#It's like beating my head against the wall

[champagnehenssey]

“I'ma kill the pussy, I think we need a paramedic.”

⋆˚࿔ Black!F!Reader x Ur Fav!

📢: nsfw!, dom!behavior, pussy referred to as ‘she’; stretch marks, not proofread :3, very short

★ men who bend you on the nearest surface. counter top, table, couch,—whatever’s near and wherever he can fuck you from the back as long as he gets his billion dollar view. If that’s not available he’ll use the nearest wall pressing you against it his body all against yours so you can feel his growing erection in his pants begging for you.

★yes his billion dollar view. with your back arched, ass up, and face down(sweaty, and against the pillow almost smudged, pathetic sounds coming outta you like a pornstar). it was fucking glorious the way your body was beneath him. He liked it when you were sooo feeble under him like this. Your soft warm skin glistening with sweat, the curves on your body, the accentuations, the carvings. Yes carving, like a—uh, Greek statue y’know the one depicted of Aphrodite? She ain’t had shit on you in his opinion he adored it all. Especially your stretch marks! The ones that began on your lower back stretching to your hips, thighs, and ass? Sunlight on water. Perfection supposedly didn’t exist as humans were flawed but too him? You where the standard. Perfect.

★ his hand slide down to the middle of your back before pressing on it “Deeper baby.” His voice muttered into your ear and you obeyed your back deepening further “There we go.” He cooed pulling a stray curl from your face so he could see your eyes his smirk deepening from what he saw in them. “That’s my girl, doin’ so good for me.”

★men who place love bites on your shoulders licking them clean light bruises in there wake right after, kisses on them and in between the shoulder blades(the lil moans you released were so precious—), and his fingers ever so gently trailing down your spine all because of the way your breathing slows, and hitches and maybe even a hiccup.

★men who really, really want to tug, pull and wrap your hair around his fists but decided on not to because it hurt for you and not in a good way. So he decided on using your neck wrapping his big, rough hand ‘round there. It made it all the better feeling your plus beat rapidly against his fingers. But make no mistake! That protective hairstyle? Oh you’re so done. “Nah, nah lemme pull it c’mon I’ll be gentle I swear.” He’s not gentle not even a little bit with your passion twists wrapped around his hand messily tilting your head back all meanly like a bully, a bully who likes to fuck you. Your throat bare and he places open mouthed kisses on the skin sucking a bit, even on the pulse.

★men who fuck you like you insulted his mom in the worst way. men who fuck you like he absolutely hates your existence and the fact that your still alive breathing. men who fuck you like your just some dumb rag doll to put his cock in. Rough. Raw. Passionate. Straight up pounding your shit with no mercy it’s almost like he wants you dead. But there’s a duality—almost whiplash with the way he whispers in your ear “want me to—shit—stop, pretty?” or “m’goin too hard? aw, shh don’t cry on me now.” pressing soft almost feather light kisses on your jaw or on the back of your neck, his voice all hoarse, raw and low and you’re the only person who gets to hear him like this all intimate because this is solely reserved for his girl.

★men who slap your ass and he doesn’t care if it’s big or small he slapping it either way just to see a deep red mark depicting his handprint. (If you look back you’ll see the pure delight in his eyes, a big grin on his face at the recoil) Because your his. Branding he guesses? and he rubs it’s after soothing the pain all caringly like he’s genuinely sorry but his mouth is so dirty when he says “you’re not gonna walk for the next week so, call out for everyday okay? I’ll take care of you yeah?” He tilts his head to the side lazily seemly in thought before saying “I’ll massage your legs, your thighs, back as well for ya..probably your whole body..you want that right?” Mind you he’s saying this while he’s still fucking you his pace slowed down though to give you air time talking like he’s listing a grocery list or something. And when you don’t answer quick enough he gives your ass a quick smack making you cry out “Y-yeah!” He smirks rubbing your ass again all soothingly “Yeah? Glad you agree..don’t like how they’ve been working my girl so hard these days.” He says and his ears pick up on your shaky breathing and he doesn’t know why you’re doing that. He’s still got one more round left in him maybe two..he’s feeling a bit needy today. But he’s not the only one clearly with the way she’s squeezing him dry all tight and warm tryna choke him out acting like she wanted a baby. Poor pussy, all clingy n shit it’s okay tho! He’ll fuck you till she tapped out.

[kpop-reactions-povs]

Stray Kids- Their S/O kissing them then running away to tease them

Bang Chan

Chan blinks, his lips still tingling from the sudden kiss as you sprint out of the room. A slow smirk spreads across his face as his brain catches up. His competitive nature kicks in, and he’s not about to let you get away that easily. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” he calls, already moving after you. When he catches you, he cages you against the wall with his arms, his eyes dark with playful mischief. “You’re not getting away that easily, love,” he whispers, leaning in close enough to make your heart race again.

Lee Know

Minho’s initial reaction is pure surprise, his eyes widening as you kiss him and take off like it’s a game. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Really?" he mutters under his breath, the faintest smile playing on his lips. A mischievous glint flickers in his eyes, and before you know it, he’s casually sauntering into the next room, catching you off guard. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and teasing. "Running away won’t save you. I always get what I want."

Changbin

Changbin’s heart skips a beat as you kiss him out of nowhere, but before he can even pull you closer, you’re gone. He’s left standing there, breathless and slightly dazed, running a hand through his hair with a crooked smile. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he calls, a playful warning in his tone. When he finds you hiding, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his breath warm against your ear. “You started this,” he murmurs, “so don’t be surprised when I finish it.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stands frozen for a second, processing what just happened, his lips parted in shock. Then a wide grin spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He loves the chase, and you’ve just made things way too fun. "Yah, come back here!" he shouts, laughing as he runs after you. When he catches you, he gently cups your face, his voice soft but full of intensity. “You can’t just kiss me like that and run. That’s dangerous.” His lips brush yours again, slower this time, savoring every second.

Han

Jisung blinks rapidly, stunned by the sudden kiss, and then bursts into a fit of laughter when you dart off. "Seriously?! What was that?!" he yells after you, already chasing you down the hall. Once he catches you, he pins you against the couch, his eyes gleaming with playful determination. “You think you can mess with me like that and get away with it?” he teases, his voice dropping an octave. “Guess I’ll just have to take my revenge… with interest.”

Felix

Felix’s face turns a shade of red as you kiss him and run away, leaving him standing there, flustered and breathless. He touches his lips, a soft giggle escaping him before determination flashes in his eyes. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with that,” he says, voice low and sweet. He follows you quietly, suddenly appearing in front of you, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I think you forgot something,” he says with a wink, closing the space between you and capturing your lips again, this time not letting you escape so easily.

Seungmin

Seungmin stands there for a moment, stunned by your boldness. He raises an eyebrow, his calm demeanor masking the rapid thudding of his heart. "Really? Running away?" he calls out, shaking his head with a sly smile. You barely have time to react before he appears beside you, his hand gently grabbing your wrist. “You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?” he whispers, his gaze locking onto yours. “I expect a proper kiss this time.”

I.N

Jeongin’s eyes widen, and his brain short-circuits for a second when you kiss him and bolt. He stands there, blinking in confusion before a mischievous grin takes over. “Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he mutters, running after you. When he finally catches you, he backs you into a corner, his playful side in full force. “You think you can just leave me hanging like that?” he teases, his voice soft but full of promise. “Let’s see how you handle it when I don’t let you escape.”

[wol-fica]

I LOVED LOVED LOVE, your Sabrina carpenter fic can you do more PLEASE like maybe a continuation of the first one I NEED MORE (and maybe some NSFW) 😳☺️☺️

just because you asked so nicely, here’s this out of my good graces ;) - an

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Moonlight Startlight

parings - Sabrina Carpenter x G!Preader

warnings - thigh riding, fingering(s receiving), oral(r receiving), semi!public sex, swearing

an - coffeeeeeee 🤤

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“Mmm…” Sabrina moaned quietly in your ear, clutching onto you as you left little kisses on her neck.

You both were entangled in the back of her BMW, clinging to one another like velcro while you tortured her with gentle hickeys. Her show had ended a few hours ago, and after parking in the driveway to her mansion, you both had decided you couldn’t contain yourselves anymore.

See, watching Sabrina perform almost every night has gotten you quite peckish, especially seeing the variety of poses she does for Juno knowing full well you were the one she was executing those with. You knew she had wanted to screw around in her dressing room after she was done, but once you saw her bouncing up and down on stage and looking at you with such a seductive stare, you knew you needed to handle her elsewhere.

Now you were here with her shifting in your lap, whimpering softly as your knee rocked back and forth between her thighs, her wetness covering your jeans as she feebly got herself off. She still had her skirt on, brown plaid paired with a button down shirt (which was currently fully unbuttoned) while her panties were stuffed into her mouth. You had used your belt to tie her hands behind her back, gripping her hips to ever so slightly guide her movements during your assault on her neck.

She looked so delicious, her skin glowing from the moonlight shining down through the sunroof. Tears dripped down her face, filling her beautiful blue eyes with a soft warmth. Her eyebrows were upturned, in a position of awareness and pleasure from your consistent touching on her body.

“You look breathtaking my love.” You murmured into her temple, pushing your leg up into her, “So gorgeous.”

She moaned in response, letting her head tilt to the side to rest on yours as she rolled her hips forward and back. Her legs started to shake, thighs tensing and breathing becoming quicker as she began to approach her orgasm. You helped her along, nibbling on her collar bone and licking her sweat coated skin as she tumbled into her release.

She collapsed into your chest, panting softly and taking in gulps of the cold air when you removed her panties from her mouth. You whispered praises in her ear, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of her skirt before pulling the item down her legs.

“Don’t get to comfortable, Sab.” You said, reaching around to undo the belt while the other slipped between her thighs, “I’m not quite done with you.”

“F-fuck.” She stuttered, her soaked cunt clenching around nothing while your digits ran through her folds, “I need t-to be ruined.”

You chuckled, nudging her cheek when she inhaled sharply from your fingers pressing against her entrance, “Oh, I know sweetheart.”

You kissed the shell of her ear before pushing two fingers up into her, sighing in delight from how wet she really was. She gasped, naturally arching her back like you taught her to while she tilted her head back , semiconsciously opening her legs more to give you better access.

She cried out softly, her hand flying to her mouth to cover it when you pressed against that sweet spot just behind her pelvic bone. You curled your fingers into it, pumping them back and forth inside of her without missing a beat. Her walls began to pulse around your digits, clenching in a spastic rhythm, almost of a heart beat.

“Babe…” She whined behind her hand, her eyes fluttering from the intrusion, “m’ close…feels good….”

“I know, baby, I know.” You cooed, rolling your wrist upwards into her with each curl, “I’ll tell you when.”

She nodded, holding onto your bicep for support as she rocked her hips back and forth. You noted on her expression, eyes shut tightly, teeth sinking into her thumb, her cheeks rosy red, all familiar signs of her holding her orgasm at bay.

“Such a good girl, so obedient.” You praised, smiling when she interlaced her fingers with yours, “Cum for me, Sabrina.”

She moaned deeply, a thick sound exuding from the back of her throat. Her body tensed, the tightness of her cunt telling you that she did what you asked, and promptly covered your fingers with her wetness.

