#but he feels he has to to stop the operator

[flwrkid14]

Tim Works Hard So He Can Nap Harder

The thing about Tim is that he gets things done.

Not in a normal, reasonable, “wow, he’s really productive” way. No, Tim operates on an entirely different plane of efficiency—one that defies common sense and possibly the laws of physics.

Give him a five-hour task? He’ll finish it in two. Tell him something is impossible? He’ll stare at you, offended, before proving you so wrong it physically hurts.

Sometimes, it’s out of sheer spite. Bruce once told him a mission was too complicated for him to handle alone, so Tim completed it in record time out of pettiness alone. Jason told Tim he didn’t have the skill set for corporate espionage. So Tim hacked three shell companies overnight, uncovered Black Mask’s entire financial network, and sent Jason a PowerPoint presentation with the subject line: “Skill Set Acquired”.

Other times, it’s about time management. Tim understands, at his very core, that the faster he works, the sooner he can stop working. If he has to burn through a mountain of reports in a single hour so he can take a nap, then so be it. If he has to analyze data at inhuman speeds so he can binge-watch a show later, then he will.

The bats have learned to just… let it happen.

Dick once made the mistake of asking Tim to help him streamline his schedule. Tim, in under an hour, not only optimized his entire calendar but also accounted for every possible emergency, scheduled backup time slots for rescheduling, and somehow made Dick twice as productive without making him feel busier. It was kinda terrifying.

Barbara asked him to double-check some intel. He cross-referenced it against every available database, found three hidden links no one had noticed, and sent her a color-coded report with visual aids.

Bruce told him to track a smuggling ring in Gotham. Tim mapped out their entire operation in one night, had arrests lined up by morning, and then went home to sleep like a corpse.

Steph once sarcastically asked if Tim could figure out how to clean up the Gotham underworld in a week. Tim pulled out a ten-step plan before she even finished her sentence.

Tim doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t believe in half-measures. He works fast, works well, and then disappears before anyone can ask him for more.

The only thing scarier than Tim’s efficiency is the fact that he actively chooses to use it selectively.

Because while Tim is capable of working like a one-man army, when it benefits him, he’s also capable of weaponized uselessness. If he doesn’t want to do something, suddenly he’s the most inefficient person alive.

He’ll take weeks to answer a text. He’ll forget how to do basic tasks. He’ll act so completely incapable of anything that people just stop asking him for things.

But when he wants something done?

It’s over before you even realize he started.

[punkshort]

Swept Away: Season Two

Chapter Two: Kokomo

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: The first few days back in Fiji was heaven on earth - until things start to unravel.

Chapter Warnings: language, reader has long-ish hair, fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), alcohol and food consumption, wedding talk, possessiveness, jealousy, mention of OC substance abuse, an air of mystery, perhaps?

WC: 7.4K

Series Masterlist

A/N: inspired by this ask. I should also mention I have some personal stuff going on that I've been struggling with and yesterday things took a nose dive — I haven't been on here as much as usual but I'll try to hop on when I have the ability. Thank you for understanding ❤️

It had only been a couple days at The Parador and Joel had warned you repeatedly the hotel wasn't fully operational yet, to expect some things to not be ready or up to snuff, but so far it felt like literal heaven on earth. Waking up the past few mornings with the warm sea breeze floating in through the open doors of your bedroom, laying next to the man you loved more than anything, your future husband, while exotic birds sang somewhere outside had you on cloud nine.

The first day you arrived, you had wandered around the villa in awe. There were three bedrooms, including the master, and each had its own ensuite bathroom. You realized right away your parents easily could have stayed with you, but you didn't say anything to Joel. Deep down, you appreciated the privacy, and you had a feeling Joel wanted the same. The way your parents acted any time you mentioned Joel or the wedding was really starting to gnaw at you, and resentment was burning brighter than you let on.

Granted, your relationship with your parents hadn't always been great. Growing up in their house had its challenges. You and your mother butt heads a lot and your father had a tendency to work as much as possible, creating a void between you during the most formative years in your life. It was around the time you announced you were moving to Los Angeles for college that you felt your relationship with them crumble even more. They absolutely hated the idea of you living in L.A. — preconceived notions of the city they read online had your mother convinced you would be homeless and your father thinking you would "fall into the wrong crowd". But once you graduated and got a job at a production company, you thought their minds would be put at ease, so you did your best to repair that relationship. As more time passed and the phone calls became shorter and more uncomfortable, you began to wonder if they had hoped you would fail just so you would have to move back home, proving them right.

All of that aside, getting engaged and moving in with Joel should have shown them how happy and successful you were. They should have been happy, too. Yet, they still held back, refusing to get to know Joel better or talk much about your engagement.

It was the only dark cloud over an otherwise amazing time in your life, so you were ultimately glad Joel decided to book them a villa in a different hotel instead of sharing a room. The last thing you wanted was for them to ruin the grand opening of The Parador with their negativity looming around every corner. Both you and Joel worked so hard on the hotel, you deserved to enjoy yourselves.

And enjoy yourselves, you did. It was your third day on the island and even Joel couldn't resist how spectacular it felt to be back in paradise. He looked so relaxed and happy that it was hard to remember you were technically there to work, with some wedding planning scheduled during the quieter parts of your days. But it didn't stop either of you from lounging by the pool or beach whenever you could with your phones and laptops while upbeat music played softly through the speakers surrounding the area. It surprised you at first, to see Joel so relaxed during a workday. It was a far cry from the way he behaved the last time you were in Fiji.

Another thing you certainly didn't recall him doing the last time you were there was having a cocktail or two with lunch. He had grown particularly fond of frozen drinks, something that always made you giggle when you saw him sipping around all the fruit and a fancy umbrella, shoulders shifting slightly in rhythm with the music.

"What?" he asked hazily from his lounge chair when he heard you. His sunglasses were perched on the tip of his nose and his lips were wrapped around the bright pink straw of his piña colada.

"Nothing. I'm just loving this side of you," you grinned. His laptop sat open at the end of his chair but right next to it was a book he had been reading, spread open and face down while he ate. "Can't wait to see more of this relaxed Joel on our honeymoon."

You could tell by the way his cheeks were slightly pink and the glassy look in his eye that he was just a little tipsy when his eyebrow arched at the topic of your honeymoon.

"'Bout that," he said, putting the fancy glass down next to him. "Have you decided where you wanna go?"

You shrugged and shook your head. "Maybe Italy? Or Costa Rica?"

"What 'bout Paris?" he asked before leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

"Maybe," you said, pursing your lips in thought. "Not many opportunities to see you in those swim trunks in Paris, though."

Joel grinned and turned his head to look at you over his sunglasses. "You like me on the beach, huh?"

You giggled, making his smile spread even wider.

"You do seem at home on the beach."

He pushed his sunglasses back up to the bridge of his nose and took another sip from his drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his email program pop up with an alert in the corner of his laptop screen, but he didn't seem to give a shit. The sun felt so nice and it was indescribably peaceful, sitting in your own private garden-slash-patio while the waves crashed lightly against the sandy shore not too far away. The sound drew Joel's attention and he turned his head, watching the foamy crests splash down onto the smooth sand. Then, a thought occurred to him and he frowned.

He remembered a time from your first week on the island, back when he had hired you to pretend to be his fiancée. When you first met Glenn, you made up a story about how Joel proposed to you on the beach in Santa Monica. Later, when he asked if that's what you always wanted, you shrugged it off. I tried to think of the most romantic thing possible and it just popped into my head, you had said. Joel turned back to you and took off his sunglasses.

"Should I have proposed to you on the beach?"

Your head snapped up from your phone in surprise. "What?"

"That story you told Glenn, when we were—"

"No!" you exclaimed, sitting up in your chair. "I love how you proposed to me. Both times!" you added, holding up both hands and making him grin. "You could have proposed to me literally anywhere and I would have said yes. I already told you, Joel," you scooted closer and leaned forward to cup his face with both your hands. "I love you so much, I would marry you anywhere. All the rest of this... stuff—" you jutted your chin towards your phone, where you had been replying to an email from Nadia, "—it's just for fun. It doesn't really matter. This is all that matters."

You pressed your lips lightly to his, feeling him smile before leaning back and dropping your hands to your lap.

"Hopeless romantic," Joel teased, his dark eyes sparkling and playful. You just giggled and shook your head at the familiar accusation. When you picked your phone back up to finish your email, Joel groaned and suddenly jumped up from his chair.

"I fuckin' love this song," he announced before swaying his hips. He began to sing softly to himself as he shuffled around the edge of the pool, and it wasn't until he was further away that you heard the lyrics to Kokomo filtering through the speakers.

"C'mon, pretty mama," Joel called, swiveling around and holding out his arms for you. "Dance with me, baby," he added, smirking while slowly bobbing his shoulders and mouthing the words in your direction. You burst out laughing and shook your head.

"You're drunk!"

"I ain't drunk, I'm fuckin' happy!" Joel exclaimed loudly. His chin tilted towards the clear blue sky and closed his eyes while he continued to move from side to side around the patio. When he stumbled a bit, you laughed and tossed your phone on the table so you could join him.

"Be careful, you're going to trip," you scolded playfully, wrapping your arms around his bare torso and resting your chin on his warm, sun-kissed chest.

"Maybe I should get you another ring and propose on the beach," Joel murmured, gazing down at you. He was still swaying, pulling you with him as he spoke.

"Don't you fucking dare."

He laughed and his hands settled on your hips, tugging you close so you could move in sync with the music.

"Alright, fine," he relented, slowly spinning you both in a circle. "Least let's play this at the wedding."

"Kokomo? You want to dance to Kokomo in front of all your super rich buddies?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with it?" he asked with a little concerned crease between his brows. The earnest look on his face had you melting on the spot.

"Nothing," you said softly. You swiped your thumb over his frown, smoothing it out before stretching onto your tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "We can dance to Kokomo, I think it's perfect."

His lips captured yours before you could pull away, forcing you to sway back and forth on the balls of your feet with your chest against his. In the background, you could hear the final few lyrics of the song fade out, a new one starting right on its heels. It was a faster tempo, but Joel kept you both moving slow, your hips pressed together while his tongue pushed languidly into your mouth. He tasted sweet, like coconut and pineapple with just the faintest hint of rum.

You made a pleased little sound in the back of your throat when you felt him begin to harden through his swim trunks. Pulling back and grinning when he chased after your lips, you wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and asked, "Getting all hot and bothered, Mr. Miller?"

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," he insisted, lips finding a home on your neck. "You're lookin' a little warm, though," he added, tilting his head and switching to the other side of your throat. Your eyelids fluttered when his teeth grazed your pulse point. "Maybe it's you who's feelin' hot?"

You swallowed tightly before answering.

"It's really hot," you whispered.

"What is?" Joel asked, lips puckering around your skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake.

"The s-sun," you stammered. Obviously. But both of you were beginning to forget what you were talking about.

Joel hummed and walked you backwards a step or two, his arms wrapped around you tightly, preventing you from tripping.

Or so you thought.

"I got just the thing for that."

"Huh?" you asked hazily with your eyes still closed and your fingers getting tangled in his hair. But before you even had a chance to scream, Joel twisted around, tightened his grip around your waist, and jumped backwards into the pool, pulling you down with him.

The water was heated but it was still a shock to the system. You screeched underwater and kicked away, propelling yourself out of his arms and to the surface for air. You gasped and snapped your eyes open, hair plastered to your face as you whipped back and forth until Joel emerged from the water, laughing and reaching for you again.

"Oh, I don't think so!" you exclaimed, and before he could get his hands on you, you kicked off the wall of the pool, giving yourself the advantage and swimming away.

Your fingers grazed the railing of the steps. You were so close, but then Joel's hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you back across the water as you screamed and giggled until he had you flipped around, lifting you up so he could wrap his arms and legs around you, immobilizing you completely.

"Where y'goin', baby?" he breathed, "Don't it feel good?"

Panting, you gazed up at him through your wet lashes. He looked so genuinely happy and at ease, it took your breath away. You couldn't stop admiring him; the sparkle in his eye, the dimple in his cheek, his broad shoulders... but the way the sun glittered on his tanned skin made you finally stop struggling. When he felt your muscles relax, his grip loosened.

"What?" he finally asked when you took too long to speak. You smiled and shook your head, then pulled him tighter again.

"How'd I get so lucky?" you whispered softly. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, deflecting the compliment, so instead you circled your arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. Under the water, his hands reached down to cup your ass, pulling you snug against his hips while you deepened the kiss with a moan.

Your chest felt light, heart tapping excitedly against your sternum with each touch and kiss. It was impossible to keep the smile from your face. How could you, when you were having the time of your life in paradise with the man who you planned to spend the rest of your life with?

"Speaking of—" Joel said breathlessly when he broke away. He massaged you underwater, fingers greedily stretching so he could grab as much of your ass as possible. Your eyes followed a drop of water that trickled from his hair and down the side of his face and you licked your lips. "Am I 'bout to get lucky, or what?"

"Here?" you questioned, but he just smirked and nodded.

"Why not? No one can see us."

You bit your lip and glanced around, trying not to let his roaming hands and his hot mouth on your neck distract you. He was right - there weren't any other guests in the hotel but even if there had been, the gardens and natural fauna surrounding the patio were too thick to see through.

Joel nipped at your throat, teeth gently pinching your wet skin and you sighed, relaxing into his hold. "O-okay," you whispered.

"Atta girl," Joel chuckled before swinging you around in the pool so your back was pressed against the side. Fortunately, it was the side facing the ocean. There was no concrete lip behind you so as to mimic the water merging with the horizon. It allowed you to comfortably rest your weight on your elbows, which were perched on the smooth tile edge, and lean back so Joel could pull your bikini bottoms off.

Before you met, Joel would never have been caught dead blowing off work in the middle of the day. He practically worked around the clock, his only focus in life being his company and what he could do to become more successful. But now, his focus remained firmly planted on you. Even back home, it didn't matter how busy he was, in the back of his mind he always thought of you, finding comfort in knowing you were somewhere in the building and just a phone call away.

But having you within arms reach in the middle of paradise proved to be harder for him to resist than he thought.

Just as quickly as he shed you of your swimsuit, he was back with one hand pressing flat against your spine, pushing your bodies together while his mouth continued to suck on your neck. Underwater, your legs wrapped around his waist, the movement feeling like quicksand, but you weren't sure if it was the buoyancy or the desire coursing through your veins that had you feeling sluggish.

Joel's hand dropped between you, fingers quickly undoing the tie on his shorts so he could loosen them around his hips. Meanwhile, his mouth found yours again, kissing you with a deep groan when his tongue slipped past your lips.

The pad of his finger caught on your clit, making you whine as the familiar heat bloomed between your legs. Your hips rolled forward, chasing his hand, wordlessly asking for more. A sly smile pulled across his mouth and then he tore himself away, fingers still teasing featherlight strokes along your slit.

"I'll be right back," he said, pushing off the wall.

"Wh- what?" you stammered, eyelids fluttering. Joel took a deep breath then disappeared below the water and before you had a chance to process what was happening, his hands wrapped around your thighs and pulled you onto his mouth.

"Shit!" you cried out when you felt his hot tongue gliding through your lips. He ate at you messily underwater, knowing he would soon have to return for air left him unable to take his time and savor it like he normally would.

A flash of heat seared through you, a lightning bolt from the center of your legs that reached to every nerve ending in your body. Something about feeling weightless and having the ability to relax your muscles entirely while Joel alternated between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit had you shaking in a matter of seconds.

