#THEN PUT YOUR MONEY WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS MOTHERFUCKER!!!!

[psychoticwillgraham]

me, very impatiently waiting for dad to give me my dog babysitting money (and he hasn’t even told me how much he’s giving me):

[petalsonmoon]

you hang from my lips like the Gardens of Babylon.

"it's ridiculous." then he leaned his body foward, his fingers meeting his toes. an elongation you would take embarrasingly months to be able to do that flawlessly.

"and really fucking stupid" he proceeds his thoughts.

"oh please, do go on." you look down to your notes and continue to write your ridiculous ideas.

the sun was far too bright and where its glow met the leaves of the large number of trees around you they were gleaming, like they were immensely happy.

"i hope your little notebook accidently burns to ashes."

"kind of you to say accidently."

"yeah no problem at all"

you glance up to find that he has his knee bended to his chest and quickly look back to the pen in your hand. quite misteriously your hands are stained from it.

"you making the walking sleeping bag one too?" his voice is raspy and angry and very clear. how does he sound so good while doing post training stretching?

perhaps you're looking too much into it. your crush makes you a bit giddy, idiotic in a lot of senses. makes you feel a child just like the word itself is infant. crush.

you sigh heavyly.

"still deciding" you draw a little explosion on the corner of the page.

"might as well do it for class b too."

"if i got a penny for every dramatic sentence that came out of your mouth-"

he had his back to you but he insisted on turning his head to you to send you the most chilling glare for exactly 3 seconds. that's his stupidity. his eyes were already too pretty in your eyes for you to feel an ounce of that anger.

"-only today i'd have like," you scrunch your nose "the amount of money equivalent to the ferocity of all might's powers."

he doesn't bother to look at you again and you smile.

"would you look at that. i should look for the person with this quirk."

he growls. loud. and you're smile is genuine.

he sits up straight, his back to you and starts leisurely move his neck. that's the sign he's almost done.

"putting too much money for those idiots.”

"it's not that much" you reason. "don't feel that way for too long, you're getting one too."

with that, it's over.

he turns to you and when those red eyes meet yours the trees are for sure shinning somewhat brighter.

the response for your affirmation it's a furrow between his eyebrows. his skin glowing a bit but that's not your absurd heart speaking, it's just his sweat.

"uhum" now you're messing with the grass. it estabilizes you. "yours is actually the only one that i drew and painted myself. the other ones i made with suna from the support course"

an ant crawled into your point finger.

"but don't tell them that." you whisper.

the ant made it to your pulse when you feel a literal body falling on top of you.

"you motherfucker! you are drenched-"

"that shitty little brain of yours-" his face on your neck. his words and breathing warming your whole body. you are exploding on the inside. how ironic.

"-and your stupid handmade keychains for the whole class" and then he lighly bites where your neck meets your shoulder.

his hands trails your arms, his fingers are burning pathways in your skin until they meet your hands and they interlock with your fingers. then he finally lifts his head and looks at you and what you're feeling is something words can't understand.

"i was gonna wait until graduation."

"tomorrow, you mean."

he bites your chin and you're so fucking certain you'll melt any second now. "because of that fucking tone i'm going to burn all of your little gifts."

you smile at him trying to match his damn audacity. his charm? his mind blowing handsomeness? "i'll murder you."

you blink and feel his breath on your neck again. "do it now, cupcake." then. his maddening warm and soft lips leaves a kiss under your earlobe. you close your eyes. "you have the power to."

"don't wait until tomorrow."

he lifts his head again and there's a smirk with a softness in the corner of it on his face. "or?"

"i might die." you whisper. it is serious to you. you need his lips on yours this very second. with his eyes on yours, telling you every adoration you thought about him for the last couple of months before going to bed, you think might. actually. die.

"who's the dramatic one now, brat?"

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Here we go, the end of the ride. 💚

Song Inspo: “Lost on You” by Cubaneros

Word Count: 1.4K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, but mostly fluff, and an ending…

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Epilogue: As Good As It Gets

Arthur was still lying low in Belize, but he was able to do you one last favor. A wire of money allowed you, John, and Ben to travel across the Atlantic—to Medellin, Colombia. There Ben took you to one of his old vacation houses.

It was a large, beautiful Spanish style house. Best of all, it was in a remote location on the cusp of a mountainside, complete with a scenic waterfall. It was like something out of Vought Geographic. You needed to take a helicopter just to get to this place.

It was the best security Ben could think of.

He had plans to renovate and beef up the surveillance of the property itself. Then you would be able to have your brother Chris and his family visit. You hadn't been able to see him or your nephew before leaving the U.S. again, but you had called Chris from the airport to let him know you were alive and well, and that you would see him soon, when it was safe.

But before all of that, there was one very important item of business you and Ben were handling together in the living room, while John was outside swimming laps in the pool.

A phone dock rested on the coffee table. The call was on speaker.

“That child represents a multi-million-dollar investment,” said Stan Edgar.

“You should’ve thought about that before you shipped us off to motherfucking Siberia,” Ben snapped. “Hell, before you decided to steal my goddamn DNA. But guess fucking what. He’s my son. He belongs with me.”

You gave him a look of pride, resting a hand on his thigh in support. He glanced at you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re not leaving me with much recourse here, Soldier Boy,” Stan replied.

Ben leaned forward. He took that as a very real threat.

“If you come after me or my family, I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen,” he said. “First off, you’re going to lose. Fucking miserably. Next, I’m going to make my way back States’ side, and I’m coming for you, Stan. You and your whole fucking world, down to the family dog. Then I’ll burn Vought to the ground and piss on whatever’s left. And then the whole world can know that I’m alive, and just who lied to them for a damn decade.”

You were uneasy with that threat, but you knew he meant it.

The other line was silent.

“Or, you can unfreeze my bank accounts and put them back in my name,” said Ben. “I’ll do you the giant fucking favor of staying where I’m at, and I never have to hear from any of you cocksuckers again.”

After another long moment, an exhale of breath came from the speaker.

“You’ll have access to your accounts by end of business today,” Stan said.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Ben said, his tone infused with both anger and sarcasm.

He hung up the phone with a mild slam, and he leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his mouth and beard. You smiled and managed to get up off the comfy couch, just to settle yourself into a more comfortable seat across his lap. Ben welcomed you with a supportive hand molding to your lower back, and another running up your thigh. You cupped his cheek.

“Look at my man, all protective and clever at negotiations,” you teased. You leaned in to kiss the other cheek. Ben smiled reluctantly.

“Yeah, well, I think he got the idea.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed. Your lips moved over his, and you treated him with progressively dirtier kisses. When you slowly pulled away to speak, your voice was husky, laden with sensuous teasing. “Now we can go on a proper honeymoon.”

Ben chuckled against your lips. “Already want to spend my money, huh?”

“It’s our money now,” you playfully retorted. (But you were serious.)

He scoffed, though he thumbed at the shining ring on your finger. You two got married the very night you set foot in Colombia.

“Besides, if you can’t spoil your pregnant wife, who can you spoil?” you said, with a sly smile.

Ben eyed you wryly. “So that’s why you said yes.”

You framed his face in your hands. Now you were serious.

“I would’ve married you even if you never had another dime to your name,” you said. “Even if we had to spend the rest of our lives in hiding.”

When he searched your eyes, he eventually found whatever he was looking for. He guided you down for a real kiss, hungry and claiming. His hands began to move down your body with purpose.

A whoosh of air preceded a pair of smallish feet landing in front of the couch. You and Ben parted, seeing John standing there all wet from the pool.

“Why’re there so many brown people here?” he asked. “I can see them in the town down there.”

You and Ben shared a perturbed look. You were the first to recover, turning to John.

“Well, we’re in South America. You’re going to see people of all shades and skin tones, and different races too.”

John seemed to process that information for a few seconds. Then he shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “Hey, can we have hot dogs for dinner?”

“It might be hard to get that here, but uh, I’ll have someone look into it,” Ben said. “Hey, grab a towel before you get the rug all wet.”

The man was getting impatient at being interrupted, you sensed. You soothed a hand over his chest.

John zipped out in flight, and came back with a fuzzy towel to wrap himself in.

“This place is so big!” he said, bouncing on his feet. His excited smile was endearing. “And all the rooms are big. And all of them have a TV. Can we watch another movie tonight?”

You smiled indulgently. “Sure. Which one do you want to watch next?”

“Jurassic Park! The dinosaurs look so real, like they’re really eating people. Ooh, no, let’s watch Scarface. The cover looked cool.”

Ben was ready to agree to Scarface, but you vetoed.

“Uh, no, we’re not doing Scarface just yet. Jurassic Park is okay,” you said. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll have lunch.”

John nodded. He half ran, half flew up the stairs to his room. You shook your head with a sigh.

“That kid’s going to need all kinds of therapy,” you said.

Ben shot you a stern look. “My son doesn’t need a fucking shrink. He’s not crazy.”

“Well, he’s not normal either,” you argued. “Who knows how else they brainwashed him. For his whole life, ten years. It’s different even from what you and I went through…and I’m still not okay.”

Ben’s tight expression faded somewhat. He swept a thumb across your cheek.

“But are you happy here?” he said.

“What?” you asked. Not because you didn’t understand him, but because his question genuinely surprised you, and even more when he doubled down, staring into your eyes with a weight in his own.

“Are you?” he pressed. “Is this really what you want?”

You read the conflict in him, the flash of uncertainty behind his otherwise stoic face. It was something you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. You smiled, as tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s exactly what I want,” you said.   

 He gradually smiled back, albeit more reserved. “All right.”

“And you?” you prodded. “Are you okay with…you know, early retirement?”

Ben let out a long breath. “Look, I started with Vought in 1944. That’s 50 years since. A goddamn lifetime,” he said. “I’ve made more money than the fucking Beatles. Drugs, booze, women, fame. Everyone in the world knew my name. I had everything…and a lotta jack squat.”

He moved his hand over yours, resting on your stomach. It took him a moment, but he dropped another confession.

“Before you, I would’ve always had nothing.”

Emotion tightened in your throat. Tears slipped down your cheeks, no matter how quickly you swept them away.

“So you’re saying thank you,” you said cheekily. He smirked.

“I suppose I am,” he said, staring into your eyes. “Thank you.”

Your emotions continued to bubble over as you read the sincerity in his. You leaned in to steal a kiss, but first, you whispered near his lips.

“You stole my line.”

AN: and there we have it! Another rocky road to a happy ending. 🥹

I hope you enjoyed the 80s and 90s vibes, the canon divergences, the character development, and all the twists! I'd love to know what you think. 💚

I'm also working on another shorter Soldier Boy x POC!Reader series called Unravel Me, but I don't have a release date on that one yet. It's still in development. 😉 Until then, I hope you had fun with this series. In some ways, it was even more of a challenge than Break Me Down!

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[ptolemaeacles]

♡ being hazel callahan’s cheerleader gf hcs

pairing: hazel callahan x cheerleader!reader

synopsis: what it’s like dating hazel (post huntington fight)

notes: unofficial part two to this !! if you guys have anything to add, feel free to hop into my inbox or comment, i love interacting with you guys !!

word count: 1k

after the huntington fight, she finally took you out on a date. she completely wracked her brain for days trying to find the best place to take you.

most likely, asked josie where she would take isabel since the four of you seemed to be parallels of each other (nerdy, loser lesbian and her super hot, preppy gf)

going back to the first date though, i would imagine she took you to an arcade or maybe a diner (like josie and isabel were at). and of course she shyly asked you if that’s what you wanted.

hazel and you were sat in your english, making usual conversation since the both of you had finished your work. hazel realized it was probably a good time to ask you about that date.

“so i wanted to ask you, um, about the date. i know it’s been a few days and i’ve been planning it but what do you think about the diner? you know, after school, you can pick the day if you’d like, or if you changed your mind, we can just not go at all, it depends on you-”

“haze,” you stopped her with a soft smile and putting your hand on top of hers, “i’d love to go to a diner. that’s perfect. and tomorrow is good with me if it’s good with you!”

hazel sheepishly smiled back at you.

“yeah, it’s good with me.” she murmured.

after the third or fourth date, she wanted to pop the “will you be my girlfriend” speech badly. she wanted it to be romantic but not cheesy, heartfelt but not corny, cute but not cliche. god she was over thinking this like a motherfucker.

and to her surprise, you popped the question before her.

hazel was lounging on the loveseat in the corner of your room while you were sitting cross legged on your bed. the both of you had decided to study at your house after school. (not much studying was done so far. often getting distracted by making out with each other. so much so, the two of you had realized that nearly an hour had passed which resulted in hazel moving to the loveseat so the two of you could get some actual studying done.)

“so did you divide both sides by 6 or by 4? i don’t get that part.” hazel lifted her gaze from her notebook to you, who was already looking at her.

you decided to just blurt it out.

“haze,” she hummed in response, “do you want to be my girlfriend?”

hazel felt her mouth go dry. she really did want to be the one to ask you but it was so much hotter that you asked her.

