#but you know and use the word fuck with perfect accuracy

[kenisle]

are there any fics about the existential/body horror and everyday idiosyncrasies of being wolverine — indestructible heavy metal skeleton, knife hands, healing factor, amnesia, and eternally chained to this mortal plane cursed to watch everyone around you age and die except this one really weird guy you can’t fucking stand who also happens to be from canada — with maybe a dash of homoeroticism? or at least just minimal heterosexuality? is that too tall an order?

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

[lucid-loves]

simon slowly falling in love with reader after hating her for a long time⁉️

Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it! ❤

Nuclear Date Night

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader, weaponsengineer!reader, codename: Byte)

Word Count: 12.8k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, mention of violence, hate to love relationship, rivals, competitive, competence, realized feelings, smut, body praise, deep kissing, licking, fingering, biting, p in v

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: Ghost hates your guts. Even since you joined the team as their new weapons engineer two years ago, he’s hated you with his whole chest. With your high and mighty attitude, bewildering intellect, and unwavering confidence, he can’t stand you. You hate him too with his unreadable face, demeaning protection, and lack of grace. When an undercover mission requires the two of you to get closer, though, the both of you realize your hate for one another has turned into something else entirely. 

You ignored the icy cold glare the lieutenant kept on your figure as you explained how the new sniper-focus worked. Your comrades stared at your invention in wonderment, once again reminded just why you were part of the team. Thanks to your countless all-nighters and delicate hands, you managed to invent a focus that can attach to any sniper, calculate notches and wind speed, recommend the gun-adjust accordingly, and hit a target perfectly with over 98% accuracy. No matter the distance, no matter the weather, your focus powered with A.I. calculated assistance can kill any target. 

Everyone was impressed. Save for Ghost. 

“Aim at the target, give it a second to calculate, and then listen to the adjustment with the earpiece. After that, just adjust the aim and fire. Pretty simple stuff, really.” You demonstrated, large sniper in hand. 

The wind blew through your hair, dust coating your strands like moth to a flame. From a distance, a whipping dust devil was forming across the golden sands of the desert. It was dry, it was hot, and it was windy as hell. It was the perfect place to demonstrate your brilliance. 

When you joined the team two years ago, you knew that you had to put your heart and soul into this job in order to be taken seriously. You weren’t especially muscular or tall. As a soldier, you did train for instances of defense in case it was needed, but your true power relied on your smarts. A rather overlooked sign of an excellent soldier that often invited ridicule from the more traditional soldier. 

That’s exactly what Ghost did when he first met you. 

“You sure this shrimp can handle herself? Be one of us? She looks like she can barely lift a spoon without straining her wrist.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at the memory, muscles tensing as if you were in that moment once again. The memory of your response quickly took over. 

“Are you sure this meat-head can handle my science? He looks like he can barely use a blender without getting confused by all the buttons.”

You both left a bitter taste in each other’s mouths that day. The taste has lingered ever since, tainting nearly every interaction you had. It was a wonder how you haven’t killed each other yet. 

Setting up the sniper, you prepped for the real demonstration. While you did final adjustments to the focus, you called over your rival. “Ghost, test this for us.”

“Why do I have to be the guinea pig? I don’t need a fucking robot to focus my aim anyway.” He protested, every cold tone in his words deliberate. 

The team shifted uncomfortably, even after all this time still not used to the spats the two of you got into. Attempts to resolve the bad blood have always failed. It was easier to just let the two of you spit your fire until you ran out of fuel. 

“Alright then, tough guy, you can aim without it. Go ahead, hit the target.” You nonchalantly agreed, confident that things were going to go your way this round. Ghost noticed that easy acceptance you gave, his eyes narrowing at you as he tried to figure you out. What was your game this time?

Not one to back down, he approached the sniper and aimed it normally, your focus set to default. No robots, no artificial intelligence. Just plain-Jane markers for distance. Looking through the scope, Ghost looked for the little red flag that indicates the location of the fake target used for practice. After a while of looking at nothing but sand, he spotted the target just past the dust devil. 

He would have to account for that. You planned for this. No wonder you insisted on dragging them all out to this dry wasteland. He clenched his teeth, blood simmering as you tried to make him look like a fool in front of his team. Backing away, though, would make him lose this game. Shooting and missing would also give you the victory point. Either way, both scenarios made him look incompetent.

God, he fucking hated you. 

Suppressing a malicious smile, you antagonize him. The feeling of beating him made your heart race in excitement. “Any day now, Ghost.”

He hated the way you drew his name out like that. The way you so easily said it like it was nothing but air to you. Like bubblegum being blown and popped at your will. His name should’ve struck fear and intimidation. Instead, you chewed on it. Popped bubbles with it. 

Aiming the scope, he lined up his shot, and fired. Watching the bullet carefully, he saw it shoot forth with speed right on the dead center of the target, whip back from the dust devil, and hit sand with an explosion of grain. 

It took everything in him not to fucking leave right then and there. 

“Good shot if you planned on missing. Now, use my focus.” You continued to tease, twisting the knife further into his already wounded pride. There was little snickering coming from his men, Gaz and Soap not being able to contain themselves. They would admit that sometimes your fights were funny. It was a way to cope with the discomfort it brought. 

Silently, Ghost switched on your focus. Out of the side, a small earpiece ejected out. He took it and fitted it into his ear under the mask. Of course, you programmed the artificial instruction with your own voice. Serious, stoic, and purposeful. “Awaiting aim to calculate.”

He aimed once more at the metal target using the scope, the dust devil blowing the sand around violently to protect it at all costs. The scope projected its calculations as if he was staring at a screen. Within a few seconds, it completed its estimations. A green dot appeared way over to the left and bottom of the notches, marking the shooting point. Your voice rang in his ears. “Target confirmed. Aim and fire.”

This seemed way off. There was no way this could be right. Was he really meant to aim so far off? The green dot stayed perfectly in place as he adjusted the aim, his center notch in line with your tech’s mark. He hoped that it would miss.

He fired and watched the bullet sail through the air, ride with the dust devil like a wave, and hit the target with perfection. He became slack-jawed bewildered at the precision. The fact that it could calculate aim with even an extreme factor such as swirling winds was undoubtedly impressive. 

This was your clear victory. And he hated it. 

You relished in his fiery disdain of your genius. A small smirk played at your lips as you saw just how the rage froze his muscles. He looked like he wanted to punch something. 

“God damn, Byte! That was phenomenal!” Soap loudly praised, his eyes wide in true marvel. The others agreed, all wanted a turn to use that focus of yours like it was a new toy. Every invention that you gave them has felt like a new toy. It made those days feel like Christmas morning. You were great at your job and they couldn’t be happier to have you on the team. 

Of course, except for Ghost. Even if your engineering prowess was the best in the world. 

“Really great work, Byte! Are the blueprints all ready to copy?” Kate smiled appreciatively while tapping on her smartpad.

“All ready for production.” You simply answered, proud of the work that you had accomplished. Another one for the books. 

While the boys played with their new toy, Ghost stepped back and crossed his arms angrily. 

He hated everything about you. Your unmatched intellect, your confident plays, your arrogant personality. He hated that his team was wasting money on technology for weapons when a true soldier shouldn’t need the handicap. Real skill was earned by yourself. Not with the assistance of technology. It should be a tool, not a crutch. 

Ghost believed that people who couldn’t aim a sniper on their own and hit a target didn’t deserve to be snipers. And you just made him unworthy of being a sniper when against your tech. 

You looked up at him, taking note of how hard he threw daggers at you. You made him look stupid, and that was your goal. It felt like you had the world in your palm when you did. Someone as respectable as Ghost being bested by a brainiac was always the best. You proved that you didn’t need muscles or height or even intimidation to be better. You just needed your smarts. 

A huff of a laugh escaped you as you turned away from him, knowing that that would just make him even more angry at you. Good. 

You hated everything about him too. 

~

“What you do really is modern magic. Seriously, Byte, how does your brain come up with such things?” Gaz inquired, raising a bottle of beer to his lips. The team decided to celebrate your new invention at the usual bar. Of course, your drinks were on them as a reward. They knew that you put a lot of work into what you did. The least they could do was pay for your rum and cokes. 

You raised the cold glass to your lips, the sweet and spicy cocktail hitting your tastebuds. “The pros of being a genius. Thank you for the praise. It feels nice to be appreciated for my work around here.”

That last past was said a little louder, loud enough to make sure that Ghost could hear it on the other side of the bar. He bit his tongue and rolled his eyes at you, not willing to open himself to any more of your antagonizing today.

The victory was as sweet as the drink you were nursing. Addictive too. You couldn’t get enough of the feeling of success. When you finished an invention, when you helped your team complete a mission, or when you bested Ghost, they all gave you that sweet sense of accomplishment. 

Soap slung his arm around your shoulder, nearly causing you to spill. He was already a couple drinks in. “Yeah yeah yeah, good work! But all we ever talk about is work. Been two years, Byte. Tell us what that genius does outside of work, huh?”

You shifted in your seat, becoming a little uncomfortable with the sudden questions about your personal life. They knew tidbits here and there about you. Some failed relationships, favorite songs, distaste for certain foods. But your answer to all of that was usually straight-forward. “We broke up.” “I like this song.” “I’m not going to eat that.”

Something that the team noticed early on was that you were a workaholic. You hung out with them on rare occasions, you were usually confined working in your lab while they had offices, and you usually departed events early to be in said lab. Besides minor details, they really didn’t know much about you outside of your work personality. They have been trying to pull you more out of your shell over time, but it was a slow process. 

Gaz frowned at Soap’s bluntness. “Come on, Johnny, leave her alone tonight.”

“It’s fine, Gaz.” You put your glass down roughly, the clink of the glass on polished wood sobering Soap up pretty quick. It made Gaz look away in shame. That was at least one thing they knew about you most intimately. You hated being treated like you can’t take care of yourself. When they stepped in on your behalf, answering a question that was meant for you, it made you want to hit them. You knew they only did it to protect you. That you were one of them and this is how they treated one of them, but you could never let it be. 

You didn’t need anybody to stand up for you. You will make that a point for forever if you had to. 