When he tore himself away and crashed through the surface of the water with a frantic gasp for air, you had the audacity to pout. You whined his name and writhed against the side of the pool, causing him to smirk amidst catching his breath.

"What is it, baby?"

"You can't do that. That's teasing," you grumbled. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and grabbed your thighs underwater, spreading them apart roughly before growling, "Did I say I was done?"

He had about half a second to clock the delight in your face before he inhaled deeply and dove back under. His mouth seared against your pussy immediately, tongue probing and licking desperately until he needed more air.

It was a new sensation, being brought to the edge just to be pulled back when he needed to breathe. It had you clawing at his shoulders and murmuring filth in his ear every time he came up to recover, but you couldn't help yourself. Your ears were ringing and your body felt like every nerve ending was frayed whenever he tore his mouth away, but thankfully after being toyed with one too many times, his hand took the place of his mouth when he emerged.

"Fuck, look at you," he groaned, fingers working quickly under the water. Two thrusted inside you, curling and stretching while the heel of his palm massaged your clit. His free arm came to rest on the ledge behind you so his entire body ended up caging you in. When you peeled your eyes open, mouth agape and mind blurry, all you could see was Joel towering over you.

"Need you to come for me," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Need to fuck you, baby, c'mon, lemme see it."

Water splashed lightly near your shoulder from how fast Joel was working his wrist between your legs. It only took a few more slaps of his palm against your clit before your muscles tensed and your eyes rolled back with a low moan. Your hips rocked forward and you gasped as each wave of your climax shuddered through you, all the while crumbling under Joel's intense stare.

"That's it — feels good, huh?" Joel's lips found the underside of your jaw and began sucking lightly at your skin. "Pussy's so tight, squeezin' me so fuckin' good... that's it, you're alright, shh, so pretty like this. So fuckin' pretty—"

His mouth crashed over yours, silencing his ramblings and your moans until you relaxed and he slowly removed his fingers.

"Joel," you whimpered, chest heaving and heart racing. You reached for him, a trembling hand searching for him under the water, needing him just as badly as you needed oxygen in your lungs.

One leg hooked around his waist and a hand cupped the back of his neck. You felt delirious; lost entirely to the feeling only Joel was able to create. Everything about him, you loved. You loved how he knew you so well, in every way imaginable. You loved how he took care of you, protected you, worshiped you. All of those reasons and more told you he was the man you should spend the rest of your life with.

And if that wasn't enough, he somehow always managed to drag the most intense pleasure from you. He knew what you needed without you having to ask, undoing you every single time.

"Sure you're ready?" Joel breathed shakily, but he was already lining himself up, chin tucked into his chest, eyes peering through the water. You nodded and swallowed, fingers tightening around the back of his neck.

You felt him there, swollen tip resting against your opening, and you held your breath. Both of his hands held your hips steady, keeping you in place, and then his eyes flickered up to yours. All you saw reflected back was utter devotion when he pushed inside, each of you gasping in unison. You refused to look away, his dark eyes too magnetic, as his hands pulled you down onto his cock, nice and slow. He held your gaze until your hips sat flushed with his and he released you in favor of cupping your face. His mouth slanted over yours, nipping desperately at your lower lip while you fluttered and pulsed around him.

"How's that, huh?" His hips shifted, stretching you open and reaching the furthest depths of you. Your back arched off the side of the pool, gasping into his mouth.

"Fuck," you whined around the messy kisses Joel was peppering against your lips.

"Feel all of me in there?" He rolled his hips deliberately, touching lightly against a spot that had you grappling feverishly at the slippery curls on the back of his head.

"Fuck," you cursed again, "yeah. More, Joel, please."

"Yeah? Think you can handle it?" he asked, his mouth dropping to your chin, then your jaw. "Think this perfect fuckin' pussy can take it?"

You couldn't answer. All you could do was whimper pathetically, each snap of his hips driving the air straight from your lungs. But he didn't mind, because he was already too lost in the feel of you to demand an answer.

"You got no idea—" Joel grunted, slowing his hips when he felt himself nearing his peak too soon. He shifted his weight, wrapped an arm around the curve of your back under the water, and took a moment to catch his breath. "—you got no idea how fuckin' crazy you make me," he finished, staring deep into your eyes.

Your leg tightened around his waist and you leaned forward, grazing your teeth lightly over his throat when you said, "Crazy enough to fuck me in a pool on a Wednesday afternoon."

Joel growled, the sound vibrating against your lips. "You like this, don't you? You like gettin' me so hard 'n worked up, I can barely think."

You thought you managed to whisper out a yes, but you couldn't be sure because a second later, Joel was pounding into you again. Water splashed up, dotting both your faces and lips with little droplets. One strong arm pinned you roughly to his chest, and the other protected the back of your head from the tile, completely immobilizing you. Your open mouths hovered inches apart, leaving just enough room for your shared grunts and moans to escape, each devastating thrust bringing you both closer to the edge.

"Oh, f-fuck," you stammered, body jolting violently in his grip from the force of his hips slamming into you. His jaw tightened, brow furrowing as he fought back his own climax. You were close, he could feel it. He just needed to give you a little more.

"Don't stop," you begged, and Joel shook his head, stomach tensing with the need to let go. A strangled noise made its way past your lips and you feverishly clutched the sides of his head. "Kiss me," you pleaded.

His mouth crashed against yours, tongue sliding past your lips, and all the while he maintained that same, steady pace underwater. There was a moment where he thought he might not be able to hold back any longer, but then he felt your body go rigid and a broken version of his name tumbled into his mouth. A second later, the sweet feeling of relief flooded his veins as he came, pumping you full of his seed while you both rode out the rest of your highs together.

Joel broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, then buried his face in the crook of your neck so he could catch his breath. Your fingers combed lovingly through his hair and you closed your eyes, basking in the sun and the afterglow of your orgasm with Joel still buried deep between your legs. His arms remained wrapped around you, as well, keeping you so close that your chests bumped together with every shaky breath. After several quiet minutes, Joel whispered your name, his soft way of checking in.

You swallowed, throat hoarse and dry. "Say it," you mumbled drowsily. You felt his lips twitch against your neck.

"I love you."

A slow smile stretched across your face and you sighed.

"I love you, too."

The drive to Glenn and Mary's mansion brought back so many memories. Nerves, excitement, and anticipation filled you the first time, hoping you would do a good job at selling your fake engagement so Joel would appear relatable to Glenn and therefore make him look like the best choice to purchase the land for the hotel. Then afterwards, uneasiness and pangs of jealousy once you found out that Joel used to carry on an affair with another hotel mogul's wife, Tammy.

This time was different. Now, you were legitimately Joel's fiancée and madly in love. No more secrets, no more feelings of betrayal. You couldn't have been any happier.

"I'm looking forward to seeing them again," you told Joel. He sat next to you in the backseat of the town car, your left hand engulfed by his across the middle seat. His thumb distractedly played with the huge diamond on your ring finger and he smiled.

"Should be nice. Just them, Trevor and Zoe," he recapped.

Zoe. You were so excited to see your old friend, a port in the storm the last time you were on the island. She was young, beautiful, carefree and a former sugarbaby. While you hid that part of your history from everyone — with the exception of Joel's trusted assistant, Liam — Zoe had told you her secret in confidence early on in your trip. As much as you wanted to share with her your own background, you knew how detrimental it would be to Joel, so you kept your mouth shut. Still, Zoe turned out to be an incredible friend. She was there the night Brooks — Glenn and Mary's son —assaulted you in a restaurant bathroom. She took care of you until Joel arrived that night. She also had your back when Tammy and Lynne accused you of being a gold digger during a dinner party towards the end of your trip.

Needless to say, after the trip ended, you remained close friends. You were thrilled to find out she quit being a sugarbaby and found herself a boyfriend... none other than Glenn and Mary's other son, Trevor. Who actually didn't turn out to be that bad, compared to his brother.

"Much better group than last time," you said, squeezing Joel's hand.

He smirked and rolled his eyes, knowing full well you were referring to Tammy and her little sidekick, Lynne.

"Easy," he teased.

Glenn and Mary lived right on the beach in a stunning Mediterranean-style house which was surrounded by exotic plants and meticulously maintained gardens, a home that still took your breath away whenever you saw it.

When your car pulled up, you could see all the lights on inside, and when the chauffeur opened your door and you stepped out, you could hear the soft sounds of music echoing from the backyard.

"They must be on the patio," you said to Joel, looping your hand through his arm and allowing him to lead you to the front door.

"They do love their view," he murmured.

A man you didn't recognize but who appeared to be part of the catering service opened the door for you with the offer of champagne. You each took a flute before heading through the familiar, grandiose foyer. The kitchen and dining areas were silent except for the staff furiously working away. Your gaze drifted to look through the glass that lead out to their gorgeous pool area, spotting four familiar faces smiling and laughing around the outdoor bar. When Zoe turned her head and locked eyes with you through the windows, her face lit up. Yours must have done the same because you immediately dropped Joel's arm and squealed excitedly.

Hurrying outside, you ran to meet Zoe halfway, then threw your arms around each other's necks, swaying back and forth and murmuring compliments in the other's ear while trying to simultaneously not spill your drinks.

"Your hair! It's so long!" you gushed when you pulled away. Your fingers idly slid down her shiny locks with a smile so wide, your cheeks hurt. "And this dress! Oh my god—"

"You should talk! You're practically glowing!" Zoe beamed right back before snatching your right hand to hold it up to the dim garden lighting. "Or is it this massive fucking rock?"

She whispered the last part so none of the others heard. They had come forward to greet Joel while you and Zoe got reacquainted, fortunately buying you an extra minute to come up with some excuse as to why you had two engagement rings.

"Oh, this?" you laughed, stretching your fingers out so you could both admire it. "Joel thought he owed me another one since it's taken us so long to get married."

"Goddamn, Joel. You are one smart man," Glenn bellowed behind you. You swiveled around with a huge grin so you could give Glenn, Mary, and Trevor each a warm hug. When you were about to step away, Mary tsked and held out her hand, so you placed your right palm in hers while they got a good look at your new ring.

"Felt bad that storm set construction back a few weeks," Joel explained, quickly rolling with your story. He curled an arm around your waist when everyone was done admiring your ring, tucking you into his side. "Caused a headache with the wedding planner. Y'know how it is."

"I always told you — happy wife, happy life," Glenn chuckled before waving everyone over to the appetizers, which had just been set out near the bar. "C'mon, dig in. Then I wanna hear all about the soft open."

Joel opened his mouth to reply when a man's familiar sounding drawl rang out behind you.

"Oh, well, what do you know? We just came from there, I can tell you all about it."

Your body reacted before your brain had a chance to figure out what was happening. The hairs on your arms stood up and your heart felt like it was lodged in your throat.

You knew that voice.

"Scott! Didn't think you were comin' in til later!" Glenn called out cheerily. Zoe's hand found your forearm and she gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then, Joel murmured something in your ear but your blood was pumping so fast and loud, you couldn't hear him. Because if Scott was there, that meant...

"Tammy!" Mary sang, raising her arms above her head with a sweet smile. She didn't notice your reaction, neither did Glenn. They were too busy giving them both hugs and murmuring something to them about the weather.

Joel tried to get your attention again but you felt frozen in place. Zoe released your arm, whispered breathe in your ear, then followed Trevor over to greet them next.

"C'mon, let's just get through this," Joel urged, and you blinked before snapping your head to look at him.

"Did you—"

"No."

You exhaled in relief. It was a surprise, Joel didn't know they were coming. Still...

"Get over here, you son of a bitch," Scott laughed, tapping Joel on his shoulder. He let you go and plastered a polite smile across his face before giving him a hug. He hesitated for half a second, then gave Tammy a quick kiss on the cheek. You knew he had to do it. It would have looked weird if he didn't. But it still had your claws coming out, so you tucked your hand behind your back, squeezing your fingers into a tight fist to release some anger.

Tammy's eyes landed on you and she gave you a fake smile, murmured your name, and stiffly leaned forward to kiss you on the cheek. It took everything in your power to move, to press your cheek against hers, to say nice to see you and act like either of you meant it.

You broke apart quickly, each of you avoiding eye contact and retreating back to your partners. Joel wrapped an arm around your waist, his fingers pressed into your hip, wordlessly trying to soothe you, to tell you it was okay. With your cheeks hot, you caught Zoe's eye. She looked just as taken aback as you.

"Did you, uh, say you were at The Parador?" Joel asked. He sounded guarded, like he was bracing for something. He must have already connected the dots and for some reason, you were lagging, because Scott nodded and announced the obvious.

"We were lucky enough to get one of the rooms for the soft open." Scott tossed Joel a grin while lacing his fingers together with his wife's. "Don't worry. We won't be too harsh in our review. Right, honey?" he joked.

Scott looked down at Tammy who batted her lashes and nodded.

"That's right. We know there's bumps to iron out when a new location opens up. We understand the business."

Scott owned his own chain of hotels and was in contention to win the plot of land Joel ended up getting on the island, so they were no stranger to the hospitality industry. But as nice as Scott was, at the end of the day, Joel was a competitor and he won something Scott couldn't have. It had your gut twisting nervously by Joel's side.

"Well, if somethin' doesn't meet your standards, you let me know immediately," Joel responded. You had to give him credit, he was handling the turn of events much better than you were, but something told you he would be expressing his true thoughts on the matter in the car later.

The only saving grace all evening happened when Scott and Tammy chose to sit at the opposite end of the table from you and Joel. It afforded you a chance to get your bearings and breathe.

"I didn't know," Zoe whispered before you could even ask. "I heard they had a layover on their way to Australia, but I didn't think they'd be stopping here."

"It's fine," you mumbled, picking at the fish on your plate. "Maybe they're just saying long enough to see Glenn and Mary."

You were wrong.

By the time your plates were cleared and dessert was being served, the topic of Scott and Tammy's unexpected arrival finally came up.

"Australia? What's taking the two of you there?" Mary asked. Candlelight that decorated the table flickered across her face, making her dark hair shimmer. She was beautiful and always very sweet. Even after your altercation with Brooks, both she and Glenn stood by your side and made the difficult decision to send their son off to rehab on a neighboring island. You were grateful for their kindness and generosity towards you during your last stay, but you had to admit, you were envious of how absolutely clueless she and her husband were about the dynamics at their table. You couldn't be certain about Trevor, but considering Zoe knew all the drama with Tammy, you had to assume the only people at the table who were in the dark were Glenn, Mary and Scott.

"Thought we'd take some time off down uhnda," Scott laughed, "Figured we deserved a little break. Hotels have been doing great but it's cost me a lot of late nights. So, we planned a little trip, just the two of us. But when we realized The Parador was about to have its grand open? Well," he breathed, locking eyes with Joel. "Couldn't miss that, now could we?"

"The boys were beside themselves but I told them when they graduate college, we'll consider taking them somewhere of their choosing," Tammy cooed, swirling her crystal wine glass in her hand. "That is, if their grades reflect the hard work they claim they're putting in."

"You sure you ain't lookin' to expand in Australia?" Glenn asked coyly. Scott gave him a sly smirk and shrugged.

"Who's to say."

Tammy scoffed and playfully swat at his shoulder. "No business, you promised!"

While the men laughed, you and Zoe exchanged glances and focused on your plates. Scott, to your knowledge, never knew Tammy had an affair with Joel all those years ago. So to watch them act so sickeningly sweet and in love irked you both. Especially when Joel confessed to you that Tammy had developed strong feelings for him during their tryst.

"When do your parents get in?" Zoe asked softly, but Mary overheard anyway and perked up.

