You want to sit on Isagi's lap?"

Isagi guffawed, going bright red. "PR, PR!" He hissed at Bachira. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Move!" Bachira whispered back.

"Wait, what? Wha--" Isagi yelped as Bachira shoved him aside.

With a straight face, Bachira sat down, not even looking at Isagi, who was on the ground, mouth hanging wide open.

"Dude."

Bachira tactfully ignored Isagi, flashing you a bright grin, as if nothing had occurred in the past few seconds.

"You wanted to ask me a question?"

Itoshi Rin

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ He's really quiet during the interview, like, he'll answer questions, but just the bare minimum.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Avoids eye contact like the plague, but he'll try to steal a look at you the moment your gaze is elsewhere

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ When he's caught looking, he'll freeze up, scowl fixed on his face. But if you look closely, you can see that the tips of his ears have turned a handsome red

"So, Rin-san, how did you think the match went?"

Rin's face was stoic, looking at the cement wall behind you.

"...It went well."

"You've scored a magnificent goal during the game, how did you pull that off?"

"...Just predicting the game and being in the right position."

Rin sighed, glancing to the side. Looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

A tense silence fell.

You coughed, forcing a strained smile on your face.

"Rin." Isagi made a face at him. Rin raised an eyebrow.

You chuckled awkwardly, shuffling your cards. Were there any questions left?

With the way Rin had curtly and concisely answered the questions, you had rushed through the interview, with no more inquiries at hand.

It was clear Rin wasn't in the mood to field any questions: clear avoidance of direct eye contact, standoffish demeanour, and closed-off answers.

They were all tell-tale signs that Rin was itching to just leave.

You sighed, heart sinking in your chest.

You had been hoping to hold this interview with Rin since months now, being an avid admirer of his intricate playstyle and his tactics on the field.

However, it seemed that the sentiment wasn't returned.

"Well, I guess we'll wrap it up for today," You said, hiding the disappointment in your voice.

You looked up from your cards to say goodbye to both Isagi and Rin.

Your eyes met teal, irridescent ones.

Rin's eyes were dazed, a soft edge to them. A stark contrast to the cold look in them during the interview.

You tilted your head curiously.

Noticing you looking, Rin's eyebrows rose. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flustered look flashing in them, lips parting slightly.

He looked away, jaw tensed, and the moment was over.

Your eyebrows went high, intrigue welling up.

...Or maybe the sentiment was returned.

It was in the minute details, you assumed.

When Isagi nudged Rin playfully, shooting a knowing grin his way, which maybe meant Rin tolerated you, that was only an assumption.

When Rin's ears turned a lovely red when he looked at you, that was also only an assumption.

But when you shook Rin's hand, and looked him in the eye, that was only confirmation.

Michael Kaiser

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Flirts. Charms. Is not professional at all. "Accidentally" lets diminutives slip.

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Either answers questions about himself in a cocky manner, or is the one asking you the questions.

"So, Kaiser, in the last match, you managed to pull off a move called the "Magnus Impact", how did you do that?"

"Well..." Kaiser said, a confident quirk to his lips, "It's an unparalleled move of mine, and it paid off." He answered simply.

Then, he shifted, leaning his head on his arm, his eyes shooting to yours. "But what about you? How did you pull off that good look of yours?"

You choked.

"Wha--?" Your eyes went wide, spluttering.

Excuse me?"

Kaiser leaned in, his finger brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch leaving goosebumps on your skin.

"I know that my Magnus Impact is based off on my pure talent. I'm guessing your lovely look is natural, too, no?"

"Oh-- uhm..." You didn't know what to say. "I... guess?"

Kaiser hummed, leaning back in his seat again. "Thought so."

When the proximity between you two lessened, you let out a breath, quickly fixing your eyes on your question paper.

However, unbeknownst to you, Kaiser was still looking at you, eyes roaming over your features, a pensive expression on his face.

"Though, why did you choose to pursue this interview career of yours? You could've easily made the highway, Schätzchen."

"Huh?" Your head shot up from your cards.

"Mhm... lovely smile, natural blush, mesmerising eyes. And above all, a charming personality." Kaiser winked at you.

"Oh... uhm, I--" Didn't know what to answer. "Thanks?"