You nuzzled her cheek with your nose, slowly removing your fingers and bringing them up to your lips. Her eyes immediately snapped to you, her gaze darkening when you opened your mouth to taste her. As soon as her juices hit your tongue, you groaned, eyes rolling and smiling softly from how delicious she was.

“Tasty.” You commented, wiping the spit off your fingers on your jeans, “As always.”

“Better fucking be.” Sabrina pouted, fidgeting with the button on your pants, “I wanna please you now.”

“Yeah?” You replied, squeezing her hips gently, “Whatcha’ got in mind sweets?”

She hummed, undoing your jeans and pulling them down along with your boxers. Your cock sprung free, bobbing heavily between your legs. She slid to her knees, tying her hair back neatly before leaning forward.

Her eyes locked with yours, big, round, and innocent looking as she began to lick a stripe from the base of your cock all the way to the head. Once she reached the top, she took it in her lips, letting them wrap around your diameter before taking a few more inches into her mouth.

The sight was pleasing, to say the least. Being able to watch such a beautiful woman like Sabrina suck you off like it was her last day on earth was so special. It was intoxicating how she handled you, taking all of you into her mouth with no gag reflex, and slowly dragging all the way back up all whilst blinking innocently up at you was something out of this world.

“God ‘Brina.” You groaned, reaching forward to brush some hair out of her face, “You look so damn good with my dick down your throat.”

She hummed, making you moan from the stimulation, and started to bob her head up and down at a steady pace. Sounds of erotic slurping filled the car, precum mixed with saliva covering your girthy length as she gave you head.

Soon, your orgasm appeared, and you were quick to pushed her head all the way down so her nose was flush with your stomach. You pumped your seed down her throat, moaning in satisfaction when you heard her gulping as much as she could.

“That mouth is something else.” You said, smiling when she giggled as she got back into your lap, “Always the best, baby.”

“Again, better be.” She replied sternly, wiping your cum from the corners of her mouth and popping her fingers between her lips, “I am THE BEST for a reason, remember?”

You laughed, squeezing the fat of her ass, She wrapped her arms around your neck, gazing at you lovingly.

“I’m so in love with you, Y/L/N.” Sabrina whispered, playing with your hair.

“I’m so in love with you, Carpenter.” You whispered back, leaning in before sealing your lips together.

What a great night.

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is this enough food for you people?

[oceantornadoo]

ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks. 

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over. 

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.” 

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within. 

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.” 

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution. 

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation. 

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

-

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

-

Gaz was right. It only took an hour. 

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia. 

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife. 

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention. 

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

-

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd. 

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words. 

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally. 

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

-

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

-

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[creolefatu]

Crash Out

***After thinking you were out with another man, Joshua confronts you only to realize he’s trippin***

This is my first time writing like this please be kind lol hope you enjoy

SO YOU REALLY OUT HERE TRYNNA MAKE A NIGGA LOOK DUMB! the voice on the other end of the phone was Joshua, of course. Over reacting as usual. What did I do now?! I thought as he continued to rant.

Josh idk what you’re talkin about, I’ve been home all day! You always callin with some bs. I responded. When he gets like this it does annoy a small part of me, but damn hearing him all fired up like that made my pussy jump and drip.

So now John just lyin on you? So you callin my brotha a liar now! He ain’t got no reason to lie on you Y/N!

Wtf yo messy ass brotha said now? I swear he always got some dumb shit to say and hear you go blowin my phone up with the bullshit Josh!

Dating a twin is not for the weak! If I’m not caught up in their pranks then it’s their drama or pettiness!

So you ass wasn’t in the mall all hugged up with some nigga in Nike? Cause that what my bro said he saw!

Josh listen to yourself! Do you fuckin hear how you sound? Why in the fuck would I be out in public with another man if ima play you? Especially knowing you have eyes everywhere?! And stop all that damn yellin before I hang up!

You gone hang up on me?! Bet!

I could feel the vibrations through the phone of the low growl in his voice when he said it

Bet!

**boop boop boop** was the next sound Josh heard cause I surely did hang up

Walking around my house in a XXL YEET shirt I heard the familiar sound of a truck engine in my driveway.

Y/N OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW GIRL!

He was so damn sexy when he was mad 💦

Josh stop banging on my door like that! You’re gonna break it!

Then open it tf up!

He hit the door again this time I heard the frame crack a little

Ok ok ok just stop beating on my shit!

Josh came in looking around before his eyes settled on me

Bae calm tf down! Look at you, you all swole in the chest!

I’m telling you right now y/k if you lyin to me I swear…

Bae look around… I been here in yo shirt all day taking a lazy day.

You’re right I see the ice cream on the counter, the blankets and the movie goin, it’s just John called said he thought he saw you and I lost it! Idk what I’d do if I ever lost you. Just the thought drives me crazy

I grab his face in both hands, he grabbed my wrist and kisses the palm of my right hand.

You know it does something to me when you get like that bae

I’ll crash out any time, any place over you, and over this

He reached bw my legs and lightly grazed my clit

Damn! You ain’t got on no draws for big daddy Jey?! Let me see!

He lifted my shirt off and began to kiss my neck as he slid his hand below my waist and found my soft pussy lips soaked.

You wet for me too, you like when I get like that over you. You my nasty freak

I’m in heaven, his warm kisses on my neck , his thick fingers working their way into my tight wet pussy, finding my g spot and applying pressure. I wrapped both arms around his neck as my legs begin to give way to the pleasure. He walked me back against the wall and never missed a beat. Fingers stroking me, moving in and out to the rhythm of my heart beat. I could barely breathe

This my pussy? Tell me it’s my pussy.

Yes! It’s your pussy baby! It’s daddy Jey’s pussy

Josh pulled his fingers out and sucked my juices off, then pushed them into my mouth to give me a taste.

I want you to taste why I’m ready to crash out behind you bae

His big hands gripped my thighs and lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist. He pulled his pants down and I could feel his 8in dick pop up and slap my ass.

You feel that? You got me feeling like this

Put it in, please I need to feel you in me

He grabbed the shaft and begin slapping my pussy with the head of his dick. It made me absolutely feral! I begin to grind my pussy against him as he continued to tease me. My pussy dripping with anticipation. Then I felt him press his body against mine as he pushed his thick head into me. I gasped… it was what I was begging for. My pussy gripped every inch as he slowly entered me. Once fully in he griped my thighs to hold me up against the wall. The strokes started off slow, moving his hips in a circular motion. Sending me into another dimension.

This what I been needing. When I’m in you, I know you all mine he whispered into my ear.

I could feel every stroke grow stronger, I clawed shoulders as I was looking to readjust my grip on him. The sound of skin smackin and macaroni filled the air, I gasped as he sped up his pace. I could feel him throbbing in me as he grew harder. The growl he made as he pushed deep into me made me even wetter.

You like how I handle that pussy baby?

Mmhm was all I could say. I couldn’t even talk he had me so gone from the dick.

You gone cum for big daddy Jey? He didn’t have ro say no more. I was already there. But he already knew that. This man knew my body like that back of his hand.

Mmmmhm ahhh fuck! You strokin me so good bae

My body begin to shake and my pussy squeezed his dick and I begin the have the best orgasm anyone has ever given me.

Damn baby you bout to make me cum with you

He pressed me harder against the wall and he bottomed out inside of me. He let out a primal growl that made me want a round 2 immediately. Still holding me up he kissed me wildly and passionately. He lowers me to the floor and we both collapsed into each other arms and onto the couch. As I lay on his chest listening to his heart beat he held me tightly and whispered.

Yeah I’ll crash out a million times a day behind that lil pussy.

And I’ll do the same behind that dick

THE END

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of weapons, physical harm, blood, poor writing, possible ooc,

Part 12: red ledger

🔹🔹🔹

The cylinder comes off with a metallic click as you yank on it, the springs and firing mechanism quickly following suit as you disassemble the gun on the table. His watchful eyes never leaving your form.

You're meticulous as you take the springs and mechanisms further apart and quickly wipe them down, your hands shake just the tiniest bit, a small tremor. But he reacts to it.

“Stop.” You pause and look up, waiting for instruction. His gaze bores into you as he stands from the chair and steps around the small wooden table to stand beside you, his metal arm brushing against your shoulder as he peers down at your work.

“You'll bend the firing pin with unsteady hands like that, do you want your gun to turn to shrapnel in your hand?” his words are spoken plainly as he picks up the disassembled pieces, as if asking you your opinion on the food. looking everything over carefully before setting it back down on the table in front of you.

“No, sir.” You don't take your eyes off the pieces of metal as you speak, you've been at this for five hours and thirty two minutes according to the rusted clock on the wall, test after test, physical combat in the snow where you took multiple beatings, switching languages as fast as the soldier does while taking apart every single weapon in the room and putting it back together just as fast. The bombs are next, you need to remain steady.

“Well that's what you'll do, on the field you'll blow your fingers off, maybe even more depending on the weapon. Do you enjoy the thought of rendering yourself useless?” his tone is just as steady, a deep, calm baritone without an accent like yours. You don't take your eyes off the pieces of the gun.

“No, sir.” You repeat, because what else can you do when the winter soldier is speaking.

He turns the firing mechanism over one more time before speaking. “Continue then.” He steps away to sit back in his chair, his metal arm resting on the small table with a protestant creak of the wood.

Wordlessly you resume, the firing mechanism sliding into place with a click. The spring follows and then the start to slide the cylinder back on, it catches the mechanism and jumps out of your hand as it slides back into place, the metal catches on the flesh of the hand holding the handle and tears, blood drips from the thin skin between your thumb and pointer finger into the handle while you bite your cheek to avoid reacting. The metallic Tang of blood coats your tongue just as you get a whiff of it as well, you don't have to look to know he's watching every drop coat the steel.

“Stop.” he sighs and takes the gun out of your hands and turns it over, flecks of your blood paint his fingers as he sets it down on the table again. You focus on the red so you don't have to face his expression, it's a more intimate color to you than anything else could ever be.

“you're done for today.” You don't visibly react to his words, though you do try to power through. “the test isn't over, they would never bench me until the job is-” “you're done when I say you're done, you're mine for today and I'm telling you to stop.” His voice takes on a firmness that's usually reserved for new trainees, someone that's still disobedient, in their own head, mentally weak.

You bite harder on your cheek, eyes locked on the red as your hand clenches, the pain and the cold drip of blood down your palm grounding you.

“Yes sir, I'm done.” red flecks land on the old table as you unclench your fist, staining it near black as you look up and meet his gaze.

For a heartbeat the soldier just stares you down, looking for a hint of argument or stubbornness in your eyes. When he sees none he leans back in his chair with some finality, pleased with your behavior.

“…good. Now go take care of your wound, this isn't the place to get a blood infection.” He gestures around the small wooden room, the winter chill of Moscow seeping in even with the wood stove going across the room.

When you stand to retrieve the medical kit he catches your arm. “Widow, you'll kill yourself if you make mistakes like this. Do better.”

You stare down at his metal hand, your blood dripping down and painting it saccharine as he looks up at you with seeking eyes. You wonder how many widows he's said that to, did he ever think of them after they died. Part of you hopes so, your chest feels strangely tight at the thought that he hasn't.

🔹🔹🔹

You wake up with a groan when the sun hits your eyelids for too long, blinking slowly before you roll over and shove a pillow over your head, But now you're wide awake. your temple throbs when you eventually try to sit up against the headboard and look around, the rooms still plain as the night you slept in here. Plain walls and dark bedspread like the other guest rooms, the only things of ‘yours’ are the clothes you've taken out of Bruce's room when he's not around and the phone.