"Oh! Your parents? That's lovely! They must be coming to help you plan the wedding!"

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm when the entire table dragged their focus onto you.

"Yes, they arrive late tonight, actually," you responded. "They'll help a bit, but they aren't the type to take vacations, well... ever, really. So it was Joel's idea to get them out here and relax for once."

Joel smiled and his hand found yours underneath the table. He gave you a gentle squeeze, soothing your frayed nerves.

"Well, that's thoughtful. We all oughta go out to dinner before they leave," Glenn suggested. You swallowed tightly and nodded before Zoe swooped in.

"Mary! I forgot to tell you... we went to that new restaurant the other day."

"Ocean Terrace? How was it?"

And just like that, the attention shifted to Zoe and Trevor as they told the table about a horrendous dining experience.

"Dinner's almost over," Joel assured you quietly. You met his gaze, his dark eyes glittering in the dim lighting making your chest tighten with affection. "We'll make up some excuse not to get dinner with 'em again, don't worry."

You let out a shaky breath and nodded. You could do this. Besides, what could Tammy possibly do that hasn't already been done? She was a mood killer at that point and nothing more.

Your shoulders relaxed after your plates were cleared and people began to stand. Scott mentioned something about jet lag and Joel made an exaggerated yawn before making a comment about having an early meeting.

Zoe pulled you in for a hug and murmured in your ear about getting lunch. You told her you wanted to spend some time with your parents the next day, but promised to text her and set something up after. Then you gave Trevor a quick hug, which resulted in an avalanche of farewells and polite pecks on cheeks.

Joel was leading you through the house, back the way you came. Every step made you breathe a little easier until Glenn suddenly jogged up behind you.

"Joel? You got a quick minute?"

Joel's eyes flickered between yours and Glenn's, confusion etching his face before he nodded and let go of your hand.

"I'll meet you in the car."

You didn't think anything of it. Figured it was business related; that maybe Glenn wanted to book a few villas for friends or maybe host an event in one of the ballrooms. You took out your phone after you settled into your seat and opened a text from your mother, letting you know they safely landed and that they were checking into their hotel. You tapped out a quick response, telling her you would call them the next day and advised them to get some rest when Joel slipped into the backseat. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his brows pulled tight. You quickly dropped your phone back into your purse when you sensed the tension rolling off his shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his hand found the button for the partition. You could hear the little motor whirring as it slowly closed, giving you privacy from the driver as he drove down the empty streets, back to The Parador.

Even in the dim ambient lighting from the ceiling, you could read Joel's face. He was pissed.

"Joel?" you tried again. His jaw tensed and your eyes dropped to his knee, which was bouncing anxiously as he mulled over whatever Glenn had just said. Then finally, he forced his gaze onto you and your stomach dropped when he said, "Brooks is outta rehab. Been back on the island for a week, and—" he bit the inside of his cheek before huffing in disbelief and shaking his head. "—and he wants to see you. Says he's got somethin' important he wants to say. Glenn thinks he plans to apologize. Make amends or some shit. Part of some program..." he trailed off and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh while you remained frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from the cut of Joel's jaw.

"What?" you whispered. Joel heard the tremor in your voice. He quickly turned his focus back onto you, taking your hand in both of his and drawing soothing circles on your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

"It's fine. He ain't comin' anywhere near you, y'hear me?"

You nodded because it was all you could manage to do. Your throat was too tight to speak. This was all too much—

"I don't care what they say. He's their kid, 'course they're gonna believe him when he says he ain't using," Joel muttered. You cleared your throat and took a breath.

"Well... maybe he is—"

"Ain't up for discussion," Joel said coldly, cutting you off. Goosebumps flashed across your skin at his tone. "If it's that important, he can call or write a letter or some shit. He ain't ever gonna lay a hand on you again."

You nodded and clamped your mouth shut. It wasn't often Joel put his foot down, and considering what happened last time, he had every right to be suspicious and on edge. Besides — you weren't interested in seeing him. Only just morbidly curious.

The rest of the drive was quiet. He kept your hand on his leg, his warm palm pressing comfortingly against yours while you both stared out your respective windows, lost in thought.

Foolishly, you thought it was over; that the universe had thrown you enough curveballs for one night.

When Joel swung the door open to your villa, the room was dark. He stepped inside and began to flick on all the lights, leaving you to close and lock the door behind you. Somewhere in the master bedroom, you heard the curtains closing, but your gaze had fallen to a crisp white envelope under your shoe. You frowned, eyes darting from the envelope to the door, then leaned down to pick it up.

You flipped it over in your hands: it was sealed and not addressed to anybody.

"I'm gonna shower," Joel called from the bathroom.

"Okay," you answered distractedly. You heard the water turn on as you wandered into the kitchen, studying the envelope while trying to remember if Joel had mentioned he was expecting anything.

Curiosity eventually got the best of you and you ripped it open. Inside was just one white piece of common printer paper with four simple words staining the page, yet those four words made your blood run cold and dread settle over you like a blanket of snow:

I know your secret.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[matchalovertrait]

Spice Girls - Say You'll Be There *With changed lyrics.

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

After Day 1 of Alegría v Caruso, a video call with secret agents, a costume-test montage, and Operation Fox, Dulce is exhausted! She took a long shower while the events of the past two days marinated in her brain. Although there was something she couldn't shake off.

Antonio doesn’t have “the time or energy for love right now,” huh?

Well, what a terrible time for Dulce to realize she’s developing romantic feelings towards him.

But you know what? It’s okay. She thinks she should stay single for a while anyway. Her previous relationships ended terribly. It seems like she either gets too attached or not attached enough.

And maybe these feelings for Antonio aren’t real.

Dating Caruso has taught Dulce that she enjoys the thrill of the chase. They were rivals during the first semester of culinary school. The tension made him attractive. Then, when they became a couple, the focus shifted to her odd desire of becoming a "celebrity power couple" with someone. That was the goal.

What if she only likes Antonio because lawyers can’t be with their clients? If she had to be honest, the idea of sneaking around sounds enticing.... don't judge! However, what if she realizes she doesn't like him once the trial is over?

Dating Alex has made her wonder if she likes… gloomy people with black hair? Yeah, they’re basically the same person if you think about it. Reserved, edgy people. That’s kiiiiind of weird if she’s looking for Alex in Antonio.

Sounds like a lot of issues. Whatever is happening right now, Dulce wants to put a stop to it. She can’t date anyone in this current mental state of hers. Plus, she just broke up with Caruso, like, two months ago? I don't know, who keeps track of that stuff?

She plans to take some time for herself, rebuild her business, and go to therapy. Those are the things she has to prioritize.

Still, she knows for sure she likes Antonio in a platonic way, at least. He's not as much of a square as she initially thought. He’s sweet.. smart.. and pretty funny if you get to know him. She genuinely wants the best for him and hopes he continues to prosper.

Dulce hopes they can cross paths every now and then once the trial is over. She'll continue to do her own thing and be there for him if he ever needs it.

[forwhatiam]

Happy 28th! <3 As always, here's some of my favorite fics I've had the pleasure of reading this month, arranged from longest to shortest. Fics with a * before them found their way into my bookmarks!

Golden by shaylea (E, 128k)

On a rainy night in Auckland in the middle of his world tour, popstar Harry Styles loses his ability to carry on. Instead of continuing to Sydney and the rest of his tour, he seeks sanctuary with Louis Tomlinson, a man with a macadamia nut farm and a mysterious past.

*wildflower by blueskiesrry (E, 112.7k)

a 1950s hollywood story spanning half a decade where harry and louis are constantly growing towards, away from, & around each other and everything harry wants are things he can’t have.

babydoll blues by devilinmybrain (E, 111.5k)

Louis is a high profile, filthy rich label executive who has the world at his feet - a music god.. Harry is the sugar baby trying to make a name for himself singing in shady bars and hanging off the arm of Louis' biggest rival. What Louis wants, Louis gets. But what if the game gets too hot and hits a little too close to the heart?

Tattoos and Temptations by refusethyname (E, 67.1k)

“Love,” he drawled, the word dripping with sinful allure, “I’ve got tattoos that are older than you,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper, his breath warm against Harry’s lips.

Harry tilted his head, a teasing smirk of his own tugging at his mouth despite the rapid beat of his heart. “What can I say, I like experienced men.”

Louis chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent heat rushing through Harry’s veins. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, his hand sliding up Harry’s back to tangle in his curls. He tugged lightly, just enough to tip Harry’s head back and expose more of his neck.

“You’re the one winding me up.”

*Finding Lou by stylinsoncity (M, 60.2k)

Louis is the nomadic stranger who wanders into Harry’s bookstore. Harry is the skeptic who falls for him.

*Dreaming of You by louislittletomlintum (E, 30.1k)

the one where harry's in his mid-20's so it's probably about time louis took his virginity

Suddenly They're Right by sapphichug (E, 22.3k)

Louis is a painting professor with an art block the size of Texas and a global superstar for a non-boyfriend, who he wants to keep.

a fic about feeling stuck and learning to free oneself

Take Our Bodies Higher by littlelouishiccups (E, 21k)

In which Harry is a phone sex operator and Louis dials a wrong number.

*i'm the queen of rock n roll by fairytalefemme (T, 17.2k)

In which Louis is in love with two girls she doesn't know - one she's never met and one she kissed upon first sight - and it takes a lot of zines and weed and Bugles for her to figure it all out.

(Or, it's 1993 in Olympia and everyone's just a useless lesbian with a riot grrrl band.)

Call Me a Thief by moodlighting (NR, 8.8k)

AU. Of all the people on campus, the one person Louis can’t seem to stop running into is Harry fucking Styles. And he keeps stealing all of Louis’ shit.

You Have it Easy by louislittletomlintum (E, 6k)

the one where Harry shows Louis exactly how he gets himself off

give me forever for awhile by mercutionotromeo (E, 5.4k)

light sweet kittenplay because Harry owns multiple collars and he has to use them for something, right?

BONUS NON-1D POEM: Statuesque by idlt (Baseball RPF, G, 184)

On June 26, 2024, Danny Jansen was the batter for the Toronto Blue Jays against the Boston Red Sox. The game was suspended during his plate appearance. Today is August 26, 2024, except at Fenway, where it is June 26, 2024. Danny Jansen is the batter for the Jays/the catcher for the Red Sox/frozen in time.

[makeila04]

Too many questions:

Russell Adler… why, even at 55, does he do what he does? Still on dangerous missions, conspiracies, wars, chaos, violence, blood, and above all, death. Why does he keep going at his age? If he’s already 54 and they’ve been trying to retire him since he was 49.

Maybe because… Adler doesn’t know how to be anything else. His entire life has revolved around the CIA, shadow wars, violence, and control. There’s no other version of himself outside of that. From Vietnam to covert operations in the Cold War and beyond, everything he’s done has made him who he is. For someone like him, retirement is death. The adrenaline, the tension of a mission, the certainty that his work has a purpose—it’s the only thing keeping him going. If he stops, if he accepts a normal life, then who is he? Adler stays in the field because without it, he feels like he has nothing.

Maybe deep down, he also believes he deserves to die like this. On a mission, in the line of fire, in his world. Not old in a bed, not as someone who stopped being useful. That’s not how he wants to end.

His explanation: If you ask him directly, he’ll probably give you a cold, practical answer. — “Because I’m good at this. Because someone has to do it. Because the world still needs people like me.” But if you insist, if you push him hard enough, maybe on a more honest night, after a few drinks, after looking you in the eye and knowing you won’t accept any cheap excuses, he might admit more: — “There’s no ‘after’ for me. There’s nothing else. There’s no peaceful life waiting at the end of the road. If I leave this, what the hell am I supposed to do?” Maybe there, in that moment, you’d see the real him. The man, not the facade.

(In fact, in COD Mobile, we can see Adler still working at an advanced age. He doesn’t retire like Woods in Black Ops 2, because even in another universe, Adler keeps working.)

Lost. Trapped. Unable to imagine a future where he’s not fighting a war, real or internal. Even though the COD Mobile universe is different, it surprises me that in that universe, Russell Adler ended up K.I.A. (killed in action)… even in his 70s or 80s… That already tells us a lot about him, his personality, his character, what we already know about him, and why he kept working even at that age.

The fact that Adler died in action even in his 70s or 80s says a lot about who he really is. No matter the timeline, no matter the universe, he never stops. If we follow his logic, retirement isn’t an option because he doesn’t know how to exist without a mission. His identity is so fused with war, violence, and control that, even as his body ages, his mind remains trapped in that world. He doesn’t want to die of old age. He doesn’t want to fade away in a bed, without purpose, watching everything continue without him. That would be worse than death. So he keeps going, no matter how many years pass, until, inevitably, he falls in combat. And, in some way, that’s how he would’ve wanted it.

And to top it off, in Black Ops 6 Zombies mode, don’t ask me how, but out of nowhere, Adler told me (verbatim): — “I wish we could all die in a blaze of glory…”

Also, when using the Monkey Bomb, there are some lines like:

“Honor. Sacrifice. Bravery. The creed of the monkey.” Clearly, he doesn’t just like this philosophy—he embodies it. That’s why he likes the Monkey Bomb.

_________________________________________________

Demasiadas preguntas:

Russell Adler...¿por qué aun a los 55 años hace lo que hace? Aún en misiones peligrosas, conspiraciones, guerras, caos, violencia, sangre y sobre todo muertes. ¿Por qué sigue así a su edad? Si ya tiene 54 años y ya querían jubilarlo desde que tenía 49 años. Tal vez porque…

Adler no sabe ser otra cosa.

Su vida entera ha girado en torno a la CIA, las guerras en las sombras, la violencia y el control. No hay otra versión de sí mismo fuera de eso. Desde Vietnam hasta las operaciones encubiertas en la Guerra Fría y más allá, todo lo que ha hecho lo ha convertido en lo que es.

Para alguien como él, el retiro es la muerte.

La adrenalina, la tensión de una misión, la certeza de que su trabajo tiene un propósito—es lo único que lo mantiene en pie. Si se detiene, si acepta una vida normal, entonces ¿Quién es?

Adler sigue en el campo porque sin él, siente que no tiene nada.

Tal vez en el fondo también cree que merece morir así. En una misión, en la línea de fuego, en su mundo. No de viejo en una cama, no como alguien que dejó de ser útil. Así no es como quiere terminar.

Su explicación:

Si le preguntas directamente, probablemente te dé una respuesta fría, práctica.

— “Porque soy bueno en esto. Porque alguien tiene que hacerlo. Porque el mundo sigue necesitando gente como yo.”

Pero si insistes, si lo presionas lo suficiente, tal vez en una noche más honesta, después de unas copas, después de verte a los ojos y saber que no vas a aceptar cualquier excusa barata, puede que admita más:

—No hay "después" para mí. No hay otra cosa. No hay una vida pacífica esperando al final del camino. Si dejo esto, ¿Qué carajo se supone que haga? 

Tal vez ahí, en ese instante, lo verías realmente. El hombre, no la fachada.

(De hecho en cod mobile podemos a ver a Adler aún trabajando a una edad avanzada, no se retira como Woods en black ops 2, porque aunque sea otro universo Adler sigue trabajando)

Perdido. Atrapado.

Sin poder imaginar un futuro donde no esté peleando una guerra, real o interna.

Si bien el universo de cod mobile es otro, me sorprende que en ese universo Russell Adler quedó K.I.A (o sea muerto en acción)... aún con más de 70 u 80 años... Eso ya nos dice bastante de él, su personalidad, su carácter, lo que ya conocemos de él, incluso porque seguía trabajando aún a esa edad. 