The air grew thick with tension as you silently scolded them for hitting one of your pet peeves. With a sigh, you caved in, wanting to restore some of that fun from before. “What do you wanna know? Anything is on the table.”

Soap’s face lit up like a match to a gas station. “Seriously?! Anything?”

You gave a little nod and braced yourself for the worse. Soap’s lack of personal boundaries was quite well known. It was coming from a place of genuine curiosity and ease, never ill-intent. It was just one of the quirks of Soap that you were still coming to terms with even after all this time. 

“Well. . . what’s your sex life like?” 

Gaz began to choke, coughing on beer stuck in his throat. Price tapped his back to help him out, his sharp gaze falling on Soap for such a personal question. Yet, he didn’t say anything. He knew that if he did, you would get angry at him. He has been pretty good about avoiding your pet peeve and he didn’t want to break his streak.

Clearing your throat, you composed yourself. You weren’t expecting such a blatant question either, despite inviting this kind of open question. It didn’t mean that you weren’t going to be honest, though. That just wasn’t the kind of person you were. You never stepped away from a challenge. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Soap grinned widely, happy to talk with you finally like you were just like one of the guys. “Body count? Preferences? All of it. I wanna know what a genius views sex as.”

Slowly, you drank the rest of your rum and coke before signaling for another one. While you hailed the bartender, you noticed that Ghost was staring intensely at you. He hated you, but even he was curious on how anyone could tolerate you enough to sleep with you. 

Once you were halfway through your second drink for some liquid courage, you began to talk about one of the most personal details of your life. “Body count of five. All men. Most were one-night stands or sex-friends.”

You liked sex. There was no question about it. At least, you were interested in it. Despite the amount of people you’ve been with, they always left you wanting more. It was always a little unsatisfying when they were finished. It always felt like there was a black hole inside of you that needed the right meal to be satisfied. 

The exact reason why was no mystery either. Unless you were masturbating alone, you never came. No matter how much time and effort went into foreplay, none of your partners have ever made you orgasm. 

Just because your sex life was active didn’t mean it was great. 

“Wow, that’s a little surprising.” Gaz admitted, finally over his coughing fit. Price shook his head, a little embarrassed to hear about his men talking about sex so freely with you. As a captain to a group of mostly boys, he has shared details with them to bring the group together. It felt a little strange to have you participate in this. Even Kate wasn’t pressured into sharing such details. 

“Our little genius gets some then! How is it? Any experience noteworthy?” Soap persisted as he ordered another round.

“Not especially? Average, I suppose.” You shrugged, answering the questions becoming much easier the more you poured rum and coke into your system. Warmth crept along your cheeks, blossomed in your ribs. You felt yourself opening up like a dormant flower. 

You ordered another drink. Soap continued to pry. “Average? What does that even mean?”

“I never came before.” You suddenly blurted out, the blending of your naturally blunt personality and alcohol turning into a pretty dangerous combination. It seemed like the rum in you was getting to your brain faster than you thought. 

This time, it was Soap’s turn to choke. Gaz was torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to comfort your plight. Ghost just stared as if he was watching the news. However, his mind was thinking all sorts of things. He wanted to mock you. Say that that was what you deserved for being so arrogant about your intelligence. He felt the instinct to trash talk you to recover some of the pride he lost today. 

Yet, he couldn’t. In fact, he began to feel a foreign pity for you. If you knew that he was pitying you over something like this, you would absolutely rip him a new one. That didn’t stop his eyes from softening for just a moment, though. A moment that you noticed with those sharp eyes of yours. 

Finishing your drink, you slammed the glass on the counter, nearly shattering it. How dare Ghost look at you like some tragic whore! So what you never orgasmed from sex! You were doing just fine when it came to solo-sex escapades. You didn’t need anyone to satisfy you. You only needed yourself. “I do perfectly fine when I masturbate. Don’t get it twisted. Other people just don’t satisfy me. It’s whatever.”

In a simmering fire, you got up from your chair and left the bar for the night, leaving your teammates wondering what the hell got you so worked up all of a sudden. 

Only Ghost knew the answer to that. 

~

Arriving back on base on your motorcycle, you headed straight to your lab. It was quiet. The dead of night. Everyone else was either back home, sleeping in the barracks, or partying it up downtown. You had an apartment to go back to, but you always found yourself coming here instead. 

Settling your helmet and jacket on the coat-rack, you made yourself at home. Dim-emergency lights softly illuminated unfinished projects on tables. Pieces of wires, circuits, and bolts littered every corner of the room. The place looked small and cramped during the day, scientists and engineers squished together in a lab that was second priority compared to the more athletic-based facilities. In the night when no one was here, the place looked like a tech graveyard. Vast, dark, and cold. 

You headed towards your usual workstation, a large workshop desk that was overflowing with unfinished blueprints of inventions that haven’t panned out just yet. A lot of the struggle came from lack of funding. Some of it came from unrealistic expectations. Science was an investment, something that most military dogs failed to realize. It’s why you always pushed yourself to work constantly and prove what the proper time and resources could bring. 

You were essentially killing yourself in order to make them see the worth of your department. 

Looking through the blueprints, you settled on one that was worth revisiting. A Russian Doll bullet that would save ammunition and materials to build said ammunition. The idea was to invent a bullet that would be compatible with most firearms, shoot an outer layer of bullet without shooting out the inner layer, and repeat until the last of the bullet is gone only to be replaced by another Russian Doll bullet. 

It would effectively turn a six-shooter into a twenty-four. It would save so much ammo and save many soldiers the reload time. 

The only problem you haven’t solved yet was the instability of gunpowder. 

That’s what you decided to work on tonight. Taking a seat in your worn out swivel chair, you opened your drawers and pulled out your materials. Bringing a magnifying glass close to you, you began to disassemble a few bullets. It was always a good idea to build things by first taking things apart. 

As you worked, you heard the sound of the lab door open. It was still much too early for the morning crew to come in, so you wondered who it could’ve been. Maybe Price had come to lecture you about how you left things at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to talk to you about your temper. 

Turning around, you were surprised to meet your rival, peering over all of the electronic corpses on the tables. He didn’t come here very often. You were always here after all. He knew you were always here. He shivered, noticing just how chilly it was inside the lab. The air conditioning was running on full blast. “Feels like a meat-locker in here. How can you work like this?”

“What do you want?” You sharply retorted, nerves already on edge at his presence. The lab was supposed to be your refuge. Your paradise. And here came the snake. 

“Relax. I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk to you about the focus.” He treaded carefully, his own instincts waiting to fire off like they were used to when he was with you. A lightbulb in his head just went off just then. He realized just how bad the relationship between the two of you was since his first real instinct was to yell at you. Ghost knew you felt it too. 

He was supposed to be the 141’s Lieutenant. He was supposed to bring the team together for his captain. And here he has been for two years, trying to push you out. 

Ghost has never even approached you without the intention to fight or yell or demand since the first day he met you.

Christ, was there any recovery from this? Ghost took a deep breath, trying to choose his words carefully for once. “The focus is great. You did a good job.”

“Don’t fucking pity me.” You snapped, turning back to your desk and igniting sparks as you bonded metal with heat. A hurricane brewed in your chest. Did he seriously come all this way to pity you? The gaze in his eyes should have been enough. It made you leave the bar!

Ghost felt that fire rising in his throat, wanting to say something back that would hurt you. Old habits die hard. It was a tough pill to swallow. “I’m not trying to pity you. The focus is going to help a lot of soldiers. It’s going to save a lot of people.”

You paused, unsure if his words were genuine or misleading. You’ve fallen into that trap before, hearing what seemed like a compliment only for it to be backhanded. It was unfortunate that you didn’t trust a word that came out of his mouth. “Why did you look at me like that at the bar?”

He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he wished he didn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about your sex life when it was just the two of you. Especially not when the two of you haven’t even had one decent interaction with each other. Goosebumps prickled all of his skin, his teeth nearly chattering. How could you keep it so fucking cold in here?

“I felt sorry for you.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie to you or change topics. At least from the beginning, he has always been honest with you. 

As you heard the words you loathed to hear, you put down your tools, hands becoming too shaky to handle them with all the rage storming inside you. “I-”

“I felt sorry that no one has liked you enough to satisfy you.” 

Well, that didn’t exactly sound right.

Your mouth opened in shock at his dig. His eyes widened as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, realizing that it sounded completely fucking wrong. He held his hands up in defense, scrambling to explain himself before it was too late. 

The hurricane was in full swing, though. But instead of bringing thunder, it only brought rain. The corners of your eyes prickled with tears before streaming down your flushed cheeks. A lump choked in your throat choked the air out of you. You thought you could say something hurtful back. You always did before. But this time, his words cut a little too deep.

None of your relationships have lasted long. Not even with people you agreed to just be sex-friends with. They always ended up leaving. Whenever you asked what went wrong, they always blamed it on your demeanor. Your personality was too particular. Your interests were too complex. Your high expectations were too much. 

It was one of the reasons you kept a distance from the 141. They loved your company as far as you knew. But only in small doses. Who knew what would happen if they really spent time with you? They would probably get sick of you over time too. Ghost hated you since day one after all. 

No one liked you. You thought that you were fine with that at this point, but clearly you weren’t.

Ghost stood frozen in time, completely taken aback by your sudden tears. He expected screaming. He expected hitting. He expected icy retorts. That’s all he has ever known you as. He never in a million years expected tears. 

It made him feel like he was the biggest piece of shit on the planet. And the worst part was that he didn’t even know what to do about it. 

All of his years of hatred for you melted away as he watched you crumble, your distrust for him putting up more walls between the two of you. Jesus, how does he fix this now?!

“Byte, I-”

“Don’t you think I already know that no one likes me? You think you’re the first person to hate my guts?!” You spat, some of the lightning finally coming out. The tears kept coming, but it was somehow better for Ghost. He felt more used to that dangerous spark you had. It made you easier to approach now. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Poor choice of words. Honest. I just meant that. . . I . . . Everyone deserves to be loved enough to the point of satisfaction. You work hard and give us countless advancements to use. You deserved to be satisfied. You deserve to have someone that will put the work into you too.” He finally managed to find the right words, nearly running out of breath with all the effort he had to find them. He was never really good at heart-to-hearts. 