“yeah, uh, yes, fuck, i’d love to.” she exclaimed.

now onto the actual BEING hazel’s gf (i love to over explain things, sorry)

hazel’s love language is definitely physical touch or gifting-giving. not super into pda but will put her arm around your shoulders or a hand on your lower back when you’re walking. if she’s feeling risqué, then an arm around your waist.

no matter how long you guys have been dating, she still gets nervous around you. doesn’t matter if you woke up with horrid morning breath, messy bed head, and/or a puffy face, she’d still look at you starstruck, as if you held the entire world in your palms. she’s a hopeless woman in love.

she does have a lot of money (probably one of those kids who refuses to say she’s rich, she calls herself “comfortable” …..) but she loves to make gifts for you. i can see her being into welding or wood workshop. (not sure if all schools have these types of classes, i’m american soooo)

100% makes wooden sculptures or welding a ring with the both of your initials on the inside. she made a wooden sculpture of the two of you holding hands (you nearly cried when she gave it to you)

very big music lover. listens to divorced dad rock. pearl jam, metallica, nirvana, etc. probably a minor swiftie (really obsessed with folklore and evermore but not a big fan of her other albums) definitely listens to boygenius (she listens to ‘leonard cohen’ and thinks of you). likes r&b/rap from time to time. (frank ocean, mac miller, a bit of tyler the creator.) oh and some 80s r&b like sade. her playlist is very diverse to say the least.

not really a gf headcanon but she’s definitely got some irregular allergies. strawberries, i would say. walnuts too.

PLAYS GUITAR. both acoustic and electric, she's interested in drums too and she tried learning how to play but it was too loud for her so she quit. writes songs for you but you would never get her to perform them or even show you in a million years.

LOVESSSSSS to nap and cuddle with you. a lot of the time, she invites you to her house under the guise of “studying”. you’ll be grabbing your backpack ready to pull out your english homework and she’s grabbing her blanket and asking you to just lay in her bed with her for “5 minutes”. you guys end up falling asleep (exactly like she planned) and wasted 2 hours. it was worth it.

“okay so i think we should start with our english homework because we need to brainstorm for the ess-“ you opened your bag, ready to study with your girlfriend.

“we can do that later, babe,” hazel grabbed your bag and set it on the ground, “aren’t you tired? i mean you walked all around campus, which is huge, might i add-“

“not really-“

“doesn’t matter. we should lay down and rest a bit so we can have clear minds, and we’ll be ready to study.” hazel had already kicked off her shoes and crawled into her bed, lifting her blanket and silently asking you to lay down with her.

“only a few minutes, okay, and then we have to get to work.” you breathily chuckeld, not impressed with your girlfriend’s antics.

hazel giggled and ushered you under her blanket, wrapping her arm tightly around your waist and tucking your head in the crook of her neck.

you knew what her plan was but she was too cute to say no to.

[austinsastrology8991]

> 2nd House Lord in the Houses <

2nd house is about values/Investments - its what you value, and how others see the potential growth in you. also where you stubborn/stuckup its also about your voice - (throat) or its 3rd > Idk still trynna figure that out - but just run with it on this post okay (but its probs both considering 2 houses away from 2 is 3....) I view 2nd house themes like business investments; where your the main shareholder of whatever you invested your time and energy into

2nd house lord in the 1st - you invest in yourself - you are very preoccupied by how much value that you bring to the table. your very self aware of what you are good at, and what you are not so good at. this is > 12 < houses away from the 2nd so what you invest into is something that will require much self actualisation, you will undergo a process of filtering what is and isn't of value many times over in this lifetime, because you are someone who only wants quality within yourself, and that of your surroundings. You also may have a voice that is very recognisable, and you can change the tone in your voice a lot, maybe a lil ethereal (12) but its very noticeable (1) “Hey, hey, motherfuckers!” - roman roy 2nd house lord in the 2nd - You invest in worthwhile investments - You are very conscious of how you invest your energy, and so you typically invest into high value things or what is 'worth'while, nothing grinds your gears more than wasting your time. this is > 1 < houses away from the 2nd so people can tell very quickly, your time is valuable, and you yourself are high value; your like the fortune 3 pick axe (yes I said that).... because of this they aware that they cannot waste your time, otherwise you'll just leave lol. You likely have a very sensual voice (2) which is highly noticeable (1) "two little mice fell into a bucket of cream..." type beat 2nd House lord in the 3rd - You invest into education - You believe knowledge is one of the most valuable things you can acquire, and because of this your knowledge is ever-growing, and one of your greatest assets. This is > 2 < houses away meaning you do not waste your time; 'time is money' and since you want to invest in only the most valuable sources of information, it pays off; the type to read only the most noteworthy books (catcher in the rye and the crucible; wassup), and watch the most talked about movies (wassup whiplash and nightcrawler). You value your time, and you value your education above everything else so you take it all very seriously. Your voice can be a bit more high pitched (3) but its also very sensual (2) and maybe you'll learn to value it more as you grow; 2nd house theme is about growth; 'started from the bottom now we here' 2nd house lord in the 4th - You make emotionally sound investments These natives are a natural at putting there money where their mouth is. because if they make the wrong investments it completely dishevels them emotionally. They also are growing into their comfort zones and this makes others feel very comfortable to be around them. This is > 3 < houses away meaning they are investing into education/research and because their intelligence is naturally in a state of growth, they feel very stupid if they make a bad decision, they get kinda emotional. This would also indicate they value their family a lot, and it should get better as time goes on. Their voice is likely a higher pitch (3) and a little soft (4) but its actually a great thing imo because the moon is exalted in taurus so I imagine some overlap here. "like a competent kind of clever filing cabinet that everyone seems content to have around." 2nd house lord in the 5th - you invest into your kingdom You value yourself a lot; you want to shine in how valuable you are and if you fail to do so you can get a bit of an ego tantrum. This is > 4 < houses away so you can get emotional about not living up to the value that your ego has set for yourself. Because of how much you put value into your >ego</emotions you are highly recognizable as someone who is constantly evolving and striving for better outcomes for yourself (5) and your a natural at this by now (4) Your also the type to only invest in the same thing over n over because you find comfort in it, and it feeds your ego > its like getting special discounts from your favourite store makes you feel a lil more special (me too fam i getchu) Your voice is loud (5) but also soft and comforting (4). "young moneay"

2nd house lord in the 6th - you invest in yo daily life for the best outcomes You value what you do a lot. you don't like to waste your time so you always spend it efficiently. This is > 5 < houses away so everyone recognises you as someone who don't fuck around with what you do with your life. You pride yourself on your achievements and this attitude is so healthy > many people admire your hard work, (6) and your dominant attitude (5) to get shit dun; people readily respect it. This is one of the better placements considering its trikona or whatever the fuck its called; but everyone respects a hard worker and we appreciate the effort <3 Your voice can be a bit raspy, you may not like to speak up (6) but others love it/ and its bald(5) He's offered seven million dollars for your life. Seven million dollars is a lot of money, Mr. Wick.

2nd house lord in the 7th - you invest in sum people (choosy) You value your close partners/bestfriends and because of how much you appreciate them, you are very decisive on who you let in; in your life. It is > 6 < houses away so you may view everyone as a bit of a work in progress, but some people you consider are worth the effort. so you don't mind pulling out yo credit card and tappin for the bill on the people who are your favourites. You also value hard work a lot, and you may look for 'high value' people who are worth dealing with. Your voice is likely very balanced/stable (wtf does that mean fuck me idk but libra shit okay) (7) and a bit raspy but people like it (6). "I call you gata, 'cause you's a wild cat" 2nd house lord in the 8th - you invest like a gambler You value what you get from something.... Consider the concept of gambling; high risk; high reward and ya'll love that shit. and well consider it being > 7 < houses away there is nothing more high risk than placing value onto someone else, because people are probably the most disappointing thingz we all have to deal with. But ya'll are exceptional at power (8) and because of this power you have developed/ constantly growing, its really only useful against others (7) when it comes down to it. Your voice is likely deep (8) and well balanced and stuff (7) "So I tell him there's one of me, he makin' fun of me (ha-ha) His girl is a bum to me (grrah)" - what a fkn banger cuh but have you heard the cartman remix? its better (youtooz advert)

2nd house lord in the 9th - you invest into pyramid schemes You invest wisely / extremely strategically with lots of well renowned philosophies to back you up; makes it easier to feel better about spending yo money, when it is likely gonna pay off.. this is > 8 < houses away so you have been developing your power/allure and its paying off in your mindset/ belief in yoself and I mean you too like a bit of gamblin in life; it pays well don't it? Business savy and everyone knows the real money is always hiding (8) and you are well aware of this fact (9). Your voice is likely naturally loud (9) and seductive/deep (8) "you take the blue pill.... but if you take the red pill tho...." 2nd house lord in the 10th - you invest in business and business is business and business is good You are a manifestor investor... wait thats not a word... did ya'll know thats not a word? anyway; your well known to place your money into the enrichment of your ultimate destiny, and well it likely has or will pay off for you, because no one stfu about how you spend your time/energy/money. this is > 9 < houses away, so you have a carefully constructed philosophy on how you are going to thrive in the business landscape. Your reputation should grow much and well, but in terms of what you place your value in; it would have taken much effort to finally grasp what really is worthy of your time (10 about mastery) but since 9 blessin yo ass you should be fine. This is probably one of the best ones to have in terms of growth - but I didn't say that. Your voice is likely deep/authoritative (10) and louddd (9) "Everyday I'm hustlin' hustlin' Hustle, hustlin' hustlin'" 2nd house lord in the 11th - you invest in yo people fo da people You are kinda a genius at investments because you've spread out your investments in many different avenues/affiliates/communites and well one has to fkn pay off at this point (and it likely will pay it big for you, because 11 is massive gains). This is > 10 < houses away so your like known for ur investments and well maybe you gettin a lot of eyes on you as people are wondering if they can invest in you, or if you'd invest into them... your voice is likely something of a wat da fuck; (11) and authoritative (10) "you can pay me and I'll play a song or dance for you; what would you like?" - every other quote is real i made this up because i have a scene from Futurama in my head but i cbf finding it > respect the honesty okay 2nd house lord in 12th - you invest in strange things and most of them are your stupid friends you don't have the soundest judgement for business, but you know what it somehow does pay off, because the 12th house is confusing af, and people are confused at how tf you made a profit outta that investment you made. But It is > 11 < houses away and well you do love to invest in your mates, and it actually could grow into lots of fortune (11th house is massive gains) however it is primarly 12th house energy and your investments are mostly surrounded by cloudy judgement that can and should pay off later and massively (11). Your voice is ethereal and hard to pin point because of its changeable nature (12) and also a bit wat da fuq (11) "I was born rich life ain't fair"

Sidenote - when I speak about the tone in your voice please check the planets in the 2nd. but also the degrees of the cusp, and the house lord planet/degrees. > I don't wanna hear a bunch of squeakers tellin me they don't sound like that CHECK YO WHOLE CHART <

before anyone asks about the gifs - itz call of duty zombiez > my childhood ;p > goood timez < 1st gif is called 'random weapon' or 'mystery box'; it is easily the most worthy investment to make in the game (950 points), and you never know how profitable it is hence the name 2nd gif is called 'pack a punch' and to go the furthest in the game it is necessary to invest 5000 points into your weapon to make it the most powerful it can be if anyone played - my highest round is like 80 or someshit and that was on Revalations. and on Mob of the Dead I got 70 i'm pretty sure but idr its been so long..... basically all you need to know I was a god at that game... and Ik most of ya'll don't care/play but dont make fun of my gifs or imma eat your face off like a zombie

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Super fucking late. I know I said that this was gonna be just them drinking and screwing but it descended into some super emotionally intense shit so please don't read if you're a minor or if you hate that shit

Warning: 18+ This is dark. Some EXTREMELY heavy description of physical abuse towards women, extremely unhealthy reaction of OC in regards to this abuse, Smut, drinking, smoking, swearing

No-one rides a motorbike who doesn't slightly want to die. It's not just the past few years of dealing with the scum scraped fresh off of Cell Block 1's floor that has led Rust to believe that. He doesn't need to see the Iron Crusaders' (and his own) track marks to know that every fucker here has a death wish; it's that low, churning engine rumble that tells him. Excitement often boils down to terror and you can't not care when your Harley's doing 100 down along the coast; a hurricane cooking up in the grey-blue of the Gulf. You'll die just swerving slightly. It's exciting. Rust sees that same excitement, the one of licking syrup off of the jagged edge, in Cassandra's eyes. Hell, it's why she fucks with him, both figuratively and literally. As she taps her fingernails on the sticky bar top, Rust can see that restlessness froth up, in her eyes; the way that they glaze over while she studies him. Cassandra's gonna make him fucking pay for it.

'You owe me, at least, a double,' she says, resting her forearms on the bar as she makes a show of arching her back and rolling the cracks out of her shoulder. Rust looks at her, unimpressed by her languid stretching,

'Those shorts show enough, as it is. Ain't no reason to be doing all that shit.'

'Jealous?'

Rust reaches for the Camels in the inside pocket of his leather jacket,

'Of these motherfuckers? Ain't no-one here that could handle that goddamn attitude. And for the smell outside, ain't no-one here handlin' their liquor, either.'

That earns a huff of a laugh for Cassandra,

'Let the poor bastards have some fun. Most of 'em are probably just trying to take a load off and relax.'