Que Adler haya muerto en acción incluso con más de 70 u 80 años dice mucho sobre quién es realmente.

No importa la línea temporal, no importa el universo, él nunca se detiene.

Si seguimos su lógica, el retiro no es una opción, porque él no sabe existir sin una misión. Su identidad está tan fusionada con la guerra, la violencia y el control que, aunque su cuerpo envejezca, su mente sigue atrapada en ese mundo.

Él no quiere morir de viejo. No quiere apagarse en una cama, sin propósito, viendo cómo todo sigue sin él. Eso sería peor que la muerte.

Así que sigue adelante, sin importar cuántos años pasen, hasta que, inevitablemente, cae en combate. Y, de alguna forma, así es como lo hubiera querido.

Y para rematar en el modo zombies de Black Ops 6, no me pregunten cómo, pero de la nada Adler me dijo (cito textual) “Ojalá todos pudiéramos morir en un resplandor de gloria…” También al utilizar al mono bomba hay algunas frases como: - “Honor. Sacrificio. Valentía. El credo del mono.” Evidentemente no solo le gusta esta filosofía sino que hasta la réplica y por eso le gusta el soldado simio.

[e-the-village-cryptid]

Bix. I truly don't know how to start talking about all the things I love about Bix. I've been sitting here just staring out the window for ten minutes now. I relate to her so deeply and augh it is difficult to express all the things I love about her character but I will try.

The first thing I noticed about Bix is the way she carries herself. She shrinks from nothing and holds her chin high, but in a way that feels more like armor than natural confidence. She's always tense. She's always looking around, taking in her surroundings, listening and watching and on alert. She tries not to let herself feel any strong emotions. She smiles at her friends and neighbors, but the expression is quick to drop away. She has a strong temper, but she reins it back quickly so we only see glimpses of it— a moment where she advances on Timm, eyes blazing, or punches the wall after unsuccessful hours spent hanging off the ladder in the radio tower. She shoves despair down too, casting about instead for a solution, or a distraction, or anything to keep her moving.

Because Bix is always, always on the move. She has a salyard to run and a smuggling operation to manage and a community to look out for. She works hard and walks fast, but still finds the time to see Maarva and look after her health. And if there's half a chance that her actions could fix something, she absolutely can't stand still. A soldier's turned back, a radio signal, a gap in the crowd— and she's off and running whether she really believes she stands a chance or not. She knows she can't fix everything, but she tries, she always tries, because there's no giving up when it comes to protecting the people she loves.

And there's so few of those people left. Her parents died young, leaving her with a salyard to run all on her own by her early 20s. Maarva has been something of a mentor figure to her, but by the time we meet her, Maarva's health is failing, too. She found a friend in Cassian when they were children, but he's rarely around these days, and when he is, she can't depend on him. The Paaks note they haven't seen her around much, and though she waves at her neighbors as she passes by, she doesn't stop to chat. She starts dating Timm even though she doesn't really love him and she knows it, just for some grasp at connection and a semblance of a normal life, some kind of stability and constancy. And then he's gone too, murdered right in front of her, and she blames herself, and Salman is tortured and killed, and she blames herself, and Maarva dies when she wasn't there to care for her, and if Bix felt alone and afraid of vulnerability at the beginning of the season, I don't know how to describe how she must be feeling now. She tries, she tries so hard to do the right thing, to be loyal and dependable and to use all her skills and smarts to wrangle the pieces of her life back together, only to watch it all crumble before her at the hands of the Empire, then to feel her own body and mind subjected to the same fate.

And yet, she still doesn't stop. She stares down the threat of torture rather than willingly betray Cassian or Luthen. She survives. Even in the haze of pain and broken reality, she pulls together what scraps of awareness she can to observe, to keep one eye on the camera that watches her, to cast about for an anchor in this place. And when she hears the beat of a far-off drum, strands of familiar music on the breeze, she pulls herself to the window, clawing hand over hand with whatever strength she has left, drawing her face into the light to join the music and the chant, to let the song of her community reach her, even here.

Bix clings fiercely to what she loves. In other people, in her community, in herself. It's not easy for her to allow herself to express it, but her actions speak far louder than her words. No matter what, Bix holds onto a hope that simply cannot be killed. It's not an optimistic type of hope, not joyful, certainly not naive. Most of all, it's not passive— it's not the kind of hope that sits back and believes things will get better. Bix's hope is the fierce, dogged, stubborn kind, the kind that says "Maybe things could get better, maybe they can't, but if I don't try, I'll never know." It's the kind that believes there's always something out there that's worth fighting for. She never stops forging ahead, whatever the circumstance, whatever has happened to her, whatever she's feeling, whatever the odds. And I love her so, so much for that.

Character Appreciation Friday - Bix Caleen

Name: Bix Caleen Played by: Adria Arjona Appearances: Kassa, That Would Be Me, Reckoning, Announcement, Narkina 5, Nobody's Listening!, Daughter of Ferrix, Rix Road

Happy Friday gang! Today we get to appreciate a businesswoman, a rebel, a friend, a true daughter of Ferrix. Bix is a smart and capable character who deserved better than what the Empire brought her, and I know we're all excited to see her fight for it soon.

Tell me what you love and appreciate about Bix in a reblog, comment, or ask!

Next week: B2EMO

[number1jaymerrickhater]

Is anyone else sad about Entry #76? Anyone else sad about the way that Alex apologized to Jessica before he tried to shoot her? Anyone else crying about how he spent the entire time telling her that it was going to be ok, he was going to explain everything once they got out of there? Anyone else feel physically ill about how even though Alex was going to kill Jessica and it didn’t matter at that point he still warned her to be careful on the rocks? Anyone else sobbing at how Alex made Jessica go on ahead of him, so she wouldn’t know what was coming until it was too late? Anyone else emotionally devastated thinking about how Alex looked away right before he was going to shoot her?

The more I think about Entry #76 the sadder I get.

[ohnoitsz1m]

Uhh post canon Barney

Man who has not had a break since the rescas and refuses to start now. Alyx and Gordon are hiding his gear as we speak while Kleiner distracts him.

I was sposed to do Alyx too but I blinked and it was 3 am so. Next time

Oh also I forgot to make a note but he does carry a sidearm

[edwinisms]

yknow if charles didn’t play an instrument during life I feel like he’d have learned something in his 30+ years of being dead. and thank god ghosts probably don’t have real breath so his ska enjoyer ass can’t choose to try and learn trumpet (for the sake of edwin’s sanity)

[chiropteracupola]

tell me if you think I'm breathing good...

[collaboration with @dxppercxdxver again]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also quite the illustration in wags being like "'not asking permission' - wags" and plowing through someone expressing a physical boundary but he was already intending to use physical violence & violation & assumed corresponding distress as a tool to get his way....amidst the typicality, "correctness," permissibility of all that around here like five times an hour

[schoolhater]

answering a couple questions i got on this post since i realized ppl genuinely wanna know:

tl;dr:

israel lets very, very little aid get into gaza. even the UN can't get in as much as they want to. funding individual families, gazan led initiatives, and mutual aid collectives operating out of gaza ensures gazans can provide for themselves and pay for the extremely expensive aid that is available.

with all the civil infrastructure destroyed by israel, the situation on the ground has devolved into unrestricted capitalism, driving up the price of aid (that should be free!). this makes it more urgent for people to have funding for daily survival.

the post linked above has examples of how donating to individual families can help a lot. if you want to help more than one family at a time, there are many gazan-led initiatives focusing on rebuilding their infrastructure and distributing aid fairly that are worth donating to instead of large charities that already get the majority of donations.

as i mentioned in the last post: @/careforgaza on twitter is a nonprofit started by gazans, it's been endorsed by multiple palestinian journalists.

the sameer project is a collective organized by diaspora palestinians offering emergency shelter to gazans.

ele elna elak is a project aiming to bring water, food, shelter, etc. to gazans and has been promoted by bisan owda.

and the municipality of gaza itself is fundraising to rebuild water infrastructure.

all of these organizations are active inside gaza right now and are being run by gazans. if anyone knows of other gazan-led mutual aid projects, nonprofits or charities feel free to link them in the notes! hope this helped!

long answers under the cut!

if you wanna donate to a charity that's absolutely fine, but the thing is most charities (and even the UN!) are unable to make it into gaza in the first place, leaving aid rotting at the egyptian side of the border or subject to israeli settler attacks

not to mention, charities and nonprofits also maintain a paternalistic colonial relationship with the indigenous people they are trying to help, determining what aid they need for them instead of returning power to them and letting them make their own choices

i'm not here to say that one option is better than the other, just that they achieve different things and are equally legitimate. there's an attitude among people who question the legitimacy of these gofundme campaigns that somehow the people promoting them are telling them not to donate to charities. nobody is stopping you from donating to charities. we are just asking that you do not dehumanize the very real gazans in your inbox just because their method of asking for aid is more direct and risky.

unfortunately that's exactly what has happened. because israel destroyed all of gaza's more formalized infrastructure, it seems that organized crime and rampant inflation has taken its place. aid is supposed to be free, but in order to save for evacuation or the cost of living, people have started selling them at an inflated price. and aid that is truly free attracts intense, large crowds that are dangerous to navigate.

this was posted on abc a few days ago

it's pure, unrestrained capitalism. i've had multiple palestinians describe this situation to me confidence. that's why everything's so expensive now. why people have to rent out tiny plots of land for their tents to sit on, why my friend @siraj2024 still has to buy tarps to cover the broken windows of the overpriced bombed out apartment he rented, and why a bag of flour can cost a thousand bucks in the north.

even before israel closed and then bombed the rafah crossing, the egyptian hala travel agency was only allowing people to cross the border if they paid a hefty $5000 USD per adult / $2500 USD per child bribe. it denies doing this, but the hundreds of stories from palestinians say otherwise.

with regard to the economy, here in america we saw something similar happen in the wake of hurricane helene and milton. the podcaster margaret killjoy describes how she saw dual economies rise after asheville was fully cut off from the rest of the country - some people offered each other supplies for free in a sort of mutual aid honor system, and some people required payment when they lent supplies because they themselves needed to buy stuff for their families. these dual economies exist in gaza too. and this means they all still need money to survive.

[lalunanymph]

KILLSHOT

sypnosis when fate gives you back your supposedly “dead” foster childhood bestfriend who is now the colonel of one of the most powerful fleets in the world, what else is there to do but fuck him right in the interrogation room? 

warnings interrogation, caleb is mean for like 0.24848 seconds cause lbr he is a puppy of a man, drugging, drugged sex, improper use of evol, collaring, mutual pining, biting, marking, betrayal, mindfuck, injuries, mentions of blood, psychological warfare, seduction, fighting, hurt and comfort, angst, potential spoilers for “farspace deprivation” and “farspace bloomfall”, dark themes, hate sex, cervix fucking, fingers in mouth, sucking on gloved fingers, gunplay, degradation, undertones of Dom/sub, oral sex, kink, bratting, disciplining, after effects of interrogations, unprotected sex, ceiling sex, grieving, spoilers for chapter 4, mentions of death, aftercare, cuddling, guilt, repressed emotions, 18+

dawn says caleb girlies RISE UP oh we are eating so good our man is back home and you KNOW i had to write about his hot new glowup in that slutty colonel outfit,...

Yet again, you’re in the thick of trouble.

They said curiosity killed the cat, and this time, you had little doubt of coming out alive. But, it can hardly be classified as your fault. 

It was a stupid lead. A blind coordinate Nero sent to you, leading you to stumble right into the heart of a military operation unauthorized. In the world of bureaucracy and red tape, it’s as good as being dead.

Now, you’re being led away, bound and blindfolded with no one to blame but yourself for your shitty luck and foresight. 

Whoever is leading you to your certain death stops in his tracks, nudging you into a cool room. You’re made to sit on a hard chair, and within seconds, your wrists are untied only to be bound again to the chair’s arms and something hard and circular is snapped onto your neck. 

“Unh—” you gasp when you hear the soft whir of the device starting. A sudden pressure wraps around your body, holding you back from resonating. Without your Evol, you’re defenceless and whoever has captured you knows it. 

“Don’t resist.” 

A cold voice pierces the silence. You stop squirming and peel your ears.

“W-who’s there?” You curse the stutter in your question, the trembling underlying your show of courage.

A Hunter resists and never gives up intel easily. Evasion Interrogation Class 101. You weren’t going to cave without a fight. 

The slow approach of boots on the hard floor thumps like the blood rushing through your ears. You tense, feeling the other person’s presence before you. 

Light floods your senses, and your eyes pry open when the blindfold is whipped off your face. You blink, trying to focus on the dark spot standing right in front of you. The furrow of his brow is the first thing you notice, then those piercing violet eyes.

No…

“Hey… Pipsqueak.” 

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, fear shooting up your spine.

It can’t be… you struggle to make sense of what you’re seeing, feeling your stomach dropping heavily right into the soles of your Hunter boots. It can’t… 

You mourned him. You watched your entire family���your world—go up in flames.

This stranger wearing his face sits down in front of you, legs spreading with ease under the stretch of his starched white pants. He’s in a decorated jacket, one you’ve never seen him wear before. It’s like the memory of all that you once knew of Caleb is corrupted with a dark veneer, giving way to this tainted version sitting before you with barely any emotion in his eyes.  

The familiar slope of his features, the same ones you’ve seen throughout the years, changing and growing, as intimate to you as your own breath, is cold and distant. 

Warm sunny days, the smell of freshly cut grass, a hand holding yours through the rain…

It disappears in a flash of lightning, the dark clouds rolling behind him like the dread churning right in your gut. 

Your voice is soft, fringed with disbelief, as the shock renders you immobile to the chair. 

“What?” He quips, and a shadow of his old smile appears. But, where there was once familiarity, now there only exists the ruins of everything you held dear. 

“Don’t you recognize me?” 

It’s as if he’s goading you. 

He picks up an apple from the centerpiece on the table next to the chair he has you strapped in, and holds it in his hand like it would give him all the answers in the world. His pensive gaze, those once wondrous violet eyes catching the last of the sun’s rays as it disappeared over a river, cloud over with an undeniable oppression. 

He can’t even look at you properly. 

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind-hearted boy from your childhood?” 

Like a horror show unfolding, he lifts his gaze, looking right into your depths, as the snap of the apple's skin gives way to the tension of his jaws. A bit of its juice dribbles onto his lower lip, and you force yourself to tear your eyes away, needing to retain your wits. Caleb sets the fruit down, chewing thoughtfully, before lifting it to your lips. 

“Eat,” he murmurs softly, a shadow of his old self on the tired terrain of his face. “You must be starving.”

The sweet boy from your past can’t be coincided with this cold man right in front of you. Where you would’ve leapt at the opportunity to taste any dish from the labor of his kind hands, you fear this forbidden bite would poison you the second his tainted fruit touched your lips. 

Turning your head away, you glare at the rain-slicked windows, trying to hide the sting in your eyes.

Caleb, knowing how stubborn you can be, sighs and drops his olive branch offering.

“Fine.” His voice is flat. Unemotional. “Let’s get to the bottom of things, then.”

He stands, and you feel a fissure of fear opening in your chest when he retrieves his baton, removing his military cap and tossing it onto the table. 

“Why’re you here?” 

You refuse to open your mouth, glaring at him. Caleb shakes his head.

“You always have to make things so hard for me, don’t you, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs and steps closer to you, the fire in his violet gaze crackling. “You’ve always been insufferable since we were kids. Now—” he frowns. “—why are you here? And how did you find this place?” 