Kaiser let out a handsome chuckle, pushing the bangs out of his face. "Liebe, no need to thank me for your attractiveness, I'm only calling attention to the objective facts."

Your face went red.

"Though, if I might share my subjective opinion," Kaiser said, voice teetering on low.

"I'd say you're the prettiest girl I've ever met." His voice was barely above a whisper, a teasing edge to it.

The air was punched out of your lungs.

What in the Wattpad was happening?

"Uhm..." You cleared your throat. "While I do appreciate your compliments about my... looks, let's keep it professional, shall we?"

Kaiser smiled slightly, before nodding. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any questions you want to ask." The corners of his lips quirked upwards.

You inclined your head, shuffling through your cards.

Kaiser tilted his head,chancing a glance at your cards, an amused undertone to his voice. "Though, only professional ones."

A flush overtook your features.

The rest of the interview went swimmingly.

Kaiser expressed in detailed display his opinion and was consistent in his answers, so it came as no surprise that you could wrap up your interview early.

"Well, that went fast." You said in a surprised tone.

You stuck out your hand. "Thank you so much for your time, Kaiser."

A smile played on Kaiser's lips. "The pleasure was all mine."

You turned around to leave, but fingers gently clasped around your wrist, lightly tugging you back.

You came face to face with Kaiser.

"Oh... hi?"

"Hi." He said softly. "You have some time left?"

You checked your watch. You had a break scheduled now, so yeah.

You nodded.

Kaiser sat back down, gesturing for you to do the same.

Obliging, you retook your seat, a confused look in your eyes.

Kaiser leaned back in his chair.

You eyed him, puzzled.

"Well?" Kaiser tilted one eyebrow. "Don't tell me you don't have any questions for me, miss Journalist."

"...questions?" You repeated.

A handsome grin flitted on Kaiser's lips, he raised his eyebrows, his eyes falling on your cards.

"I... alright, but I'll have to go in an hour." You conceded, not wanting to pass up on this opportunity.

Kaiser tilted his head. "Whatever the lady wants. Fire away any question you have."

Your eyes widened, giving him an inquiring look.

"...unproffesional ones are allowed, too." Kaiser drawled.

Your face went up in flames.

© DON'T COPY MY WORK, PUT IT IN AI OR CHATGPT OR USE IT FOR OTHER NEFARIOUS MEANS

Masterlist

[viridescentelf]

Yandere elf x reader - Valentine’s Day

happy valentine‘s day y‘all 👽

Silas Character and Art belongs to @meo-eiru pls go to her and tell she‘s the queen of yandere

since so many peeps asked for more Silas smut, here‘s him „cleaning“ you. Don‘t know how lore accurate this is so pls forgive me if i missed something! i also didn‘t really proof-read so oops 😶‍🌫️

Warnings: 18+, dubcon, noncon, oral sex, general nsfw

—————

His long tongue lapped up your sweet and sour juices. You squirmed, both from the explosive pleasuring scale and his firm grip on your wrists.

You had been telling him about the concept of Valentine‘s Day (some true and untrue things because you could), as he thought it was only humans named Valentine that could celebrate their love on this manufactured holiday. Understanding that it meant showing love to anyone you feel deeply towards - even mothers - Silas hurried to remedy his misunderstanding.

You had never seen the elf change that quickly before. He had adorned some kind of elven festive garb and placed several beautiful flowers in his own and your hair (you watched him from the window scurry around the garden to find them), weaving the stems neatly (and fast) into your strands.

He then asked what humans traditionally did on Valentine‘s Day. You mentioned flowers, chocolates and date nights - trying to skirt around the topic of sex - by using the word „cuddling“. It was something you didn‘t really mind with him, he was extremely cozy to lean into, his soft muscles giving ample cushioning, even if he didn‘t let go of you unless you needed to pee.

Your eyes had followed Silas running into the kitchen and frantically throwing ingredients together to make pralines and chocolates. The house smelled amazing. He hectically returned to the living room where you were reading, chocolate smeared all over his dopy face, to ask if you preferred strawberry or raspberry. You had only gotten to „rasp-„ before he quickly turned to finish his craft.