You looked at him in shock once more as he attempted to salvage the hurt he caused you. This was beyond confusing for you. Your brain that worked so hard everyday, that could think up a million things at any given time, was at a loss for words. 

In your uncertainty, you followed your instincts. And that was to turn back around to your desk, wipe your eyes, and get back to work. It was the only constant in your life that you could rely on. The best way to think. 

Ghost didn’t blame you for returning to work. He probably wouldn’t know what to say either if it was him. Instead of pushing it any further, he decided that it was probably best to leave. Before he headed out of the lab, he turned back and looked at you. 

You did the same, the moment of work gracing your senses. In the end, he did try to pay you a genuine compliment. You were always the type to reciprocate fairly. “Thanks, Ghost.”

There was a certain way you said your thanks that made Ghost’s heart skip a beat. A sense of gentleness that he’s never heard from you before. The way your eyes shone bright from leftover tears had him stunned. Were your eyes always that pretty?

He turned quickly and left, the back of his neck heating from the intrusive thought he just had. As he walked back to the barracks, he sighed. The air outside was much warmer than the environment of your lab. So much easier to breathe. It felt suffocating being in there. Out here, he could let his mind relax.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking of you. 

~

The two of you didn’t fight as much anymore. Sharp words slipped out every now and then, but neither of you kept feeding the fire once they were said. Most of the time, you two were just back to avoiding each other. Though, the both of you had your own reasons. 

You found yourself just at a loss of words when he was civil. It was that distrust that still lingered that made it hard for you to interact with him. It was especially difficult to be around him when he was actively being polite. Praises for your work, helping you carry heavy boxes across base, or prioritizing processing your submitted paperwork was always done either curtly or in silence. It was foreign to you.

And the energy you saved now that it wasn’t spent on fighting was now put to use by noticing him a little more. You always couldn’t help but stop and stare as he helped carry equipment with you from the lab to the armory. The way his biceps flexed with ease at the heavier load. The way his eyes remained stoic even as he embraced your inventions. Ghost was now more on your mind than ever, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Ghost, on the other hand, was now always thinking about you. He felt the urge to get closer to you. To get to know you better. To help you out in a way that didn’t look down on you like he’s always done. He couldn’t stop thinking about your eyes too. How bright they were under the sun or moon. How they watched him under such careful supervision, trying to decipher if his good will was real or not. 

Even in moments where he didn’t want to think about you, he found his mind wandering anyway. Ever since that night in the lab, he felt his feelings change. Two years of anger and resentment for you have nearly melted all away only to be replaced by something else. And he didn’t know how to explain it. 

All he could do was try to keep cool. Remain civil. Avoid too close of interactions with you. 

It was working for the both of you for months until you were assigned to a mission together.

The team had noticed that the both of you were getting along in the loosest sense of the term. They wondered what caused such a shift, but they never asked out of fear of resetting the apparent progress. Instead, Price tried to push more progress by assigning the both of you to work an undercover mission. 

A wealthy investor of nuclear weaponry was suddenly pouring a lot more money than usual into a country with a rising dictator. The investments coincided with less threatening ideas such as climate change prevention and DNA study in order to balance out interest. The goal was to detain this investor, question him about his relationship with this dictator, and then hopefully stop a dangerous man from getting his hands on advanced nuclear power. 

The way in was at a formal event promoted by the science community. Conservationists, biologists, engineers, and more were going to be present to try to win over some other wealthy investors that would be there including celebrities, CEOs, and politicians. It was a high brow event which made the need for scientific knowledge apparent. 

And who knew more about such science than you?

Intimidation invitations in hand, Ghost waited in a hotel lobby, a crisp, black tuxedo hugging his form as if tailored to him. The skull balaclava was swapped with a simple black face mask, covering enough of his identity which made him feel better about all of this. Looking at a nearby mirror, he checked his blonde hair. He’s never dressed so formally in his life. 

He suddenly wondered if you would like it. 

You still need a moment to get ready, always one to check twice to make sure you had everything you need. Your heart raced in your chest, your nerves tingling with adrenaline as you prepared to see this mission through. You’ve been on the field a couple of times. Never under-cover. The fact that you would probably have to do most of the talking made you nervous. 

People didn’t like you. That weakness of yours was clouding your confidence. Being a woman in science was already a tough world. Would you be able to keep your personality in check if you faced such a conflict?

Nervously, you headed down to the lobby, adjusting every dress each step of the way down. When you spotted Ghost from a distance, you froze. You have never seen him so cleaned up before. When you were coming down, you half expected him to appear like he always has. Military uniform, skull mask, strapped with obvious weapons. 

You didn’t know that his hair was so. . . 

Finding yourself at a loss for words again, you steeled yourself. As you got closer, you realized that your heart was racing for an entirely new reason. Your lieutenant was much more attractive than you thought. 

And he was technically your date for tonight.

Ghost caught your figuring in the corner of the mirror, making him turn around. Time stood still for you once again as you appeared before him looking like someone straight out of a romance movie. Your dress hugged your curves in all the right places, every strand of hair was styled beautifully to frame your face, makeup only highlighted just how beautiful you naturally were. 

How could he never see just how beautiful you were before?

You walked closer and cleared your throat, that voice he thought was so annoying before now sounding like the sweetest violin. “Lieutenant, you look good this evening.”

This was the first compliment he’s ever received from you. It made his stomach do flips. What was happening to him? Pull it together!

“Thanks. You look great tonight. Ready?” He offered his arm, waiting for you to take it. 

Your heart could barely take it as you looped your arm around his, touching him so intimately for the first time. Heat radiated from his body. The biceps you found yourself staring at before felt solid under your touch. You looked up into his eyes, the glacier blues melting into a deep ocean. Looking away suddenly, you attempted to hide your blush. He was looking at you so intensely that it startled you.

“Do you have to stare?” You questioned a little too sharply than you intended. You braced yourself for him to say something equally sharp, something Ghost felt in your arm that was hooked around his. 

He averted his gaze, now conscious of the way his eyes naturally followed you. His mind searched for an explanation for his lack of discretion. The unexplainable pull that you had on him. Jesus, it was like he was. . . 

Oh. Oh no.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, trying to keep his feelings in check. How could he spend two years praying for your downfall to all of a sudden being-

He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t even want to entertain the likely possibility. Even if he wanted to act on his feelings, did he really deserve to after all the fighting for two years? You would probably never truly accept him after all the things he’s said and done. You weren’t completely innocent either, but Ghost had to face the fact that he was the one that started it all. Before even knowing your name, he insulted you, unable to keep his opinion on tech in weapons in check. A matter that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. 

What the hell was wrong with him back then? What the hell is even wrong with him now?

“Hey, Earth to Ghost. You okay?” You asked, noticing how he seemed to be just staring into space as they waited for the car to pick them up. There was a brightness in the night, a rain having just finished its pour. Puddles on the ground reflected the city’s lampposts, cars flashed their lights, and much to Ghost’s dismay and pleasure, your eyes shined replaced the stars. 

His voice was deep and agitated, more so upset with himself than with you. “I’m fine. Just nerves.”

At that you smirked that devilish smile that he hasn’t seen in a while. It pissed him off to no end before, but now it made his heart flutter. “Wow. The great Lieutenant Ghost has nerves. Never thought I’d hear that. Makes me feel a lot better, though.”

“And why is that?” He inquired carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You shrugged, actually starting to feel at ease for the first time in his presence. The butterflies were still there. They were just much more manageable now. “I am nervous as well.”

Before he could question you further, the designated car pulled up in front of the hotel. Gaz, parading as the chauffeur for tonight, got out of the car and held open the passenger door for the both of you to get in. Soap wanted to do this job, but Price refused. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to shut his mouth if he saw the two of you together like this. Gaz at least had a filter.

He played the role to a tee, onlookers staring as he took off his hat and bowed. “Good evening. You both look dashing tonight. Especially our lady.”

The cover was working smoothly. Together, they really looked like A-list people. The civilians would have never guessed that they were all just soldiers. Drinking in their looks, you let it replenish your confidence. You got into the car followed by Ghost, Gaz shutting the door once everyone was settled. As he drove to the venue, he went over the mission details. 

“We’ll be keeping an eye on you the entire time. We have access to all the venue’s cameras and we have mics hidden throughout the building. Some security is our own too to keep an eye on things. This place will be packed full of civilians, so violence must be kept to a minimum. Non-existent preferably. If anything does go wrong that we don’t notice, use the codeword.”

You nodded at all of the information that will keep you safe, reading the mission file to brush up on before the big show started. Ghost looked over your shoulder, also reading the file once again. Mostly though, he noticed how intensely you studied. You didn’t want to be the reason why this mission failed. You couldn’t afford that. 

When the car slowed in front of the venue, you looked out. At least a hundred people were outside, dressed to the nines, ready to spend their money or ask for money. Your blood suddenly became cold as you looked at all the people. There must have been hundreds more inside.

Gaz parked the car and stepped out, getting ready to open the door for you. However, you were a statue. Unmoving. There was panic in your eyes. You looked the part for this. Could you talk the part too?

A warm, large hand landed on your shoulder, gaining your attention. Ghost looked at you with steady eyes, his tone slow and soft as honey. “You got this, Byte. You’re probably smarter than everyone here. I’m right by your side too.”

It was relieving hearing those words come from him. He was encouraging you like he was your lieutenant. Like you were part of his team. Your heart swelled as you looked into the eyes you’ve been trying to avoid. It looked like he was finally seeing you after all this time. 

With a deep breath and a new steely expression, you nodded to Gaz through the window. He opened the door and Ghost stepped out first. You took the hand he offered you and came out, the buzz of intellectual conversation in the air. 

Gaz drove off, leaving the mission to the two of you. Ghost led the way up, your arm in his like it was always meant to be there. Miraculously, the two of you looked like the ideal date. It made getting into the venue easy as Ghost handed over the invitations to the guard at the entrance. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. Have a fun night!”

The both of you couldn’t help but blush at the shared name. To be referred to as Mrs. Riley gave you ideas that you never thought you would think about. It strangely had a nice ring to it that made your senses prick up. 