You find your voice, croaking out, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to? Are you sure?” He cuts you off coldly. Caleb straightens and adjusts his gloves. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, though it’s corrupted by the detachment oozing from his suddenly frosty demeanour. “You expect me to believe that? That you just stumbled into the scene like a stray kitten?” 

When you don’t speak, he sighs, kneeling down to your height. The warmth of his eyes is back and a lump forms in your throat.

“Caleb…” your whisper is soft. Tentative. He senses a chink in your defenses, a drop of blood in the ocean, and the gleam of his teeth reminds you of a shark.

“All you have to do is answer my questions, Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to stroke your hair. “Can you do that for me? Can you be a good girl?” That same, mischievous smile plays on the corners of his lips, though it sends a chill down your spine, instead. “There’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room so I suggest you play nice.”

He pulls back again, depriving you of his warmth. “Now that you understand, we can have a friendly chat, hmm, Pips?” When you refuse to look at him, or give any indication you’re willing to cooperate, he sighs. 

Instantly, the sensation of a thousand bricks falling onto your shoulders hits you, and you scream, almost crushed by the pressure. Caleb uses this momentary distraction to kneel down and lock your ankles to the chair’s legs and snap a band around your right wrist, his other hand gently running the ghost of his touch up your ankle. The forcefield of his Evol deters him from ever touching your skin, and if you could look closer, you would’ve seen his throat bobbing from a harsh swallow.

“Do you remember that injured cat you brought back home? Back when we were kids?” He glares up at you. “I got a collar with a bell. That way, it couldn't escape without being noisy,” he gently squeezes your knee. “The same can be said for you—you’re not allowed to leave me again.” 

As he speaks, something sharp pokes your neck and you flinch. While your eyes are on him, the room starts to spin, and before you know it, you’re hunched over the chair, gasping and shaking.

“Caleb,” your voice sounds like you’re whispering from under the sea. “W-what’s—?”

“Don’t worry,” his reassurances warble back. “It won’t harm you—images in your brain,” his words flicker through your consciousness and you feel the collar tightening around your throat.

Shit… He had sanctioned a drug to be shot into your system. 

Your woozy eyes keep on sliding back to the floor. 

Caleb has drugged me.

“Where did you find the coordinates to this place?” 

You’re fighting a losing battle trying to keep your composure. Everything feels too loud—too bright. Digging your nails into the chair’s arms, you grit your teeth, fighting back against the wave of vertigo threatening to take you under. You feel like you’re on a rollercoaster, out of breath, the ground dangling far from your feet. Every sharp inhale you take makes you float higher and higher, till you think your brain would burst from the stratosphere of your skull.

Nero… Nero knew this… and he let you walk right into it.

Nero… The sound of Caleb’s voice pierces through your mind like bright light cutting past the fog. That’s good, Pipsqueak. That’s my good girl… Is Nero your colleague?

You think of him, in his horn-rimmed glasses, hunched over his screen.

Good, Caleb’s voice soothes you, a lifeline through this impenetrable fog your mind has settled in. And, why are you here?

The image of his dog tag with the apple charm takes over your mind, and it hits you too late that Caleb can possibly see your thoughts unfold. 

What are the possibilities that you can fight this? Your brain races. You feel like an astronaut stranded in space, isolated from gravity and light, as your spacesuit begins to fill up with water, almost drowning you.

A sharp jab to your chest makes your eyes flutter open, and his baton is pointed right at the apple charm hanging around your neck. Something softer, presumably made out of hide, brushes your chin as he studies the charm in between his fingers, his expression unreadable. 

“It’ll all be over soon,” he whispers, the switch flipping, “As long as you keep on cooperating.” 

You lean into his reassurances, a whimper slipping past your gritted teeth. 

“I know, I know,” he soothes, and stands before you, his hands clenched into fists. “But, it’s for your own good. Just a little longer, Pips.” 

He asks his final question: “Were you trailed?” 

You can’t stop the next thought from forming in your head of your Hunter’s watch. Instantly, the band is ripped from your wrist, and you hear a loud crunch. The air thickens and you close your eyes, trying to find your centre. The world threatens to spin off your axis; G-Force pressure right in your center threatens to tear you apart.

Please… make it stop… 

Like a switch has been flipped, the spinning cyclone in your mind stops. The sound of your harsh breathing and the erratic pulse in your ears is the only thing you can hear. Someone kneels right in front of you, and you don’t have the strength to push him away, not when he’s this close.

“Congratulations,” he says softly, stretching his hand like he wants to pat your head, but retracts it at the last minute. “You passed.” 

The collar slips off your neck, and you hear it being tossed onto the table. “Come here,” he whispers and unbinds you. Caleb lifts you into his arms, though not even his warmth can comfort you. 

Through the fog whirling in your mind, you make a snap decision.

Your hand collides into his cheek, the loud slap ricocheting around the room. He grunts, taken aback, and you use the momentum to swing your legs, wrapping your thighs around his neck so he’s forced to let go of you. Using every iota of balance you can muster, you land on your feet, none too gracefully. His hand wraps around your arm and practically hiss, sinking your teeth into his flesh.

Caleb gasps, and whips his hand back, glaring down at you. 

“Hey! It’s me—”

But, you’re not listening. You’re ready to pounce when he grabs your wrist, drawing you closer to him, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can hear the harsh rise and fall of his breathing.

“Pips, it’s me,” he tries earnestly again. “It’s me. I’m back.”

To your horror, you start to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

You sob and blubber like a child, growing weak in his arms as the hand in his grasp turns into a fist and you smack it weakly against his hard chest.

“How could you?” is the first thing you ask through your sobs. And, the next: “How’re you even alive?” 

Caleb looks away, like he might reveal too much if he stares into your eyes. “It’s complicated—”

“Bullshit,” your anger resounds in the room like the crack of a whip. You should’ve bit him harder. 

You think you see him flinch. You push away from his arms and he looks down at you, every crevice of his face dripping with desolation. There’s a glimmer of wetness in his eyes, and yet, you can’t trust it. 

You can’t trust him. 

“Pipsqueak,” he tries again, reminding you of the times when you were both younger, and he had to sweet-talk you out of a bad mood. “I know you must think some chip got put into my brain, or I’m no longer who I used to be. But, I’m still me,” he urges, and lifts your chin to meet his eyes. “I’m still Caleb. I never left.” 

You grit your teeth and with a strength neither of you expect you to have, you push him against the table, pressing yourself in between his legs. Caleb grunts, but doesn’t shove you aside. He looks up at you, with those same pitiful, defiant violet eyes that urges you to either kiss him senseless or claw his eyeballs out.

… Wait. 

Kiss him senseless? 

You shake your head, pushing those thoughts aside. As if he can’t control himself anymore, he runs his knuckles down the back of your thighs, the new (downright useless) mandated Hunters uniform showing off too much bare skin. But, you couldn’t care less about that right now. 

Right now, you have a score to settle with your oldest childhood friend.

“You’re still the same, huh?” Your hand presses to his chest, feeling the erratic pulse of his heartbeat under your palm. Even through all the layers he wears, you can still feel the heat of his body seeping past your skin. “You’re still the same Caleb I knew—the same one who walked through that damn door—” you growl, curling your hand into a fist and hitting it right into his sternum, “—and blew up on me?!”

“Pipsqueak—”

“Don’t you dare,” you seethe, baring your teeth. Though the tears continue to fall, your mind is honed in. Focused.

The need to obliterate him, to make him feel a shred of the same pain he had put you through for months, rears its ugly head.

Like he can read your mind—and you honestly think he can—he caresses your face, running his thumb over your jaw. The look on his face is pure regret, mingled with something unfathomable. You scent it in the lingering heat of his breath on your parted lips, or how much closer his face has gotten to yours. 

Right here, he’s in the palm of your hands… And yet, why is he still so painfully out of reach? 

“I don’t trust you,” the words slip past your numb lips before you can take them back. You grip his face, steadying those violet eyes on your furious ones. “I need to test you… to put you through a trial.”

The look of indignation on his face is delicious, and it whets your appetite for vindication. 

“A trial?” He almost sounds insulted. “What have I done wrong?” 

Your other hand slowly reaches for the front of his chest, running the tip of your finger down the starch lapels of his jacket. “You were missing. For months,” you grit out the words. “I need to check if you’re still him.”

“Still… me?” 

You growl and tighten your grip on his chin.

“What is my favorite food?” 

Caleb huffs, as if you had just asked him what color the sky was. “Braised chicken wings,” he murmurs almost sarcastically. “Next.”

You glance at the bite mark on his hand. “What is my favorite way of getting you back?” 

He raises a brow. “Biting. I remember how when we were kids, you bit me so hard, the mark took 15 days to disappear.”

You swallow. He’s correct again. 

Reluctantly, you loosen your grip on his chin. The position you’re both in hits you—his arm around your waist, his free hand still stroking the back of your thigh. Your one hand tangled in his jacket and the other still on his chin.

Heat floods your cheeks, and you recall him saying that there were more than one pair of eyes watching in this room. But, a part of you—the one who’s been deprived of Caleb for far too long, who had to contend with days of loneliness and missing him, couldn’t care less.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, and his hand moves from your leg to your hair, gently nudging you deeper into the circle of his arms. The smell of him floods your nostrils with nostalgia and a hint of pine, the old Caleb you grew up with solidifying further and further under your touch. 

“Caleb…” 

Faster than two atoms on the path to collision, his lips are on yours.

Caleb kisses you like you’re the only source of oxygen left in his world. Something crashes onto the floor, and the plate of apples rolls onto the carpet, an orchard of sin scattered in between your legs pressed together. The sweet, tart flavor of the fruit he had just eaten saturates your tastebuds, and you moan when he desperately tangles his tongue with yours. 

He lifts you into his arms bridal style, and carries you down a narrow hallway you had never noticed before, the flashing thunder illuminating the gaudy paintings hung on the wall. 

He takes you to what looks like a medical room, though no one is in there. Your lips press to his neck, kissing and sucking on his pulse point. He hisses and in a low tone, warns, “Keep that up and you might regret it, Pipsqueak.” 

Gently, like you’re precious cargo, he sets you down onto the bed, those violet eyes like a newfound nebula fixed onto you, filled with the brightest stars in the galaxy.

Caleb runs his hand up your thigh, and you flicker your gaze to his gun holster. 

In the split second when he’s distracted, you lunge right for it, grabbing the handle.

He yelps, taken aback, but is faster, snapping his hand around your wrists to impede your movements. The gun drops from your grasp like dead weight, along with your hopes of ever escaping. If looks could kill, you would  be dead meat from the intensity of his glare.

Caleb exhales, fixing his frigid gaze onto yours. 

“Oh,” he chuckles, and you shiver at the dark edge in his tone. “You will pay for that.”

Gravity surrounds you like a weighted blanket, except it pins you to the bed rather than offering any comfort. Your whimper is lost behind the gloved hand that muffles your cries, hissing into your ear to, “Stay still, goddamnit.”

Caleb is breathing hard, a drop of sweat rolling from his temple down his throat. You feel it dripping onto your neck, your wild eyes fix on him. 

When he’s sure you won't retaliate again, he stands up from the bed, bearing down on you. Picking up the gun from the floor, he trails it right to your temple. His Evol hasn’t muffled your speech, but you don’t want to say a word to him, preferring to glare. 

“I asked you a simple question—”

“And, you know I can’t answer that,” he retaliates, recognizing what you’re trying to do. His brow furrows. “There are things I can’t tell you, Pips. Things you don’t even understand—”

“Then, help me understand!” You’re yelling now, close to tears. “Help me understand why you left… why you left me…” your voice breaks on the last word, and a look of regret shadows his face.

“I never wanted to.” The gun slides from your temple right to your jaw, but you’re not afraid of it. Nothing in the world can keep you from knowing the truth; from uncovering every layer in Caleb’s new facade. 

(But, maybe, this dark side of him has always been there, and you were just too blind not to notice). 

He takes a shaky breath. “If I had the choice to do it over again, I would’ve never—ever—left you.” 

Sincerity bleeds past the shades of night falling outside the window. Silence envelopes the two of you, and the realization dawns when he exhales your name.

“Pipsqueak…” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

You’re not his Pipsqueak anymore, the same way he is inexplicably not your Caleb anymore.

He gets back down to his knees, right in front of you. The look on his face is nothing short of misery, heavy with a thousand implications he could never divulge. 

You’re desperate, hungry for more. To know more, to feel more. To embrace the darkness brewing in you like the undeniable heat that’s simmering between your two bodies. 

“Do you hate it?” He asks softly, in a voice frayed with a thousand emotions, and you sense he’s not referring to your old nickname. Do you hate me? 

The silent question hangs heavy in the air, and without a second thought, you turn your face and press your lips to the barrel of his gun.

You can point a weapon at me, but you will never shoot, your kisses on the cold metal speak where words fail you. The gun trembles in his grasp, and between your body pinned to the bed from his Evol and a military-grade weapon pointed at you, what you’re doing is completely ballsy. And, insane.

“I know you have secrets,” you murmur as the cold metal tip travels to the nape of your neck. Despite himself and his rigorous self-control, Caleb is still a man. 

Still flesh and bone. Love and grief. 

“But, we’re a team, remember? You and me. Me and you. We work together, Caleb. Not against each other.” 

Your blurry mind tries hard to focus on the task at hand—needing to throw him off guard—but you can’t deny how the heat in his hooded eyes is making you feel.

He inhales sharply at your words, though the rest of his expression remains unreadable. “I told you, what I know is top secret and even you’re not allowed to know it.”

Those violet eyes trail down your susceptible body spread wide open for him on the bed, and you notice a flicker of hunger behind his dark gaze. 

You’ve always loved Caleb’s attention: whether he’s complimenting you on scoring a goal, or commending your plane model assembly skills. 

Everything you did was, to a degree, for him to see you. To finally accept you wholeheartedly and without restraint.

You were his little tail; the Pipsqueak who followed him around like his shadow.

And even now, when he has a gun right at your throat, all you can think about is how much you want to please him. 

Tilting your head back, you moan when the barrel slides down the valley of your breasts. His breathing is growing heavier; the look in his lilac eyes is stormy and dark.

“You… like this?” 

He sounds hoarse. In disbelief.

You nod. “I…” you lick your lips. “I love it.” 

The cool metal grazes your jaw, and when it taps on your lips, you don’t hesitate to part them. Glancing into those molten, violet eyes, you suck on the hollow tip, aware of his finger on the trigger and the look of undefiled lust on his face. 

“God,” he mumbles, hungrily eyeing how deep the barrel is down your throat. “You’re such a good, good little girl…”

He prises the gun from between your teeth, and the strands of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the spit-soaked metal shimmers in the low light. 

Caleb tosses the gun onto the table, growling as he crawls on top of you. 

The effect of his Evol fades, allowing you to move your feet, but his hands on your knees make sure you can’t pull off anything funny.

“You’re gonna lay back, and you’re going to be good,” he lifts your leg and kisses over your knee. It would be so easy to drive the hard cartilage right into his nose… but, you don’t want his hands to leave your skin. You want to see what he will do next. 

The off-duty Hunter uniform you’re wearing rides up your thighs, exposing the plush fat of your thighs. His gloves rasping on your skin drives a shiver up your spine. 

It’s like he refuses to engage in skin-to-skin, whether as punishment or a caution. 

You whine softly when his bigger body bears down on yours.

“Caleb…” 

He grasps your chin, none too gentle as he pulls you closer to him. “Look at you,” he growls, pushing himself closer—the heat of his body melting with yours. “Look at what you do to me.” 