You stare down at your hands as you try to will away the building headache, no scars Mar this skin. No matter how hard you pretend, this isn't you. You're just the monster wearing their face.

sweat gathers on your forehead as you lean forward, you’re currently on the floor of your new room doing stretches and shoulder lifts. it’s honestly pretty pathetic how tired you are after a few moment’s of exercise, you have to keep telling yourself that this body just woke up from a coma, this body doesn’t seem to be used to strain, this body isn’t even enhanced.

with a sigh you stretch forward again and grab your calves, holding yourself just at the point of strain as you breathe through the stretch. you’re determined to build yourself up to something useful, this world is clearly dangerous and you’re sick of being at such steep disadvantage.

🔹🔹🔹

things are slightly tense in the kitchen tonight, after getting cleaned up you wandered around the manor until the butler called you for dinner. turns out the food wasn’t done yet so now you’re leaning against the counter watching him cook, it’s definitely awkward with how quiet it is. he’s definitely trying to psyche you out for whatever reason, it’s a game of chicken once again, who’s gonna misstep first.

“you’re very good at this, where did you learn to cook.” you ask politely as you loosely cross your arms, your muscles still burn simply from moving but you power through it, aching is your normal anyways.

“my father, jarvis pennyworth. he worked for the wayne’s for a great deal of his life before he passed, god rest his soul.” he responds without looking up from his sauteing, though you can tell he’s keeping an eye on you in his peripheral vision.

“oh, my condolences, may your father rest in peace.” you glance away, lowering your head as you feign awkwardness after his reply.

“thank you.” the older man’s words are curt, he glances at you again. he’s definitely testing something here while you’re alone in the manor with him.

you glance over at him while rubbing your wrist, making yourself look uncomfortable before you speak again. “…how did you and i meet? i don’t even remember who i was before all….this.” he finally looks at you, looking you up and down with a small grimace before replying. “you and master bruce had been seeing each other for quite a while before we ever saw each other, he invited you to the manor while we were all celebrating his birthday…it was quite a lovely evening.” he sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly as he turns back towards the stove.

your brow furrows for a brief second, that doesn’t quite fit your image of bruce wayne. “…he’s a slow dater, i take it?” “master bruce is a very private man when it suits him, you were together for years before you were ever on camera together.”

that sounds….strange to you, you wonder if he’s exaggerating. then again bruce is clearly hiding an affair partner so maybe he’s more talented at keeping secrets than you think.

“…so what changed? marriage and suddenly i’m in the limelight?” were you a gold digger here? any info you could possibly use you’ll take.

alfred turns the stove off and starts to carefully plate everything on a few dishes, not looking away as he replies. “some things can’t be so easily avoided in this city, master bruce tried to keep you out of certain parts of his life for as long as possible, but fate has a strange way of playing us all.” his words are cryptic, it’s frustrating but you’re getting used to the butler ticking you off. so far he’s still more tolerable than stark.

“and what does he have to keep me out of?” Just when you think you're getting somewhere with him, the butler clams up, going quiet at your question. He looks away as his weight shifts foot to foot just slightly, an obvious tell in your eyes.

“…I suppose you'll have to ask your husband that and find out yourself.” he finishes plating the dishes and starts putting them on trays.

You want to roll your eyes, he just ‘go ask your mom’ed you. “I guess I will.” It's quiet in the kitchen for a heartbeat before you speak again. “…do you know how I met Bruce?”

Alfred looks at you again, for a moment you wonder if he's gonna tell you to redirect all your questions to the other man from now on.

“…if memory serves me right, I believe you met at a college.”

You raise an eyebrow at his answer, of course you'd done a wiki search on Bruce Wayne and knew he attended medical school for a bit, but apparently he'd never graduated. That's kinda boring if that's where you connected.

“Oh yeah?” You prompt for further detail, which the butler gives while carrying the food tray towards the dining room. “Yes, he decided to sit in on a lecture where you were the professors assistant, he was apparently quite taken with the chalk dust covered suit or something because here you are now.”

His words almost sound biting but his tone is…. Reminiscent, he probably misses the real Wayne. You stare down at the white tablecloth as you take a seat, noticing the red embroidering the edges like blood spatter.

“….Yeah, here I am now.”

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: don't kill me bucky lovers! I love him I swear! LOL i realized I'd forgotten some of readers flashbacks for their widow life so here we are 😁

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[miniwheat77]

Secret Weapon. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, unprotected p in v sex, violence, war, blood, NO MINORS! This was a request that’s been sitting in my inbox a while :)

This is not edited.

“Captain.. what the fuck do we do?” Gaz pants out. His back is pressed firmly against the wall.

John thinks for a moment. What does he do?

Nikolai is unavailable. But he’s got an idea.

He lifts up his radio, turning it to a channel he hasn’t been on in years.

“Viper 1-1 page back.” He calls into the radio.

“Viper 1-1, copy.”

“We’re trapped on a rooftop.” Captain Price recites your coordinates. He had heard in passing that the pilot was nearby on another mission.

“Thirty-five out, we’re on the way.”

He sighs.

“Thank god.” He mumbles. The four are stuck on the rooftop. No where to go and hardly any ammo.

“We’re?” Gaz asks. They remember who the pilot is.

They fight all they can, all hope is about to be lost when the loud rumble of the helicopter comes.

The buzzing sound makes them perk up, seeing the flashback from the gun inside. They can’t see the person holding it.

Captain Price watches with a smile. The helicopter stays airborne until there is no one moving on the ground. They watch it land a couple hundred feet away, seeing two people get out of it. Clearing buildings as they make their way to the four.

The door finally opens, the four standing up. They’d been using the brick walls as cover.

You’re the first to step into their view, but you’ve got a ski mask on.

You grasp the hem of it, pulling it over your head.

You smile.

“Long time no see, Captain.” You nod.

“Shit. I could tell by how good the shots were that it was you.” He laughs. Pulling you in for a hug, hugging the pilot next.

The others watch, stunned.

“Oh uh… boys. This is Y/N.” He nods.

“My secret weapon.”

They take the time to shake your hand, introducing themselves to you.

But Ghost is completely taken off guard by you.

The way your hair falls after you take the mask, the fact that he didn’t expect to see a girl, let alone one was pretty as you.

What the hell?

You’d just saved his life. He was all out of ammo holed up in one building, if you hadn’t come? He wouldn’t even be alive to tell the tale.

It was the start of something Ghost never saw coming. Not in a million years.

———

It took a lot of convincing for you to join the task force.

Since you had made friends with the men, they bothered you to no limit to join. They liked you. You were skilled. They wanted you around all of the time.

When you eventually joined, Ghost spiraled completely out of control.

He avoided you like the plague because he knew what was coming and he was scared. He started drinking more, hiding in his room more. Socializing less and everyone noticed.

But only Johnny had caught on as to why.

He was falling in love with you, and he knew it.

He was falling and he was falling hard and he knew the only end to that free fall is the hard concrete when he lands. Ghost didn’t love. He didn’t because there was only heartbreak and hurt.

The first time it happened, he didn’t mean to.

You were doing your laundry, passing by his room with a basket when they fell out. He waited a while for you to come back for them but you never did so he swiped them.

A pair of panties.

Ghost was in too deep and he knew it.

Fisting his cock to the thought of you, face buried in your panties. He hated himself for what he’d become and he hated you for what you’d done to him. You’d made him a fool and he’d only spoken to you in passing.

He didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Kill.

On missions he was ruthless.

He didn’t know anything other than violence and pain. So he pushed himself to no limit. Working hard, staying up late. Taking extra watch and beating himself up mentally day and night about how weak he’d become all because of a woman.

He spent hours and hours training and working out. He’d lost count the days he’d spent in the shooting range and his death toll jumped by hundreds and grew more and more with each mission he went out on. Ghost was smart and skilled. He understood everything but the only thing he couldn’t figure out was you.

Finally, Johnny cornered him.

Ghost was walking to his room, Johnny was hot on his tail, asking how he was doing.

“Fine Johnny. Leave it be.” He mumbles, he goes to close his door but Soap doesn’t let him have it. Catching it with his boot and walking in, closing the door behind himself. “There’s something wrong with you, you’ve got the entire bloody task force worried sick about ya so you better start talkin.” He growls.

Ghost raises his eyebrows. Johnny had never spoken to him like that before.

“‘Scuse me?”

“You heard what I said, Ghost.”

He crosses his arms and Soap doesn’t let feel intimidated by him, of course he does. But Ghost is his friend. He cares about him.

“Full offense Johnny, piss off. We’re not teenage girls and I don’t intend on sharing my feelings with you so I think you should leave.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll set up camp until you’re ready to talk about it.” He stands his ground. Ghost sighs. “I don’t know how to talk about it Johnny. I don’t even know what’s wrong myself.”

“That’s a start, LT. The hell has gotten into you? You’re like a machine. Wake up, eat, kill, sleep.”

Ghost sighs.

“That girl.”

Realization hits Soap like a ton of bricks.

“I just..” he sighs. Sitting down on his bed. “I don’t know.”

“You have feelings for her?” Soap asks.

“I’d say I have more than just feelings for her, Johnny.” Ghost wipes his face through his mask. “Shit LT.”

“No kidding.”

“Well you won’t get the girl by being so reclusive sir.”

“My plan isn’t to get the girl Johnny, life is painful enough as is!” He groans.

“Yeah, well life is too short to worry about what hurts and let what you’ll enjoy pass you. So get out there and try. Christ in heaven you’re a brick wall.” He groans.

Ghost sighs. Johnny is right.

“Whatever Johnny, I have a lot to think about so.. kindly. Go to bed.”

“Fine. But we’re not done about this and you know it.” Soap rolls his eyes, leaving through the door. He can’t believe it. Ghost was in love with you.

———

“Ghost page back.” Captain mumbles into the radio.

“Copy.”

“Soap is feeling ill. You mind taking over his 0100 patrol?”

“Not at all sir.”

Ghost finishes up what he’s doing and prepares for the patrol.

Since they’re out of the states and in enemy territory they have patrol often.

“Great, you’ll be with Y/N.”

Ghost freezes in his spot.

“Johnny page back.”

“Copy.”

“I see you in person, you’re a dead man MacTavish.”

“Already in for the night sir, door’s locked. See you tomorrow.”

Ghost can’t see it but the scot snickers to himself inside his room. Feeling very well actually.

Ghost meets up with you just before your patrol together and wants to crawl into a hole and die. You were so beautiful and there was nothing he could do about it.

It’s quiet for a while. The two of you walking alongside each other. It’s pitch dark out. The only lights come from the base. “So. How long you know Price for?” He’s trying to make small talk. Something that takes you off guard. He never seemed to be this open.

“Since I started in the military actually. He was at the convention I enlisted at.” You smile. “Really? I forget how old the man is.” He laughs. “I totally did not think you were this outgoing, Ghost.” You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You just do not seem the type for small talk.” You smile.

He chuckles. “Nah, the mask makes me unapproachable but that not intentional.”

“Than why do you wear it?”

“To hide my identity. I’ve killed a lot of people and don’t want retaliation.”