Ghost thought the same thing as he guided you in. Tonight, you were Mrs. Riley, his beautiful and intelligent wife. 

The two years of hating each other seemed to feel farther away as the night stretched on. 

The marble floors were packed with esteemed guests. Large, crystal chandeliers reflected off gold jewelry and champagne glasses. A live orchestra played with precise rhythm. Everyone mingled, trying to see where the best place to put their money was. Likewise, scientists tried to advocate for their foundations. All of the talk made Ghost’s head swirl. He was used to undercover missions, however, this was truly out of his realm. 

You were better at picking up the jargon. They spoke a language you understood. The language that only the people in the lab on base understood. It was like hearing your native tongue after years of speaking foreignly. Military culture and science culture was so different, that you often missed this. 

A couple approached the two of you, led by a middle-aged woman with a large, diamond necklace and fake lilies in her hair. “Aren’t you two the most adorable couple! I must compliment you on your gown too!”

This was it. This was their test to look like a real couple out as each other’s dates. You put on a fake smile and held out your hand. “Thank you for the compliment. I’m Mrs. (Y/n) Riley. This is my husband.”

The name slid easily off your tongue, yet it sent electricity through you. There was no way you were going to get used to that name tonight. It made you feel lightheaded when you said it. How could you get so embarrassed by a fake name?

Ghost was having trouble getting used to it too, a part of him wishing that the name was real against his will. Clenching his jaw, he looked out at the crowd, trying to spot the target. His large height helped, but there were too many people around. They all crowded around each other. Talking, laughing, flaunting. A slight tug on his arm brought his attention back to you. You were just sending the lady on her way after a simple, pleasant conversation. Through that, you were able to figure out if the target has shown up yet. 

“Let’s go to the main ballroom. According to the recent intel, our target would be there if he’s shown up. Something about him not being able to resist a shrimp cocktail.” You directed, your confidence becoming stronger as you weaved through the crowd. Ghost couldn’t help but take in your courage, finding it hard to believe that you were once nervous. Then again, this was your crowd.

The ballroom floor was also filled with people, but also now with clear advertisements from scientists. Small signs indicated programs with their representatives, helping investors find the right place to put their money in. You read the signs carefully, recognizing a few of them along with who was supposed to be running it. At some of the names, you grimaced. 

“You alright?” Ghost asked, trying to keep his own expression solid as if he was playing poker. He found himself worrying about you now that you looked so pained. 

You shook your head, trying to clear unpleasant memories as best as you can. “I’m fine. I just. . . I hope I don’t run into any ex-colleagues.”

As if the devil was listening himself, you heard your name being called from afar, a surprised tone countering the determined piano filling the room. “Y/n? Is that really you?!”

Putting on your game face, you smiled and turned towards your former colleague and, unfortunately, ex-lover. Of course, this was going to happen. Almost always one thing goes wrong during a mission. A part of you wished you didn’t accept this mission now that you were face-to-face with someone you tried to leave in the past. 

“Dr. Emmanuel. It has been a long time.” You greeted politely, taking extra time to keep your tone in check. The last time you spoke to him was during the breakup. He dumped you after a quarrel about a missing blueprint. You were working on a project together when you were both interns at a scientific space-engineering facility. The blueprint was supposed to help the both of you land permanent positions, but it was made clear that there was only room for one. 

When you heard the news, you both agreed that neither of you would take credit until you talked to the head of the facility. That was, until the blueprint went missing. From there, you fought and accused him of taking the blueprint for himself to get the job. Your hunch was right when you saw the new employee ID card he hid in his wallet. 

You called him a traitor. He called you deplorable. You claimed that most of the blueprint was your design. He reasoned that if you had the job, you would neglect him anyways with your workaholic nature. He then dropped the bomb that he hated working with you, that you made him feel insecure in bed with your inability to orgasm with him, and that you were just becoming into someone he loathed with your particular personality. He accused you of not loving him enough.

So he took the credit and ran, leaving you to figure out what the hell you were going to do about a job. That’s when you decided to join the military as a weapons engineer. Some time after, you joined the 141. 

“It has been some time, hasn’t it? I’m surprised to see you here? Are you here as a scientist or an investor?” Your ex inquired, sizing you up as someone to take advantage of or as competition for investors. You knew his game and you knew it well. You only had to learn the hard way once before you learned your lesson. You never made the same mistake twice. 

Ghost noticed how your expression hardened, yet you maintained that fake, pearly smile. What was this man to you? How did you know each other? 

Why did he care so much?

“He is the investor and I am the scientist. This is my husband, Mr. Riley.” You announced, now saying the word “husband” with your full chest. Your ex’s eyes widened briefly before twisting into a smile that showed hints of disgust. 

Nonetheless, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riley. It is an honor meeting a man that could tame such a work-driven woman.”

Before you could shoot back some venomous words that were bubbling up on your tongue, Ghost took his hand and gripped it tight with that soldier strength of his. Your ex seemed distraught as pain shot through his hand that was being crushed. Ghost didn’t let up. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t look down at my wife, doctor. I love her just the way she is. I’m sure she has accomplished much more than you as well.”

“Now, if you will excuse us, we have better things to talk about with other people.” Ghost finally let go, bruises already starting to form on the crushed hand of your ex. While you normally would pop off at him for standing up for you when you could’ve done so yourself, you were too busy thinking about his words. The L-bomb he dropped seemed to flow so naturally from him. It made you feel flustered. 

As Ghost led you away, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He took your flustered expression as you being upset. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were upset with him or your ex-colleague. He knew he triggered your pet-peeve and he wanted to apologize. For now, though, he had to settle with a raincheck. “We’ll talk about that later. Do you see our target yet?”

You snapped back into action, being reminded that you have a mission to accomplish above all else. Looking around, you tried to spot the target. As predicted, there he was, gorging himself on shrimp and champagne. “10 o’clock.”

He looked over and confirmed. “Target spotted. Good eye. Ready?”

Taking a few deep breaths to reset your brain, you nodded. Swiftly, the both of you approach the target just as he was taking another flute from a silver tray. You changed your serious demeanor into a more graceful one. Someone worth giving money to. Someone that the target will like. “Mr. Marston. I was hoping to finally meet you tonight. I am Y/n Riley. This is my husband. You are such an inspiration to both scientists and investors.”

“Ha! A couple of fans with good taste! A pleasure to meet such a handsome couple! I’ve been in the business for a long time though, so I know you must want something. Can’t pull the wool over these eyes, even if they are old.” He laughed cheerfully as he raised more alcohol to his lips. 

It seemed that this would be easier than you thought. People like Mr. Marston made you sick. People with way too much time and money on their hands to shape the world as they saw fit, regardless of the good of the people. Nuclear war would be a disaster. And yet, this man treated it as lightly as the glass in his hand. Careless. Spilling over with each movement. Such a fragile thing away from one wrong move before shattering into a hundred pieces. 

“With age comes experience and wisdom. I am a scientist looking for an investor. Though my studies tend to be a little. . . unconventional.” You buttered him up before casting your line. All he had to do was take the bait.

And that he did. His eyebrows rose with interest at your choice of words. He felt his wallet burning a hole in his pocket. “Unconventional, you say? Well, I am all for out-of-the-box solutions to our world’s problems. Care to elaborate on your odd studies?”

You looked up at Ghost, awaiting some sort of signal that you may proceed with luring the target to where you needed him to be. He gave a single nod, disguising it as full support for his lovely wife. You were handling this much better than he expected. Or perhaps, this is how you always were under pressure. His judgment was always just too clouded with contempt to see it. 

“We would love to talk about our project, but such a thing is rather sensitive in nature. I would hate to upset some over-hearers. Perhaps we shall meet later once the formal is over?” You played cautiously, not yet reeling in such a loose bite. 

“Oh my, now you really have my interest! There are a few study spaces at this venue reserved for investors and scientist contract negotiations. I haven’t committed to any facility yet, so why don’t I start with reviewing you? What do you say?”

Hook, line, and sinker. “That would be most ideal, Mr. Marston. Just lead the way.”

Grabbing a few shrimps to go, the target led the way to a more private area of the venue. Everything was smooth, all according to plan. The crowd parted away for the richest investor here, making the exit quite swift. Once the three of you separated from the main event down to a much quieter room, Ghost detained him with cuffs. A button on his watch was pressed, signaling to the team that the target was in custody. 

“Wh-What?! What is all this now?!” Mr. Marston protested, hoping that someone would come to his rescue. 

“Lieutenant Ghost and Sargent Byte. You are being taken into military custody for involvement with nuclear investments. We just need to ask you some questions.” You explained carefully, trying to keep the target calm so you didn’t attract unwanted attention. Cool, calm, and collected. Ghost thought it was a good look on you. You weren’t normally involved like this, so he couldn’t help but think so. 

He had it worse than he thought. Seriously, what was with him?

While Ghost took his hands off the target for a moment to reach for his phone, feeling an incoming message, the target swirled around and tried to bolt. Not in the direction of an exit, though. Instead, he was running straight to you, binded fists raised to strike you. Thanks to your self-defense classes through the military, you acted on pure instinct. You dodged his fists and struck his jugular with a sharp strike of the side of your hand. He gasped for air and collapsed, tears streaming down his face as if he would die from the loss of oxygen. 

Ghost’s attraction to you increased tenfold as you nonchalantly fixed your dress like a meager wind just caused only slight agitation. He forgot just how capable you could be physically, not just intellectually.

Right on time, Price waltzed in wearing his common military uniform. He didn’t even bat an eye at the struggling target. “Transportation is outside. Well done, you two! It was about time you worked together on something. I hope to see more of this in the future!” 

You made some distance between you and Ghost, not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea. For some reason, it pained Ghost to see you put up that wall again so soon after the mission. Was this the first and last time you would get along so well with him?

No, he decided. He told you that he would speak to you later about the interaction with Emmanuel. Then, he would knock your walls down. Finally get to know the real you.

From there, we can really determine if his feelings were just a fluke or not. 

~

You were back at the hotel, wiping your makeup off and stripping yourself out of the formal dress. Your muscles ache at the new freedom, having been fed up with such a fitted dress and heels. After showering and putting on some pajamas, you got into bed and began to read. You were rewarded for your work with a one-night’s stay at the luxury hotel, and you were taking full advantage of it. 