You had thought this wasn‘t half bad. It was really entertaining watching him cook, bake and decorate with the speed of a doom‘s day dad preparing for the end of the world.

A few hours had passed. Silas had picked you up from the couch and carried you quickly to the dinner table, where he had lit so many candle that you had to blink rapidly through the blinding light. The chocolates were all individually wrapped and adorned with sweet messages. The food he cooked looked amazing, but it was frankly hard to see all of the details through the flickering little fires. Silas placed you on his lap and fed you everything, beyond your stomach‘s ability and despite you saying that you were full.

Feeling woozy from the excess food, you lay catatonic in his arms as every squeeze within the cuddle session made you even more nauseous.

„My darling! I love you I love you I love you I love you!“

He peppered kisses on you as you tried to focus on not throwing up. His kisses helped, whatever was in his weird saliva simultaneously healed you while you knew he was trying to prepare you for what he wanted next.

He hadn‘t cleaned you yet. You had tried to distract him with various other Valentine‘s Day traditions (some of which you made up, like how the greatest act of love is having to do an interpretive dance outside with twigs in your mouth which you watched with absolute glee), but he never missed this part of the day regardless of how hard you tried to get him off schedule. He was relentless that way.

You were still too full to move. He knew this.

Laying you out on the bed, you watched him remove your trousers and underwear. The ravenous glare in his eye always threw you off, every time. It was so menacing and filled with what felt like eons of pent up desire that it shut you up instantly.

His green eyes shimmered as he saw you leaking already, ready for him because of his aphrodisiac sputum and whatever else he added to your meal and chocolates.

He never really told you what he gave you.

What would it matter? You couldn‘t stop him anyway.

Silas‘s head lowered and you instinctively raised your arms to try to push his head away. He grabbed them so fast and held them down onto the soft mattress, that your arms sank deeper into the cushioning.

„There, there…let mama clean you up…“

His grip didn‘t hurt, but it was like cement blocks lying on top of your hands. There was no way you could get them out.

He kissed you. Your body squirmed slowly in response, because it just felt so marvelous. The tongue wreathed out of his smiling lips and traced you, mapping out its course. Your back arched expectingly, but he took his time, breathing his temperate air onto you - warning of the incoming impact.

Silas’ long tongue punched into you and you let out a deep rooted moan you had never heard yourself make before. It snaked through your walls like the invader it was and you felt his hands shake with his own pleasure.

He lapped everything up, your water flooding out of you uncontrollably without a stop in sight.

His mouth wrapped around you and sucked gently, every pop from the release making your spine curl even further. The stinging tingling clenching fiercely and surrounding your entire lower body, every lick, kiss and suction pushing your further.

You climaxed many times, from the penetration and from his feverish licking, every new flick causing your hips to convulse furiously.

He was saying something, but you couldn‘t hear with dark moans escaping your throat. He quickly returned to his task, letting you grow weaker with every orgasm.

You knew hours passed, because the light from the window was dimming. He had feasted on you for so long that the mattress was soaked.

Finally letting up, happy with his cleaning job, he pulled you up into a seated position while his growth pointed like a dagger at your face, his tall stature looming over you.

He huffed, as his giant hand caressed your cheek. Your exhausted eyes stared up at him.

„M-milking time darling…“

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[kenyummy]

✰ 00. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 00. the lonely spider.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

masterlist. ✰ next.

The moment it happened, everything was completely normal.

Well—as normal as it can get for the one (and only) friendly neighbourhood Spidey in your world. The infamous webslinger, daring vigilante—but most importantly, a superhero.

(Cut back on the super part right now—you're not looking too hot.)

Doc lands a swift hit to your ribs, sending you slamming back into a wall behind you. Every nerve feels like they were lit on fire, but your extreme physicality allows you to stand back up and fight.

Ignoring the blood pooling beneath your tongue—you make a mental note to clean out your mask after—you web two of his mechanical arms down before they can sweep you off your feet.

A chuckle escapes your mouth as you flip over him and send a kick flying into his back, "Oh come on, Doc—you haven't gone all soft on me, have you? It's almost like you want to be sent back to state prison!"