“Don’t they just know to go after the guy in the skull mask though?” You side eye him. “Yeah, but when I wear it I want to be found.”

“Good point.” You smile.

“Stop.” He throws a hand up in front of you suddenly. “Woah-“ you mumble. He looks around, every alarm in his body is going off.

“What is it?” You ask. “Something doesn’t feel right.” He mumbles. He draws out his flashlight, shining at the ground. He doesn’t see anything, not for the first few feet at least. After that is when he notices indents in the sand. Footprints.

He follows them straight up to the barbed wire fence around the base.

“Price page back.”

He waits a minute.

“Captain Price page back.”

“Copy, what is it?”

“Footprints leading up to the Southwest fence. We’ll follow them and make sure it’s not a threat but we haven’t covered the north yet.” He says it into his radio and waits.

“Garrick and I will cover it, just be safe. Page back every ten until you know it’s clear.”

“Yes sir.”

Ghost tilts his head, letting you know to follow him.

You do just that.

It takes a couple miles of walking before you spot a building in the distance, thank god for night vision.

Ghost posts up and watches for a while, not seeing any movement. The two of you approach, you go slow. You never do see any movement, the building is severely run down, the roof is in bad shape and it’s dirty. “Do you think they’re human footprints?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Hard to say with the sand. Could be an animal of some kind. Could explain the staggering of them.” He explains.

You nod your head. “Looks like everything is clear Captain, we’re going to look around a bit and than head back.”

“Got it, we’re heading for bed. Page if you need anything else Simon.”

You step inside the run down building, it was once someone’s house. Out in the middle of nowhere.

Odd.

The rooms inside seem intact, aside from being dusty, frozen in time. Plants have taken over and some of the dishes that remain are broken but the bedrooms are still completely normal. The beds are made.

You walk inside and sit down on a bed, groaning. “I don’t wanna walk back yet.” You whine. “Take a break.” He laughs. “Okay.”

He chuckles. That didn’t take much convincing.

“Can I show you something?” He asks. “Sure, what is it?”

He moves to sit next to you, grasping his mask. Your eyes widen when he pulls it straight off. “You’re showing me this why? Explain yourself?” You laugh,

“No that’s not what I wanted to show you, this is.”

He grasps your chin and goes for it.

All the money in the pot. A gamble of a lifetime.

He plants his lips straight on yours and his blood rushes through him, his heart pounding so loud it’s all he hears. He expects you to pull back. To be disgusted with him.

But you don’t. You meet him in the middle and kiss him back even harder.

He pushes you back on the dusty bed raising himself up over you, one leg resting between yours. His thigh is flush with your clothed opening. He doesn’t stop kissing you, he takes even further.

When you feel his tongue on yours, you finally pull away with a gasp.

“Ghost-“ you pant.

“Simon. Call me Simon.” He breathes. “W-why are you doing this?” You hiss as he pushes his thigh further into you. “Because I’ve waited long enough to get my fucking hands on you. I can’t take it anymore.” He groans. You hadn’t expected him to be so forward, you also didn’t expect how handsome he’d be without a mask on. How overly willing he was to expose himself to you shows you that he trust you, and obviously had more feelings for you than he let on. Ghost didn’t just act out of lust, Johnny told you that.

Now you realize why you’d had that conversation earlier in the day. Fucking scot.

He gets your vest unzipped and grasps hold of your shirt, ripping it straight down the middle. He hears you gasp. “Simon!”

“Quiet, I’ll replace it with twenty more.” He breathes.

The click of his pocket knife makes you freeze. But he’s skilled with it, moving quickly, slicing the small slit of fabric holding your bra together. He shoves the fabric off of you and cups your breasts with his hands, leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth while he toys with the other. Pinching it between his fingers and tugging on it. You whine out, raising your hips and rutting yourself into his thigh. Ghost is the person you talked to the very least, yet here you are. On display for him.

“God you’re a fucking minx.” He hisses. He sits up and watches you roll your hips into his thigh. Desperate for him to touch you. You realize something.

“You’re the one who’s been stealing my panties, aren’t you?” You smirk.

He visibly blushes.

“You’re a cheeky thing! I can’t believe it’s been you!” You gasp. “Shut up.” He hisses. He doesn’t like to be embarrassed, you’re lucky it’s you or he would’ve told you to get fucked by now. “Fuck, how many have you gotten away with?”

He shrugs. “Lot more than you’d expect.”

“You’re such a fucking pervert.” You laugh.

“Yeah, you’d think even worse of me if you knew what I did with them.” He growls. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, attacking your skin with his teeth and lips. Pushing his hand down the front of your waistband. He glides his fingers over your pussy, hearing you whine.

“Now I want to know. What you did with them.”

He chuckles, it’s dark.

“The smell of you is intoxicating, darling.”

You moan out. “Fuck I shouldn’t think that’s hot but I do.” You mewl. Lips parted as he sucks at your throat. Your jugular vein is pulsing and he can’t feel it with his tongue. He rests his hand over your head. “Been waiting weeks for a taste of you, doll. Now we’re here.” He groans, kissing roughly down your center. He’s rough as he tugs your pants down your legs, barely taking the time to unbutton them. You thought maybe he’d cut those off too, not that you’d mind anyways.

He kisses further down, hearing your breathing pick up even more as he presses lower. He doesn’t start slow like you thought he would. Starting by sucking directly on your clit, making you flinch.

You hiss, jumping away from him. You hear him chuckles as he starts his assault on it.

“Poor thing, so sensitive.” He smirks.

“Shut up before I ride your face, Riley.” You hiss, pushing a hand in his hair.

“Oh no?” He smirks. You roll your eyes.

He lowers his head back down, gliding his tongue up your slip.

Like a predator toying with its prey.

Just before he devours you whole.

He doesn’t relent, no matter how much you cry or squirm. He holds you down by your thighs. He presses his tongue into your opening, rubbing your clit with his nose like a dog. He’s filthy.

You didn’t think Ghost was the type to be so dirty. When he’s got you right on the edge, crying out in pure bless. You’re about to beg him not to stop but he draws back anyways. His lips are wet in your arousal. His cheeks are flushed pink, pupils blown wide with lust.

He sits up, grasping his shirt and forcing it over his head, going for his cargo pants next.

You’re watching him in a daze. Drunk off his lips and how he’s made you feel.

“I was normal until you came along, hm. Didn’t think I could feel what I feel until you saved our asses on that rooftop. I thought I’d be okay until you pulled that damned ski mask off and showed your fuckin’ face and now I don’t think I’ll be okay again. You’ll pay for it darling.”

He moves himself over the top of you, thrusting himself straight inside you to the hilt, you’re crying out.

“You’ll pay for it by letting me have this pussy whenever I want it.” He growls.

He’s relentless. Doesn’t matter how much you fall apart or how much you cry. He doesn’t let up. He’s rough, his pace is bruising. You can’t get out a single word as he works his hips into yours, using his thumb to rub circles on your swollen clit.

You’re impossibly wet around him, clutching at the old sheets so hard your knuckles go white. He laughs. He snaps his hips into yours, feeling how wet you are around him. Moaning and whining, writhing from the pleasure he’s giving you. You’ve never felt something so intense before. Not in your life.

He forces you to roll over, gasping out at the loss of him but he doesn’t give you long. Once you’re on your stomach, he’s raising you your hips and thrusting back into you. Pushing your face roughly into the mattress and holding your hands behind your back.

“Fuckin hell Simon!” You cry.

You feel good of course, but you need him to relent. Just for a minute at least.

“So much-“ you cry. “You’re mine. Say it.” He growls. “Maybe I’ll let up.”

“I’m yours!” You sob.

“Say it again!” He growls. He grips your hands hard.

“I’m yours Simon- fuck! I’m yours!” He buries himself inside of you to the hilt, slowing his speed but not his force. He pulls you up by your arms, still holding them behind you. Your eyes widen when you realize there’s a mirror above the bed. It’s broken and dusty but that doesn’t mean you can’t see yourselves in it.

He wraps his hands around your waist, still fucking into you but he’s being gentler now. Slow.

“Say it again.” His voice is a low growl. You almost miss it.

“I’m yours.” You whine. Raising your hand to touch his cheek.

“Again.” He growls even louder. Pushing into your belly. “I- I’m yours Simon. All fucking yours.” You’re nearly chanting it.

You sob, tears spilling over your eyelids.

“Now fucking scream it.” He grits his teeth, thrusting straight up into that spongy spot deep inside of you, sending you straight into your orgasm and you nearly do just that. You’re loud when you cum, barely getting out the words “I’m yours!” As you cry and sob, lurching forward and shaking through your orgasm. He fucks you through it, clutching onto you for dear life as he moans out, reaching his own high. He thrusts as deep as he’ll go before he cums. It’s a decision he may regret but right now, he doesn’t care.

You’re whimpering as he slides out of you. Taking in oxygen like it’s limited.

He helps you until you’re lying on your back again. Soothing you. He massages your skin, bringing you back down to earth.

Simon knew better than to be so rough but he lost himself.

“Shhh.. s’okay baby. I’ve got you.” He breathes. You close your eyes, steadying your breaths.

Simon was a lot of man, he knew he was.

He draws his fingertips over your chest and arms, your eyes follow them as he lets you relax.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You mumble. “I wasn’t too much was I?” He smiles.

“No- not at all. Though you came on VERY strong.” You smirk.

He laughs. “That’s the only way, baby.”

He sits up. “Now come on, we’ve got to head back before they realize we’re missing.”

“Yes sir.”

[eternal-love]

HARD ODDS TO BEAT

Pairing: Benny Cross x fem!reader

Summary: You tried to fit in with the Vandals, you really didn’t mean to humiliate Benny.

Warning: Benny gets violent against reader. Toxic relationship.

Note: The gif is courtesy by my bestest girl @aust-een, and the idea was also prompted by her. We LOVE her in this blog. Everyone say thank you to Miss Cross.

The bar smelled like cigarette, sweat and grease. As you sat besides Benny, his arm around your shoulders as he smoked and drank. They were telling stories, Benny wasn’t much of a talker but this time he was being pretty talkative.

After Corky finished telling his story, you were going to tell about how last week Benny had an embarrassing encounter with the police. You were laughing as you told the story, Benny not so much. But the guys found it funny too.

“And so I’m home, and there’s a knock on my door. And it’s the police,” you chuckled. “And he tells me, Mrs. Cross, your husband’s in trouble on the other street. So of course, I grab my bag and go with him. He tells me Benny tried robbing this corner store, but the owner was a veteran. So when I arrive, an officer has Benny pinned to the police car.”

Benny smirked, before putting his hand on your thigh and squeezing it tightly. “I think that’s enough, doll—“

“And the old man was a raging bull, his nostrils flaring and he was tryin’ to get to Benny again. Benny was all beaten up, and panting—“

“You should’ve seen how I left that motherfucker.” Benny tried to save face, he was always an intimidating, nonchalant guy. This time, he wasn’t.

“He kicked your ass, Benny. You know it’s true, you can’t fight to save your life but you look fuckin’ good.”

That’s when everyone laughed, but Johnny laughed harder, loudly, it echoed all across the bar. Deep down, Benny craved Johnny’s approval, he saw him as a father.

“She ain’t wrong, kid.” Johnny nodded as he kept laughing. “It is true, innit?”

Each laugh hurt his ego, and he didn’t like that. He clenched his jaw as he drank his beer or took a drag from his cigarette.