After reading, you were going to order hotel service and then go to bed. The life of luxury that was more than enough for you. As you began reading the next chapter of your book, you heard a knock at the door. Sighing, you bookmarked your page, and answered it. You were surprised to see Ghost standing there, smelling like fresh maplewood and citrus soap. A plain shirt clung to his torso and pajama pants made him look like a new man altogether. He had his black facemask on still, but once he let himself in, he took it off. 

This was the first time you have ever seen his full face uncovered. You noticed the small scar on his upper lip that matched the one on his right brow. His jaw was strong as if chiseled from marble. You couldn’t deny it. Ghost was a very attractive man.

“Sorry to barge in like this. I said we were going to talk, so here I am.” He explained, taking a seat on the edge of your king bed. He was drinking you in too. The pajama shorts that showed off your thighs, the cami that exposed your delicate shoulders. Your hair was still damp and scented with lavender and vanilla. His heart picked up speed as he felt a pull of attraction to you. 

How could he have ever hated a beautiful thing like you?

You found it a little rude that he just barged in, but you let it slide for once. From his tone, he didn’t seem like he wanted to fight. Besides, those deep blues were starting to melt your icy heart little by little. Just for tonight.

You took a seat on the bed next to him and looked up. “What is there to talk about? He’s just a man from my past.”

At that, he felt his muscles tense. He knew that there was more to the story. Ghost detected your evasion of the subject as clear as day. It was something he experienced nearly every day before this. He knew your tell. “I know it wasn’t just that. What he said, how you looked. What happened?”

Out of all people, you least expected Ghost to hound you about this. He has never been interested in your personal life before. Then again, your relationship has changed dramatically since the night in the lab. Before you knew it, you started to feel yourself open up to him a little. 

You stared down into your lap. “He’s an ex. We were interns together, he took all the credit for a project we did, he got a job, and I didn’t. He insulted me, dumped me, and then left. I left to work in the military. That’s really all there is to it.”

While your tone tried to keep it casual, Ghost knew it was really a tragedy. No wonder you didn’t trust easily. Now he wished he broke that guy’s hand when he had the chance. 

Did he really have room to talk though? He made you distrust people even more easily when he first met you. It was about time he apologized for it all. “Listen, Y/n. I’m sorry. About everything. For the two years of fighting. All the insults, all the exclusion. Everything. I should have been a better teammate, lieutenant, and even friend to you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say, a new trick of his that seemed to have worked time and time again. The tick of a classic clock filled the silence as you thought about his apology. The sound of him using your real name echoed in your ears. You blamed him for everything that transpired. And now he was sorry about it. Yet, the way he looked at you didn’t indicate the need for forgiveness. He wasn’t entitled to it, and he knew that. Instead, his gaze was filled with certainty. The certainty to do much better by you from now on. 

Two years to lead up to this moment. You never thought you would live to see the day. Just like him, you slowly found your rage for him melt down to almost nothing, instead to be replaced by something soft, warm, and electric. 

You gave an awkward laugh. “I’m sorry too. I know I can be pretty unlikable.”

“You’re not unlikable.” He reassured, his hand naturally taking your cheek like he’s been doing it all his life. Ghost didn’t even realize that he did it at first. And before he knew it, he was going in for a kiss, unable to resist those pretty lips of yours for a moment longer. 

Your cheeks began to burn as he kissed you so suddenly, yet you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. Something was pulling you deeper into him. A passion that was always there from the beginning. Hate or love, you have always been passionate about Ghost. Maybe that was why you truly hated him in the first place. 

Ghost couldn’t stop himself, deepening the kiss with each second that passed, reveling in how sweet you tasted on his lips. He’s been obsessed with you since the beginning. A fire within him had always burned for you. He just wished he realized that it was actually love much sooner. Perhaps if he did, you really would’ve been Mrs. Riley tonight. 

All the things he hated about you before were things he loved about you now. Your soft lips, your silky hair, your amazing intellect. All of the things that he could never match. You were better than him. However, he didn’t care anymore. He actually appreciated it now. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I really am.” He whispered as he pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. You felt his firm muscles against you so much better now than before, the shirt he was wearing leaving little to the imagination with how fitted it was. 

It honestly turned you on. 

You took the initiative to reconnect your lips, your mouth opening to invite his tongue. Nerves fired off in every inch of your skin as his slick tongue met yours. Your toes curled as he felt you up, groping your thighs and waist like they would disappear any moment. His hands felt so good on you that you shivered, yearning for more. 

Things were getting out of control, but Ghost didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted you more than he has ever wanted anything from you. To appreciate all the things he was too stupid to notice before. You were sexy beyond belief. Always have been. When you were working over your desk with such a focused look, when you were gloating about your new invention, when you demonstrated a new gun so naturally in perfect stance. 

His pants tightened as his erection grew strong with each taste of your tongue. His hands roamed into your hair, gripping slightly to pull you closer. The both of you moaned when you ended up grinding against his hard cock. Once you got a taste for that, you couldn’t stop. Your hips grinded into his, sending earthquakes of pleasure through you. You could feel your panties get damper each minute as the makeout became even hotter and heavier. It wasn’t helping that it has been a while since the last time you had sex. It made you feel more sensitive than usual.

Finally, Ghost flipped you around and settled you back on the bed. He has never been so turned on in his life and you were the one doing this to him. 

There was something he needed to make clear first, though.

“I’m going to make you cum.” He promised, flashing you a determined look that had you weak. 

You blushed and averted your gaze, your voice low. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll do it. No matter how long it takes. I’m going to be the first man to make you cum tonight.” He reassured, gladly ignoring your warnings as he leaned down to kiss your lips again. As he took control of your tongue, his hands began to explore your skin under the shirt. You were unbelievably soft under his fingertips, delicate from your lack of experience on a battlefield. He now loved that about you. You didn’t need to be in the throws of battle to be part of the team. 

“You’re so soft, you know that?” He praised, deep rumbles of his voice making your brain turn into mush as it entered your ears. His kisses traveled to them, making you shiver uncontrollably as he softly bit down. 

He chuckled, a sound that was once always reserved for his male teammates unless he was making fun of you. Now, they teased you so pleasantly that your breath hitched. “Someone’s ears are sensitive. You like having them played with?”

Just as you were about to answer, he slid his hand up to touch your breasts, pinching your nipples and making you jump. “Ahh~! Ghost!”

“Call me Simon.” He demanded, yearning for the sound of his real name coming from you. It would be the first time you would call him by his real name. 

You played with it in your head, noting how foreign it felt just sitting on your tongue. Nonetheless, you gave him what he wanted. “S-Simon. . .”

“Again.” He encouraged, suppressing a shiver that traveled down his spine. It was like getting a dose of the sweetest drug. Fireworks exploding in his chest. He loved how his name sounded on your lips. 

“Simon. . .” You sighed as he peppered kisses all over your neck. Your cami was now raised up to reveal your chest, kisses traveling further and further down to taste all of you. As much as Simon wanted to fuck you already right then and there, he had a promise to keep. He had to take it slow and let it build up. He had to make you cum first.

He took a stiff nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around before taking it between his teeth in a gentle bite. His other hand twisted your other nub between his fingers. The way he tweaked them hard sent waves of pleasure through you, all the way down to your cunt that was still soaking your panties. It felt so good to have him touch you like this. You wanted more. 

Arching your back, you took your top off completely. Simon followed suit, stripping off his shirt and trailing his kisses down your stomach. As he felt your stomach on his lips, he buried his face deep into it. To think that he could’ve had this so much sooner if he was just nice to you from the beginning. “So soft. . .”

You squirmed a little under his slow, deep kisses to your body. No one has ever taken this much time on you before. All foreplay was pretty exclusive to your breasts or cunt with your previous partners. Simon was taking the time to appreciate your whole body. It felt so intimate. “Simon. . ?”

God, he loved it when you said his name. “Y/n?”

You were starting to like the sound of your name coming from him too. A blush swept across your cheeks. “You can be a little rougher.”

He smirked, this time making you tremble in excitement rather than rage. “Is that what you like? You like it a little rough?”

“I like the firmer sensation. Nothing too crazy.” You elaborated, always one to speak your mind even in a moment like this. If you were going to have sex with Simon Riley, if he wanted to make you cum, information like this was important.

Simon hummed against your skin, his hands working to pull off your pants. The vibrations made you sigh. Once your shorts and panties were off, he settled himself between your legs. Your dripping cunt was such a pretty sight. Pink, wet, and sweet. He bit the inside of your thigh, making you gasp in pleasure. “Like that? Is this what your previous partners did to you?” 

“N-No. . .” You admitted. Your previous partners never really listened to what you liked even if you told them straight-forwardly. At least not enough to get you to tremble like Simon did. It seemed like the man you hated before was really the best so far in bed. 

“Good. Their loss.” He murmured, biting down on your thighs soon after and leaving a deep love-bite. You bit your lower lip and whimpered, the sensation sending shockwaves. Simon kept going further and further down on you, relishing each time you moaned and quivered. He wanted more. He wanted to make you scream.

His lips latched onto your swollen clit, biting it between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He tasted your nectar on his tongue, a taste that instantly made him addicted to it. You arched your back and grabbed his hair suddenly, silky soft strands feeling nice between your fingers. 

Just like he wanted, you moaned his name over and over again. His tongue kept lathering your clit firmly and with even strokes. Fingers prodded at your opening, spreading your wetness all over you until he was able to put two of his fingers inside. God, you were tight. 

“Ahh~! Right there, Simon!” You encouraged, your ability to speak your mind unwavering. Simone found that insanely attractive as he pushed his fingers in further and curled right at that spongy spot that was driving you crazy. His teeth pulled at your folds before being soothed with his tongue. Your clit twitched as he pressed his tongue up against it once more, all the while pumping his fingers into your soaked pussy. 

Your grip on his hair got tighter as he kept pushing you to the edge. The sensation made his own cock twitch under his clothes, making him press it up against the mattress to grind into. He wished it was your pussy he was grinding into already, but you were so close. He could feel it. You could feel it. 