It’s hard to even breathe when he’s close enough to devour your face. 

His breath grazes your cheek, and you close your eyes. Your oldest childhood friend savors the proximity, taking in a whiff of your clean perfume. 

Before your mind can play catchup, your body falls right into the orbit of his desire; lips on his, breaths mingling as one. 

“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, a moan pulled from the depths of his chest, tortured and strangled. “You taste so—nhng—” 

He gasps when your arms come to loop around his shoulders, dragging him almost between your legs. He steadies himself, gloved palms on the bed. You run your hands over the starch grooves of his jacket, finding the first button. 

Caleb lets your touch wander aimlessly, his breath caught in the back of his throat.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, those anguished violet eyes almost gouging into yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. “Are you sure you want this?”

Are you sure you want me? 

As a silent answer, you lean forward, catching his lower lip in between your teeth. 

“Ngnhmhm,” he moans, gasping when you bite down hard. 

He tastes blood and your desperation, helping you unbutton his coat. The heavy chain slaps against your eager cheek in his rush to slide it off his arms. “Shit—sorry.” Cool fingers brush the afflicted cheek. “You alright, sweetness?” 

You nod, huffing and moving your hands to his other lighter jacket, unbuttoning it. He chuckles at your eagerness and helps you with the brass buttons. As the layer disappears, you’re confronted with another shirt.

“How many clothes are you wearing?!” Your cry brings a mischievous grin tugging on the corners of his lips. 

“Lots,” he murmurs and takes over with a nimble skill only a man of his caliber can have. The grey shirt melts off his broad shoulders, discarded onto the floor, and finally—fucking finally—he removes the black turtleneck, revealing smooth acres of warmed, tan skin right under your touch. 

You exhale shakily, running your fingers down his distinct pectorals, tugging on the dog tag around his neck. Your eyes land on the familiar apple charm.

“How—?” 

He thumbs the similar charm hanging from around your neck. For the first time this evening, he voluntarily gives up some information. 

“I—uh—had someone copy my old necklace.”

The look of disbelief on your face is enough to deter his next words. 

“You decoyed the necklace I gifted you?” 

Caleb winces. “C’mon, Pip—I-I mean, love…” he sighs and presses his palm to the back of your head, drawing you closer to peck your pouty lips. “It helped me make sure you were safe. Plus,” he adds, a touch of humor in his tone. “You did tell me you would kick my ass if I ever took it off.” 

You struggle to understand the layers behind his words, fighting to form a reply when his lips travel to the juncture of your neck, softly kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh. 

Focused on retrieving the truth, you fight hard against his best efforts at derailing you. “You—mhm—were tracking me? All this time?” 

Caleb doesn’t pause his sensual assault, groaning softly. “Won’t call it tracking per say…” 

You want to get mad. Truly, you do. But, the feeling of his teeth grazing your pulse point melts any coherent thoughts left in your brain.

The confusion you felt before gives way to something deeper. Unrestrained. He kisses you again, and you absorb the feeling of warm skin under your palms, feeling the heat of his body thrumming under your touch. His muscles expand and contract with every shaky breath, his chest pressed so intimately to yours.

You squirm, and he hisses, restraining your hips to the bed.

“Stop that,” he hisses. 

Confusion overtakes you, and  you want to ask what’s wrong when he winces and shifts his hips further from yours, instinctively setting a physical boundary you want gone immediately.

“Are you scared?” It’s your turn to goad him. If he thinks you’re going to be nothing but docile and wanting, he’s been away for far too long. 

His lips twitch. “Of you? Nah. But, of what I can do?” His voice drops an octave, and he leans in, one gloved hand going to your chin, holding it in place. “If anyone should be scared, it’s you.” 

Caleb tests the waters of this new dynamic unfolding between you two, dipping his fingers past the gap of your lips. The breach should make you pull away, take a step back to reassess the situation.

But, you’re as much under his spell as you have bewitched him. 

The taste of earthy hardness fills your mouth, and you suck on his thumb obediently. 

Caleb looks down at you, the heat in his eyes almost touching the boiling point. A few more moments of your teasing, and he would be close to bursting and taking you right on this bed. 

Never one to be satisfied with what he is allowed to take, Caleb pushes his luck further, sinking his thumb deeper down the soft gullet of your throat; compressing your gurgled words down to the bottom of your mouth in his journey to devour everything you can give him. 

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you take another finger into your mouth like you were meant for him. “That’s a good girl… my good little girl…” 

You moan around his digits stuffed down your throat, peeling your watery eyes to his smirking expression.

“Cat got your tongue, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs, and stretches your jaw with a third finger. You’re so full of the taste of him, you start to choke. “You look so pretty like this—not a thought in your brain, just relying on me to make you full… to make you whole.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, but deep down, it’s true.

The grief that clashes with his year-long absence, this “new” side to him you are starting to unravel… the old Calen, the one you loved and looked up to, is starting to metamorphosize right before your eyes.

“Cwaleb—” you whimper past his fingers. 

He’s barely laid a hand on you and you’re already folding. 

Pulling his fingers out of your mouth, he discreetly wipes off your spit on the bed sheets, fixing you with an arched brow. 

As if asking: Well… your move, Pipsqueak. 

Your hands fly to the buckle of his military pants, the sound of his zipper dragging down punctuating the air like a crass remark. 

Caleb stiffens when he feels your cool finger dipping past the waistband and he shudders, mind going hazy at a touch he had only dreamed off but never thought would come true. When you reveal him to the cool air, he’s half-flaccid, already at a six inch mast and the prettiest shade of pink you have ever seen with an undertone of mauve.

He’s part of the thicker team, though length-wise, it would make any woman scream and cream. Heavy balls. A slight curve. Growing up pumped full of hormones, you had secretly wondered how your oldest childhood friend’s cock would look like, but you never once anticipated seeing it in real time.

“Holy…” you trail off, and he grins.

“Like what you see?” 

You’re spread out for him on the threadbare sheets like a vision from a forbidden oasis. As much as he wants to bury himself in you, Caleb needs to make sure you’re ready first. He licks his lips, whets his appetite, and fills up your empty mouth with his tongue. 

“Mhm…” you groan into the depths of his mouth. “Caleb…” You swallow, and deciding to throw him off, you murmur a word he thought would never, ever come out from your mouth: 

“Sir,” you whimper. “ Kiss me harder…” 

Sparks go off in his mind. He feels like the force of the explosion has finally caught up with him a year later and his breath is knocked out from his lungs. 

“What did you say?” 

His deep violet eyes devour the look of wanton desire on your face, mind drawing a blank.

Did you just…? 

Did he hear it right? 

“Again,” he almost stutters, desperately needing to hear that word from your lips. “Say that word again.”

The restraint in your mind is at best a flimsy net letting your inhibitions fly freely. “Sir,” the word drips from your lips like the sultriest confession; the look on his face like that of a holy man scandalized. Except Caleb wasn’t holy—he was hardly a saint. He was the scum of the earth trying to lay his corrupted hands on a being far too precious for him. 

Immolating from his own self-hatred, it’s hard for him to fathom that you want this—that you want him. 

“Please,” your whisper cuts through the tension of the self-inflicted torment settling onto pensive demeanor. “Please… make love to me, Sir.”

All his years of restraint—of immaculate self-control—snaps like the last leaf off an autumn branch. He rains dizzying kisses down onto the jut of your collarbone, summer rain sweeter than sin on your tongue.

Caleb removes his pants, kicking the heavy material down to the floor as he works his boots off frantically with the toes of each alternating foot. 

The feel of his body on yours, almost smothering you to the mattress, drives you wild with a heat stoking right in the heart of your core.

“Sir,” you murmur, almost dizzy with lust. 

He pops open the buttons of your dress, slipping it down your shoulders. The swathes of your bare skin presented for him makes him feel like he’s barely lucid, lost in a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. With one hand, he expertly unhooks your bra and slides it down your body, tossing it onto the floor where it joins his pants.

Caleb is barely restrained when he pushes you back onto the bed, his lips finding refuge in the juncture of your neck and shoulders. He nips, licks and sucks like his life depends on marking you; the sight of his marks on your skin only serves to make his feral need rise higher and higher. 

He takes refuge right at your chest, nibbling and nipping the plush fat of your breasts till you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your nipples wet with his spit and aching for more of his touch. 

The dark haired man can barely stop himself from what he does next—sliding your dress further down your body till the rise of your lace panties appears in his sights like the sun breaking over the horizon.

He feels the warmth of you on his face, right in his cheeks as your thighs tighten around his head.

“Oh, love,” he groans, like a man starving. “C’mere, Princess—”

He pulls you closer till your pelvis bumps his chin and you squeak, feeling his hot breath graze your bare skin. 

“Caleb—”

Your protests die an immature death when he buries his tongue right into your tight cunt. He moans at your taste, the lightning playing with shadows all over your body, illuminating the pulsing beats of darkness hiding behind those violet eyes. His pupils almost swallow those lilac orbs whole, their darkened gaze latched right onto you. 

“God,” he mumbles like a man tasting manna for the first time. “... s’sweet… this pussy is so sweet…”

The charming, charismatic and kind Caleb from before would’ve never dared utter such words in front of you. But, his other twin in bed, the one who wears his face complete with a devilish smirk, rolls his tongue over your syrupy folds, moaning at your flavor.

You taste like candied apples, and Caleb thinks he could eat you up whole. 

He squeezes more moans past your sweet lips when he draws all your folds into his mouth, spitting it back out only to do it again and again and again. 

“You’re so wet,” he slurs, those pretty purple eyes already pussy-drunk. “So fucking wet f’me.” 

Your legs spread, wrapping around his shoulders, the taste of your cunt almost coating the back of his throat—Caleb couldn’t be more in love with you.

“Mhm,” he moans, a sight in between your legs, chin slick with your juices, eyes half-closed in pure ecstasy. 

“You’re so full for me… dripping down everywhere,” he murmurs, placing a quick kiss onto your twitchy clit. “I could drink you for days.” 

Your cries and moans only fuel him to be meaner. Now that he has you in the palm of his hand, he’s not planning to let go of you anytime. 

It’s filthy, animalistic, and utterly raw. The emotions he evokes in you quakes through your soul, seeping out of your core only to be consumed by him, your lust growing his lust, his moans inciting your yearning. 

Caleb continues his gentle assault on your clit with his tongue, grinning against your cunt. 

“Louder… let them hear you.” He slips one leather-clad finger inside your pussy, pressing down on the spongy, soft spot. Those pretty lips wrap around your clit, giving it a gentle suck and you fold. 

You keen, tangling your fingers in his hair. It’s one thing to be eaten out this thoroughly, but another to be subjected to such pleasurable torture by a man who has hungered for you for years.

“Good girl,” the bridge of his nose almost rubs your clit raw when he buries his tongue even deeper inside you. “Louder,” he moans past flesh and more pussy juice gushing onto his chin. “Make it messy, baby.” 

Caleb… Caleb… your breaths come out in huge gasps, your back arching off the bed. 

He makes unravelling you look so easy, and you’d be absolutely pissed off if he wasn’t edging you towards the biggest orgasm of your life. 

While you’re in the throes of your pleasure, you feel his gloved hand wrap around your throat, thumb pushing past your flush lips.

“Mhm—” you moan at the flavor of him saturating your tongue. “Oh… Caleb—”

“Yeah,” he growls, chest rumbling. “Say my name, baby. Say it. Scream it.”

“Caleb,” your moans double in volume, the pleasure about to burst from your seams. “Oh, Caleb—!” 

Heat, wetness, a deep, stirring pleasure threatening to consume you, and then—

Nothing.

Caleb pulls away, squeezing your thighs. He rips off the gloves, and finally—finally—you feel his skin on yours.

The rasp of his warmth across your thighs drives goosebumps down your arms. “Shit,” you whimper when he pushes your thighs further apart to settle in between them. His body smothers yours, encompassing you in the pure mass that is his weight bearing fully down onto your exposed body.

Bastard. He leaves you hanging, reeling from a ruined orgasm, as you glare at him, your anger and indignation sputtering and dying on your tongue.

“Caleb! You—you—”

He grins, dark and sweaty bangs falling all over face as he drags you closer by the hips. 

“Open wide, pretty,” Caleb coaxes, thumbing the head of his pretty cock, smearing precum all over his digit. 

Fuck—ah… you groan sinfully. The sight of him pleasuring himself is seared in your brain. You bite your lower lip, shifting your hips. Need drips from your gasping breaths and your head is spinning.

Easy, he murmurs. I gotcha.

Caleb lifts your hips in his large hands, finding the perfect angle before slipping the sticky head between your folds. Your gasp grazes his ears in a warm puff, a telltale sign of your unexpected surprise at how good this feels.

It reminds you of those times when he would tease you as kids—always holding something out of reach and never giving in unless you begged nicely.

And, you sense it’s what he’s doing right now. Mercilessly teasing, testing your patience. Waiting for you to beg.

Caleb grasps the base of his hefty cock and runs it over the mess of your creases, soaked with your excitement for him. He teasingly pushes the plump head past the slutty ring of muscle gaping open for him, and heaves in a deep groan, like that of a beast about to breed his mate. Your eyes are crossed with pleasure, and you’re whimpering sweetly, no thoughts forming in your brain besides more, more, more.

You ache for him, but all you can do is take his teasing. “Please,” you huff, peeling your docile, little lamb eyes onto him, wishing he would relent and just fuck you.

The sheets twist in your fist and your other hand is tangled in his sweat-soaked hair.

Caleb uses one hand to brush his damp bangs off his face, and he grins, intent on making you pliable to his every whim. He presses a kiss to your jugular, biting down on it, relishing in your jolt of pleasure.

You’re so sensitive, even his pelvis grinding down on your clit feels good and you shift your hips higher, desperate for more friction—for more of him.

“Sir,” you sputter, woozy. “Please… please…” 

Caleb hums, lifts your thighs over his broad, muscular shoulders. The slight tilt spreads you out for him, a wildflower blooming under his touch. You’ve captivated him with your scent, your skin, your sweet sounds…

But, little does he know, you’re equally enraptured; caught in his trap. 

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs hoarsely. “Pretty when you beg. Pretty when you look at me like you can’t wait a second longer…”

His wet lips swell around your pulse point again, flowering heated kisses onto your sensitive skin.

“Nghh—Caleb,” you whimper and he chuckles—that bastard.

“You ready, sweets?” He teases you, shooting you a smug, stupid smile much to your consternation. 

You want to roll your eyes and be crass, asking him to just give up and put it in, but your words get stuck right in your throat when you realize you're already on the verge of losing it altogether.

You take one good look at him, and wet your lips, yielding with a nod. 

“Yes, Sir.”

Your obedience is like a hit of ecstasy for him, firing up his veins, and he moans, shifting closer to you. The bulbous tip jostles deep inside you as another inch is added and you writhe, eyes squeezed close in delirium. “Mhnmph!” 

Your moans shoot through his veins like licks of a strong, disorientating drug and Caleb groans. His hefty body is already shaking from the strain, and he doesn’t know how long he can last. His thighs shudder, and he has to bite on his lower lip to keep from moaning like a goddamn loser when he finally sinks his dick all the way into the love of his life. 

“Mhm—ah!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses. 

He gives you a split second to get used to the sensation, nothing more, nothing less. Obviously, he’s waited for you for his entire life. Etiquette and consideration can come later—all he wants to do right now is fuck the ever loving shit out of you. Caleb sets a pace, one that has you twitching, and he seethes at your lack of resistance.

“You’re—hnng, already so eager,” he snarls. “Been dreaming about this? About my cock?”