“Turns out, the old man had kicked his ass. Hand on hand, and pinned Benny to the ground. All because of a pack of cigs and a flask. The police was strollin’ down when they saw benny on all fours trying to get back to the old man.” You laughed, you found the story funny giving Benny’s rebel attitude.

But it was as if you were trying to piss him off, like you were doing it on purpose, so he’d start hating you more than he sometimes already did.

“Wearin’ your colors, robbin’ corner stores. And you still can’t win against an old man!” Johnny found it funny too, he was glad Benny got a taste of his own chocolate

“Hard odds to beat when you’re all on fours, no, baby?” You nudged him with your elbow playfully. His eye twitched after that.

The fuck did you mean with Hard odds to beat when he’s on all fours? That you thought of him as submissive, powerless or even worse— weak? He’d show you how fucking weak he could be.

Once everyone got to their own thing late that night, he practically dragged you into the bathroom. You had fucked in there with him a couple times. You were all smiles. Even if the bathroom was filthy.

“This is getting exciting.” You smiled, but then he shoved you against the wall, you did hit the back of your head. “What the fuck was that for?” You whined.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Making me look like a fool in front of them?” Benny got closer to you, oh he was angry, not angry, enraged, fuming. “Mmm?” He hummed, close to your face, you could smell the Marlboros and beer on his breath.

“I was just trying to join in, Benny. I didn’t think—“

He interrupted you, harshly. “Well you better start thinking. Start using that fucking head of yours.” With his pointing finger, he repeatedly poked the side of your head. Aggressively.

“Listen, I was just trying to join in the conversation. Have fun.” You tried to defend yourself, stand up against him.

Oh, that set him on fire. He punched the wall besides your head, it made you flinch, of course. There were times in which Benny didn’t control his rage, he could get violent. For instance putting his hand on your throat, sometimes he left bruises in your arms, yanking your hair.

“Tryin’ to have fun? Making me the butt of the joke? You think I’m weak? I’ll show you how fucking weak I can be.” He took a handful of your hair, yanking it. “You shouldn’t even think of speaking up. Nothing smart ever comes out your fucking mouth. It only serves one purpose and that’s it.”

You were quick to try and apologize, not wanting to end up with a bruise. “I didn’t mean to make fun of you, Benny, it was harmless banter.”

“Keep testin’ me, doll. Ain’t nothing gonna stop me from now on. And we don’t want that, do we?” Benny caressed your face, but his hand carried an edge to it.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you thinking he was weak. That he somewhat was powerless, when he had proved many times to have the upper hand in the relationship. He proved it, one way or another, but he proved it.

“This is your last fucking warning, I’m not going to let you do this again. Got it?” Benny said, harshly and threateningly. Yanking your hair once again, making you whine.

He scared you, at times. You knew that this was on you, you chose to stay all the times, no matter how much of an idiot he was, or how violent he could be, you simply stayed. There was just something about him, you couldn’t put your finger on it. Tears pricked your eyes and he noticed them.

“You chose this. Don’t go on playing victim. I only do this because I love you. I love you.” He said softly, before dragging you out the bathroom, through the bar and outside. He probably left a bruise there because of how tightly he was grabbing you.

He came on his back, you arrived on your car a little later to the bar. He got your keys from your back pocket and opened the driver’s door and basically shoved you into the seat, slamming the door shut.

You took a deep breath. Thinking it was over, until Benny smashed your windshield, you didn’t even see with what he did it. Oh, he absolutely trashed your car.

“Hard fucking odds to beat when you’re all on fours, no, baby?” He said, out of breath, smirk on his face.

In horror, you couldn’t believe he would do this. “What the fuck is your problem?” You freaked out, your car!

“This is all your fault. Get it in your head.” Benny said as he leaned on your car window. “Go home.”

He always had a power to make you cry on the spot and you hated that. Because you knew that even after all of this, you would probably forgive him once he came home.

His violent streaks didn’t scare you, it was the fact that no matter how much he would hurt you, you would still be stupid enough to stay.

Hard odds to beat when you’re all on fours— he had the upper hand. You were vulnerable, you couldn’t win against him, it was like that fight he had with the old man. But this time he was the old man and you were Benny. He had you pinned down with his left boot and you couldn’t push him off. No matter how hard you tried. It never worked. And you were stuck with him.

To him you were so fucking annoying, but he liked having someone that would wait for him even though he would leave for months at a time. He always acted as if he was nonchalant and didn’t care, but he cared, a lot. He liked to know that you worried, it fed his big ego. And he wouldn’t let you go. No fucking way.

[ivyues]

Chasing Yesterday | 2 | - Bang Chan

Bang Chan x lost connection trainee friend

Years after splitting paths, Bang Chan didn't expect a simple text to bring an old friend – and old feelings – back into his life.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The days after your café reunion with Chris passed in a haze of texts and shared nostalgia. When you suggested he come over to your place one evening to catch up more, he hesitated for only a moment before agreeing.

On the night he arrived, Chris stood outside your door, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He wasn’t sure why his heart was pounding. Maybe it was the years of distance or the intimacy of stepping into your personal space. He shook his head and pressed the button.

When you opened the door, your wide smile put him at ease. “Hey! Come in.”

Chris stepped inside. While removing his shoes, he glanced around. Your home was cozy, the kind of space that reflected its owner. A stack of books rested on a coffee table, a throw blanket was draped over the couch, and a few polaroid photos adorned the walls. One, in particular, caught his eye — a candid shot of you laughing with someone. His chest tightened briefly. Did you have a boyfriend? Wait, that's possible.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

You grabbed his hand without thinking and led him to your desk. The tiny producing setup was modest but well-loved: a small MIDI keyboard, a monitor, and a tangle of cables. “This is where I spend most of my free time,” you said with a grin. “But here—this is what I wanted to show you.”

You held up a USB stick, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “I found this while unpacking. It has some old files on it… something we worked on together back then.”

Chris’ eyes widened. “No way! I thought that got lost.”

“Apparently not,” you replied, plugging the USB into your laptop. After a moment of scrolling, you played the file. A rough, unfinished song filled the room, and Chris’ cheeks flushed. “Oh my god,” he couldn’t help but exclaim. It was clunky and amateurish, but there was something endearing about it. It reflected the rough beginnings of his own musical career, a thought that made him laugh.

“I mean, the melody… could’ve been worse,” he said with a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

You smirked. “That's what I thought! It has potential–If you ignore the rest. We could try to work with it!”

The two of you dove into the project, tweaking the melody and layering new elements. It was pure fun, the kind that came from creating with someone who shared your passion. As the track slowly evolved, so did the atmosphere between you two. Little touches – a brush of his hand against yours when reaching for the keyboard, the way his laugh made your heart skip – blurred the lines between friendship and something more.

As you scrolled through the files on the USB, another discovery made you pause. “Oh my gosh,” you said, clicking on an image file. It was an old selfie of the two of you as trainees. 

The photo showed you taking the selfie with a big grin, your cheeks pressed against Chris’, his arm slung casually around your shoulder. His smile was wide and carefree, his dimples on full display. You both looked so much younger – teenagers with softer, rounder faces, and an innocence that only came before the pressures of adulthood. 

“Oh, come on. You still have that?” Chris groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Man, that must have been like… 10 years ago?”

“Yeah, look at you! You were so cute,” you said, grinning. 

Chris’ ears turned pink as he peeked through his fingers. “Stop. "Seriously." 

Then, after a beat, he asked, “Can you send it to me?”

You laughed lightly. “Sure, if you want.”

As you moved to send him the picture, Chris’ curiosity grew. “Do you have more of those?”

You glanced at him mischievously. “Maybee,” you teased, your grin widening.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you repeated, leaving him to wonder.

Chris’ gaze flickered between the photo on his phone and you. The years had changed you, but your essence – the spark that made his heart beat differently back then – was the same. He couldn’t stop himself from murmuring under his breath, “Your boyfriend is going to be one lucky guy.”

You didn’t hear him, but you caught the way his gaze softened. “What?” you asked, still smiling.

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Just… thinking how much has changed. And how much hasn’t.”

Chris let out a small sigh, his mind drifted back to the last time you had spoken before you disappeared from his life.

The memory hit him hard.

You had just received the news that you weren’t debuting in the upcoming group, and he – without thinking – had reacted with relief. Not because he wanted to see you fail, never that, but because it meant you weren’t leaving. He had lost so many friends to debut teams, especially that year, watching them move forward while he stayed behind. But you, especially you, would still be here. With him.

He hadn't realized how cruel that must have sounded to you at the time. How his own feelings had blinded him to the heartbreak in your eyes.

And you had been shattered. Furious. At yourself, at the system, at everything. And at him. His reaction had only deepened the wound, and before either of you knew it, the frustration had exploded into an argument, both of you screaming at each other, saying things that cut the deepest coming from someone you hold close.

After that, silence stretched for weeks. Then, one day, you were just gone. No explanation. No goodbye.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh… I wanted to say this back when we first met again at the café, but I wasn’t sure if it was the right time."

You looked up from the screen, curiosity flickering across your face. "Say what?"

Chris hesitated, then placed his phone down, facing you fully. "I wanted to apologize. For… back then. For what I said the last time we spoke." His voice was soft, regretful. "I was selfish. I wasn’t thinking about how much it hurt you. I just— I was scared of losing another friend. But that’s not an excuse."

Your expression shifted, surprise flickering across your features before you let out a small sigh. "Chris… I was seriously hurt back then. I felt like my world was falling apart, and hearing you say—it just made it worse."

"But," you continued, your voice softer, "we were kids. We didn’t know how to handle all of that pressure, all of those emotions. And I was angry at myself more than anything. I think… I just needed someone to blame."

Chris swallowed, his chest tightening. "Still. I should’ve been better."

"We both should have." You looked at him for a moment, your gaze softening. “I kind of disappeared on everyone after that, didn’t I?” You murmured, a little embarrassed.

You sighed, your voice a little thick with emotion. "And that for sure didn't make your remaining time as a trainee any easier. I didn’t hear anything from you for so long. I thought you had also given up.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “That’s why I was so happy when I heard you debuted. I thought... finally, you made it."

Chris met your gaze, his expression softening even further. “It wasn’t easy. But if past-me would have known you were still rooting for me... that means more than I can say.”

Your smile grew, a bittersweet feeling tugging at you. "Hey, I was always rooting for you. I never stopped."

You were still for a few seconds, your gaze lingering on Chris as something unspoken passed between you. Then, a slow, teasing smile spread across your lips.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You bit your lip, clearly holding back a laugh. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in. “No, seriously. What?”

You exhaled dramatically before finally giving in. “I just… didn’t think you were the type to show off that much,” you said while vaguely gesturing towards his body, a small grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

Chris blinked. “Huh?”

“C’mon, don’t play innocent now.” You raised an eyebrow playfully.

Chris let out an embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck – a move that only served to flex his biceps. “Yah, I’m not—” He stopped mid-sentence when he caught the way your eyes flickered to the movement, your smirk deepening.

Realizing his mistake, he quickly dropped his arm and folded them across his chest, which, unfortunately for him, only emphasized the definition of his forearms. You stifled a laugh, tilting your head. “Uh-huh. Totally not showing off.”

“I’m not!” he groaned, covering his face. “Unbelievable.”