He didn’t stop his pace. Strong, even, and slow. You tightened around his fingers each second, feeling the wave approach closer and closer. You could already tell that this was going to be a big one. Your first orgasm with a partner ever. 

Tilting your head back, you moaned louder and louder. You begged for more and more, praying to a god that Simon wasn’t just going to leave you hanging. Now that would be pure evil. The worst thing he could ever do to you. But he didn’t. He just kept nipping, sucking, biting, and licking to the point that your head was spinning. 

Before you could warn him, your vision saw white and you screamed. Simon could feel you suck in his fingers so tight that he smiled as he still landed kisses on your clit. Your legs trembled, aching to close or kick out the electricity that coarse through you. Your cum was spilling everywhere. All over his fingers down to his wrist, coating your thighs in a sweet glaze. 

While you tried to catch your breath, Simon licked up every drop. “How was that? Everything you thought it would be?

You looked down to see his eyes ablaze with victory and a sexy smirk on his lips. You sighed and nodded. “Credit where credit is due. That was really good.”

“Good. Because you’re not done yet.” He decided, already stripping off his pajama pants to reveal his rock hard erection. He was bigger than you expected, all that shit talk for two years making you believe that he was making up for something. But he was blessed with the girth, the length, and the look that you knew would be amazing.

He positioned himself between your legs, coating his length with your slick. Shivers started again as the tip rubbed against your clit. The both of you sighed, enjoying each other’s bodies to the fullest extent.

Suddenly, Simon pushed all of his cock into you, bottoming out within a second. You gripped the sheets tight in your fist as you cried out. He stretched you out so pleasurably, so fully. You’ve never felt so full in your sex life. 

Simon hissed as you clenched around him. “Fucking hell, you’re so tight. . .”

Slowly, he began to move. Long even strokes that rubbed every inch of you and him. As he looked down at you, face twisting into such a pleasurable expression, eyes only on him, he heard his heart beat in his ears. God damn, you were gorgeous. 

Your eyes widened as he came down for a kiss, his tongue taking full control while his hips remained steady. The sudden rush of the kiss and his cock reaching deeper made you scratch at his shoulders. He was eating up all of your moans like candy. 

“F-Fuck~! Simon, wait!” You begged, the sensation getting overwhelming with each deep thrust. He could feel you getting tighter. Wetter. He knew that you were getting close to another orgasm, and he wasn’t going to stop for a second.

He sat up and pushed your legs down by your thighs, spreading you wide open and making you take all of him as deep as you can. You clawed his hands as your climax approached even faster, Simon ignoring all of your cries for him to wait. The sounds of your wet sex echoed in the room along with your sensual moans, causing you to get even more aroused. Christ, his cock was so good!

You were plunged into an orgasm, your whole body quaking as you arched and screamed it out. Simon felt your pussy wrap tightly around him, trying to take everything from him before he was ready. It was dizzying how good your insides felt coiling around him. He loved how you soaked his dick and crotch full with your hot cum. 

Simon grabbed your thighs tight, squeezing hard and clenching his teeth while he tried to stop himself from climaxing too soon. He wanted to stretch this night out for as long as he could.

While you settled down from your second orgasm, you gazed up at Simon who was struggling to keep himself together. You lifted your arms and touched his strong, muscular chest that was shimmering in sweat. You could feel how hard his heart was beating under your fingertips. You could feel him twitch hard inside you, aching to fuck you again. Your body was weak, though. You didn’t know if you could last for much longer. Every nerve in your body felt like it was melting. “Si-”

“I know. Your body won’t stop shaking. Just until I cum, yeah?” He observed, fingers tracing your trembling curves.

At the idea of Simon cumming, your body regained new energy that you didn’t know you had. You wanted to see it. Feel it. You wanted to see your lieutenant crumble from the power of your body. “Fuck me then, Simon.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. His hips went into overdrive, thrusting in and out of you with ease from all of your slick. You felt him hit that wonderful spot of yours that made you see stars over and over again, your body already on the edge once again. 

Simon picked you up off the bed and turned, settling you on his lap while he laid back. He didn’t relinquish any control, however. He just wanted to grope your delicious ass while he thrusted up inside you, hitting nice and deep. With the new view and new places to touch, he was losing his mind. 

You weren’t expecting this new position, but you didn’t reject it either. In fact, it felt heavenly. He hit that g-spot at just the right angle and you loved how he manhandled your butt so roughly. You liked how his eyes never looked away from your body, drinking it all in like the finest wine. From this position, you could feel his solid cock twitch inside of you.

Struggling yourself up, limbs feeling like jelly, you fell onto his chest, your tits pressing firmly into him. That sent him over the edge, his grip on your ass making his nails dig into your skin. Once you felt that first rope of cum enter you, you came for the last time.

Hot cum mixed together, making a mess out of the both of you. His chest fell and rose with heavy breaths, groans coming out with each rope he couldn’t hold back. Your tightening pussy wasn’t helping, milking him of everything to the point where he even felt tingles travel through him. Once he was finally done, he felt exhausted. 

You were exhausted too, your lungs struggling to regulate air flow. Your heart was beating so loud that it drained all other noises. Your body felt slightly numb from it all, your head getting fuzzy with each second. Simon wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to his chest as you both calmed yourselves. 

“That was. . .” He began, losing the right words to describe just how amazing that was. He’s had his fair share of sexual encounters, but never like this. No one could quite compare to you.

“Yeah. . .” You agreed, your eyes closing as you felt the afterglow take over. You felt the covers pull up over you, Simon still holding you on top of him, not willing to let go just yet. 

He could never imagine letting you go now. 

[eoieopda]

FINE I'M HERE TO REQUEST PART 3!!! In which Chan better really GET that promotion!!!!!!! Contract signed, payroll amended!!!!!

You can make it angsty if you like, AS LONG AS you promise there will be a happy ending (in this part or........ Another 👀)

the one with chan and the promotion (iii)

you needed a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happened to be free. now, being free is the last thing he wants.

part i. part ii.

pairing: bang chan x reader au: fuck buddies to lovers, hurt/comfort type: drabble (angst, fluff) rating: 18+ | minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my content. wc: 3.1k cw: mad!chan makes a brief appearance but otherwise remains the best boy; gn!reader (no gendered language used); reader may or may not show some degree of emotional availability (gasp!); due to the nature of their relationship, sex is referenced but not actually depicted; very briefly/incompletely edited, oops. a/n: i love you completely and am so fucking sorry it took four (4) months for me to finish this 😵‍💫 i have an epilogue i can offer in penance, if you want it! everyone else, please read the first two parts before reading this!

Chan may be an idiot, but at least he’s self-aware.

He knew it was a bad idea to get his hopes up; to expect that things would change quickly between you, if at all. Even though he saw the letdown coming from a kilometer away, he didn’t do a thing to brace himself for it. It’s his fault, he knows, for exaggerating his place in your life — but that doesn’t make the disappointment bruise any less when the week after your wisdom teeth removal flies by in radio silence.

The lack of conversation isn’t for lack of trying. As he scrolls through your half-vacant text thread now, Chan feels all his efforts staring back at him. All those attempted check-ins marked delivered but not well-received. Swings and misses.

Prior to sending each one of them, he spent minutes upon minutes agonizing over the tone — and the use of emojis — and the possible implications of the proposed emojis — and the fear that he’d just come off clingy, not invested. Reading the finished versions back now, he can recall with perfect accuracy the drafts he typed out and immediately, feverishly deleted. Considering the way they litter his brain, there may as well be a trail of crumpled-up notes in all that metadata.

Does it make Chan cringe to look back and watch himself flatline? Absolutely.

Does that stop him from salting his own wounds? Nope. It never has and likely never will.

Maybe, he figures, he’ll spot where he went wrong and find a way to un-dig this ditch he’s seemingly made.

[Sent 2024/7/23, 15:22] Just got home. Have you fallen back asleep already? Lol 

Naver says your swelling might be kind of bad tomorrow. Do you need ice packs? I have the gel kind that you can mold. Might be more comfortable than a bag of ice cubes 🤔 Lmk!

[Sent 2024/7/25, 08:03] Hi, Hamtori 🐹 How are your cheeks?

I made too much gamjaguk again. I can drop some off if

[Sent 2024/7/26, 17:49] Graduate to solid foods yet?

I hope the antibiotics aren’t making your stomach upset

DON’T LAUGH but I made you a super chill Spotify playlist with healing vibes to

Idk if you remember, but I promised to take you out for pork belly next week. If you’re up for it, are you free on

I miss y

[Sent 2024/7/29, 00:16] Hey

Or maybe, he thinks, he’ll just beat his head against his bedroom wall instead; and eventually, he’ll forget what it felt like to be yours for the day, rather than a night.

Four more days pass without a word from you. Under normal circumstances, one of you would’ve invited the other over at least twice in the eleven days since your dental appointment. No matter how infrequently the two of you chatted outside of your recurrent trysts, neither one of you has ever gone this long without summoning the other.

Something is wrong.

At this point, Chan sees two explanations for the way you’ve fallen completely off the grid: you’ve either succumbed to some tragic, post-op. complication and died, or he’s irreparably fucked something up with you without knowing how or when he misstepped. Neither one of those is an outcome he’s willing to accept. 

The voice in his head nags him so forcefully and consistently that his body eventually gives in. Undeterred by his better judgment, Chan lets it guide him up, out, and onward until he winds up on the sidewalk outside his building.

On the walk to your apartment, he mulls over the foreseeable consequences of the actions he’s already set in motion. It’s certifiably insane to pop in you like this, and once again, he only sees two options: you’ll slam the door in his face, or he’ll confirm once and for all that you’ve left this mortal coil. Bad on all counts, really, but anything is better than nothing.

His timing, as it turns out, couldn’t be better. Right as he lands at the front door, when he needs to think of a way to get in without buzzing you, a neighbor he’s seen once or twice before opens it to leave. Politely, they hold it open for him, likely mistaking him for someone with any right to be there — someone whose primary to you actually makes sense. Chan thanks them with a nod of his head and a sheepish smile before slipping through the opening.

As the elevator ascends, his fingers move of their own accord, anxiously tapping out a rhythm on the stainless steel wall he leans against. Every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. There’s a flash of something else there, too, though. Something even more nerve-wracking than all his catastrophizing; something that makes his stomach flip.