"Stay still you damn—" A snarl escapes his lips as you dodge another one of his prying arms. "Insect—"

Another laugh bubbles from your mouth—which turns into a shriek as one of his arms slams you into the ground below. "Okay—I take that back—not going soft!"

You grunt, pushing yourself up from the concrete—shooting a string of web to the ceiling and swinging toward him, "Alright, Doc—say hi to my finishing move,"

You wind up your legs and throw your feet towards his body, "A well-needed face lift—!"

Your kick doesn't land. In fact—you don't seem to land at all. Then, you feel nothing and you are weightless. But only for a brief moment.

It's as if the world shifts and moulds around you, forming into a new subspace where nothing but you exist. You can't sense a single thing—even with your little tingle—until you find yourself planting face-first into a brick wall.

Ow.

Before you can fall into the alleyway below—you stick to the bricks like glue and clutch for dear life. It's damp and it's all so dark you could've been mistaken as a character in an indie horror film.

... Where... ???

Your head hurts. Real bad. The migraine you have right now is killer—and being up this high isn't helping. When your two feet land flat on the floor, you feel a little better.

You clutch your hair through your mask, chest rising and falling erratically. The whites of your eyes are practically squeezed shut as you try and focus and figure out what exactly is going on.

Everything hurts so bad, you don't even feel the looming presence sinking behind you, nor the shadow that seems to sink you in darkness. You don't feel anything—not until you get sent flying into the nearest streetlamp.

Citizens all around you shriek and scream in terror as you make a spider-sized dent in the metal. They run, and you open your eyes with a groan of pain—they widen immediately at the sight in front of you.

A shock runs through your entire body as a snarling lizard-like creature emerges from the alleyway's shadows and starts running at you on all fours—drool and foam pooling in the corners of his snout.

Teeth bared at your menacingly and its jaw widens as if it's trying to take a chunk out of you—you leap upwards and perch on the top of the streetlamp before its chomping snout takes two of your (figurative) eight legs off.

"Hey! What's your issue?!" You call out from your perch, eyes narrowed into a glare. He answers only with an ear-grating roar, tearing the metal from its post and you barely manage to hop off before it's sent flying to the next city.

You land on the tips of your toes, holding the lizard's jaw wide open as it tries to close with you inside it. Drool flies all over your suit as he snarls like a true animal—and now your suit is wet with reptile drool. Yuck.

"You know, I thought you looked like a lizard I know, at first—" You land a kick straight into his stomach, which sends him flying backwards (but not nearly as far as you'd like). "—But really, now that I got a closer look, you're just really ugly!"

A swift uppercut to his jaw closes his snapping mouth, but his tail manages to sweep underneath your feet and you fall flat on your ass.

He stomps down on your ribs and you cry out in pain from the sheer force—feeling your bones rattle and crack under the pressure. "Hasn't anyone told you it's not very polite to stomp on the heroes you like?!"

You slide from between his oversized legs with a web and grab onto his neck from behind—gripping down and channelling all your strength into flipping him over you.

He lands on his tail and lets out a shrill roar—while you swing upwards onto a nearby roof, encasing his entire figure in your webs as your lips turn up into a smile (indistinguishable to the naked eye, of course—beneath your bright red mask).

The lizard-like creature is tied up next to you—thrashing and growling like a rabid beast. He swings around and around from the edge of a roof—while you walk up and down the building, pondering on what to do.

"Okay—okay. Calm down, [name]. You totally just beat up that weird lizard thing. You totally just did that. Okay... okay... but what even..."

You narrow your eyes and look a little closer at it. "What even is it...?? What are you?"

You ask—yet, you don't expect to receive an answer. "Insolent bug...!!! You are no Batman!"

"Batman?" Your brows raise in surprise and you tilt your head to the side. "What... what is a Batman? Is that like—one of Reed's weird experiments? Like... a half bat, half man splice?"

The image you conjure up in your thought bubble makes the lizard creature stop scowling and simply give you a confused stare.

"Wait... is that some sort of new hero?! A D-list that I haven't met yet?! Was he part of the Avengers at some point? I could probably look him up in the database... oh wait—but everyone was a part of the Avengers at some point, huh? Even me."

You look a little closer at the thing. "Hey—even you could've been a part of the Avengers at some point, huh, ugly?"