Rust sighs out a flood of grey and eyes her from the side; a cool, appraising look which Cassandra doesn't miss.

'What?' she asks, her head jutting forward slightly and eyes already narrowed, as if already anticipating the bite of his words.

'These are the same men that fuckin' feel you up, back at the club. These beers and shit is just what loosens 'em up.'

'That's just all men,' Cassandra says dryly, not even attempting to muster any indignation at the fact. A girl already resigned to nicotine stained callouses palming her tits and ass. How much do you value your body over rent? Where do you draw the line between the meat that courses with capillaries and nerves and life, and the meat that jiggles when a biker spanks it? Is it worth defining it? Rust knows that, for Cassandra, it sure as hell isn't. Shit, it isn't for either of them, or anyone at that. Sentient meat with electrical impulses tricking us into thinking that it actually matters if we put a gun in our mouth or not, next Tuesday. Rust gives another grainy, derisive scoff,

'Fair enough.'

'Plus, they pay rent. As long as they have the money, they can do whatever they want,' Cassandra shrugs while scraping at some gunk, on the bar, with her thumbnail. Neither of them look at each other.

'I thought we agreed that you weren't gonna bullshit me anymore, Cass.'

'I ain't bullshitting you.'

Rust's gaze moves from the beer taps to an ashtray,

'You goddamn hate it, Cass. I hate it for you.'

'I never said I didn't. But I ain't about to turn down a lap dance cause I've got morals. Shit, Crash, you think I'm that much of a kid?'

Rust can see the way she finishes with a smile and licks the inside of his cheek to prevent his own faint smirk; as if it's some depressingly fucked up inside joke that the two share.

'I am pretty good at pretending that it turns me on, though. Ain't I?' Cassandra says, leaning her side against the bar top with glint in her eye that Rust thinks looks far too much like baiting.

'Keep talkin' like that and you're only gettin' a single.'

'Yeah, that sounds like a fucking admission to me.'

Rust knows why she does this shit; he's seen it enough in the smoky, post-sex haze of their trailer-floor bedroom. Their bodies sticky to the touch, Rust festering in a pit of self-loathing, that he now doesn't even attempt to claw out of, and Cassandra, toeing the line between humour and cruelty, in a desperate attempt to cover up how fucking exposed she is to him. It acts as a way to convince herself that she wouldn't let him hurt her. They both know she's lying. Beneath a nicotine-yellow ceiling and the monotony of the squeaking fan, it's easy to pretend that they are what they present to each other; neither one of them has it in themselves to strip the other bare.

Cassandra is silent for a moment, too long a moment, so Rust bites,

'What?'

'So, I can't call you Ru-'

'No.'

'Not even when we're fucking?'

'Especially not when we're fucking.'

'It ain't like I'm gonna slip up.'

Rust nods to the bartender, uneasy with the raw territory that the conversation is quickly accelerating towards,

'Two fingers of Jameson,' he says, before turning expectantly towards Cassandra.

'A Budweiser and a double of tequila; lime and all that shit.'

The bartender gives Cassandra a slight arch of his brow, clearly unimpressed in having to get out the shot glasses in a place where the liquor bottle usually just stays on the bar top; anyone its owner until they pass out or their wallet runs dry. He acquiesces, though, satiated by having a girl like Cassandra in his bar. Cassandra sees it in his eyes, too: the moment where aggravation turns to lust. She's seen it often, as well as its inversion. The two things men know best, she'd told Rust once, after some fucker bit her shoulder during a lap dance, unable to stop jutting his hard-on into her as he'd called her a 'fucking teasing little bitch', Sex and Rage. So well, they often mix 'em up. Cassandra knows better than anyone else how to tree that line; girls in her line of work usually do. Turn that anger into libido by grinding on them well enough, or try to get hit in a place where you can't see the bruise too much. Don't want the customers to acknowledge that their domination of this body is as fucking pathetic as the last guy who payed to fuck her up. Bruises that belong to different men just don't carry the same degradation. You're a fucking punchbag, nothing worth actually beating into submission. Rust knows that's part of the reason that Cassandra has never bothered to cover up the one's he'd leave after they fucked: someone had finally deemed her worthy to stick around after the time ran up to teach her a lesson.

Rust turns to the bartender, deciding whether, with the coke that he took before chasing after Cassandra still pulsating through his capillaries, he should ignore the slobbering slack-jaw looks he was giving her. He's so goddamn exhausted, after all. Hell, he's already violated more CID regulations than he can count by even starting this shit with her but, then again, he's been in this fucking purgatory of bikers, meth and lukewarm liquor for 3 more years than he should so who's doing semantics?

'That Motel 6 across the lot still runnin',?

The bartender nods,

'As long as there're hookers and junkies on God's green earth.'

Rust lights another cigarette before saying,

'Finish your beer, baby. Then we head.'

The bartender miscalculates, misinterpreting Rust's biker leather as some sort of male cammeradery, and juts forward to ask,

'Hey man, after you're done, you mind tellin' me which room you leave her in?' his hunger glazing his eyes like it would an animal's.

Rust doesn't even have time to break his nose before Cassandra semi-lunges herself across the bar, only restrained by Rust's forearm as he tells her,

'Easy. Easy.'

Time and breath wasted, though, with the way Cassandra writhes against his grip, arm pointing into the bartender's face as she sneers,

'I'd give you two seconds, motherfucker, before your dick gets soft and you start crying to your momma cause it won't go up again, you dumb fucking piece of shit. Ain't even fucking man enough to spot an actual hooker.'

The bartender's face twists, as the insults spew out, and his own vitriol starts to froth up,

'Oh, so you ain't even smart enough to get paid for it? This son of a bitch just fucks you for free, huh? Shi-it, your daddy must've fucked you up bad.'

Rust hauls Cassandra out of the bar, as the pair of them continue to shout whiskey-spit slathered insults at each other, the violence of the curses slithering up from wherever they had hidden it with pills, liquor or sex, for the time being. The moment the bloody meat of catharsis presents itself, they turn into rabid dogs; heat, insect bites and all.

After body slamming the bar door to open it, Rust has to restrain himself from shoving Cassandra off of his chest as she unevenly places her feet on the asphalt, the heel of her cowboy boot twisting and making her stumble to her knees. Rust, still too furious with her goddamn attitude and the bartender's comments, doesn't even turn around as he strides towards the Motel 6,

'Get the fuck up and walk, Cassandra.'

Cassandra pushing herself up, the gravel still embedded in the soft flesh of her palms,

'Oh, so now you're fucking mad at me?!'

'What did I goddamn tell you?'

'To not call you Rust.'

'Shut the fuck up with that, right now.'

'Then, what?'

Rust doesn't look at her. Hell, he even quickens his stride,

'That you're gonna get yourself fuckin' killed with that goddamn mouth. You know the shit an angry man is capable of better than anyone else and you're far too fuckin' smart to be having pissin' contests with a bunch of liquored up assholes.'

It's harsh. Shit, it's a punch to the gut, Rust knows, but he's gotten to the point where he cares about Cassandra way too fucking much to let her be this goddamn stupid when he's around. She knows that, ashamed of her own naivety in thinking that she could ever protect herself from a man who wanted to hurt her. Rust glances at her,

'I get that you're angry, Cass. Don't let it make you a dumbass.'

'Anger is the only goddamn thing that has ever kept me safe. Angry women are the only people who have ever kept me safe.'

Rust clenches his jaw but knows that she's right and finds a lingering sense of relief that she didn't include him, on that list.

Even more so when she has him on his back on their motel room mattress. Rust knows it's goddamn selfish and twisted to be grateful for Cassandra's hard-earned cynicism, won from the sharp edge of male entitlement, but it keeps her fucking safe from him. Ironically, when they fuck is the only time that she doesn't look at him with a tinge of that silent, gnawing desperation. No, not with the way that she's moving on top of him, now; tits pushed up in that white lace bra, strands of hair getting stuck on the slick bottom lip of her open mouth. After Cassandra had desperately scrambled to get out from underneath him, shoving his shoulders down as she'd promised,

'Please-I'm sorry-It'll feel good. Just let me.'

An inversion for both of them, as they slowly find their rhythm; the bed's awkward creaking a deep contrast with the pure fucking heat in their held stare. Rust doesn't know what to do with his shit but lie back and try not to come just from the way she looks at him. Ever since being undercover, sex has been another convoy of power and domination; violence with just the same amount of blood and spit. Sex has never been an essentially good thing for Rust, not until he met Claire. For a couple years it was, now it's just become an amalgamation of proving how much of a sick asshole he is to the rest of the Crusaders and a reminder of the lurid hubris that led to his daughter's death. To be forced back onto this mildew infested mattress, and have a girl as beautiful as Cassandra take care of him, makes Rust want to either vomit or cry. But he lets her, he knows she needs this shit. Let her feel in control for 5 goddamn minutes of her life, Rust thinks, as Cassandra deeply rolls her hips down as he lifts up. An in adverted moan escapes from both; skin starting to gloss over with exertion. They both attempt to inculcate some of that violence they both need so badly: Cassandra scrapes her nails down his chest and forearm, while Rust reaches that very forearm up to grab her throat, his other hand forming yet another bruise on her hip.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck,' Cassandra whimpers out, as she stares down at Rust who reaches the hand that's on her thigh to grab his Camels; desperate for a goddamn anchor. As he lights one, he holds her there by the throat. Cassandra stares down at him, her body trembling with pleasure but her gaze steady.

They don't kiss.

[joemama-2]

A SPRINKLE OF CURIOSITY

a/n: part two to “made with love”.

word count: 1859

toji x reader

tags/warning: angst, fluff

find part one here: made with love

toji wakes up with a pounding headache, like always. he really doesn’t want to get up but he knows he has to. rubbing his bleary eyes, he can faintly make out what room he is in. not his.

he can tell by the cleaner walls, the faint scent of something floral and a woman he doesn’t even remember the name of passed out to his right. from the view of her bare back on display, he can piece together that he had maybe a little too much to drink last night.

toji never stays long enough for them to wake up, so like routine, he finds his scattered pieces of clothing, putting them back on. it feels uncomfortable, dried semen making the boxers feel a little too tight. and like the stealthy man he is, he slips out the bedroom and apartment without much noise.

he doesn't even remember what city he's in, but he can only assume it's not close. having picked up a small job shiu assigned to him yesterday in the hokkaido prefecture, he hasn't been in the comfort of his own place for a couple days now.

he slowly walked to the nearest ATM, pulling out his card to check his balance. and would you look at that? still 0. now he’s pissed. he’s stranded in some city he doesn’t know with no money to get back and the job he was there for in the first place didn’t even pay him. those motherfuckers.

he huffs and pulls out his phone, calling his handler's number. without even waiting, as soon as he picks up, toji is quick to express his annoyance. "where's my damn deposit?"

shiu's tired chuckle sounds through the receiver. "relax, it's a weekend. won't come in until tomorrow."

of course. "then how the hell am i supposed to get back?"

"like you have a home?"

toji's eye twitches, grip tightening around the small cellular device. "keep talking, i'll rip that tongue out your mouth."

with a sigh, the other man responds. "jesus christ, you can't go one day without bitching. i left some cash in your pocket."

"how much?" toji's hand feels for the money, reaching in to grab it out and count it, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. "is this enough for a train ticket?"

"if you didn't use it already, then yeah."

and another huff before toji closes the screen of his phone, effectively ending the call.

so this was basically the lead up to where toji currently finds himself. after hours of a stiff chair that hurt his ass, stiff air, and the smell of elderly all around him, he practically throws himself into his small, run-down apartment and onto the mattress. there's no bed frame, hell there's barely anything inside, but it's enough for him. the tiny sheet crumples underneath his large form as he gets comfy, a small sigh escaping him.

everything is just as he left it, dishes in the sink, an old takeout box and the counter and the TV playing some who knows what show. damn it, was that on the whole time he was gone? now his bill will be even higher. there's never a moment of peace with toji, even after days and days of where he honestly deserves it.

his eye peak open, hand reaching for the remote to shut the TV off. just as the screen blanks, something instantly catches his attention. one that makes him sit up, despite his fatigue. it looks so out of place, like it doesn't belong. and quite frankly, it doesn't.

the pink box is vibrant against the cold surface of his kitchen counter, standing out like it directly has a light shone on it. it's almost taunting him, enticing him to come closer. and toji has never been one to show a lot of self-restraint. when it comes to you though, he didn't think he could try harder.

but he finds himself standing up and walking to the box. the heart drawn on top causes an eyebrow to raise as he opens it. there's nothing inside. after having got home from the encounter with you, he was hesitant to bite into the first cookie. but he's glad that he did. they tasted better than any other sweet he had tasted. the powder littered his lips and the soft jelly exploded into his mouth like fireworks. before he knew it, all five treats were gone in the matter of minutes.

but the box is still here for some reason. why he kept it and now threw it out as soon as he finished is questionable, but toji chalks it up to being lazy. because why else would he keep it? he sighs and closes the box again.

he falls back onto the mattress, eyes glued to the ceiling that has cracks and some mold growing. he really needs to move out. that thought is quickly thrown out when something else invades his brain. you.

your voice, your face, your stupid smile, and the words you told him. "love." the oh so holy pastries were made with your love. you were obviously joking, but an idiotic part of his mind entertains the idea that you weren't.

his head shakes. what are you doing? why is he acting this way about you? he barely knows you, you just own the bakery he knows. you're nothing more than a simple person who has no business getting involved with him. no, he has no business getting involved with you.

you're too kind, too sweet for him. he can't even see himself with another woman right now, not after his wife. at least, that's what he thinks. either way, there's no way someone like you would be interested in him. you probably have a loving family, a loving boyfriend. all in all, you have something going for you. you have things to lose. he doesn't. oh and of course, the main part of it all,

you're a complete normie.

you probably don't even know about curses, let alone sorcerers. you're probably one of those people who blame it on life's obstacles, the unwarranted negativity. but maybe you're just so damn positive all the time that you do literally the opposite of attracting curses. curses are formed from negative emotions, and you don't seem like you have those. that's what he thinks.

you see, toji has a very bad habit of assuming things. he's here having this entire dilemma on the kind of person you are when he knows jack shit about you. that's wrong, he knows. but toji....toji does a lot of wrong things. a very shitty justification, but toji is a shitty person.

would you think so too?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------——

it's been about a week, give or take, since he last saw you. but no matter where he goes or who he's killing, it's like the simplest things remind him of you. this is unhealthy, honestly. growing attached way too quick and way too easily, he has a lot of things to fix up on.

pink reminds him of you. puppies remind him of you. rainbows remind him of you. sweets remind him of you. and the sun reminds him of you.

so as you can see, you're everywhere he goes. following him when he wants nothing more than to get away. you must be a witch.

he just wants to gouge his own eyes out at this point, anything will save him from the restraints of adoring someone. he likes to think he's strong. wait no, he knows he's strong. but for some reason, you make him weak. and toji hates being weak. he confronts those who try to make him seem like he's anything but the terrifying killer he is and makes them beg for mercy.

which is why, he's currently back in the god forsaken place that started it all.

and what are you doing? greeting him like he's an old friend, like you've known each other for years. it makes him sick.