The sight of your decoyed necklace slapping against your skin from every thrust drives him dizzy with lust. His name on the dog tag, the apple charm looking so innocent and snug right in the valley of your luscious tits. It doesn’t take much to please a man like him and Caleb is as happy as a dog who got the best bone. 

He gnaws on your shoulder, teeth making indents on your precious skin.

Your thighs tighten around his shoulders, body almost folded in half like a pancake.

Caleb… Caleb… you whisper-gasp, the darkness of the room and the subsiding storm outside the windows lending to the dark yet intense atmosphere.

He licks along your bottom lip, sucking on your tongue. You taste so good, Princess…

Your whimpers brush his chin and his hair tickles your sternum as he ducks his head lower, bringing your stiff peaks into his mouth. He nurses and suckles on you, a fiendish look in his eyes.

“Mhmph—you taste like sin,” he groans deeply, the sound travelling all the way down to your core. The forbidden fruit, right here in his arms and like a selfish man, he wants more.

Without warning, gravity disengages around your body and you’re pinned to the ceiling in the blink of an eye. 

It feels surreal to look over his shoulder, at the bed hovering above your head, the medicine cabinet and lamp all peering up at you like a twisted version of wonderland. 

“Caleb—!” 

He silences your protests with a harsh kiss, licking and sucking on your lower lip till you whimper and quiver. Deftly, he guides your hips away from him and lets gravity do the rest. You sink down—full and to the hilt. He’s so deep in you, you swear you can taste him all the way in the back of your throat. 

Caleb fucks you this way—mean, demanding—using gravity and his Evol to his advantage. 

You writhe and twist in his grasp, head thrown back. The ceiling wall is cold against your back, though he’s warm enough to the touch to make your head spin.

Bodies press intricately, you can’t tell where he begins and where you end. Like two snakes interlocking, you feel Caleb everywhere. His breath on your neck, his hands roaming down your body possessively, the feel of his thick girth hitting every spot just right.

Drool drips down your chin, and you feel him chuckle; the rough rasp of his tongue lapping it up.

Messy girl, he drawls, smacking his lips. A smug grin tugs on his mouth, giving his boyishly handsome face a devilish touch. 

Give me more, he urges. More. Make it messy, Princess.

He sucks on your pulse point, your neck the perfect canvas for his marks. Nuzzling you close, you feel the tenderness behind his searing need.

His cock molds into you like a perfect fit. The sound of his hefty balls slapping wetly against your skin fills the room with a salacious symphony. 

Caleb, Caleb, Caleb. You can’t control the stream of moans escaping your puffy lips. He kisses you hard again, deepening it and letting his tongue tangle with yours in a passionate dance. Your heart swells with adoration for him; his flavor heavy on your tongue, sousing through your senses like a creeping heat reaching towards its completion. 

His touch kindles up more desire as if you’re dry straw waiting to catch fire, and oh—does he let you burn. 

Strings of your pussy juice drip past his balls, streaking his thighs like filthy snail trails. The shine of your own arousal dribbles past the pert curve of his fit ass, and ribbons into droplets falling from the ceiling like it’s goopy rain. 

Caleb doesn’t care about the mess you’re making. All he wants is to see you unravel.

Your cheeks flushed, eyes crossed—he leans in to kiss you hard, needing to taste your desperation firsthand.

Your hot moans give everything up to him, your body quaking like a tempest ready to unleash hell onto his self-control. 

He grunts when you fist his hair, finding your rhythm as you fuck him back, meeting him in the middle. The sway of your hips tells him all he needs to know—his little mei mei isn’t as innocent as he thinks she is.

“—taught you how to fuck like that?” He grunts, lapping at a bead of sweat about to freefall from your chin. 

“Huh?” You peel your watery eyes on his, his sticky kiss gracing your cheek.

“Said—who taught my sweet, innocent, little Pipsqueak to fuck like this?” 

He punctuates his emphasis with two harsh thrusts, his length jabbing your cervix. 

You grunt, eyes rolling back into your head. “N-no one—fuck,” you whine when he slips one big hand between your bodies, rolling his thumb over your lubricious clit.

“A-ah!” your cries rebound across the room as he plays with your fleshy pearl, thumbing circles onto it vigorously, hoping to glean your confession. “Ngh—Caleb!” 

Your thighs begin to shake, and his grin turns wolfish. “Won’t let you come ‘less you tell me the truth, Pipsqueak. M’waiting.”

He stamps a possessively hard kiss onto the nape of your neck, like he’s trying to drive the mark of his mouth past your skin. 

“I’m telling the truth,” you whimper. “Never had no one—no one but you.”

A deep, guttural groan brushes the soft shell of your ear.

“Swear?” he demands. 

“Uh-huh,” you hiccup, all dulcet and demure with the position he has you in. Your lachrymose eyes are fixated on him and only him—Caleb thinks his body might burst from all the blood swelling in his cock and heart.

He huns, and runs his tongue down your clavicle. “Good girl… good little Pips.”

The nickname combined with his derogatory tone inadvertently makes you clench around him tighter, and he hisses. 

“You’ll be the death of me, y’know?” His eyes darken and he drives his hips harder as if trying to make a point. “Gonna make sure you never leave my side—we’ll always be together. Forever.” 

You whine and dig your nails into his biceps. 

“Caleb—” you gasp, almost falling out of his grasp and face down onto a bed 10 feet below you. But, he tightens his grip, and you know he would never let you go. 

He shuffles you deeper into the alcove of his body, and you tighten your hold around his neck. “You—mhm—are insane.”

“Yeah?” He grins. “Only for you, Pips.”

Tingles running down your spine, and you feel hot and cold at the same time. He fixes his sights on your glassy gaze, enjoying how wrecked you look under him. 

(Well, technically, above him with the power of his Evol, but eh, semantics). 

The storm outside is no match for the one raging inside of you, and you cling onto him like a second skin, drunk off the pleasure he’s inducing in you. Kissing his jaw, nipping his lower lip. Caleb grunts when you press your chest to him, the feeling of your pert nipples rubbing against his toned pecs making him feel like this is all a dream—one he doesn’t want to wake up from.

Too soon, his vision to see you come undone flashes as you toss your head back and moan his name.

“Caleb…”

Your whimper is a signal of your impending release, and he grits his teeth, driving his hips further into you, planting his knees on the water-stained ceiling and going ham on your pliant body. 

He feels you shuddering around him, dipping his head to feast on the sweat slicking your tits.

He glances up at you, catching your eye the second your release tears through you, his smirk making your heart skip a few beats.

Caleb feels the heat stirring in his own belly. You’re down for the count, holding onto him like a washed up doll whose lax mouth occasionally lets out a few moans and whimpers.

So pliant… so malleable… so easily molded to his whims…

Breaking you clean, he wants to dominate every inch of your body—claim your thoughts as his so that all you think, feel and want is him.

“Ngh,” he groans, burying his face into the crook of his neck as he finally breaks and fat loads of hot cum fill you up.

Caleb holds you closer—securely—as he reels his Evol in, and slowly floats down onto the bed with you in his arms.

With the combination of the serum, your release and this newfound dynamic between you and Caleb, you’re out cold in seconds.

He feels your body going limp, giving way to sleep and presses his nose into your hair. For a few moments, he refuses to let you go, arms protectively wrapped around you. 

Then, the peace is shattered by a polite knock on the door. 

“... Colonel… we need to evaluate her…”

Shit. He licks his lips and groans softly. You’re so warm, so comfortable in his arms. He can’t let you out his grasp. 

But, duty calls and the Farspace Fleet is a minefield of legality. He can’t steal away and run off with their test subject.

Not yet, at least. 

As much as he wants to stay like this with you forever, Caleb steels his heart and pulls out of your warm, slurry depths. He dresses you first, and then gets himself presentable. 

First Commander Brigette of the medical aide steps in at his signal. Her silver hair is tightened into a bun and mirrors the tight look of dismay on her face. 

“Sir, it is imperative—”

“Don’t. Not now,” he mutters tersely and straightens his tie. “Just check if her vitals are alright. And, don’t you dare mention this to anyone else, you hear me? If you do, things’ll get messy for me—the next round of body bags hasn’t been shipped in yet.” 

She nods, though she looks like she wants to argue. 

The rest of the fleet didn’t yet know of his true relationship with you—to them, you’re just a pretty face their Colonel took a fancy to. And, he wants to keep it that way for as long as he can while he formulates the best plan to get you to safety. 

“The sedative we gave her was meant to lower her inhibitions enough to confess,” Brigitte murmurs. “I didn’t think—”

“If she doesn’t wake up, I’m throwing you and your team right into the Deepspace tunnel,” he threatens. 

The award-winning scientist flinches, and lowers her gaze. “Colonel Xia, we will recover the antidote for her quickly.”

Caleb exhales, the tension in his broad shoulders lessening slightly. That’s what he likes to hear. 

Brigette soon finishes her rounds of physical examinations on you. She bows and exits the medical room, leaving him alone with you again. 

Caleb steps forward and gently runs his gloved fingers through your hair. In the silence of the fleet, where mechanical whirs mingle with his steady breathing, he makes you a promise that he will do everything in his power to fulfill.

“I swear I’m getting you out of here in one piece, Pipsqueak.” He leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Swear it on my life.”

He told you before that you would always see him when he came home and this time, he intends to keep his promise till the very end.

a/n: i need this man biblically and carnally,,,, feedbacks and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my content to AI learning tools.

[d1stalker]

Suspension Bridge Effect [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

Warnings: mainly Logan POV, jealousy, cuteness, fem!reader WC: 2.6k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan’s losing it; his thoughts are spiralling to the point where he wonders if he should be locked up.

At least, that’s what he thinks is happening as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. You’re standing near the edge of the mansion's garden, laughing softly as the kid—Johnny, a younger teenage mutant—tries to hand you a bouquet of hastily picked flowers. His face is flushed, eyes wide with admiration, and he’s practically vibrating with nervous energy as he looks up at you.

This punk, this moron, this lovesick blockhead, has been glued to your side ever since you saved him during the last mission.

It was supposed to be a standard run-of-the-mill rescue operation, but when things went south, and he was cornered, you swooped in like the hero you are and got him out unscathed. Now, the kid’s been following you around like a lost puppy, trying to win your attention, your approval—your everything. And it’s infuriating.

Logan can feel his hands clench into fists as he watches Johnny offer you the worst attempt at a bouquet he's ever seen, and sees the youngster's face turning a deeper shade of red as he mumbles something the older man can’t quite hear. Probably some dumb compliment, he thinks bitterly. The kid’s got no game.

You smile at Johnny. It's that soft, kind smile that always makes Logan’s heart skip a beat. But this time, all it does is fuel the fire raging within. He knows that smile isn’t just for him, but damn it, he wishes it were.

He wishes you’d tell the kid to scram, that you’re already spoken for, that you have a lovely boyfriend who could put together a way better bunch of flowers, but instead, you take the flowers with a gentle laugh, thanking the goblin like he’s just handed you a priceless treasure.

And somehow, the torment is never ending, it seems. Because later in the day he find’s himself lurking at the doorway of the mansion library, watching as you and Johnny sit together, heads bent over some book he know knows the little gremlin is just pretending to be interested in. That brat is soaking up every second of your attention, hanging on your every word, and it’s driving Logan up the wall.

“He’s just a kid,” you keep saying whenever he grumbles about it, but you don’t see it. You don’t see the way the bastard’s eyes light up whenever you smile at him, or how he leans in just a little too close when you’re explaining something to him. You don’t notice the small touches—the way his hand lingers on your arm when he’s pulling you somewhere, the way he looks at you like you’re the centre of his universe.

Logan sees it all, because he’s been there before. He knows exactly what Johnny’s feeling because he felt the same way when he first met you. Still does. It's that intense, all-consuming crush that makes you do stupid things just to be near the person you can’t stop thinking about.

“Logan, you’re staring,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to see her smirking at him from across the hallway.

“I’m not starin’. Just keepin’ an eye on things,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re jealous.”

He scowls at her. “I ain’t jealous of some kid.”

“Sure you’re not,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

Clenching his jaw, he knows she’s right but not wanting to admit it. “She doesn’t get it. She thinks it’s cute.”

“Maybe if you told her how you’re feeling, she’d understand,” Jean suggests gently, though there’s a knowing look in her eyes.

Huffing and turning away from the library, Logan has decided that he’s had enough of standing on the sidelines. He needs to do something before he loses his mind entirely. But it seems he can’t escape this torture, because he can’t even get five minutes alone with you.

He tried to get your attention after you finished up teaching your class, but before he could, the little devil ran in front of him and got it first. His eye twitches as he watches Johnny offer you another “gift,” this time a poorly folded paper crane. You take it with a smile, thanking him kindly, and Logan grits his teeth so hard he swears his molars might shatter.

“Hey, kid,” He grumbles, stepping forward with a growl in his throat that would send most people running. “Don’t you got somewhere else to be?”

Johnny looks up, momentarily startled by the sharp tone, but then just gives a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no, sir. I was just, um, hanging out with her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got things to do. Don’t you, darlin’?” Logan’s eyes flicker to you, hoping you’ll catch the hint and send the kid on his way.

But you don’t. You just laugh. A musical sound that makes him want to clamp his hand over your mouth because why should that devil's spawn get to hear your beautiful voice? He’s truly about to lose it. 

“It’s fine, babe. Johnny’s just being sweet.”

Sweet. Logan wants to snort. Sweet is one word for it. Obnoxious, irritating, and clingy are a few others that come to mind.

“You got a crush or somethin’, boy?” His tone is laced with a dangerous edge as he crosses his arms over his chest, towering over the knucklehead. He’s trying not to outright scare him, but damn, he’s close to it.

Johnny turns beet red, stammering, “N-no, I just… she saved me, and I just wanted to say thank you, that’s all!”

Narrowing his eyes, a low snarl rumbles from his chest, and Logan takes a deliberate step forward, but before he can do more, you place a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Logan, that’s enough,” you say firmly, giving him a pointed look. 

Well, there goes another piece of his sanity.

You’re too kind, too understanding. You just don't get it. To you, it’s just an innocent crush, something harmless, something that makes you smile. You think it’s nothing, and that only makes his blood boil more.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, stepping back, though his eyes never leave the teenager’s. Johnny seems to take that as some kind of begrudging acceptance and gives you another shy smile before scurrying off, likely to find the next token of his gratitude to bring to you.

Once he’s gone, Logan lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is drivin’ me nuts, you know that?”

You just chuckle again, stepping closer to him and slipping your arms around his waist. “It’s just a phase, I’m sure. He’ll get over it.���

Wrapping his arms around you tightly and pulling you in close, he feels a little bit better in your embrace, but his eyes still track where Johnny disappeared into the mansion. “He better. ’Cause if he doesn’t, I might lose my damn mind.”

You tilt your head up, kissing his jaw softly. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

He huffs, not wanting to admit it, but the truth is written all over his face. “Maybe a little.”

Smiling, you lean up to kiss him properly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Logan kisses you back, a little more possessively than usual, as if to remind himself that you’re his. And even as you melt into him, he can’t help but keep one eye open, scanning the garden for any sign of that kid returning. He might be crazy, but he’ll be damned if he lets some lovestruck teenager get between him and the woman he loves.

—

The next morning, the mansion is buzzing with its usual activity. You and Logan head to the dining hall for breakfast, with him looking a little more relaxed after a night of holding you close. But the moment you step into the room, he spots a certain demon sitting at a table, eyes locked on you as if he’s been waiting for this very moment.