You simply laughed, the warmth between you both growing more comfortable.

As the night and your operation on the song continued, you excused yourself to replace an empty bottle of water. Left alone, Chris’ curiosity got the better of him. Turning around in his chair, his eyes wandered again, landing on an electric guitar propped against the wall. He walked over and gently ran his fingers along the neck.

When you returned, drinks in hand, you found him staring at the guitar. “You really got one?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You always talked about how you wanted to learn it back then.”

“Of course,” you said, setting the food down. “I still do, but…” You shrugged. “Life gets busy.”

Chris smiled softly. “You should make time for it. It’s never too late.”

Hours later, when it was finally time for Chris to leave, you walked him to the door. As you hugged goodbye, his arms lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his voice warm. “It was… really nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agreed. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Definitely,” he said, stepping back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Chris. Get home safely.”

As the door closed behind him, you leaned against it, your heart fluttering. A smile spread across your face, unbidden and unstoppable. Somewhere out there, Chris was walking away with the same feeling, his thoughts already drifting back to you.

-----

The next day, Chris arrived at dance practice with an energy that didn’t go unnoticed by the members. Han, ever curious, sidled up to him during a break. “So,” he began, waggling his eyebrows, “how’d your reunion go?”

Chris froze mid-sip of his water, nearly choking. “What reunion?”

Han rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb. You mentioned catching up with an old friend. What was her name? Y/N?”

At the sound of your name, Chris’ ears turned pink. He waved a hand dismissively. “It was fine. We just talked and caught up. Nothing big.”

But Han wasn’t buying it. “Oh, come on, hyung. You can’t drop a name like that and not spill. What’s she like? What’d you talk about?”

The other members, overhearing the exchange, quickly gathered around. Felix plopped down next to Chris with a grin. “Wait, who’s Y/N? Someone you knew before Stray Kids?”

Chris sighed, realizing there was no escaping their curiosity. “She was a trainee with me back in the days. We were close, but she left before debut.”

“That’s so cool you got to reconnect,” Seungmin said, leaning against the wall. “Did you bring her here? It’d be fun to meet her.”

“No,” Chris said quickly, his tone firmer than intended. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. I don’t want to bring up bad memories for her. The trainee days weren’t exactly easy.”

Hyunjin tilted his head. “That’s fair. But… is she pretty?”

Chris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “What kind of question is that?”

The members exchanged amused glances. “That’s not a no,” Changbin teased.

Rolling his eyes, Chris stood and grabbed his phone, needing a way to shut them up. “I don’t have any recent pictures, okay? But… here.” He pulled up the old selfie you’d sent him the night before and showed them.

The reaction was immediate as his phone was snatched out of his hand.

“Whoa, you two look so close!” I.N exclaimed, leaning in for a better look.

“This is from back then?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes flicking between the photo and Chris. “You both look so young.”

“Look at how he’s smiling,” Felix teased. “Channie hyung, you were totally whipped back then.”

“I was not,” Chris said defensively, grabbing his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. “Can we drop this now?”

The members weren’t about to let it go that easily. 

“Hyung,” Lee Know started, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re blushing so much right now. Are you sure nothing happened during your little reunion?”

Chris groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear, nothing happened. We just talked, alright? Caught up on life.”

“But you wanted something to happen, didn’t you?” Hyunjin smirked, his chin resting in his hand. “Is she single?”

“No!—What? Why would I know that.” Chris shot back, but his face betrayed him as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red. “She’s just… she’s really nice. And talented. That’s all.”

Seungmin, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow. “If that’s true, why are you getting so defensive?”

Chris sighed, feeling cornered. “Because you guys are making a big deal out of nothing,” he muttered, glancing away. 

But just as he was about to end the conversation for good, he mumbled the same thing he thought all those years ago – under his breath, barely audible, “She’s way out of my league anyway…”

pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | masterlist

[disaster-writer]

Uncovered Part 3

Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!Reader

A/N: surprise! Have another part today

Summary: Alpha!Bakugo finds out that you’ve secretly been an Omega all this time

Part 1 Part 2

Bakugo stood with his fist poised, ready to knock on the front door to your apartment— that was until he dropped his hand to the side for the umpteenth time that night.

”Fuck— this is so fucking stupid,” he growled, yearning to just punch a goddamn hole in the wall and just leave already.

It was late anyway, you were probably asleep by now. He could just come back tomorrow morning.

He took a step back and turned… that’s what he’ll do, he’ll come back tomorrow morning before you’re meant to report to the agency for work—

He stopped. 

“FUCK—“ Bakugo slammed his fist hard against your front door three times. 

After a few beats he was greeted with the door being swung open and you standing exasperated on the other side.

Almost immediately you rolled your eyes, shaking your head, “No. Go home—“ you went to shut the door but Bakugo shoved his foot in the door before you could.

”We need to talk,” He muttered gruffly, peering down at you with hard eyes.

Your nostrils flared as you stared back up at him with an indignant look, “I have nothing to say to you—“

”Have you been crying?” The words flew past his lips as he took in your appearance. You were dressed in pajamas, no doubt already in bed for the night when he came, and your eyes were swollen and watery as if you had just finished sobbing your eyes out.

You huffed, “Go. Home.”

The two of you stared each other down for another moment before Bakugo forced himself forward and shoved himself inside, throwing you off balance and stumbling backwards, unable to stop him.

Bakugo glanced around your apartment. It was nice— expensive. It was expected of a hero of your notoriety, but even more so due to the fact you were a legacy hero. He wouldn’t lie, despite being relatively close friends ever since Raccoon Eyes all but adopted you into the group during first year, he always did chalk you up to just being another rich kid from another long line of heroes that got everything handed to them on a silver platter. 

He realized with faint recognition that this was the first time he had set foot in your place. You never invited anyone over, always assuming you just liked your privacy but now… he was sure it was more than that.

Bakugo heard the click of the door shutting behind him, followed by a defeated sigh.

“Why are you here Bakugo?” You asked, clearly exhausted, walking past him and deeper into the apartment as you made your way to the kitchen.

”Hah?” He sneered incredulously, following in tow, “You’re really going to ask me that after what happened this afternoon?” 

“I’ve been watching the news all day— you haven’t told anyone yet,” you muttered, reaching the top of your fridge for a bottle of sake.

”Of course I didn’t tell dumbass.”

You threw him a resentful glance over your shoulder, “Well why not?” You spat before unscrewing the top of the bottle and taking a swig before finally seating yourself down at the kitchen island.

Bakugo rounded the island, slamming his hands down on the counter across from you, “How low do you think I am—?”

Your head snapped up, locking your gaze with his once more, ”Pretty fucking low considering I found you going through my shit!— I mean, who even does that!? What were you even trying to find—“

”You’re changing the subject!” Bakugo rushed, ears tinging pink knowing the truth of why he even looked in the first place was embarrassing enough. 

There was a pregnant pause before you finally rolled your eyes and took another swig— it didn’t even matter at this point did it? Your life may as well be over anyway… 

“What do you want?” You finally sighed, resigned to whatever the rest of this interaction was going to be.

”I want to understand,” he replied, more even and controlled than his previous outbursts, “How have you hid this for so long? —And who else knows about you.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, fingering the rim of your sake bottle in thought. “Why should I even tell you?” 

”I’m not going to say anything.”

“That is until you change your mind.”

”I won’t.” He hissed, “I’m not going to get your license revoked— now will you just answer me.”

You continued to remain silent, making him huff in frustration.

”The cold.”

Your eyes slid to his, confusion painting your face, “What?”

”The cold,” he reiterated, clearly annoyed, “It’s my main weakness.”

You narrowed your eyes, “I already know that—“

”I’m just saying— if I tell… then you tell. I have a lot of enemies that would pay for that kinda information.”

You were quiet once more, eyeing him and weighing his words. His own gaze was unrelenting, pinning you in your seat. Bakugo was many things but you never really knew him to go back on his word…

”You’re the only one other than my family, doctor, and trainer that knows,” you sighed, taking a swig, “That’s how we’ve kept it secret, parents that hired a doctor and trainer to mix up the perfect cocktail of drugs and regimens to pass me off as an Alpha. That and a whole lot of hush money.” You muttered sarcastically.

”Why?”

”Why?” You scoffed, “Because I’m a (Y/L/N). We don’t have Omegas, everyone in my family has been born an Alpha and then has trained to become a hero for generations.”

”But you guys do have an Omega.”

You shot him a glare, “Yeah, I’m well aware asshole.”

”So what? Making you a hero was going to somehow save your family name?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it is. And I was doing a fine job of it too until you decided to stick your nose in places it doesn’t belong.”

Bakugo finally took a seat, “You all actually think you can keep this a secret?” He asked incredulously.

You quirked a brow, “I am.”

He pursed his lips… technically that was true, but more so because it would have been unthinkable that an Omega would have managed to get as far as you have in this field. 

Honestly it was a goddamn miracle you even managed to get into class 1-A to begin with. 

If it wasn’t for that he probably would have believed you were at least a Beta if not an Omega, especially as your scent gave no indication…

Bakugo perked up, “Why don’t you smell like an Omega?”

“Drugs,” you shrugged, “My brothers also scent me to mask whatever’s left.”

”And what about—“ heats, Bakugo caught himself before he could say it, the realization hitting him over the head like a ton of bricks. You experience heats. A blush spread across his cheeks, mind suddenly clouded by images of you locked away in your bedroom  and—

“What about what?” You asked him impatiently, “Are we done here yet? You already get the gist and if I still have a job in the morning then I need to go to bed now.”  You stood up, rounding the kitchen island back towards the front door with Bakugo following behind hesitantly. He still had so many questions but was suddenly and actually aware that you were an Omega… he had never been very tactful around Omegas before.

You stood by the now open door, waiting for him to leave.

And so he did, but not before you stopped him with one final thing left to say. You had stopped him with a grip on his bicep, peering up at him with serious eyes, “You need to be aware of how you treat me in public going forward. If you start pulling some Alpha bullshit and favoring me on missions or doting on me in front of our friends I will make sure every one of your enemies finds out Dynamight can’t handle the cold. Understood?”

He bared his teeth and in a low whisper said, “Don’t get such a big head— you’re still an extra to me.” 

With that he had tugged his arm from your grasp and headed out.

He would never admit that what you had said was exactly what had been weighing on his mind since he found the pill bottle.

[the-marshals-wife]

No More Tears (Oz Cobb x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: First fic of the year. 🥂 Writing this was extremely cathartic, as was binging The Penguin twice over my winter break. The brainrot is severe, for which there is no cure but this. Oz is very protective of what's his, and as it turns out, that includes you.

Description: Oz Cobb/The Penguin x Fem!Reader, angst / hurt+comfort (plus a teeny bit of ending fluff) | Rating: MATURE for violent content and adult themes | Warnings: violence and blood, injuries described, mild language, name-calling (not towards Reader), alcohol, drugs mentioned (drops), suggestive themes, pet names (endearing), Reader is injured by a club guest and Oz beats the daylights out of the culprit. | Setting: before the events of The Batman | Word count: 3.1 k

Imagine Oz finding out that you've been hurt, and getting sweet revenge

The throbbing in your temple brings tears to your eyes, and your hands shake as you cradle the side of your face. You draw in a sharp breath, the cool metal of the elevator wall against your back grounding you a bit. Several excruciating seconds later, the doors open, and you resurface from the 44 Below much more battered than when you went in. As the pain starts to intensify, you look for somewhere to retreat out of view. The last thing you needed was anyone seeing you weak.