"you're back." you say, almost sounding relieved. do you always greet customers like this? or is it just him? "did you like my love?"

he wishes you would just stop referring to your treats as your damn love, it makes him want to hate you even more. "yeah." is all he says, a small scowl present with his arms crossed over his chest.

"tooooold you." you chuckle.

he wants to scoff at your cockiness, at your playfulness. can you just stop being so damn cute? silence follows as he stares you down, but you don't look the slightest bit bothered by it. why aren't you? do you think you're better than him?

"i'm assuming you came back for more." he didn't, but you're already completing the same routine as last time, picking a box and filling it. "we have some new ones this week, so i'll give you some of those. unless you really liked the ones from last time, we still have the custard ones, so i can give you that to--"

"what's your name?" he cuts you off, firmly.

you momentarily still, eyes flicking back up to his over the counter, he's still looking at you. as you stand back to your full height, you're slightly confused. however, you tell him. "y/n."

he knows he's in deep shit when just your name gives him butterflies. and hearing you say it? he just wants to grab you from over the counter and kiss you until you can't even rem--

he clears his throat. god, he's too horny.

"y/n what?"

"y/n l/n."

"are you lying?"

you snort a laugh. "who lies about their name?"

you're right, who does do that? "suspicious people."

"am i suspicious?" your head tilts in an frustratingly adorable manner.

no, he thinks. you're anything but. you seem like you wear your heart on your sleeve and you just seriously might be the most genuine person he's met. but then again, he doesn't know you, so this might all be a facade. you might actually be a two-faced bitch. "a little."

you hum softly and nod. with a small look to the ceiling, in thought, you say the most ridiculous thing ever. "well, how about we change that?"

a scoff breaks through. "how?"

and he supposes this entire time, you were filling the box and closing it back with the same sticker and heart from before. "you can get to know me." scratch that, that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard you say.

"no." is his automatic response.

"why not?"

"i'm not looking for friends."

"we don't have to be friends." you say, sliding the box over to him. "but we can know each other's name at least. and since you already know mine......" you trail off as he gets the hint to what you're saying.

hesitation floods him because you really could be a spy or a fake. telling you his name could be dangerous and what if you try to report him to some authorities or something.

he's overthinking if you couldn't already tell.

but, he's getting older and probably won't have much more time left with what his occupation is. he's taken risks before, so what's one more? and again, you're right. how can he assume you're not really who you say you are if he doesn't find out himself.

so, with a deep exhale, his fingers twitching against his arm, he tells you. "toji fushiguro."

[renderthenight]

The Adventures of One Random Technician

For @keferon 's mecha au, in the form of a 2nd person view narration. Forgive me if it isn't great, it's like—11:38 p.m.? As I'm editing this. This will be available on my bsky and ao3—I just need to work out the formatting as well as receive my invitation to join. Word count: 3,315

---

You weren’t new to this job. Like, as a technician with a pay grade.

Even when you were little, your dad let you mess around with all sorts of wiring stuff in cars and shit. Then you grew up, lots of stuff happened, and you became good at what you did. Good enough to earn money.

Good enough to land a job with the government, apparently.

Which, like, ew, but you were running out of options (and food).

You’ve been working as a technician for all sorts of stuff for the government for years, now. You’ve seen all kinds of shady shit, and you’ve grown used to turning the other cheek. You had to.

You’ve figured out early on that it wasn’t your place to ask. That people would never expect more from you. So long as you keep your head down and do your job, you can always avoid the goddamned heat.

But there is something of a novelty when you get transferred to a secret facility underground where you can find the mechas of the mecha program are stationed. Something of a notion when agents and lawyers and other hardy government officials make you sign papers and papers of non-disclosure agreements and the ilk. Something like a haze settling in the front of your mind as you step foot into the military compound with the others who transferred with you and seeing all kinds of cool shit.

It’s been a couple of years since that fateful day, though. By now, the novelty—well, it’s long worn off.

You shouldn’t have expected anything more from a place that dances with death daily.

Back then, you made sure to memorize each and every available pathway and room, to get around easier. You needed to be hella fast and efficient at what you do. Which means that you’ve seen a lot of things, and you’ve met a lot of people.

Like the prototypes for the next batches of mecha. Like the young pilots fresh outta academy, looking like death came down for them all. Like the complex machinery and wiring that makes up the mechas. Like the mechanics always covered in grease and oil, with a wrench or some other thing in their hands. Like the way flesh and blood poisons the air when the pilots are dragged into the infirmary. Like the medics who look dead and cold inside, while dressed in their typical white sterile medical garb.

You see it. You get to see it all.

However, there will always be one thing that you wished you had never laid your eyes on, never put your hands on. One, giant, cursed, motherfucking ass of a metal robot that has you fearing for your fucking life every single time.

The cursed mecha, you’ve heard people call it. The bloody corpse of a robot that’s the largest of all the mechas in the program. Really old, too. You could never really miss it, even if you tried. You know that thing is one of the most efficient killing machines they’ve got, both against the aliens and against themselves (and us).

You know that that thing, deep down, was a glaring red flag of death, a cursed hex to be stuck with. Something that you could never escape.

You kept your mouth shut, though. Never argued against the decision to turn you into the chief technician responsible for that thing after the other one quit. Just let yourself go through the motions, drown everything out. Lean into the ingrained habits of just trying to get through the day.

But… you then started seeing things.

Freak accidents that have surrounded that mech more times than you can count. The number of times that it’s been blamed on a tripped wire or faulty mechanics or a failed launch. The number of times you’ve seen others like you, other humans, get crushed into pieces, splatter onto the floor and on anyone unlucky to be in blast radius.

You don’t know when it started. You weren’t here for the beginning, so you only had to take the others’ word for it.

But you’ve heard that the mecha’s been acting all crazy like that ever since its first pilot died. A bunch of crazy and terrifying stories. As if it was seeking vengeance for the first pilot’s death.

You don’t want to know more. But you also kind of want to. For survival reasons, of course.

Then…

Then, you made a sort-of-not friend.

See, everyone who wasn’t a technician or wasn’t used to being so close with Vortex all the time, looks at anyone like they’re a dead man walking whenever they even go into a twenty-meter radius with that mecha. Which also means that you get a ton of looks whenever you and your coworkers go on ahead and fix whatever the hell is wrong with that thing. This is also the reason why almost all of you started wearing masks so you wouldn’t be identified that easily (except Jerry, but he’s always hated the feeling of masks on his face). This also has the added bonus of being able to block the smell of blood from both monsters and humans.

But then, you met a little someone. Someone who stopped looking at you like you have a death wish and understood that you were just doing your goddamned best.

Felix—or First Aid, which is his nickname—is a cool kid. A little quiet, as well as a little snappy at times when in the mood, but who isn’t at this point, and in this place?

He’s good company. He cleans up Vortex’s cockpit while you go on ahead and make sure whatever the hell’s malfunctioning gets replaced or fix up a few wires that overextended and broke.

However, what bothers you is that while you don’t mind speaking with him, you are a bit concerned. It slipped your mind, the first few times you met him, but now it’s obvious that he was definitely medical.

Which, like, what the fuck? What the hell is a medic, a surgeon, at that, doing here? Cleaning out guts and blood and organs from—from a cursed mecha?

The one time you asked out of concern, however, just resulted in him grumbling quietly to himself then saying aloud that it was his—his punishment, or some shit?

… You resolved to just never bring it up again and leave it at that.

Regardless, those were some good times. You fixed up some internal shit, avoided the red flag of death, made up for the constant trauma of dealing with that damned thing by smoking, try not to think about how so many new faces were replacing your old coworkers day by day, and have some quiet time with the kid.

That was your day-to-day life. That was how you lived.

Of course, no good things last forever. You should’ve never forgotten that.

---

You find yourself ushered into the underground shelter, your feet hitting the floor in an unsteady rhythm as other people file against each other. Your heart is beating crazily fast, your hands have small tremors, and your eyes feel a little watery. You might be unstable? No—you’re definitely swaying, whether out of fear or stress.

There was a monster attack, near the base. Everyone is getting evacuated. The medics are still in the infirmary, but they’ll come out soon enough. The higher ups are killing the lights, saving the power, making sure that everyone stays as orderly as possible while you all file in.

You can hear the footsteps outside the base, the loudness of the sound even getting through here. The reverberation and the echo suggest that it’s big, and with the many differing patterns, it’s not alone.

This has only happened once in your time spent here, and back then it was only one monster. You feel too vulnerable here. You don’t have enough experience in dealing with these kinds of situations. After all, you aren’t a pilot.

Your ears are filled with cotton, muffling all the sound. You get into the shelter, and immediately find a place to sit down. You sit on the floor. That’s fine, you can just curl in on yourself, protect your vital organs, and deal with this. You can deal with this. It’s going to be fine.

You think you might be having a panic attack? But no, those are supposed to have a lot of breathing, right? Oh, you’re not breathing, shit. Oh fuck, you might be thirsty. You skipped breakfast earlier, so your stomach’s empty. Damn, you should’ve at least eaten something. You dumbass, you need to start eating more, you won’t be able to get anything done then, dammit universe why—

—Someone’s shoving a water bottle against your knees.

You look up. Your hair’s kind of obscuring the view, but you’re pretty sure that’s one of the old janitors you see responsible for cleaning up the blood that ends up on the floor near Vortex’s general area. You feel bad at the thought (no one needs to spend any more time with that thing) but you also feel like your chest is being squeezed.

Oh. It kind of is, actually?

Your back is against a wall, with your knees held to your chest (oh, so that’s why it was hard to breathe). Your head, previously on your knees, was now lifted to look at the janitor clearly. Your hands and arms are holding your legs pretty tight around you, and you can faintly feel your breathing start to slow. Thank god your eyes didn’t start crying, only a little watery.

Huh. You must’ve been out of it for a bit. That… sucks, for the lack of a better word.

The janitor (shit, what’s his name?) doesn’t say anything. He just hands you the water bottle by taking both hands gently, then sits on the floor beside you. Your hands shake for a bit, before you fully uncurl yourself and let your legs plop down on the floor.

Your hands twist the cap of the plastic bottle, and let it fall to the floor. You manage to lift it to your mouth, and then you swallow. Slowly. You may be a mess, but you don’t want to vomit your insides out.

At least the water is cool.

You finish about half the bottle before you stop and move the plastic bottle away from you. You flail around for a bit for the cap, only to see the resident friendly janitor holding it up between two fingers for you. You can’t manage a ‘thank you’—not quite, so you tilt your head and nod to him shakily before taking the cap. You divert your attention for a moment to twist the cap on and letting the water bottle rest on the floor, but after that you lay your head back against the wall and just sigh.

The janitor hums in response.

You feel a lot better now. Sure, you can still hear the alarms faintly going off, but you also can’t hear the huge ass monster footsteps, so that’s a win. You can also see other people milling about, some looking lost while others are terrified, so at least you aren’t alone.

At least you aren’t alone.

You sit there, with the janitor sitting beside you only a bit farther away, and think fuck it, I need a drink after this bull.

---

It’s been a while since he’s stepped into the hangar.

Your hands stop milling about with a rubik's cube you found, and you look up to just. Stare. At the once-medical-now-pilot kid.