Hope.

“Oi, none of that,” he mutters to himself.

It doesn’t work. When Chan approaches the doors in the second before they open, he makes eye contact with his reflection and sees that easy, ill-advised smile creeping up on him.

As he exits that giant metal box, he shakes his head with an anxious laugh. If he’s this embarrassed by himself when he’s alone, the chances of him living through the way you’re about to look at him are…

Well…

Abysmal.

But that doesn’t stop him from powering his way down the hall towards your door. Coincidentally, neither does the fact that he doesn’t have a plan for what he’ll do when he reaches it.

Figuring knocking is as good a start as any, that’s precisely what Chan does, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to appear more nonchalant. 

Then, he waits.

And then, he waits some more.

After thirty seconds pass without a response, Chan knocks again, carefully balancing the weight of his fist against it so the sound of it isn’t too assertive — or too eager — or too desperate — or —

“Left about an hour ago,” a voice says from a few meters away.

Chan turns towards the sound. Several units down, an old woman’s head pokes out of an open doorway. He can’t tell if she’s intentionally frowning at him or if it’s the weight of her jowls pulling the corners of her mouth down. Either way, it feels bad.

Running an anxious hand over the back of his increasingly warm neck, he coughs, “Oh?”

The ajumma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You young people never put those cell phones down and yet you still wind up like this.” She works herself up further; her nostrils flare as she rambles, “In my day, it was rude to show up unannounced. We called ahead, and when we called ahead, people were there to answer the door.”

Chan isn’t above arguing with some personified wrinkle, but he likes to think you would be. Even though you’re not here to witness it, it feels important to be the person you might like him to be. 

So, he bites his tongue. 

He nods yet again with a polite smile.

He turns on his heels.

And when he shuffles back towards the elevator, there’s a hell of a lot less of a spring in his step.

Two days go by after Chan’s little fieldtrip. Just like the previous several, they slip away quietly. This time, however, he doesn’t check-in — doesn’t type out his thoughts just to immediately erase them; doesn’t stare at his phone and wait to prove it to himself that it won’t chime.

Lesson learned, really.

It was a bad idea to bet the house on maybes. He knew it on the front end and still chose optimism; now, it serves him right. Played stupid games and won stupid prizes, as you like to say. If only he could stop thinking about what you like to say and instead focus on the fact that you haven’t said anything at all.

Chan grits his teeth and tries hard to focus on the game lighting up his monitor. Whatever Yongbok talked him into playing doesn’t make him feel any better about fumbling you — in fact, it’s proving to be yet another thing he’s terrible at — but it’s sufficiently distracting to have his friends swearing each other up and down in their Discord voice channel.

Actually, he stands corrected. This is also terrible, albeit a different flavor of garbage than his hopeless mooning over you.

Maybe radio silence is better.

As soon as that thought crosses his mind, his phone buzzes against the surface of his desk — three long taps bookended by three short ones. 

Before Chan reaches for it, he lets the poetry of it all sink in. SOS, his phone declares whenever you text him. Originally, although he’ll never fucking tell you so, he chose that text tone because hearing from you salvaged his day, every time. Now, it reminds him that he’s in over his head with no life preserver in sight.

Not bad, he thinks. He should write that bit down in the notebook of lyrics he ruminates over but never puts to music, let alone shares.

The lack of action on his part prompts his phone to vibrate again for emphasis. 

SOS!

Beaming white light bores into his retinas when he finally opens his inbox, and Chan refuses to think about the million times you’ve told him to switch to dark mode or the infinitely-brighter shit he’s been roasting under since he started this game several hours back. All he thinks about instead is the first grey text in an ocean of blue:

[2024/8/04, 23:37] you up?

You tilt your head to the side, smiling coyly when you crack open the door and find Chan standing on your doorstep with his hood up and hands in his pockets. Outside the windows behind you, the downpour he just trudged through continues to dampen his mood.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you lilt, like nothing has changed at all.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?  

Chan lifts his chin slightly as some half-assed nod to let you know that his ears work, if nothing else. Either missing his stony expression or ignoring it, you simply open the door wider, beckoning him to follow you with a gentle wave of your free hand.

He wants so badly to smile back at you as easily as you smile at him — really, he does, but fuck, he can’t make his face do anything but harden.

Once he toes off his shoes, he expects you to lead him straight to your room — or your couch — or any of the other various services the pair of you have misappropriated along the way. You don’t, though. With your lips pensively pursed, you shuffle a bit closer; and as soon as you can reach him properly, you raise both of your hands. One flattens against his now rain-soaked sweatshirt; the other goes for his zipper, tugging gently until there’s nothing left to hold him together.

Carefully, Chan eyes you; watches while you slip the fabric off his shoulders, as if it isn’t twice as heavy as it was when he put it on. Like it’s easy, you turn away, open the nearby closet, and toss that wet mess into the top-half of your standing washer-dryer.

“I think…” Your tiny, upward curve returns while your sentence peters out. Softly, you reach up and brush a damp curl off his forehead. “An umbrella would be a worthwhile investment.”

He should join in on the bit. He should banter right back. He should smile, too — for fuck’s sake — because you’re finally right here. You’re talking to him within touching distance, radiating warmth he wants to live in, and he should touch you the way you want to be touched — the way you summoned him here to touch you.

He should do a lot of things, none of which include snapping at you, and yet —

“Why the hell am I here?”

It catches you both off-guard. You, because Chan has never once spoken to you any other way but kindly. Him, because you don’t actually look all that surprised by the sentiment, even if the presentation isn’t what you expected.

Somehow, that’s the thing that stings the most; not the way your face falls at his gruffness but the inkling you must have had before you asked him over that things between you aren’t sitting right at all.

Chan doesn’t get a response, so he asks another way: “Did you notice all of those unanswered texts when you sent yours, or did you ignore them all over again?”

It dawns on you — and him too, if he’s being honest — that you’ve still got your hands resting delicately on his chest. You reel your arms back in and cross them, not defiantly but diminutively. You shrink right in front of him; and regret hits him like a fist to the side of his skull.

“I didn’t know what to do with them.” Your head lowers while you do your best to look anywhere else.

That’s —

“Bullshit. I’m sorry, but it’s really not hard to keep up a conversation, especially when someone is just asking how you’re feeling.” Instantly he feels terrible for snapping. Softening his tone slightly, he sighs, “I know you know how.”

You look up at him without tilting your head much at all. Peering over that brick wall of yours, he figures. “That’s the thing, though. I don’t know.”

The face he pulls must convey what he’s thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? But you’re quick to prevent him from jumping to any further-out conclusions, amending, “I don’t know how I feel.”

Chan opens his mouth to respond, then thinks better of it. It’s rare for you to open up to the extent you might be about to; and it’s a miracle that you might be willing to now, given the fact that he’s come at you blindly at 160 kilometers per hour.

“I don’t like needing people.” 

Your attention is drawn to your fidgeting fingers and the drawstring of the sweatpants they occupy themselves with. The overwhelming urge he feels to grab them, to hold them still, goes ignored and makes his own hands tense. He focuses hard on your face instead; the crease between your eyebrows while you plot out your next steps.

“I didn’t want to need you, but then I did need you — and you just… you came, no questions asked.” You laugh, either despite your visible discomfort or because of it. “Held my hand and all that, didn’t just drop me on the curb and say, hit me up when you’re down again.”

Chan feels as if he’s been punched, although it’s not offense he takes from your statement. Judging by that flicker of hurt in your eyes, the expectation you had wasn’t for him, personally. It was history. 

You shift where you stand from one foot to another, like that weight on your shoulders is changing. He doesn’t know if it’s getting heavier or lighter until you finally lift your chin to look at him squarely. 

“It scared the shit out of me, honestly — how easy you are to need — so, I did what I always do: I bailed.” Sighing, you finally seem to register how much anxiety you’re holding in your hands. You drop it, then drop them to your sides. “But I think I’ve figured it out.”

You smile slightly, and suddenly, he feels lighter. “I’ve been conflating them, but they’re completely different things, aren’t they?”

Chan arches an eyebrow. Truly, he’s at a loss. He can’t predict which direction you’re about to turn in. Seeming to sense this, you answer his unasked question, “Wanting to need you and wanting you.”

While this makes his brain pause, his body moves. Cautiously, he steps forward and watches you counter him until your back is flush against the wall behind you. 

“Can I have a definition, then, please?” He pleads, voice low, while his hands gently claim your hips. “Because I thought it was want behind the booty call that brought me here, and I don’t want to find myself on a completely different page again.”

You link your arms around his neck and eye him carefully. “It was,” you acknowledge with a small nod. “Different kind, though — a shallow one.”

Chan finds his mouth curving up at the corner, all on its own. His gaze drops from yours to your lips, then back again. It’d be so easy to kiss you now, but he can’t unless he gets some sort of confirmation. “We’re in the deep end now, then?”

“Moving that way, at least. I spook easily, though…” You’d probably love nothing more than to look away when you admit that bit out loud, but to your credit, you don’t. Instead, you run your fingernails softly through the hair at his nape. “I’m not entitled to any more of your patience, but would you be willing to take it one day at a time?”

Chan wishes that he’d at least pretended to consider this. He doubts you’ve ever had a vision of him as someone nonchalant — in fact, he’s the poster boy for chalance in whichever reality that word exists — but it would’ve been infinitely cooler of him not to respond immediately and wholeheartedly with a rushed sigh, “Fuckin’ right, I am,” before leaning in to kiss you absolutely stupid.

Whatever gratification he can’t find by licking into the mouth you open eagerly for him, he finds in the way you keen when he presses his body more fully against yours. The payoff is even better when he stops short, divorcing your respective lips entirely.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he announces, breathless. His grin widens; meanwhile, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. “No! Not, like, never — I don’t have that kind of resolve — but not tonight.”

The sudden switch makes you dizzy. Thankfully, it makes you laugh, too. 

“Don’t tell me you just want to enjoy my company,” you warn. You attempt to say it earnestly, but a smile cracks you wide open. “I’m still too prone to bolt when I hear cute shit like that.”