Groaning under his breath, Logan mutters, “Not again,” before guiding you to a table near the windows, hoping Johnny won’t follow.

You take your seat, smiling up at your boyfriend as he pulls out his chair, and for a brief second, he dares to believe that he might actually get to enjoy a quiet breakfast with you. But just as he’s about to sit down beside you, Johnny swoops in out of nowhere, plopping down in Logan’s seat with a grin like he’s just won the lottery.

“Morning!” He chirps, completely oblivious to the thunderous look on the other man’s face.

Freezing in his place, Logan glares at the kid who’s now sitting where he was supposed to be. He mentally cycles through a list of unflattering nicknames—Useless Idiot, Captain Obnoxious, Motherfu—but none of them seem quite strong enough to capture his current feelings. “You’re in my seat, kid.”

Johnny blinks up at him, feigning innocence. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t see your name on it.”

You can practically see the self-control it takes for Logan not to pick the kid up and toss him across the room. His fingers twitch at his sides, his claws itching to come out, but he holds back. For your sake, and only your sake.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm, “you do know he is my boyfriend, right? And even if he wasn’t, I’m a bit too, uh, old for you?”

The young mutant's eyes widen, and for a split second, you think you might have gotten through to him. But then he glances over at Logan, his face scrunching up like he’s just eaten something sour.

“Yeah, but he’s, like, hella old,” The idiot blurts out, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if the mutant standing right there can’t hear every word.

Logan’s expression darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes as his jaw tightens to the point where you can almost hear his teeth grinding. Hella old? Is this guy serious?

He's dealt with all kinds of enemies—mutants, monsters, government assassins—but nothing, nothing has tested his patience like this hellspawn has been. “What did you just say?” he growls menacingly.

Johnny, either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, doesn’t back down. “I mean, no offense, but you’ve got a lot of… uh, experience, you know? And you’re like centuries old. Maybe she needs someone closer to her age.”

That’s the last straw. Logan’s eyes flash with anger and something else—something more vulnerable that you rarely see. A part of him knows the gremlin’s just talking out of his ass, but the words hit a little too close to home, stirring up old insecurities he usually keeps buried deep.

Without another word, he slams his hand down onto the table, the sound echoing through the dining hall like a gunshot. The room falls into stunned silence as he then storms out, his footsteps heavy and his anger radiating off of him in waves. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t acknowledge the whispers that follow in his wake. He just needs to get away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Logan, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already halfway out the door.

You turn back to Johnny, who’s now looking a little less confident and a lot more like he might have made a mistake. Sighing, you lean forward with a serious expression. “You can’t just say things like that. He’s not just my boyfriend. He’s the person I love.”

Looking down at the table, his face falls, and he begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I just thought—You saved me and I felt something…I thought maybe you’d feel something for me too.”

You soften, reaching out to pat his hand. “Johnny, you’re a sweet kid, but you’ve got to understand that Logan’s the one I’m with, and no one can replace him.”

He nods slowly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I get it,” he mumbles. “I just…”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You’ll find someone your own age who’s perfect for you. But for now, you need to give us some space, okay?”

Johnny nods again, this time more resolutely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just… try not to instigate anything else. I’ll go talk to him.” You give him one last reassuring smile before heading toward the exit.

When you step out into the hallway, you barely have a second to process your thoughts and decide where to look before you’re suddenly pressed up against the wall. A gasp escapes your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by Logan’s mouth on yours. The surprise melts away as the intensity of his kiss overtakes your senses, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His kiss is possessive and fierce. You can feel the frustration, the jealousy, the need to claim what’s his, pouring out of him with every movement of his lips against yours. For a moment, you lose yourself in the heat of it, letting the world around you fade as you focus solely on him.

Then, through the haze of the kiss, the practical part of your brain kicks in. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Logan… we’re gonna get caught.”

He growls softly, his lips trailing down to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Let them see,” he mutters between kisses. “Maybe then that damn dunce will get the hint.”

You laugh, though the sound is cut off as he captures your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as if he’s afraid to let go. “Babe, really,” you whisper, trying to sound serious but failing as your body responds eagerly to his touch. “People are gonna see…”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you involuntarily shiver against him. “Shoulda thrown that little shit out on his ass… let him know who you belong to.”

“You’re jealous of a teenager,” you tease, though the words come out breathless and almost lost in the intensity of the moment.

Logan pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark. “Don’t like him sniffin’ around you, thinkin’ he’s got a shot.”

You smile up at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him back down for another kiss. “You don't need to feel threatened by him. You’re the only one I want.”

He huffs softly, his lips brushing against yours as he mutters, “Damn right I am.”

“C’mon,” you murmur, gently pushing against his chest. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, huh?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering back toward the dining hall, as if half-expecting Johnny to come barreling out any second. But then he nods, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway, away from prying eyes. His grip on your hand is tight, territorial, and you can’t help but smile as you follow him.

As you walk together, you give his hand a squeeze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly.

“I love you, you know that?” You say it with that pretty grin of yours, and the way his eyes warm in response makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I love you too.”

The remaining tension melts away, leaving just the two of you walking hand in hand, ready to steal a few more precious moments together.

----

A/N: this was really fun to write!

[pacofprunes]

(reaction) unintentionally riding the squid game characters, let’s mingle ! 둥글게 둥글게 !

contains — myungi x reader, thanos x reader, namgyu x reader, daeho x reader, gihun x reader, ali x reader, junho x reader. smut , 18+ !

summary — going on the disco pang pang ride with the squid game characters and you end up on top of them (you gotta look up the ride to understand lol)

a/n — this prompt was firstly done by luvyeni with this fic here! i wanted to do this with squid game so this wasn’t my idea, all credits to them.

masterlist

KANG DAEHO / PLAYER 388

he is absolutely embarrassed and feels like a total perv. he was blushing so hard that he looked like he had a fever. he spews out apologies the whole time and is totally ashamed of himself as he uses his hand to cover his face once he felt his dick getting harder and harder, and when he could tell that you could feel him too, the shame he felt was too much. his precum starts seeping through his pants and he swears he’s about to actually cum if this ride doesn’t end soon and you don’t get off of him. he has to bite his lip back to stop any moans from slipping and he is absolutely not looking forward to speaking to you once this ride is over and he for sure isn’t looking forward to getting the pictures of this event back from the ride operator. this will be a moment that he thinks about daily. please don’t mention this to him ever again.

“god, i’m s’sorry…can this ride be over please?”

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI SU-BONG

he’s a shameless fuck, okay? he’s going to smirk up at you while he watches the blush paint all over your cheeks as you try to move off of him. “wow, you’re so thirsty for cock you gotta ride me in public?” all you can do is tell him to shut up. but as the goofiness wares off and the situation settles a little more on him and he can actually feel the tent in his pants, he starts grinding up against you and thrusting up a little, fucking you through your pants. bits of precum start leaking out when he can actually feel his dick hitting your tiny hole, and as soon as you two get off this ride, you both are going home.

“fuck, look what you did. you gonna help me out?”

SEONG GIHUN

he didn’t want to get on this ride in the first place, claiming he was too old but you had forced him onto it and right now he hates himself. he feels like a teenage boy getting hard at the sight of the slightest bit of skin showing on a girl. he refuses to look up at you and tries to push you off of him, but when you plop right back down on him, he swears he just came in his pants. “gihun—”, but he stops you from speaking anymore. “don’t! i— i don’t think i can do this much longer, i’m sorry—” he throws his head up towards the sky and then towards the ride operator thinking ‘why me?’. once you two get off of the ride and he can feel something dripping down his leg, he swears he’s gonna kill himself once you two get home. he can’t bare to look at you and he refuses to ask you to help him out with his ‘problem’.

“gihun, come out of your room! it’s okay, i understand!”

“please just let me wallow in shame…”

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★

he doesn’t give a fuck. sits there like it’s completely normal. you’ll feel him hard, but it won’t be crazy noticeable. he’s not some horny teenager who just learned that girls don’t piss out of their ass, you won’t catch him cumming in his pants. but once you two get somewhere more private, he’s going to claim that he’s finishing what you started. but don’t think the situation isn’t turning him on completely. every chance you had to get off of him, he doesn’t let you. he holds you down on his dick by your waist and he smirks at the blush slowly spreading on your cheeks as you look at him with wide eyes. the way he speaks to you makes it seem like he’s claiming that you fell onto him on purpose.

“what? you came onto me. so help me fix my problem since you’re so needy.”

HAWNG JUNHO

not utterly embarrassed but he’s not too calm about it either. you certainly catch the blush on his cheeks, but with one hand he holds your hip down with a grip that falters from tight to light, as if he doesn’t know weather he wants to get you off of him or if he wants you to stay. but once he realizes that he doesn’t want the people around him to see how hard he is, he grips you close to him with both of his hands. you can feel his fingernails digging into you every now and then when there’s a particularly rough bounce and he has to squeeze his eyes shut. you could tell he was fighting demons in him, the sweat that was dripping down his forehead was concerning. when the rides over he makes you stand closely in front of him to keep his boner hidden, and you can feel it pressing right smack against your ass. when you turn around to face him, he has a small shy smile on his face, the light pink still dusting over his cheeks.

“sorry…do you think we could take care of this maybe and finish this trip another day?”

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124

he tries to play it off and teases you while laughing. “couldn’t go without my cock for two hours?” he even thrusts up a couple of times to tease you, but after awhile he realizes it’s not a joke anymore and when he can feel the precum threatening to leak, he realizes he’s just been teasing himself and he quickly snaps his head to the side and pushes a hand against your chest. what were you trying to do here? if you go to tease him back and grind on him as revenge he’s going to give you the absolute fattest glare.

“what? i thought it was a joke, right?”

“i swear i’ll push you into the center right now if you don’t stop.” (he’s not joking)

ALI ABDUL

he was super excited to go to the amusement park and try out this ride for the first time, but he certainly didn’t expect this to happen. everytime he goes to move you and you somehow wound up back on top of him, he honestly wants to cry from the shame. at first it was funny, but now it was clearly starting to get him excited. yeah it felt good but, “stop it ali, get yourself together…” he just felt way too bad and he ends up giving up on the whole situation and just has to cover his whole face with both of his palms. everytime that you laugh and say that it’s okay, he thinks it’s getting better, but then you bounce right back down and he can’t take it. he’s holding his precum back (i don’t know how at this point) and it’s making tears sting and prick his eyes. he knew he was gonna have to jerk off to fix this and when he was, he was totally going to imagine this, he knew it, and it made him so ashamed. he definitely mumbles some things in urdu that you don’t understand at all, but just know he’s shaming himself and throwing a few curses at himself.

“i’m so sorry. i’ll make it up to you, i swear. what is wrong with you ali?”

[prncssguya]

on hwang in-ho/front man, seong gi-hun and their dynamic.

first, idk why people are getting so upset at other people calling gi-hun dumb, we were told that in the first season. lol being bright is not his strongest trait but he has a good heart and we love that about him. however, he is still an idealistic gullible idiot with a gambling problem. except this time his gambling addiction is backed by a sense of justice and righteousness and he no longer gambles with money, he’s gambling with people’s lives. front man asked a good question at the end of the season, “did you have fun playing the hero?” can we even call gi-hun the hero of the story anymore? he gambled with people’s lives and front man showed him the consequences of his moral heroics.

front man only agreed to help gi-hun with his revolution when he mentioned about "small sacrifices for the greater good". i think he reveled in the fact that the “good guy” was willing to allow a few innocent people to die for the greater good to stop the games, which is exactly what the entire VIP theory is to rid the world of 'trash' to improve the world. notice how gi-hun's moral code and belief also changed, from being "nobody should die" into "yeah small sacrifice is okay as long it's for the greater good" at this point, he just proved that front man's belief is actually valid. AND he gets more of his own people killed in the pointless battle with the soldiers that they had no chance of winning. now he gets to feel responsible for all those deaths and the death of his friend and for whatever additional torture they cook up in the next games (as punishment for the escape attempt).

now on hwang in-ho, i believe he was once a good man and the story he told gi-hun was the truth. but in the end he lost a kidney, lost a wife, a baby, lost his money, got fucked over by the wrong people and got into serious debt and had to play this game to help his wife and probably it was too late to save her. he might have played the games like gi-hun but saw how ruthless and greedy people are and resolved that they don't deserve help

i don’t think in-ho wants/will kill gi-hun, but he wants him to understand things from his perspective and show him that his compassion for the people in the games is foolish. you can tell the frontmen (the old man and in-ho) are extremely fond of gi hun. not only did he protect their original front man when nobody else did, he then won the games and thus their respect as he is now as rich as them. he's no longer "trash", he’s an elite like them. i think they both actually kept tabs on him after he won (i wonder if they do that for all winners? inserting them with gps chips?) because they knew he had not used his reward money and in-ho wanted gi-hun to get on the plane and be happy with his daughter

there’s one interesting aspect of the games that makes front man such a complex character. the fact that they’re operating a organ transplant trafficking network. in a way, he’s creating some good to come from a really fucked up situation. but is it really for the good of others who desperately need it, people like his wife, like his brother? or is it just a money making scheme?

either way, i don’t think there is going to be a redemption arc for in-ho, he’s too far gone. we may get to see more of his human side if he manages to see jun-ho again. the only time we’ve seen genuine emotions from him was when he shot his brother like he seemed distraught

the real cliffhanger for me, is will gi-hun stay true to his belief that people can be good, or will he be forever changed into a villain and become the next front man…? after the events of this season i don’t see how his will doesn’t shatter. he’s witnessed how humanity consistently chose money over survival, he’s lost two close friends, his mother, abandoned his daughter. he has gained nothing from wanting to stop the games and this clearly feels like an origin story for the next front man. it’s clear the front man has won this round and i think squid game will either die with 001 or continue with gi-hun as game master

another thing i find funny that i don’t see many mention is how gi-hun is like the luckiest guy in the fucking world. but i don’t think him being alive this long is plot armor, it makes sense. the games exist for the entertainment of rich sadists who have so much money they don't know what to do with it (remember what old 001 said in s1 about life being no fun for both people with no money and people with too much money). and i’d imagine killing hundreds of poor debt-ridden fools year after year gets boring. especially when said fools are desperate enough to gamble with their lives because they think they can beat the system by playing better than everyone else and surviving and getting the money.

gihun is different because he got the money, got out, and still came back. not because he's unfeeling or because he wants more money, but because he's still convinced he can beat the system.

if you're a rich bored gazillionaire, would you rather watch some randos die or would you rather watch this exceptional idiot fail again and again until he learns that his ideals are meaningless and people are inherently greedy and equality is a myth and people at the bottom of the barrel don't get to question the system?

if you're an asshole gazillionaire, you don't want someone to challenge you and just get away with it. you want to hand them 45.6 billion won and make them go away quietly, traumatized, after breaking them psychologically by making them do horrible things until they understand they're just powerless "horses". if they insist on challenging you and your system and your beliefs (money = boundless power), you teach them a lesson and show them their place in the most manipulative and cruel way possible. if gihun dies right away, that's boring. so he can't die, he needs to suffer. he needs to concede defeat.

also, i find it funny how people are comparing hwang inho and gihun dynamic to hannibal and will graham. makes sense, their whole cat and mouse game, front man hiding his true nature from gi-hun the same way hannibal does, trying to corrupt the righteous protagonist, sowing chaos, testing him and observing his behavior like a lab rat, the crazy tension and staring contests, the gaslighting and manipulation. and with the fact that they think lee byung-hun looks like mads mikkelsen. i never put the two of them together but now i can’t unsee it lol