You’ve heard stories, about that day. Once you head out of that shelter with the rest and everything started calming down again, rumors started swirling around after one technician found the Vortex mecha out of its place, and a huge hole in one of the walls a bit further in that could let a mecha as huge as him out.

Vortex didn’t have a replacement pilot at the time of the attack, so it sparked a lot of unsettlement and fear into every single heart in the base when they found out it was gone from its spot. Soon, people were saying that it wasn’t just cursed, it was motherfucking haunted, by all the ghosts of all the pilots it’s consumed. You don’t listen to them, much. It’s hard to avoid them though, when the ones who started spreading those rumors where your coworkers. The younger, newer ones. Not the ones who you prefer working with.

It wasn’t until a medical officer found Pharma locked in an empty patient’s room, screaming profanities at the wall towards every higher up you can ever think of, that the truth was uncovered.

That some poor soul, who was stuck cleaning in the mecha’s cockpit when the attack started, put on the helmet and started piloting the cursed mecha, and killing every single of those damned monsters attacking the base. He was lucky. Unlike his predecessors, he managed to survive fully intact, not a scratch on him, and no damage to his mental psych other than some slight shakiness and other responses akin to someone in high stress, not one losing their goddamned mind.

And the reason why Pharma was screaming, was because the guy was medical. And the rest of the higher ups decided to turn him into a freaking pilot and stick him into Vortex’s cockpit to keep on piloting the mecha.

When you heard the news, all you could do was put your head in your hands, scream internally within your mind while whispering out loud, “First Aid, what’ve you done?”

This was akin to a death sentence. You-you honestly just feel sick for the kid. Like, they’re just letting a surgeon pilot that mecha? Pilot Vortex? He may not come back alive! He’s a once in a million miracle, but it may not happen again.

They say that, if First Aid dies, then they’ll finally, finally dismantle the mecha and melt him down to put him to better use. To save both money and the sanity of everyone who’s ever worked with it, as it has become more of a liability.

You actually scream. It’s muffled against your hands, but you do scream. Loudly. When you find yourself alone.

Higher ups are now getting you to actually teach this kid the basic maintenance needed to maintain his mecha, in case he gets cut out of contact. You’ve never had to teach a pilot before, since all of them don’t come back. You don’t fight back, you don't want to, not when you’ve got something more important to do.

That something, is to make sure this kid knows everything he needs to get back alive.

So, when he looks at you, dressed in that pilot uniform fitted for him, looking like death as well as lost, you nod, and let him walk with you to the mecha.

When you both get started, with you guiding his hands while he grapples the basics, you feel the hairs of your neck stand up.

---

The kid fell asleep.

The kid. Fell asleep.

The kid fell asleep.

In the fucking mecha.

You feel like a vein is gonna pop out of your forehead soon with all the trauma and stress working with First Aid can be.

You can only stare from a safe distance, into the visor of the mecha, one that has always freaked you out since day one. Your arms were crossed and your body in a wide stance, but you still feel awkward and small and afraid.

If you focus hard enough, just squint your eyes and let yourself see, you think you can faintly make out First Aid’s body there, slumped in the pilot’s chair, dead to the world.

No—you mean—not dead, just. Sleeping. He’s sleeping, not—

You groan quietly, and ignore the feeling of being watched. The kid told you a bit, about how the mecha might not be cursed, just haunted. You raised a brow at that and reassured him that there were no such things as ‘ghosts’, but…

It’s getting a bit harder every time, whenever you approach the mecha and feel the hairs on your neck raise into goosebumps.

It’s bone-chilling, to say the least.

It sometimes feels malicious, sometimes it feels curious, and other times you can’t discern the emotion at all.

It’s frightening, but…

… But you can’t do anything about it.

Just like you can’t do anything about First Aid sleeping in a haunted mecha, or whatever’s going on with Pharma, of all people.

It’s so very frustrating.

But you’ll make do.

---

Vortex is gone.

Your hands itch with the handcuffs placed on them, in this bright room with a window to the side and a door to the right in front of you.

First Aid is gone.

You feel your brain being muddled, trying to comprehend whatever the hell happened in the hanger when you left. Trying to reconcile what they told you with what you knew.

They’re both gone.

Your eyes feel dry. You haven’t blinked in over a minute. Your throat is scratchy all of a sudden, and you wish you were curled up on the floor rather than in this state of numbness.

They told you that you were losing your job. That-that they were letting you go, after you couldn’t tell them anything they wanted.

You didn’t want to tell them anything. You saw the scientist they had outside—Shockwave has and always will be a suspicious unfeeling maniac who ignores morality in favor of results. Values logic over empathy, violations over failure. You’ve been here for long enough to know that. To have seen that.

Still, a tiny part of you is still afraid. And confused. And angered and—betrayed. They left without saying anything, left without saying goodbye.

You feel horrible, really, but you can’t give in. You can feel the way everything’s brewing underneath the surface. First Pharma, then First Aid and his wounds, and then with the cursed mecha just walking on its own without its pilot on the wheel?

There’s something fishy going on. Something the government doesn’t want anyone to know about, and you know that they know that you must know something.

And, despite it all, you find that they would never be able to make you say it. They can make you scream, to beg, to plead, but you won’t let those people find them. You won’t let them come to harm.

As you turn your gaze up and on the person who entered the room, with that singular yellow eye on you the instant he saw you, you felt something settle in your bones, making you feel alive again.

That’s right—they can make you bleed, but you’ll never let them hurt that kid. Hurt those kids, if what happened to Ambulon is true.

Maybe Ratchet had a point in throwing your lot out from the government’s side.

Maybe quitting might be the best for you, and everyone by far.

As long as they’re safe, you don’t find yourself to care.

[fdelopera]

if you are a dumb gentile (i'm especially looking at you, dumb, white American gentiles) and your first response to the I/P conflict is to harass Neil Gaiman, Taika Waititi, and other well-known Jews online

you are not in any way helping Palestinians

all you are doing is exposing yourself as a lazy, Jew-hating antisemite

you are putting Jews around the world (especially Jews in Europe and the US) in danger of white supremacist attacks

if you actually cared about the Palestinian people, you would put your money where your mouth is and donate to organizations and charities that help the Palestinian people

Anera

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Doctors Without Borders

now shut your fucking mouths, stop posting hateful antisemitic shit on social media, and go donate, you motherfuckers.

[ran-rindouhaitanis-wife916]

Hey, so I really liked your most recent post, and I was wondering if you could do a fem reader that's in the mafia x Rindo, Ran, Hanma, and Mikey and like they see her "take care" of someone who screwed her over woth money on a deal or something I hope this makes sense 😄 have a good day/night 😊

Omg yes, I love this idea a lot sorry it took me so long to get back to you anyways lets now waist any more time

—----------------------------------------------------

Female reader that's in the mafia

fandom:Tokyo revengers

Characters include: Ran, Rindo , Mikey  and Hanma

Warnings include: Swearing and mentions of death 

‐---------‐------------------------------------------------------------- Ran: When he found out you were in the Mafia and like your dad's right-hand man or women in this case, he was surprised but he got over it quickly but the first time he saw you “take care” of someone was completely different.

“Two hundred, three hundred and four hundred....MOTHERFUCKER”

You yelled as you counted the money that your usual dealer gave you, noticing that he was short a hundred thousand. 

Ran had heard your yell from outside the door while he was talking to your dad. He’ll admit he was scared only because he had NEVER in all the time of knowing you had he heard you yell like that, Ran’s train of thought was stopped when he saw you walk out of the room with a gun in your hand and a very scary glare on your face, you had walked past him and out of curiosity he followed you to see where this would go.

You both had walked outside to the guy's car where he was standing texting on his phone.

“Hey dumb Fuck!” You had yelled at the guy, and he looked up at you and immediately looked terrified, he tried to run away at first, but you had shot him in the leg, he immediately fell to the ground and screamed in pain. 

“Did you really think that you could get away with shorting me cash in there, cause you're a fuckin idiot if you did?” You said while kneeling down in front of the man on the ground.

“No, I swear I just didn't have the full amount I swear I can get it to you though please don't hurt me I'm sorry” The guy said as he trembled in fear. 

“You could have just told me and we could have worked something out but you just tried to walk out of here and not have to fully fulfill your end of the deal, you know that's not how I do business, and now how am I supposed to trust you not to pull some shit like that again you had one chance and you fucked it up sorry not sorry dude.” You said as you pointed your gun at his forehead and pulled the trigger.

“HARU CLEAN THIS UP!” You yelled at your assistant, and he was already there standing next to Ran with everything he needed 

“That was kind of hot.” Ran said as you turned around and let out a light laugh “of course you would think that's hot you fuckin werido.” you said as you gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away with him following you soon after.

—--------------------------------------------------Rindo: When Rindo found out you were in the mafia with your dad he thought you were going to betray him at some point, but you didn't, and he trusted you after a while of dating you and you trusted him but the first time, he saw you “Take care” of someone was a shock to him.

You and Rindo planned to hang out at your house that day but 20 minutes before he got to your house your dad had informed you about a guy, he had captured that hurt your little sister Yuna and wanted you to make him regret what he had done and of course you had agreed.

About 20 minutes later you were done and about to finish the guy off, but you had not heard the garage door open, so you had continued what you were doing and put the gun into the guy's mouth and pulled the trigger and killed him.

 When Rindo saw the guy’s state he was in absolute shock your dad had brought him into the garage to “show him how we handle things” he then saw you shoot and finish the guy off he wasn’t disgusted or scared it just shocked him but he should have expected this I mean you're in the mafia what else did he expect, His train of thought was interrupted by you calling his name his eyes had looked to your scared and concerned ones.

You were scared of what he would think of you now that he had seen what you were capable of, but you didn’t see fear or disgust on his face. All you saw was shock and of course that was to be expected.

“I'm sorry.” Was all you said to him and looked down to the tiled floor now that you guys had come inside. 

“For what I'm just shocked that you're capable of that but nothing like that could make me love you less I promise.” Rindo said while pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head.

“Aww Rinrin that's so sweet, here let me clean this blood off and then we can watch a movie in my room ok.”You said while walking to the kitchen sink.

“Ok” Rindo said as he let you grab his hand and drag him to your room after washing your hands and all he could do was smile because he knew now for sure that he was in love with you and he's pretty sure you feel the same way. 

—-------------------------------------------------Mikey: Like Rindo, he was shocked that you were in the mafia, but he got over it quick. All he cared about was your safety and made sure you would never leave him, but the first time he saw you “take care” of someone, he was kind of proud.

You and Mikey were cuddling in your room watching a movie when your dad had come in and asked you to help take care of a traitor that was at the house trying to get info and you had said yes but the take care part peaked Mikey's interest because why would you take care of a traitor so he asked you if he could come with you he was happy when you had said yes.

When you both had went downstairs and out the garage door Mikey's eyes immediately went wide when he noticed the bloody screaming man tied to the chair right in front of him, he had shut the door behind him and stayed where he was standing as he saw you walk off towards your dad who was holding a gun out towards you.

You had taken the gun from your dad's hand and walked up to the man in the chair, raised the gun and pulled the trigger, after that the screams had stopped, you then handed the gun back to your dad and turned back to Mikey only to see he had a small smile on his face, it honestly freaked you out a little.

 you walked up to him and asked if he was ok.

“Ya I'm just a little proud you were able to do that, all it means to me is that you can protect yourself if needed.” he said while looking at you.

“Well, ya I guess that makes sense.” you said as you had started to walk back inside with him.

“Ya, now can we go back to cuddling in your room? I'm tired.” He said while grabbing your hand and dragging you back to your room.

“Of course, when can Manjiro.” you said as you walked with him stopping to give him a light peck on the lips and continuing back to your room.

—-------------------------------------------------‐ Hanma: When he found out you were in the Mafia with your dad he was like ‘ok’ he was fine with it honestly it didn't even come as a shock to him you were confused but moved on after that and when he saw you “take care” of someone he wasn't fazed at all.

You had invited Hanma to go with you to a fancy party your dad wanted you to go to and he had nothing to do so he said yes, when you guys got there, he noticed how you had seemed to be looking for someone.

When you had found said person you told Hanma that you would be right back and left to talk to a guy at the bar, Hanma had followed you out of curiosity when you had left with the guy.

You both had went out the main room and outside to the alleyway behind the building you had suddenly pulled a gun out of the back of your waistband and shot the guy in the back of the head having him fall to the ground and bleed out Hanma’s eyes had widen for a sec but then he just blew it off and went back to where he was originally.

When you came back and acted like nothing happened, he just smiled and kissed you on the side of the head and told you he loved you.

[strawberryamanita]

At this point, if you're saying not to vote for Biden, I'm just writing you off as a Trump supporter. There's just no room left for semantics. Either you learn from 2016's shitshow of joke write-ins and overconfidence and allocate your votes accordingly, or you wear your Trumper title with pride.

You motherfuckers are equating Biden's verbal slip-ups to irredeemable crimes against the nation. Meanwhile, the Republican party is linking arms in the way they always do, but in preparation to wipe out literally every single one of us. If you're still reading this post, they're out to get you. There's no room for rewrites for the Martin Niemöller poem; nobody will be able to speak for us because we'll all be caught. These fuckers are fueled by hatred of the other. I don't completely trust that my own mom won't surrender me to the new Gestapo, at this point.