Of course, there was hardly such a place within the walls of the Iceberg Lounge. With few other options, you make a bee-line for the bathroom. No one seems to notice you in your afflicted state as you rush through the dressing area and out into the upper-level of the club. The flashing of the strobe lights normally didn't phase you, but now they feel like ice picks in your eye sockets. Only halfway to your destination and several more flights of stairs ahead, you can barely hear the thundering base of the club music over the pounding of your heartbeat. Suddenly your vision blurs, and you quickly grab onto the railing to steady yourself.

There are people on every side, but they're far too deep in their drinks, drugs, and pleasant company to notice you. For once, you're grateful for it.

"Concussed by some worthless drophead," you mutter, your head swimming. It had been a mistake to look down over the edge.

You stand up to go lean on the wall instead, but you catch sight of your hands. You look down at your fingers to see them smeared with blood. Your stomach twists with sickened realization. When the creep downstairs backhanded you, his ring must have cut you open.

Before you can speak the curses on your tongue, you hear your name being shouted. Even in your dazed state, you recognize the voice of your coworker.

"Y/N," she calls out again, her voice barely rising above the dull roar.

You sway around to face her, and her shock is immediate, as expected.

"Oh-," she exclaims, wide-eyed, "Are you good?"

"Not exactly," you answer, wincing, "Drophead got handsy."

"They always do," she says, shaking her head. Her nervous smile turns to a full grimace. "Oz wants to see you."

The boiling fury in your veins instantly transforms into frigid panic. "You gotta find someone else. I can't do it. He cannot see me like this."

"He asked for you specifically," she replies, shrugging. "You better get up there. Try to hide it with your hair."

With that piece of advice, she walked away. You couldn't blame her. She had her orders, and you had yours. If only they'd come just a few minutes earlier.

Righting yourself, you wipe your bloodied hands on your navy blue skirt, and pull the pins from your hair, letting it fall down around your face. You tousle it with your crimson stained fingers as much as you can, but even if you had a mirror, you know full well that no amount of tugging at your bangs could fully conceal the gash in your brow. Still, it would have to do. You can't keep Oz waiting.

Exhaling, you start the climb back up to his office. The pain in your head burns deep, but at least the dizziness had subsided somewhat. That was the only thing you had in your favor at the moment. Your aching mind reels over what awaited you. Surely Oz would be upset with you. It was your job to keep guests happy, and your face was damning evidence of your failure. It didn't matter if that guest was a privileged scum-sucking loser too strung-out to form an intelligent thought. He was decidedly unhappy, and now you would have to accept the consequences.

Walking back through where you'd just come from and entering the corridor of the sequestered alcove, you can only pray that Oz is somehow distracted enough with business not to look up. The rattling of the parted bead curtain announces your arrival, and as you step through, it's immediately clear that your prayer fell upon deaf ears.

"There she is," Oz greets with a wide smile, "Come on in, sweetheart."

He waits expectantly on the couch by the window, the murky glow of the club lights shining behind him.

In vain, you keep your chin lowered and your hands clasped firmly behind your back.

"You wanted to see me?" you reply, avoiding his eyes.

"Of course I do. I always want to see you, baby," he answers, waving you forward, "Come here and tell me about your night. How are things goin' downstairs? You holdin' up alright?"

Swallowing hard, you obey and sit down on your hands beside him. You feel your limbs trembling as you search for your words.

"It's good. Busy, busy night," you reply, nodding.

Before he even speaks, you can sense Oz's gaze on you, and just how skeptical it is.

"Good? Just good? So stiff all of a sudden!" he scoffs lightheartedly, "You feelin' okay, baby? You're usually my little chatterbox."

You open your dry mouth to answer, deciding to confess the truth, but he's already reaching to brush your hair behind your ear. The revealed wound speaks for itself, and you flinch as strands of your hair catch on the fresh, open skin.

"Who did this to you?"

The restrained rage in his voice sends a chill down your spine.

"Y/N. Who did this thing to you, sweetheart?" he urges.

He gently grabs your chin and turns your head towards him. Both his touch and his tone are soft, but in his dark eyes there is an unmistakable wrath.

You stare at him in total confusion, unsure if you should feel comforted or in dread. This isn't the reaction you'd expected. Not in your wildest dreams.

"It was...some drophead. Corporate type," you hesitate, composing yourself, "He wanted me to leave with him. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn't lay off. Then he got fresh and I pushed away. That's when I caught the backside of his hand with my face. He was hammered, but it was no accident. His ring's what cut me."

Oz sits back, twitching in agitation. "When was this?"

"About ten minutes ago," you reply, "I'll be alright, Oz. I just need to clean up. It's not a big deal."

"The hell it ain't!" he denies.

His outburst startles you a bit, but you could tell it was not towards you.

A heated moment passes, and his temper calms once more. He leans forward again, touching your arm soothingly.

"You ain't done nothing wrong, baby. I'm gonna take care of this," he assures, "Can you describe him to me? He and I need to have a little talk about manners."

You smirk. "Definitely."

☂︎

A few minutes later, you're standing in the corner of the room with a cold drink in one hand, and a towel pressed to your stinging temple in the other. While Oz sent the Twins downstairs to retrieve your assailant, you'd finally gotten a moment to check your reflection in the mirror and inspect the damage. The gash was deep, but luckily not too wide. You would need stitches, and there'd undoubtedly be a scar for you to remember tonight by, but the doctor could wait. With the bleeding slowing at last, you waited with quiet anticipation to see if the sleaze would get a taste of his own medicine. Meanwhile, Oz stands by the window with his hands in his pockets, looking down in silence at the dancing throngs below.

Your shared reverie is broken by the arrival of the Twins, each dragging the man by one of his arms. Somehow, he seems twice as wasted as before. Now he's barely able to hold his head up.

Oz turns around and looks to you, gesturing. "This the gentleman?" He says the last word with no small amount of disdain.

You nod, biting down hard on your lip.

With that, they unceremoniously toss the guy into the chair in front of the vanity.

"Nice work, fellas," says Oz, giving them a pointed look, "Give us a minute here. Don't go too far."

They nod in confirmation and exit as swiftly as they'd come.

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with how close the lowlife is to you again. The familiar smell of vodka, drops, and sweat burns your nose. You half have a mind to dump the rest of your own drink out on his head, if only to douse the odor. The other half of you is afraid of what might happen if you do.

As if he'd read your uneasy mind, Oz invites you over to his side of the room. "Come over here, sweetheart. Why don't you have a seat? You should be resting in your condition."

More than happy to oblige, you set what remains of your liquid painkiller down on the crystal table and return to your place on the couch.

"What's going on," the man finally speaks, his words slurring together. Then he sets his intoxicated gaze on you, and his bloodshot eyes narrow in recognition. "You...I know you..."

You frown, folding your arms over your chest in response.

"You don't talk to her. You talk to me," Oz interjects, stepping forward.

"And...you are?" he replies hazily, furrowing his brow with indignance.

"I'm the manager of this club, pal," he answers, taking on a cool tone of superiority, "Now, I don't know you. Based on that suit you got, I'm guessin' your checkbook is bigger than the average drophead's. And maybe outside of these walls, you're some bigshot who can do whatever he likes, to whomever he likes. But in here, you're in my world."

Before Oz finishes speaking, the man's eyelids begin to flutter. It's quickly becoming clear that he's losing the battle for consciousness.

Oz glances over his shoulder at you exasperated.

"Geez, how many friggin' drops has this sack of crap had?" He snaps his fingers in the guy's face. "Hey pal, you mind joining us here back on planet Earth for a moment? I'm tryna teach you something."

The loser rapidly blinks and rouses, violently wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"There you go, that's better," Oz says, stooping to be eyelevel with the guy, "Like I was sayin'. You're in my world. And here, we got rules. They're very simple. So simple, even a miserable little roach like you can understand 'em."

Oz lightly slaps the man's cheek and stands upright once more. He proceeds to remove his suit jacket and lay it on the nearby vanity. Your pulse quickens as he continues his monologue.

"There are some rules you can bend. Hell, there's even a few you can break once or twice and I'll look the other way. But there's one rule that you never, ever break. And that, is where you messed up, pal."

You're frozen in place, your heart full on racing watching Oz roll up his crisp white shirt sleeves.

"I...wait-just, hold on," the slimeball stammers. Every trace of arrogance had vanished, along with all the color in his face. He scrambles in an attempt to right himself, but he's far too inebriated to escape. At last, he was horrifically aware of situation he was in. He raises his now shaking hands in front of him, and you can't help but grin in satisfaction.

"You never hit a lady," Oz seethes, grabbing the guy's coat collar in his fists, "It seems you need a reminder of that. So I'm gonna give you one won't forget."

A yelp escapes the man's chapped lips as Oz hurls a right hook into his jaw. His arms go limp from the impact, and they only flop about from there as Oz lands another punch. You gape at the massive cut sliced into the guy's cheek by Oz's own ring.

"How do you like it, huh? Stings, don't it?"

In his drug-induced stupor, the drophead makes no attempt to fight back. All he can muster is an agonized moan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

This only serves to enrage your boss further. Oz grabs the guy's collar again, this time tugging him forward out of the chair. His skull hits the floor with a nauseating crack. The sound, and the convulsing that follows, doesn't deter Oz, however. He hoists the man up with a strength that surprises you and pushes him against the brick wall.

Miraculously, the pathetic soul was still conscious, if just barely. The blood dripping from his mouth deepens the pit in your stomach, but you don't turn away.

Oz shoves the man's head to turn your direction.

"You think you can come in here and do that to one of my girls? Huh? Look at her face. You piece of rat filth!" he shouts, punching him in his ribs, "How dare you touch her. I oughta cut your hand off and feed it to ya!"

He proceeds to lay into him with a ferocity you can scarily believe. Every blow is more brutal than the last, each one punctuated by infuriated curses. Each time the lucid fool slumps forward from the impact, Oz sends him back with another slug to gut or head. It feels like an eternity passes before he finally has his fill of retribution and lets the man fall at his feet.

You peer at the unmoving heap, searching for signs of life, but your focus quickly shifts back Oz. He stands with his back to you, still muttering incensed profanities between heaving breaths.

This was a side of him you'd caught glimpses of, but never fully witnessed. Perhaps not many had. The fury that flowed through him certainly stemmed from more than revenge for tonight's incident. You imagined there was probably a lifetime of buried rage behind every blow struck. The thought of where such intense anger came from, and how much more there might be deep inside him, made you shudder.

For now though, you were just grateful he tapped into it on your behalf. His violent appetite was satisfied, and you had your payback. It'd hardly been a fair fight, and you couldn't care less. As much as your mind told you that should be afraid in this moment, or at the very least unnerved, you weren't. You felt relieved. More than that, you were mesmerized.

Oz whistles for the Twins, and they promptly return. He produces a dark purple handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes away the blood from his knuckles before acknowledging them.

"Would you fellas be so kind? Our 'guest' needs help finding his sea legs," he invites, slicking his hair back.

It was only an expression, of course. If he didn't succumb to his injuries, you doubted the guy would ever be able to stand again. He wouldn't be backhanding anyone, either. That thought brings a smile to your face.