"I will tear you to shreds, vermin!"

He starts thrashing and chomping at your head once more, so you let out a deep sigh and start to pace once more.

"What do I even do with a huge lizard? Especially one that can talk and is super chompy—could it be my pet or something? Maybe my next science project... hah—yeah! MJ would be so wicked jealous—"

Your head fizzles with a familiar static, and each one of your nerves tingles. Your spider-sense fills your head, full-blast, and you instinctively flip backwards and dodge a flying ninja-star-esque thing that comes flying right where your ribs would have been a second ago.

Another one also came soaring toward you—this time, it cuts the lizard thing from your webbing and he pummels to the ground below, growling as the ground cracks beneath his weight.

The whites of your eyes widen as you try to get a good look at whatever—or whoever—decided it would be a good idea to try and handicap you right after you just defeated a huge evil lizard.

In the dark, you can make out the figure of two people (one significantly smaller) on the rooftop in front of you. You shoot them the hardest glare you can muster, "Hey! Now—what's your problem! Unless you're friends with jolly green down there, I don't think I'm the one you should be throwing ninja stars at!"

You stick the wall behind you with ease and watch as the one with the large cape and... cat ears? pulls out a grapple gun and shoots it toward you.

Before he has a chance to leap, however—there's a crash below and the lizard has finally broken out of your webby confines.

The two figures come into the light as they jump down to the alleyway. A man with a large bat on his chest, and a boy with bright clothes yet a terrible scowl on his features and you finally get what that lizard guy meant.

Bat... man! Batman! But who—

The sound of fighting below, and the slamming of rubbish bins and dumpsters snaps you out of your stupor.

You need to go—before you meet the same fate as your happy lizard friend down there.

Whoever they were, wherever you ended up—it'd have to wait. For now, you crawl away as Spidey, slinging throughout the city with no destination in sight.

Meanwhile—your two new vigilante friends seemed to be having trouble with your webbing.

"Urgh—what is this stuff?!" Damian shakes his gloved hand once, then twice. The white, webby substance sticks to his hand like a vice and when he tries to wipe it off on his costume, he ends up smearing it all over his cape.

He turns around in frustrated circles trying to remove the webbing, only for Batman to take it off with ease, patting down the cape of his robin. Damian only huffs, indignant.

"I've never seen anything like it," Batman speaks, mildly curious. He feels it between his fingertips and watches it stretch endlessly even as he tries to slice it down the middle. "Sticky. Strong."

He notes, thinking back to how he saw a being such as Killer Croc being held up without strain by that thin line of webbing—at least for a good while. The criminal in question lay unconscious on the ground, tied securely with the police department on the way.

"Like a thick web," Damian throws his hood off his head. "Disgusting. It was probably that spider-thing."

"Most likely," Batman pockets the substance in a vial before grappling back up to the rooftops. Robin follows close behind. "I'll have Tim observe it whenever he gets back home. We still have the rest of the city to patrol tonight."

"Right," with a curt nod, they rush away, fading into the darkness of Gotham.

You're panting and exhausted by the time you make your way onto an empty roof. Clearly this place was a lot more crime-riddled than you'd initially assumed.

Getting chased down by brainless goons with umbrella guns was not on your bucket list—but you'd cross it off anyway.

You crouch on the ledge of the rooftop, staring down to the city below. The lights are dull and flicker like they're about to short-circuit any minute. It's nothing like your New York—no flashing advertisements, and certainly no bright colours that permeate your eye like candy.

This place... it's so bleak. Muted colours of grey and the occasional yellow glow. Nothing else. You wondered who could possibly live in a place like this.

Whatever. You'd find a way home somehow. You're the Spidey. Always finding your way out of every problem you get into—despite all odds, you do your best work when you're stuck in the most dire of situations.

But first... You really did need to find out where you were. You look around. There are a few billboards here and there—but what really catches your eye is a television program playing in the window of a store.

Your refractive lenses almost zoom in for you—you stare harder, and can make out the name of the channel that's on.

Gotham newschannel...

You scrunch your nose. Gotham? You'd never heard of it. And you've been to outer space more times than you could count. You'd even been to other universes, since Reed liked to drag you along with his family trips often.