Between relative incoherence and completely articulate agendas to wipe out entire groups of people? Yeah, I don't know about you lot, but I'll learn to stomach a bit of extra senility.

I've said it in tags on reblogs, but I need to say it on an original post: we will not have the means to defend Palestine if we're all trying to save our own lives at the same time. If you care about yourself, if you care about your friends and family, if you care about anyone who wouldn't survive another term of Trump, the onus is on you to bar him from winning; this is not a means of guilting anyone, this is as close to fact as I can get in this shitbag world where reality is framed as subjective.

And unless any of you big-shit-talking riot-pushers wanna put your money where your mouth is and snipe the bitch, that means you need to vote for Biden.

Please.

[kittykatkatelol]

Valentino Always Got Bored ~ Oneshot ~ StaticMoth, ValAngel

Vox returned to his office, his mood sour - he'd just been arguing with Valentino, again, about who? Angel fucking Dust. It was all that bastard talked about anymore. Talking about work? "Angel did this", "Angel's shoot", "Angel had to wear this". Talking about lunch? "Angel made some lovely Italian food last night", "I showed Angel what true Latino food tasted like". Everything that seemed to come out of Valentino's mouth was related to Angel in some way. He'd just been down there to keep Valentino from shooting up that tacky ass hotel for the fifth time this month because of none other than motherfucking Angel Dust.

Vox had agreed to let Valentino train Angel for longer than most whores purely because Valentino had seemed so set on Angel being a good money maker - they could always get richer - Not to become second to some cum dumpster whore addict who should have stayed on the streets.

Work. Work, that'll take your mind off things. Vox thought, trying to control his temper at he opened up the hub of statistics and margins, a few cameras in the background to keep an eye on Val and Velv- ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! He was just complaining about that boney assed twink and now he's making out with him-

Just work. Just work. We can force that bastard home tonight, for now just fucking work.

Vox did work, though he spent most of his hours in his office just daydreaming about all the ways he'd hurt Angel the minute Valentino got bored. He always got bored with his whores eventually, and Vox could easily say he was more than ready for Val to become bored with Angel.

There was always the option of freeing Angel of his contract, but where's the fun in that? Keep him on contract, means Vox could do whatever he wanted the minute Val got bored. He could chain him up, chop his limbs off one by one, watch him sob as he hypnotized him into thinking of how everyone he loved would perish pathetically - the things he wished he could do.

Vox would just have to be patient. Valentino always got bored of his whores, he would never get bored of Vox. He would make sure of it. And he would make sure Angel paid for keeping his precious moth away from him for so long. He could almost taste it.

Vox smiled to himself at the thought before returning to his work.

-

[Word count: 414]

[A/N: I HAVENT WRITTEN IN SO LONG BUT I HOPE THIS IS GOOD PLZ LET ME KNOW IF I NEED TO PUT A TW OR CW ON IT]

[yearningandpatheticaboutit]

SPEAK FOR YOURSELF

CHAPTER 16: WOOYOUNG

wc: 5242

warnings: mention of death, violence, drugs etc, SMUT

prev chapter

***

san

i remembered that wooyoung was afraid. he was scared of what would happen if miss A ever found out he shot mingi and deliberately antagonized a hotshot black dragon. looking back, i thought the black dragons would be anatagonized anyway because we caused shit in their side of town to get yunho back, it shouldnt be this big of a deal.

so why are so many bad things happening?

i didnt go to school today. i emailed all my teachers a forged sick note, claiming i couldnt leave the house because i went to the doctor and got diagnosed with sinisitic dizzy spells. most of my teachers are really helpful and good people, so they sent me the work they did for the day so i wouldnt miss out.

being a 'delight to have in class' aka a quiet smart kid who wasnt a pain in the ass had its perks sometimes. regardless, i used my morning to get all my money ready, of which i had just over enough to go to miss A to get her off my back.

when i get there, the place is crawling with old gangsters. miss A is screaming at people and when she sees me she's shocked, as if surprised i actually had guts to show my face. shes propped behind a round steel table in her garage, leaning back in her chair and the room goes silent as her eyes are on me.

"look who it is," she says to me, dipping her cigarette in her ashtray. "Lucky, you better have good news for me."

i bow to her and put the potato sack of money on the table. unfortunately i didnt have anything really fancy like a briefcase. im a fucking gangster on a budget.

she glares at me. "potatoes? is this some kind of joke?"

three guys restrain me out of nowhere, holding a knife under my throat. my breath gets stuck in my throat and i only manage to force out one thing. "m-money."

she doesnt tell them to let me go, which pisses me off. what the hell did i do to make her this mad? she lifts the opening of the sack and only when she sees the cash does she wave the gangsters to get off of me.

they drop me so hard i fall with my butt on the floor and i make no real move to get up in case they jump me again. instead i get to kneeling. "miss A, that's the money from all the dealings."

"i can see that. oh wow, you actually decided to be useful," miss A says, getting up and coming up to me. she puts her hand down on my hair and gently scratches it like you would a dog and i struggle to not show any fear. "if only wooyoung could be like you."

her words make me sweat. "where is wooyoung, miss A?"

i swear, if she laid a hand on him. i dont know what i would do, but no one here, including me, would be left alive.

her eyes darken. "i was actually hoping you would tell me, Lucky. your brother has become a magician. a cold case."

she doesnt know? did wooyoung actually skip town?

"i told him to bring me the hand of who killed my boys or else i would have his. he hasnt been back in days."

fuck. this is bad. im actually starting to get dizzy.

someone rolls into the garage, and my face drops in horror at the man and his disfigured, burnt face. hes in a wheelchair, an armbrace and has a bandage wrapped over everything but his mouth and eyes.

"you and your buddy got changbin and a lot of good boys killed. look what they did to seonghwa." miss A says.

that's fucking seonghwa? he looks fucked. hes never recovering. he wouldve been better off dead. now he really looks like something out of a horror movie, a real, terrifying disfigured butcher.

"that hongjong motherfucker," miss A laughs but there's nothing joyful in it. "he came into MY warehouse, burnt MY cargo, killed MY men. and all because he was looking for you two."

im struggling to breathe. i dont show it but im silently breaking down. i cant take my eyes off seonghwa. thats it? thats my future? i might as well kill myself. seonghwa killed yunho, he was one of the topdogs in the gang. im fucking nothing. if thats what that hongjoong guy could do to him then its over for me.

"he said that?" is all i can get out. miss A lifts my chin and forces me to look at her.

"you're not a boy anymore, Lucky. you'll always be a baby in my eyes, but its time for you to get serious, dont you think?" she tells me. "wooyoung is gone. so someone has to fix this. you know the rules, you make a mess, and you clean it up."

"miss A-" i start stammering. i feel like im going to cry. "we didnt do anything. we never even met that hongjoong guy. wooyoung shot mingi because he tried to kill him. it was in self defence."

"did i ask for an account of what happened?" miss A's voice drips with sarcasm. "i dont care who did what. but my boys paid the price. i wont let an attack on my turf go unpunished. you find wooyoung and you two will go and kill that fucker or i'll have you swimming in a fishtank with the rest of yunho. am i clear?"

fuck no. fuck my life is over. i just started having sex and now i have to die. this is a fucking nightmare.

"yes, ma'am," i nod my head. "when do you want this done?"

"before my boys suffer another attack. he wants you, so let him come."

"you won't find him," seonghwa says and he sounds like a lays packet trying to talk. his voice is raspy and sounds terrible. "he only shows when he wants to be found. and he wanted to be found that day. so make him come to you."

i dont want him anywhere near me! i want to scream. look at what the fuck he did to you.

i have to run away. i have to do it tonight. i have to take everything. i cant think clearly, my brain is beating so hard i can feel it in my ears.

i nod and get up and miss A distractedly starts counting the money. "so you got the money fast. i always knew you could do it, you were just lazy before, yeah?"

i had help, i want to say. yaera's stealing, her savings, wooyoung stealing all mingi's gambling winnings, fucking jongho. i couldnt have done this on my own. i would have been dead by the end of this month.

i did all that, just to stay alive. only to have another target on my head. this...it never fucking ends. its only going to get worse. i cant win. this game, its unbeatable.

i almost want to laugh out of pure irony. and yaera wanted me to ask miss A for a fixed amount. she wanted to help me pay off my dads bullshit debt. im never going to be free.

my hopes and dreams are gone.

"you still have your dad's gun right?" miss A asks me. i say yes in the smallest voice.

she smiles. "you better get to using it then, Lucky."

i leave miss A's garage with nothing left in the tank. nothing but another assignment. an assignment that will kill me.

im the sacrificial fucking lamb. why is she doing this to me? because she thinks i can do it? because she wants to get rid of me? i did what she asked of me. i got her yunho. i got her the drug money. now she wants me to kill an assassin? an assassin that already has a bodycount of seven?

and hes brutal. four of those were other gangsters, luckily none of those were ours at the time, but he guts every one of his enemies. he was connected to a murder of a prostitute. and cut out the stomachs and sliced off the hands of two guys who apparently looked at his sister.

what the FUCK am i getting into.

i get home and i dont know what to do. everything comes crashing down on me. i throw my fist into the picture frames on the wall, sending glass bursting everywhere. i look at the picture of my parents, feeling nothing but burning hatred. i hate them both. i hate my mother for leaving me behind in this shit life and i fucking hate that bullshit excuse of a sperm donor for killing me.

he killed me. he signed my death sentence.

i start tearing everything apart. im ripping my apartment to shreds because nothing matters. this is all useless, nothing, i wouldnt fucking miss this place. i have nothing but awful memories here. but my anger doesnt last. it comes crashing down so fast that im left to collapse next to my bed and i cant stop myself from crying.

its over for me. everything is.

i had nothing to begin with. nothing except...

without even thinking, my bleeding hand reaches for my phone on my desk and calls her. she picks up on the first ring.

"san?" her voice is comforting and i dont know why. i dont fucking know this girl. she doesnt know me. but shes all i have. and i dont even reall have her. "are you okay? you never call me."

i cant even speak, im heaving into the microphone and sniffling uncontrollably.

"san?" she sounds more concerned. oh shes concerned for me. thats nice. i'll remember how nice it feels when i die.

"c-can you come over, please?"

i dont even recognize my voice. its cracking and its like the pained whimper of an animal. she puts off the phone and i wrap myself around my bedsheets, curling into a pathetic ball.

shes here within 15 minutes. i dont know how she got here so fast. she was supposed to be at school. it was still one period before lunch. she must have been skipping. i wish i skipped more class now that i know im not going to live very long. studying all that shit was pointless. i should have been living like her. like i dont have a care in the world. but i cant. and i never could.

she walks into my apartment with her eyes wide, dropping her blazer off her shoulders and onto my dirty floor. "what the hell happened? are you okay?" she runs and puts herself infront of me.

"did someone break in?" she holds my wet face. i never stopped crying. not once. she looks horrified seeing me this way. i cant imagine how bad i must look. "oh my god."

she hugs me. she hugs me and i grip her so tightly till i feel my lungs tighten. the tears are pouring harder now. im staining her white blouse.

"im going to die," i choke out. "they're going to kill me."

"what?" she gasps. "who?"

i try to speak but i dont stop crying. this is fucking awful. she shushes me and lets me continue, rubbing my hair in the softest way that makes me hope i wont die, just so that i'd experience it more than once.

"im here, dont worry."

of course you are. you're always here. always invading my apartment. always working on my nerves. always in my head since i fucking met you. i wish i didnt take that for granted for as long as i did. if i knew this was all i'd have left.

i dont know what possesses me. i pull away from her, my hands drift up to the buttons of her blouse. im careful so she knows i wont hurt her the way he did. she watches my bleeding knuckles, looking at me with tender eyes. she doesnt stop me. i flick open the first button as she stands above me.

"can i?" i choke out. "this is all i have."

she starts removing her own buttons. "you dont even have to ask," she tells me.

she trusts me so much. if this is all i have left then i dont want to destroy it.

she drops her blouse, revealing her bronze, skin bare skin and black bra. the sun in my blinds isnt doing her justice. i reach behind her and unclip her bra and her boobs spill out right in my face. her skin is warm. shes so warm. she lifts my ugly brown hoodie off my body, trailing her hand down my stomach.

her touch feels like satin. i dont deserve it. she doesnt deserve this.

"i-i dont want to use you as a coping mechanism," i tell her but im talking to a wall. i dont want to but i am. im going to die and all i want to do is fuck her one last time. there isnt enough time in the world.

she kisses me sorely, with way too much emotion for what we really are. two broken, fragile people. we have no business with each other, but she kisses me like i mean something.

"for you, san, i'd let you use me however you want," she whispers against my lips. "as long as its you."

i feel my heart pain. i want to cry again but my dick is hard and i can only focus on two things at once. so i deal with my boner first.

i slide down her thin, pink underwear from under her skirt and it drops to her ankles. she steps out of it and pulls my sweatpants out from under me, immediately sliding herself onto my dick.

she moans softly into my ear and it feels like heaven. shes like heaven wrapped in one complicated woman. she could destroy me. she could ask to end me and i would let her.

i'd rather it be you than anyone else.

i grip her softly and my hands are stinging but i dont care. i feel weak. but somehow with her here, it doesnt hurt as much. shes riding me slowly, its crazy how without any foreplay shes already drenched down there. i guess she does like me a little.

she peppers kisses all over my neck as i hold her up, losing my mind as she slowly sinks and rises onto me. i never fucking liked our stupid school uniform but seeing it on her like this, with her on me, just makes me lose my mind. jongho doesnt fucking know what he missed out on.