The identical men hoist the nameless victim up in much the same manner as they'd brought him in. Only this time, with his black and blue face utterly plastered with fresh lacerations, he was nearly unrecognizable. The low gurgling noise emanating from his mouth was the only proof that they weren't propping up a corpse.

"In case I wasn't making myself clear," Oz begins, rolling his sleeves back down, "If you so much as think about coming back in here, I'll carve you up into so many friggin' pieces, only God would be able to find them all."

It sounded like the man tried to vocalize, but it was scarcely more than a whimper.

Oz sneers, "Get this scum outta my sight."

You watch as what's left of your harasser is carried away from view. Just like that, you and Oz are alone once again. As much as you could be anyway, since several of the girls in the dressing area had become aware of the beatdown and were peeping from the other side of the shared window. Surely the whole club would know about what'd just taken place before sunrise. After all, Oz wouldn't do that for just any of the girls here. He didn't even know half of their names; but he knew yours, and he almost beat a man to death to defend it. You shake your head and resolve to ignore the onlookers, trying to come back into your body after the sobering surreal experience.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, baby. But it had to be done," he sighs, putting his jacket back on, "He won't be bothering you no more."

You stand up and walk over to him, "I'm just sorry I couldn't get a punch in."

"Listen to you, little killer over here," he chuckles, "Tell you what. Next time we got a jerk that goes sideways, I'll hold his arms back and you can go nuts on 'em. Deal?"

"Deal," you agree, your playful words turning sincere, "Thank you, Oz. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Yes, I did. Someone disrespects you, they disrespect me too. You bleed, I bleed. I had to make it right," he argues, slightly stern. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. "Here. For the doctor. If you need more, you call me."

You softly gasp at the six hundred-dollar bills he holds out.

"This is too much," you begin.

"No, it ain't. I never shoulda let you go down there in the first place. They're friggin' animals," he says, regret in his voice, "You take all the time you need before you come back, alright? Don't worry about it."

You let him place the money in your hand. Tears start to well up in your eyes as you look to him with gratitude.

"Thank you," you repeat.

He reaches to brush your hair away from your eyes, his bruised knuckles grazing your cheek. "Don't you go startin' with the waterworks now," he smiles, "Scars ain't nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. You'll always be beautiful to me."

Anyone who'd spent just one minute with Oswald Cobb knew that he had a way with words, but something about the glint in his eye made you believe that he truly meant these ones.

You chuckle thoughtfully and straighten his tie. Then, leaning in, you press a kiss to his cheek. For a second time that night, you'd taken him by surprise.

Turning to leave, you smirk over your shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

He grins. "No promises, doll. No promises."

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Does anybody have any requests for what Fluffvember prompts should go with what blorbos/AUs of mine? I wrote day 1 already and want to write other days, but my brain has been... quite dead. For like. A week.

[tadpole-apocalypse]

Wild Magic Tavs/Durges, what were some of your favorite wild magic surges in terms of role play?

[fakecats]

how have i been a p5 fan for like 5 years but only just now realized that What if the reason joker walks with his hands in his pockets is because hes afraid that he'll end up hitting someone like with what happened with shido which is why he's in tokyo in the first place. i mean theres also the idea he just does it to seem casual but

[petrichor-reminiscence]

my restoration thots

everything is gonna be under the cut just incase people havent seen it yet, so uh spoiler warning under the cut!

there were a lot of things that bothered me. enough that tbh i don't remember them all, but i wanna start this off with the positives and things i liked ^^

first of all, my favourite thing ever, TEX AND CHURCH FINALLY GOT THE ENDING THEY DESERVED! i actually screamed when caboose brought back tex instead of church actually, and the whole thing also about her being brought back in their memory instead of the directors? their memory of her always kicking their ass and winning and being strong and brave and oaisjdgoasg all of that? screaming actually screaming. and her and church walking away in the memory unit thingy into the distance and jsiogjasdgiojadsgiosdg they got their happy ending that i've always wanted for them and that makes me very happy.

also, the va for caboose, let's talk about him rq. ofc it sounded wrong to me, he wasn't the og caboose, it wasn't joel, but the guy tried his best and i absolutely love that for him. i think he did a pretty good job, especially since the poor guy had 17 fuckin seasons of iconic caboose to live up to so ofc no one is going to actually live up to that. he did pretty damn good and if i see any hate about him i will cry thank you.

now, onto things that i enjoyed kinda but also were just oaijdsgioasdjg ahhhh y'know?

first, sarge's death. ouch. owie ouch ouchies ow. that shit hurt man. i think they did it pretty well though, and the fact that he died protecting a blue?! gave simmons his shotgun and told him he was proud of him?! told grif he never gave up on him even when grif himself had?! oasjdgisadjgs. he's their dad, their dad fr. it broke my fucking heart, but i like how it was handled, i was decently satisfied with it. i like how they buried him back in blood gulch, where it all started. it felt really fitting.

also, the fact that they kept church dead. tbh i'm glad they did. i was thinking with their whole talking about memories around the campfire, like if it were to bring back church, tbh i wouldn't have liked it. his death in 13 wouldn't have been as meaningful, as impactful. plus, them bringing back tex who we haven't really seen since season 10? iconic i loved it they brought my wife back and i loved every fuckin second of it.

next, something i have big big big thoughts on that i don't know how to organise: wash's ptsd and everything. first off, finding out he'd been hallucinating doc the entire time?! fucking OWCHIES :( and like at the end when lina was talking to him and reminding him that these things weren't his fault and how it came across in visions of his other beloved freelancers showing up and talking to him? screaming actually. watching wash and his mental state and how everything unfolded hit particularly close to home for me, as a ptsd-havin bitch myself ^^; the way he was treated like he was fuckin crazy in the hospital made me sick to my stomach, and then finding out oh hey wait he actually is a bit crazy he's hallucinating doc because he blames himself for his death i'm like welp okay that's oaisdjgosadjgoisgj. just seeing how they handled that reminded me so much of things i've gone through myself, and idk if i'd say it was handled well or not but it was certainly handled in a way that's for sure ^^; might just be some of my internal biases because topics like this make me feel sick for personal reasons ofc, but uh yeehaw lol yeehaw.

also, meta tucker. screaming. the flashes of him pulling through while being controlled and him like apologizing to caboose and caboose being like 'i've already forgiven you for whatever you'll do' AOIGSDAIG YEOWZERS :( my brain hurts man. and with sigma too, sadly it wasn't elijah wood, but miles luna did a phenomenal job imo, it really sounded like og sigma to me and had me convinced they got elijah for the final season up until i saw the credits lol. also, the fact that there was such a lack of meta/tucker and wash interactions??? heresy. blasphemy. illegal. i will be beating my head against the wall thank you.

ALSO. LACK OF DONUT WAS FUCKING TRAGIC. but, ADMIRAL donut? proud of our boy for working through the ranks! but i'm so upset we didn't get to see him other than a simmons flashback/vision of him in a fuckin cheerleader outfit - which honestly? iconic. at least we got something.

and the last thought of the post, fuckin grimmons. grif and simmons. i'm gonna put my head through the wall osaidjgsioadjgsdiogjsdag. the way that the first thing simmons did as red team leader was set grif free because he's always known about how much he wanted to leave, 'if you love something let it go' or whatever oiasdgjdsoiagjsd. grif deciding to stay for the fight before heading out, their goodbyes and grif inviting him to visit even though he knows it's probably never going to happen but he had to try anyways, aiojsdgoisjgoisdjg i'm screaming crying throwing up actually. they should've made out though so rip for that missed opportunity :( i enjoyed the moments we got but i also wish we got more if that makes sense, y'know?

anyways that's all i have the mental energy to blab about for now, because oaisdgjodsiag agh y'know? drained from fuckin sobbing so much all day lmao i'm just a lil guy ^^;

might post a pt 2 to this though, copy-pasting the notes i took on my phone like while i was watching lmao. fair warning though it's a MESS because i was typing without looking plus a lot of autocorrect haha. i'll probably post it anyways though because i find it really funny tbh lol

[commsroom]

I'm really glad for all the love you've put into w359 fanworks. every time I see you post about it, my heart glows a little.

I'd originally felt that way while listening to the show, and your interpretation & vision feels so tightly knit to the source material. you even go farther in your explicit discussions about hera, her autonomy, her emotional depth, her treatment by other characters, and her arc as a trans allegory

totally understand why you might feel embarrassed, but I wanted you to know: thank you 💜

oh, that's so sweet of you to say!! i'm honored you think so.

i genuinely think there's a case to be made that eiffel/hera is as canon as the parameters for romance in wolf 359 allow it to be. like: gabriel urbina's policy was always "never confirm or deny 'on-screen' romance unless absolutely necessary" and from the AMAs we know they at least discussed it with regard to eiffel and hera, though we'll never know how that conversation went. it's not really a secret that sarah shachat and zach valenti, at least, viewed it that way. i still think about zach saying (paraphrased) that he thinks his non-answer is an answer, because if he didn't ship them, he could just say so.

and that's kind of how i feel about eiffel/hera within canon. like. anybody at all familiar with shows the wolf 359 writers like (especially things like btvs and farscape) can tell you there are plenty of scenes that mirror and meta-textually reference scenes from other shows. both gabriel urbina and sarah shachat were huge fans of the new doctor who, and whatever you believe the intent was, i find it hard to believe they didn't at least know they were evoking "if it's my last chance to say it, rose tyler, i-" with "and hera. hera, i-" it's what isn't said, the fact it has to be left unsaid, that speaks the loudest.

and anyway, talking about hera and romance / sexuality is especially interesting to me because it's not a given for her. it's not assumed to be something she should want or can have, and the way that intersects with her canon disability and with readings of her as a trans woman re: autonomy and desirability is very interesting (and very personal) to me, especially in the broader context of stories about AI women. but that's a topic for another post.

it's not a new observation by any means, but i think there can be a tendency to treat romance as separate from character analysis, and that's always sat poorly with me. romance isn't unique in either a good or a bad way, it's just... one type of relationship people can have. i think a lot about the unique approach wolf 359 has to romance because, while i understand why a lot of people would find the lack of romantic subplots refreshing, the characters aren't written to be intentionally disinterested in sex or romance (in some cases, textually... the opposite, even), so much as the writing carefully skirts around it. and... i don't know! there's something fascinating there.

obviously, i think you can recognize what's important about eiffel and hera's relationship (that it's the most equal one hera has ever had, that he has no real hierarchy over her or expectations for her other than companionship, how they share values and mutually support each other, etc.) without needing that to be romantic. and i think you can even acknowledge there's some degree of romantic intent without being invested like i am or "shipping" them. but i do think there's some intent there, and i think the the themes of the show can be expanded in some interesting ways to explore that beyond the intentional ambiguity of it. if you want to.

i would also never deny having an emotional bias here!! complete objectivity is never possible because we always bring parts of ourselves to our interpretations of art, and that's only amplified by how close to my heart wolf 359 is as a story. but i do really want to communicate, to the best of my ability, how much love i have for the show and how much thought i put into it. and i definitely don't mind being known for my love of eiffel/hera; they're my favorite characters from anything ever, both individually and together. but i do get kinda embarrassed when i talk about them too much, because it's not that i don't have plenty of thoughts about every other character and aspect of the show, it's just... that they are close to my heart in a particular way. anyway. i really appreciate it, thank you!!