You'd been told you were practically part of the family... and your brains were appreciated. It wasn't every day Reed Richards—smartest man on Earth—offered to take you to space, after all. Maybe you should've asked him about it more, seeing as you're in an unfamiliar place that seemed too dull to be real.

(Not like you could ask him now. He and his team have been missing for a few months now. You were scared half to death until Banner told you they weren't dead, per se—just unable to be located for one reason or another.)

You tap your chin, pacing back and forth on the rooftop.

Currently, you have two theories.

One—you've travelled to a different world somehow. You don't know how, or why—but that alligator thing seemed to feel rather alien—nothing like Doc Conner.

Two—you've become wrapped up in multiverse shenanigans again. This was the less favourable of the two options—as it's much harder to travel universes than planets. If you were just off-world, you could call for your buddy, Nova—even ask help from Kitty and her space-pirate crew.

Now—you're not sure on what exactly to do.

Thor? Does he even exist here???

You're lost. Completely and utterly so. All your distress calls to your many different teams over the years—X-Men, Avengers, Warriors, Defenders, even the Champions for crying out loud—but there's nothing.

You're alone. Utterly, completely, fully. There's nobody.

Your shoulders slump, and you sigh. Even an optimist like you gets down sometimes. Oh well—you'd have to figure something else out. Right now, static fills your head and your body moves before you can think—

You fall to your knees as a bullet pierces right past where your head would've been seconds ago. Your lenses narrow in at the masked goon with that same umbrella rifle. "Back for more? You must like getting beat up or something."

You swing forward and slam your fist into the side of his face—sending him tumbling backwards. Blood seeps out of his nose and he spits out a tooth when he lifts the mask up over his face. His smirk makes you pause. "Nah. I just have my orders."

Your head splits with pain as your body tingles again. There's something behind you—something dangerous—but you can't move. Not without letting him...—

You instinctively crouch in front of the man. A bullet pierces your left shoulder and you let out a loud shriek of pain. Biting your lip—hard. The goon you're crouched in front of is almost starstruck by your actions.

You let your left arm lie limp as you run toward the man behind you—webbing his face, sliding under his legs and slamming your foot into his face—making him fly right into the man from before.

You feel the blood pooling underneath the nanobots around your shoulder—gripping the area iron-tight as it throbs and burns. "You're lucky I didn't kick you off the building. I'm too good for that."

You grit your teeth and swing away with your one good arm before they have a chance to register your words—trails of red dripping down your arm across rooftops.

Eventually—you find your way to another alleyway. Your head is getting fuzzy and you don't know where you're even going. You can hardly see straight—there's two of everything and it's all going blurry. Bloodloss is hitting you like a freight train.

Healing factor can't do shit when the bullet's still in your shoulder. And you can't get rid of it yourself without taking off your suit. You stumble around a bit when landing in the dark of the alley—slumping against a head brick wall and wincing when it scrapes the raw, exposed flesh.

The nanobots flicker away to reveal your civilian clothes—forming back into your necklace and letting the blood drip down freely now. You're getting woozy. Are you dying?

No way. No way this is how you go out. You've battled more evil dictators than you can count on both hands. You've fought countless omega level mutants. You've been face to face with Galactus. Hell, you've met the One Above All (practically God).

You've done all this. You've achieved so much, and lost so much more... and this is how you die?

The blood soaks your fingertips like the cruellest and foulest smelling of wines. You're reaching around in the open wound for the bullet—but you can't find it, even with your deft fingers. Shit—how deep did this guy shoot you?

You're getting weaker. You can't even feel your fingertips anymore. Your eyes are closing. No—you can't die, not here, not now—

Aunt May, Uncle Ben... MJ and Harry... Johnny and Sue... Reed and Ben... Tony. Cap. Wolvey. Luke, Danny, Lin. Nat, Kitty, Kamala, everyone.

You can hardly see anymore. You weakly reach upwards when a man stands over you—whited eyes narrowed down and the strange red face of his being expressionless.

He crouches, and his hand falls to your cheek before all you feel is dark and cold.

taglist: @hello-bina @cosmosluckycharms !!! if you want to be added just ask me!!! i don't mind at all !!!!!

chap 1 coming out soon bc im impatient as hell trusttt