"you know i care about you right?" she whispers into my ear. "its about more than just the money. you know that right?"

my lips her are on her chest and i kiss her there slowly. "i know," i mutter. actually i didnt know that. i dont know what the fuck she sees in a dickhead like me.

"good," she says, then pushes me down to my back. she adjusts herself to straddle me properly but i cant watch her struggle to please me. i get back up and flip her under me, pushing her back down gently when she tries to protest.

"but-"

"i want you to feel the way you make me feel," i say. and i never thought i'd ever utter words like that. fuck, no wonder everyone thought i was gay.

i drag my lips down her perfect, sculpted torso and plant them onto her shivering, wet hole. she whimpers weakly as i stick my tongue inside, slowly impaling her with it. i dont care that im taking my time honestly. im going to die, so i might as well make this as long as it can.

i drink up her bitter juices, lapping my tongue across her slit. the moans she lets out are otherworldly, definetely worthy of a noise complaint. i dont mind it. i feel useful for once in my life. i slowly inch a finger into her warm hole, sucking on her pleasure button while im at it. i'd call it her clit, but thats too rough for me.

"san please," she begs. "i want you so bad, just fuck me already."

i stop at her request, getting up and over her. i line myself at her entrance, pushing in slowly. she throws her arms around my neck and the eye contact we have as i just lay there inside her is enough to make me drop it all. i'd drop it all and leave with her, wherever she wanted to go.

her hole feels like home. my dick fits perfectly inside her. its warm and hugs me and i cant get enough of it. i push in and out slowly, taking in her eyes. they havent left mine. her lips are parted in bliss, and i decide to kiss them. she moans into my mouth, and it feels like a fucking spell being casted on me. i accelerate the pace, and the lewd sounds of her squelching and our breaths syncing up are all that can be heard.

it turns around so fast. im fucking into her at a pace thats desperate. like if i fuck her any slower, its going to get taken away from me. everything will. her legs are wrapped around my waist and she clenches on me, as if she doesnt want me to ever leave. i dig my fingers into her skin, holding onto dear life as i feel myself getting closer.

"wait," she breathes. "i wanna do it standing up."

i pause mid stroke. "how?"

"against the wall. lift me."

i go along with it. we get up and she lays with her back against the wall, lifting her leg so i can put it in. i pick her up and she slides onto me perfectly, and this new angle makes my brain go foggy. its so much deeper and tighter, i can feel her soak onto me.

i start ramming into her against the wall and her hair is hanging down her face, making her look like a sexier version of the grudge. she looks utterly lost in it all, and its so enjoyable to watch. i feel like im doing something right seeing her looked so absolutely fucked out.

my legs grow weaker as i hit her walls, feeling myself getting closer to the edge. shes demanding, with her legs wrapped around me she wont stop till ive been emptied.

"you're so fucking perfect," she whisper-whines, and its enough for me to blow. i completely blow inside her and she creams on me at the same time, our juices mixed together like some fucked up smoothie.

i drop her and she doesnt remove her arms from my neck. instead she pulls my body towards her, till we're chest to chest, completely naked amd kisses me harder than she ever has before.

this isnt even because we're fucking. she just wants to do it. and honestly, i needed it so badly.

when she pulls away im left yearning for more. it makes me sick. "thank you," i tell her. "i needed this."

"i know," she says softly. "tell me everything."

***

after i tell yaera everything, we're sitting on the bed beside each other, a painful, weighing silence between us.

"what are you going to do?" she asks, sounding hopeless.

"i have to kill the guy. or miss A's going to kill me."

"the police?" she says but knows immediately it wont work.

"i'd die before miss A sees trial," i laugh emptily. "and i'd go to jail for sure. she has enough on me to make sure i'm wanted."

she's frowning. she's realizing money cant buy my freedom. or my life.

"after you kill that gangster...nothing will be the same," she says. "you'd have blood on your own hands."

i shrug and stare out of my window. "it ends here, yaera. for both of us."

she stands up abruptly and looks like she wants to break into sobs. "no you can't disappear after this. i still need you."

i smile weakly. hearing that makes me feel better. someone will miss me.

"when i'm gone, you can have my apartment. i have some money left over here, maybe you'll be able to get away for good. you'll never deal with that freak again."

she's not happy with my answer. "no, san. i dont want you to go. i dont want you to disappear. cant we catch a one way flight? can't we run? i'll run with you. i promise."

she actually wants to stay with me. when i dont answer yaera bends down infront of me, holding my hands. i cant believe how quickly things turned around. i have so much to lose.

"when you finish your business, we're getting the fuck out of here, okay? promise me. i'll get the tickets, i'll get everything ready. but promise me you'll come back to me."

i cant promise that i'll be alive. i want to, but i dont want to lie to her.

"i cant promise i'll make it back, yaera," i mutter. a tear rolls down her face. "and even if we run away, is this really sustaintable?"

"is what?"

"us?"

she scoffs. "i dont think now is the time to think of what we are. i dont care about defining this relationship, thats not important. all i know is, you're all i have."

"you're all i have too." i whisper.

"thats enough for me. so promise?"

"okay, i promise."

"good, now lets clean up here and pick a place on the map."

yaera and i spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning up my shattered apartment. i take my parents pictures and throw it in the spare room where i dont have to see it. when we're done, yaera makes herself at home and lays down in my bed watching youtube. i get dressed and she switches off her phone when she notices.

"where are you going?"

"remember those gangsters you met the night you followed me? im paying them a visit." i tell her.

"your dad's old gang...are you going to ask them to help you?"

"yeah. i wanna see if they've heard from wooyoung. get help where i can."

"okay. is it cool if i stay over?" she asks. "i dont feel like going home."

she doesnt even have to ask anymore. i say my goodbyes and make my way downtown.

getting into mao's place has always been shady, im surprised there are guys outside the door. they see me and are shocked to see me, letting me in and muttering shit in cantonese under their breaths.

i find mao sitting around a table and gambling and by god, i find wooyoung too.

he freezes when i see him and i have half the mind to beat the shit out of him. this is where hes been the whole fucking time?!

"sannie!" mao yelps with his cigarette dangling off his lips. "look we're finally good enough for him again! i heard you've been visiting everyone BUT me!"

i run across the room and catch wooyoung before he can run. then i pick him up and toss him into the closest wall. "you DICKHEAD!" i scream.

mao's men jump up from their seats and get between us. "woah woah woah!" mao shouts. "no fucking fighting under my roof! take that shit to the alley!"

"what the fuck man?!" wooyoung huffs. "arent you glad im alive?"

"you couldnt pick up a phone? you couldnt call me to let me know?" i snap. "i thought you fucking skipped town!"

"i had to toss my phone!" wooyoung stresses. "miss A is looking for me."

"i KNOW! I KNOW SHES LOOKING FOR YOU BECAUSE ITS BECOME MY PROBLEM, WOO!"

i start laughing hysterically. "we're fucked. we're both fucked because of you and i hope you know that."

wooyoung stands up, dusting himself off. he has a remorseful look on his face. fucking say something coward.

"i tried to keep you out of it," he admits shamefully. "i was gonna get it done."

"you were gonna kill hongjoong by yourself?" i scoff. "you'd be done for before you even do anything!"

"mao gave me a gun," woo says. i look to mao and he shrugs.

"you know about this?" i ask him.

"as long as he doesnt involve me, i dont mind helping out," mao says. "i dont want black dragons on this side of the world, but bae su ji is losing her touch."

"who the fuck is bae suji?" both woo and i ask angrily.

"Miss A."

"you know Miss A's government name?" woo questions. mao shrugs.

"we used to date in high school."

we're getting off track. im still fucking angry, i turn to wooyoung.

"so? let me hear this fucking plan of yours."

"i dont want you involved san. we cant both be dead."

it feels like my veins are going to pop. "she's going to KILL ME if i dont fucking do something about that hongjoogn fucker. he put seonghwa in a wheelchair and killed changbin. shes going to kill me if i dont get involved, woo, so just tell me the fucking plan."

"hongjoong's sister is getting married soon," mao interjects. "woo's gonna wipe him out there."

"and then im going to skip town for real," woo says with a dark look. "mao's arranged for me to go to hong kong. im gonna work for him there."

"you know who was also supposed to go to hongkong?" i laugh darkly. "yunho."

the room falls into uncomfortable silence aside from the sound of dominoes hitting the table.

"i'll be there, woo." i tell him. "im leaving town too."

"where are you going?" both mao and woo asks.

"im leaving with yaera," i answer woo only. mao is confused and wooyoung tells him its my girlfriend.

"you left Flor?" mao is shocked. i sigh remembering that yaera gave mao a fake name when she followed me. i dont dignify him with an answer.

"alright man," woo sounds defeated. "now you know. i didnt wanna keep in touch because i didnt want to make things worse."

"they're already bad, woo. you not telling me changed nothing."

ive calmed down significantly. i feel defeated but at least i know this bastard is alive.

"what about mingi?" i question. "he started this shit in the first place."

"im taking them both out," wooyoung says. "mingi's the groom. hongjoong's walking his sister down the aisle."

how convenient. two birds with one stone. now, how were we going to get out of it alive?

"WE, wooyoung," i correct him. "WE'RE taking them both out."

***

yaera

after i helped san clean up his rampage, i saw something interesting in his spare room.

i stare at the daewoo k5 in my hands, i never realized san was the kind to keep guns. with the way he lives, i guess i shouldnt be surprised. he needs it more than anything.

something dangerous popped into my mind when looking at it. the first thing i thought of was wiping santo off this earth.

wouldnt i be doing a good deed? taking that rapist, pedophile and fucking freak off this planet?

he called me again. from a different number. i never pick up unknown IDs because of him. but i picked up this time, and all i heard was him breathing harshly.

"i dont like being ignored, yaera. it hurts my heart. you dont want to know how i act when im hurt."

i wonder if yasmine found out, and thats how she ended up where she did.

i know he wasnt anywhere near her when she died, but the thought that he touched her the way he touched me...the fact that she enjoyed it. it was driving me insane. i feel myself losing it with every single thought that flashes by me.

i just want to leave. i want san to finish up his business, come out alive and free me from this place.

we decided on soroa, cuba. europe wouldnt be a good place for us to start over in. latin america would be fresh. its going to be better.

i tried to keep busy but my stomach ached for san. with every apartment i looked at, every beach and every municipality i imagined living in, i had a thought of san never seeing it. i feel so fucking helpless.

i cant fix any of this. i never could but ive never felt this cornered before now. if anything happens to him, i know im going to end up in a ward. i cant leave this place without him when he helped me get to this point.

my parents have left me so many missed calls. so have irina and claire. none from anya? thats weird. she always leaves me the most calls.

i decide to call irina back. i havent heard from them aside from drug related business so it'd be nice if she could take my mind off the fuckery thats been taking place. they always have the most interesting things to tell me. vacationing in saint tropez, partying in monaco, i'd love them to tell me about cuba.

irina picks up first ring. "hey girl–"

"you fucking bitch," she snares at me. i jolt up from the bed at her tone.

"hello?" i repeat in confusion.

"anya is DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

fire creeps up on my skin. it feels like all my hairs raising.

"w-what?"

"she fucking mixed whatever pill you gave her and she threw up all over herself. we fucking rushed her to hospital and she didnt make it!"

this has to be why my parents called me. oh my god. oh my god anya's dead.

"i dont know what you mean," is the first thing i say. probably not the best thing but its the first thing i could get out. there has to be people around her right now. i cant risk it.

"now you dont know what im talking about?" irina snaps. "you fucking killed her."

"anya has a history of drug abuse, irina. why are you blaming me for this? im sorry for what happened but dont call me with this bullshit ever again."

i quickly put off the phone and start hyperventilating. fuck this is a mess, my parents probably found out. they probably know. if i go home im screwed. i cant go home, they'll keep me there.

how do i stay out of this. i know i cant go to jail, none of them have any proof that i dealt them drugs. not a single shred of evidence. there are the cellphone records, but those calls cant get traced back to me. the phone's too old. i need to stay away from them.

i have to fix this, somehow. i cant unload it on san he has enough on his plate. but it sounds like ive made an enemy out of the closest thing i have to friends. i dont know what to do.

i look at the gun on my lap. i have to finish the story.

***

next chapter

tagslist: @sansonlygf @brown88 @yujispinkhair @mountiiny

[aniron48]

24. just really needed a hug sort of hug for 00leiter would be amazing if inspiration strikes! 🥰

Alex, mi vida! Thank you for always inspiring and indulging my deep-seated need for 00leiter, and thank you for this prompt. 🥰 Your wish is my command, my friend! It's here, continuing below the cut, as well as on ao3:

sometimes it takes the night to fall

“My mother wanted me to go to law school,” Felix says. His tone is measured, and this, this, is something he’s going to include in his annual performance review at the Agency, which his supervisor signs every year without reading a word: Agent Leiter is calm and measured, even when he is soaking wet, covered in pink feathers, and holding a flash drive with the plans for a chemical weapon designed to take out half of Europe, circumstances which Agent Leiter would have avoided entirely had his MI6 counterpart not been a fucking asshole.

“‘You’ll make good money, son,’ she would tell me,” Felix says. He pulls his Glock out of his holster, pointing it toward the floor to let the water drain from the barrel. “‘You’ll wear nice suits.’ But no, I knew better. I didn’t want to take the motherfucking bar exam.”

“You wear nice suits now, Felix,” Bond drawls, looking him up and down, and Felix is either going to punch or kiss that look off his face, but he hasn’t decided which, yet.

“Normally, I would agree with you, James,” Felix says. Measuredly, again, because he’s a goddamn station chief for the CIA. “But right now, my nice suit looks like it survived simultaneous explosions at a poultry farm and a Pepto-Bismol factory.”

Felix had had plans for their mission in Prague, plans which involved a timeline, and coordinates on a map, and the judicious use of SIGINT. James Bond had had instincts, and even if those instincts had been accurate, as far as identifying the Belarusian middleman they were looking for went, his methods left a lot to be desired, seeing as they primarily involved a chase through a crowded craft fair in the center of town, followed by what could charitably be called hijacking a bachelorette cruise in order to chase said middleman down the Vltava River. And now here they were, on a deserted dock in a decidedly seedy part of town, mercifully free of bachelorettes, but with an unconscious henchman tied to an oil barrel behind them, waiting for the ride that would take them not to their warm, comfortable hotel room near Karluv Most, but to the U.S. Embassy, where Felix could hand off the hard drive and then spend the rest of the night filling out the ream of paperwork required after the sort of nuclear-grade shitshow James Bond tended to leave behind him on a good night.

“I think I know what you need, Felix,” Bond says, and the way his mouth turns up at the corner can’t mean anything good.

“What I need,” Felix says, “is not to be picking penis-shaped confetti out of my beard.”

“No,” Bond says, stepping closer, and if the British exfil team doesn’t get there soon, Felix is going to paddle to the Embassy on a goddamn inflatable canoe, “No, that’s not it.” 

He brings a hand to the back of Felix’s head, drawing him in close. “Why don’t you start by putting your arm around my waist.”

They’re Felix’s own words from years ago, directed back at him with Bond’s characteristically lethal precision. Not long after the events in Bolivia, Felix had flown into London for the memorial service of another MI6 colleague who had died in the line of duty. Later, after everyone else had left, he’d joined Bond where he stood in the back of the church, stiff with grief and the bone-deep chill of the British winter.

“She drowned, you know,” Bond had said, his tone conversational. “004, I mean. She deserved better. It’s a terrible way to go.”

Bond and Felix had been lovers for mere weeks at that point, if that designation even applied to the handful of hours they’d stolen in South American hotel rooms and, on one memorable occasion, the lost luggage room of a train station in the middle of nowhere. But Felix wasn’t an idiot. He’d been in Venice when Vesper died. Even then, he’d known Bond well enough to know what wounds would be fatal to him, if left untreated.

“It is,” Felix had said. He hadn’t dared to say much of anything else. “I’m sorry for your loss, James.”

“It’s England’s loss,” Bond had said. He’d already begun to go distant around the edges, all of the lines of his body tensed for a fight. Felix had wanted nothing more than to demand Bond come back with him to his hotel room, to fuck him fast and merciless until all the tension bled from his body, until he was easy and louche again, unspooled against the Egyptian cotton sheets. But his first instinct with Bond wasn’t always the right one, back then, and he’d looked at Bond in silence for a long moment before making his decision.

“Come here,” he’d said. “I’m going to give you a hug.”

Bond had looked at Felix like he’d just suggested they piss in the baptismal font. “A what?”

“A hug, Bond. Jesus Christ. Come here.” He’d pulled Bond in by the lapel of his expensive wool coat. “You start by putting your arm around my waist, like that. Then you put your other arm around my shoulders. Like this, asshole. And then—” Felix had squeezed with all his might. “Then you hold on tight.”

They are here, now, tonight—and by “here” Felix means Prague, means the dock, means covered in dirty river water and the detritus of phallus-shaped souvenirs, but he also means so much more than that—in no small part because all those years ago, his own instincts had been right when he’d taken James Bond in his arms in an empty church, and so as angry as he is, he’s powerless to deny James this, now. He gives in to the inevitable and steps into the embrace, dropping his head against James’s neck.

“I hate you,” he says, but there’s no longer any heat in it. “This was the worst night of my career.”

“The ladies liked it,” Bond says.

“The ‘ladies’ thought we were strippers. One of them threw her drink on me when I refused to take my shirt off.”

“The night is still young,” Bond points out. Felix refuses to turn his head to look at him, on principle, but he can feel Bond’s smile against his cheek.

“Fuck you and your entire country,” Felix says. “I’m glad we threw your fucking tea in the harbor.” But his head is still on Bond’s shoulder, and his arms are around his waist, and he’ll stay that way until the sound of a distant motor signals that their ride is near, and the night moves on around them.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

can i request shinichiro and waka (and others) being …..military…..?? wearing uniforms like Ghost (COD)???

OKAY OKAY I SEE YOU ANON

I SEE YOU

I know very little about call of duty (pew-pew), but I just know Ghost has this deep ass voice and mysterious allure. So I'm gonna do a fluff prompt with how the 1st Gen Black Dragons would be if they were in the military and had a S/O waiting for them back home.

Also yes, military uniforms be schmackin' *chef's kiss*. I wish I could draw them in one... Oh, well.

Watch Your Six: Takeomi Akashi/Keizo Arashi/ Shinichiro Sano/ Wakasa Imaushi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.4k

tw: nsfw, fluff, angst

masterlist

Takeomi Akashi - The Mail Man

"Mail for you, Akashi!"

"Fuck yeah!" Takeomi rises from his seat at the small cards table, walking over to the officer holding his mail slip between his fingers. Takeomi takes the time in his hands and tears it open, not even glancing at who may have written him the prized item.

"Come on," Keizo encourages Takeomi to sit and read his letter with them, all leaning in to hear his reciting. "We want to hear it all, old man."

"She's telling me about the dog," Takeomi laughs after a while, his face breaking into a smile. "Sounds like she's finally getting the hang of ol' Dega."

"Anything else?" Shin wonders, his eyes wide as Takeomi scans the letter once more.

"Well... she seems to be getting along fine on the base. The other girls are fine. No news is--"

"Good news," they all recite, some sighing and leaning back in their chairs. Takeomi folds the letter back up and looks at his playing cards. For a brief second, he seems to consider the amount of money waiting to be claimed, but then he decides against it.

"I fold," he mutters. Everyone watches as he stands up, holding the letter in his hands as he rises from the table. "Anything you all want to share?"

"Nah," Waka replies. Keizo and Shinichiro echo the same sentiment, and Takeomi wanders off, thoughts of what he wants to write back bouncing around in his mind.

"He always does that," Shin notes.

"If I got letters this often, I would be eager to write back, too," Keizo adds, putting his cards on the table. "Royal flush, motherfuckers. Pay up."

Keizo Arashi - The Calling Card

Keizo stands at the phone station, his arms crossed as he waits for the line to pick up. It's night over where you are, but that doesn't stop him from giving you a ring.

"Hey, baby," you purr on the other line, no doubt rolling out of bed, evidenced by how sleepy you sound. It reminds Keizo of the good days when you would wake him up with a kiss and whisper his name until he cracked an eye open.

"Mrs. Arashi, sorry to disturb you during your sleep."

"No," you giggle. "No, you're not."

"You're right, I'm not," he replies, leaning on the wall. "How is everything going?"

"Everything's fine around here. It's been really normal lately."

"Yeah?" Keizo thinks about all of the ordinary things you could be up to. It'd been only a few months, but he wondered if you'd changed even a little.

"Yeah. How are you doing, love?"

"I'm alright." Keizo scuffs his feet on the concrete floor. "Missing you."

"I miss you, too." There's a brief silence in which Keizo wishes he could say something to reassure you, but he comes up with nothing. "Is Shin still getting those pictures from his girl?" A laugh builds in Keizo's throat, but he tries to stifle it.

"He is," he chuckles. "I've never seen someone more excited on mail day than him. Like a kid in a candy store." You laugh, possibly leaning on your elbow to soften the angle your head is at. He drops his voice low to avoid anyone overhearing. "What are you wearing right now?"

"Wearing?" you question. Then you hum, the sound stirring Keizo's blood. "I'm wearing my usual... one of your t-shirts. No underwear." Keizo stifles a moan by lifting his other hand to his mouth.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mmhmm. You in your uniform?"

"Sort of," he admits, looking down at his clothes. "I'm sure you're thinking about..."

"Shh..." Keizo hears you shift around in the bed. "Don't want the Commander hearing this, do we?"

"No, ma'am," Keizo responds, smirking. "You're such a good girl."

"I can be even better for you." The words you say next are not fit for anyone but Keizo to hear, each one making him pray his deployment will end sooner rather than later.

Wakasa Imaushi - The Stoic Sniper

"Waka," a voice calls through his headset. "You've got two on your left." Wakasa points his gun to the left, peering through his sights before fingering the trigger.

"Hold." The others patiently wait for him to call the shot. Two figures loom into Waka's sight, and he exhales once, inhales once, then fingers the trigger again. "Hold." Wakasa's mind tries to shift to happier times, less devastating moments in his life, but his training fights every single memory back. Memory is a weakness I can't afford right now.

"Waka..."

Your voice floats to him over the crackling of the comms, and the image of your sweet face claims his mind eye.

"Waka, you're cold." He shivers instinctively, suddenly noticing the biting chill that's crawled over him for hours.

"I know, baby," he whispers to himself, trying to silence your tender voice before it took over his mind and drove him insane. "Be patient."

"Hold."

"Waka?" He flinches at the sound of your voice lifting at the end of his name, your doe eyes turning to him and rendering him useless. "Waka, you need to come inside."

"Not right now."

"Hold."

"Come inside and warm up with me, my love."

"Stop talking to me."

"Hold!" Ghost fingers float over his arms, raising the hair there. Goosebumps flush his skin, but he has to concentrate. No hallucinations, not right now. They would only--

"Take the shot!" Waka's finger pulls down, but seconds before the gun fires, your face flashes before his eyes.

"Waka?" Wakasa startles, his finger instinctively lifting off the trigger.

"Not now!"

"Take the shot, Imaushi!"

"Baby, what are you doing?" Waka wants to wave you away, to spin you out of his head and right into the phone where you were undoubtedly safe, but now it's too late and--

"Imaushi, take the fucking shot!" The gun rattles off right through your visage. And like dust in the wind, you dissipate.

Two thuds echo in the valley, and Wakasa gets up, takes off his tactical headset and balaclava, then stomps over to the water barrel and sticks his head in it. He screams as loud as he can before resurfacing and heading toward the barracks, only one thing on his mind.

"I'm taking my phone call now."

Shinichiro Sano - The Portrait Pocketer

Shinichiro lays under the sheets with his flashlight, eyeing the polaroid you'd sent with a devious grin. His hand snakes down to his pants as he imagines you coming out of the photo and wrapping your arms around his neck. You'd kiss him leisurely, slowly, savoring every second of his touches in case you'd never feel them again.

For Shin, it meant that each time might be the last time. So he'd better make it count.

He can practically feel your hot mouth roaming over his neck and leaving hickies that would last for days. Shin gasps, trying to hold the sounds in his chest, but his cock hardens so much that he can't possibly wait to pleasure himself.

He imagines your hips smacking against his while you ride him, your beautiful hands on his knees. If he closes his eyes really tight, he can even feel your cunt slip over his cock and down to his balls, drenching his dick in your slick. The sound comes to him, too, like popping and moans and...

Shin's fingers work quickly over his cock.

The shy man remembers the way your mouth feels and how much he enjoyed watching you gasp for air before going back down on him. Trails of spit would connect his dick to your lips, and you'd struggle for air but - ever the trooper - go back down on him without complaining. Shin recalls fucking your throat as you hung over the edge of the bed, an experience he looked forward to enjoying once more.

That's what he'd do.

As Shin cums in short bursts of pleasure, the plan manifests in his mind. He'd walk in the door, drop his bags, kiss you like you'd never been kissed before, then clamp a hand on your pussy while walking you back to the bedroom. The door would shut, clothes would come off, and he'd fuck your face before doing his due diligence and eating you out for as long as you wanted. Once all that was said and done, he'd sink his cock into your sopping wet cunt with that lustful look in his eye and fuck you seventy ways to Sunday.

In the morning, after Shin wakes with a start and cleans up all of the photos he'd fallen asleep with, he turns to Takeomi and mutters,

"I can't wait to go back home."

"Oh, hell yeah," Takeomi replies, sighing deeply. "You and me both."

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hey motherfucker. Leave Ace the fuck alone. You and I both know what you want. Leave them out of it. If you don’t have the guts to come off anon and put your money where your mouth is, then sending them this shit is a self-own you loser. I already know your next 10 moves. Run and hide fucker.