Chan shakes his head. “No, I’m telling you to plant yourself on that couch —” He pulls his right hand off your left hip and gestures blindly over his shoulder. “I’m also telling you that I am getting takeout.”

You narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. “I wonder what you could possibly be ordering.”

“Belated pork belly is better than no pork belly.” He narrows his eyes to mirror hours, then kisses you quickly, murmuring, “One for the road,” against your lips.

Then, he dashes off towards your front door. As he goes, he just barely catches you nagging him through your laughter:

“If you’re not going to wait for your sweatshirt, can you at least take an umbrella?”

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

skz taglist. multi taglist. navigation.

due to tumblr being ass with tags lately, i’m going to be tagging people in the comments for the time being!

[thewickedjazzy]

Could u do dazai x reader with ocd?

Featuring: Osamu Dazai x gn! ocd reader

Content: sfw, fluff, slightly angst, mention of some swearing words, I believe that's it?,

Author's note: hiiii anon, so sorry for the late response, I swear I was working on it since I received it. I'm also working on all of yall's requests - I'm not sure if you wanted a fic, drabble, or headcanon so I just did a rock paper scissors.

Word count: 1k

❥ Dazai is a smartass, quick witted even, and don't forget that he works at the agency as a detective so of course he will quickly notice how you constantly worry about things going wrong—whether it’s leaving your water bottle uncapped or making a mistake at work. He sees you zoning out at the office, caught in a loop of anxious thoughts, and quickly deduces that it’s more than just everyday stress.

❥ At first, before really getting to know you, he was just a quiet observer. But he never judged, not even once. He’s got his own mental shit to deal with, so he knows how fucked up minds can be. He’d make mental notes of your quirks, just in case he needed to handle them during a mission or whatever.

❥ As he gets to know you better, he figures out how sweet and lovely you are—unlike the twisted side of your mind. It’s like an addiction for him; he craves that balance. He enjoys being friends with someone who has their own dark side, just like he does. Maybe you’ll understand where he's coming from, push him to be a better version of himself.

❥ It’s only after your relationship becomes official that he feels entitled to meddle in your problems. He believes that getting involved in such matters is only appropriate once there’s a solid, established connection between you. Until then, he's just an observer.

❥ You were the one who approached him first, explaining that you have OCD. You felt more anxious than you’d anticipated, having considered telling him many times before but never managing to do so because your mind held you back. He remained calm, and it was only when he revealed that he had known all along that you felt embarrassed. In his typically laid-back manner, Dazai might say, “Oh, I’ve known about your OCD for a while now. You don’t need to be embarrassed—it's actually quite endearing. It doesn’t change a thing between us. We’ll work through it together, and honestly, it’s no big deal.”

❥ One day, while on a mission with him and Atsushi, you were deeply focused on analyzing the crime scene. You managed to uncover evidence that even Dazai had missed, piecing together how the victim was killed with remarkable accuracy.

❥ Needless to say that dazai was surprised by how quickly you cracked the complex case. Even after the murderer was arrested, you continued to ramble about additional details, anxiously checking the file in your hand and worrying about missing something, though there was nothing left to find. Eventually he stopped you, gently holding both your wrists. As you looked up, apologising profusely, he simply shushed you, saying, "It's fine. The case is solved, and we’ve caught the murderer."

❥ Atsushi the poor kid he is watched the exchange between you and Dazai with curiosity. When you reluctantly handed him the file with a nod, Atsushi leaned in and whispered to Dazai, asking if you were alright. Dazai simply smiled and replied, "They're just the perfect detective, doing their job flawlessly."

❥ Dazai is surprisingly attentive to your needs when it comes to your OCD. If you’re stuck in a loop of checking something multiple times, he’ll gently steer you away from it by engaging you in conversation or distracting you with a task. He might even playfully mock himself to make you laugh, using humor to ease your anxiety. “Looks like I’ve accidentally left my keys at home for the fifth time this week. Isn’t that a catastrophe?”

❥ If you’re particularly anxious about a big case or an important event, Dazai might surprise you with a comforting gesture. He could leave little notes or small tokens of reassurance in places you’d find them, like a hidden message in your desk drawer or a comforting snack in your bag.

❥ When you’re feeling overwhelmed, Dazai has a knack for knowing when you need space and when you need company. He might give you space to deal with your thoughts but always makes sure you’re not alone. He could show up with your favorite coffee or a calming playlist, knowing just when to intervene.

❥ Dazai might not always express it directly, but he has a deep understanding of how your OCD affects you and often subtly adapts his behavior to support you. He might avoid making sudden movements or loud noises if he knows it could trigger your anxiety. His sensitivity to your needs shows how much he cares.

❥ Dazai would likely offer reassurances in his own, less conventional way. Dazai might not be that sentimental boyfriend but he makes casual but heartfelt statements that affirm his love, such as “You’re the only one who can put up with my nonsense,” or “I can truly be myself with you, without a second thought.”

❥ Dazai would be more mindful of his humor, staying away from jokes or comments that might trigger your OCD. He might use humor in a way that’s supportive and aligns with your sense of comfort rather than distress.

❥ If someone makes fun of you, Dazai would likely handle it with a blend of nonchalance and protective instinct. He might casually brush off the mockery with a witty comment, like, “Oh, they’re just jealous of your intellect,” showing his confidence in you. If needed, he would also step in to defend you.

➵Want more of Osamu Dazai ?

[savedbythedrafts]

I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

[therobotmonster]

So... Shapeways is going bankrupt.

This is particularly irksome for me, as that's a good 1/3rd of my monthly income, so I'm crossing my fingers while I start setting up a new store on cults. I have literally thousands of items so getting them all up is going to take ages.

But why did this happen?

Well I'll fucking tell you what I think happened.

It was a company run on arrogance and cowardice.

Shapeways made its mark as the cafepress of 3d printing. The weight of this was their marketplace that let people sell prints directly to customers without having to do the printing themselves. At its peak, I made more from Shapeways than from my day job.

The problem was that Shapeways put zero effort into the marketplace. They'd send some of us to a con to promote the idea of 3d printing game minis a couple of times, sure, but when it came to actual site maintenance and design every suggestion and request by sellers was roundly ignored. We asked for better search and categorization options. We asked to be able to name variants in our stores. We asked for better communication from the print techs. We asked for accurate subcategories that actually reflected how customers looked for items. None of it was done.

As such, the site was baffling to customers and difficult to understand. This was made worse by Shapeways' continual renaming of their materials. So after a couple of years Shapeways announces that they're not going to do anything for the marketplace because it's underperforming, and are going to focus on B2B, and in doing so they buried the marketplace in a tiny little link on the front page.

Overnight sales plummeted. We complained again, nothing was done. We asked for a different URL that went straight to the marketplace (something that would literally cost them $80 to do) that we could direct customers to, we were ignored.

The marketplace is underperforming, so we won't put in the effort needed to make the marketplace perform. Makes perfect sense.

Prices go up. Shipping goes up substantially, and then it was a thousand little cuts. The auto-checks were altered to make it impossible to verify anything manually with any accuracy, so it became harder to design for the limitations of their printers.

The site slowed down substantially so every click had a several second pause, making shopping and maintaining frustrating and unpleasant. Shipping costs to many areas of the world became insanely high, effectively cutting off entire markets.

Want to not be Shapeways? Then remember this:

Your users know more about your site experience and their own needs than you do.

If you have a sales site, and the people selling through it say "this isn't working, we need this" then maybe you should listen to them and not just say 'you're wrong' to their faces.

Oh, and also, if goddamn Rolls-Royce comes in filing false DMCA claims over the use of the word "Phantom" in any context on your site, you don't take every item through a multiple day review for every edit and say "LOL, we can't do anything"

You take them to court for abusing the system on behalf of your user base, you fucking bootlicking cowards.

OH, AND I ALMOST FORGOT!

I HAD TO FIND OUT ABOUT THIS FROM A DM ON TWITTER.

They've sent me a check every month for half a decade and they don't even send a "We're closing shop" email.

Look upon my prints, ye mighty, and despair.

If you want to help me though the meantime, here's my paypal.me and my gofundme.

[atxxokirina]

'Make You Mine Again' (18+)

Lo'ak x fem Omatikayan reader

contains: SMUTTY SMUT, mention of cheating, lo'ak (somewhat) gaslighting reader, dom lo'ak, p in v, wall fuck, creampie, squirt. lmk if i missed anything!

plot: you dump lo'ak after discovering he cheated on you. he feels terrible about his fuck up, so he comes over to make it up to you.. to make you his again.

Your boyfriend, Lo'ak was one of the best hunters you knew. He'd exelled at just about everything. Aiming arrows, throwing his bola, spears, axes— and his accuracy when it came to the variety of knives he owned was truly incredible. The only thing Lo'ak continuously failed at was timing.

"Ready, aim, shoot!" Jake shouts at his warrior crew. The bunch shoot in unison, arrows flying at their targets. "Tsu'mong, Áyena, Neteyam, great forms! Chest relaxed with confident shoulders. I love to see it." He claps. Jake makes his way to Lo'ak's distressed arrow, eyeing how it landed just below everyone else's. He bends down, plucking the arrow out of the tree.

Jake stands up to look at his son. Holding intense eye contact with him. "Everyone.. dismissed." Lo'ak knew he was to stay, just by the way his father was glaring at him. You watched from above the trees, feeling a sad ache forming in your heart as you watched Lo'ak bow down his head in shame. As the group of hunters walk away from the site, you wave to Lo'ak. He holds back a grin, vaugely nodding up at you.

"You already know what I'm gonna say, boy." Jake growls as he points at Lo'ak. "Hunting retreat is in 2 days. Get your timing straight or you're not goin' with us! That understood?"

"Yes, sir.." Lo'ak replies, voice low. "Good. Now go, dismissed." Jake grunts as Lo'ak picks up his arrow and walks away. Your eyes follow him. You drop down from the tree you sat in, landing right behind him. "Hey! You okay?" He turns around. “I’m alright." He sighs.

It just feels like I’m never good enough for him..” His tone is strained, eyes casted down on the ground. “I try my absolute hardest- I think I’m doing everything right, but then he gets upset anyway. I just don’t know what to say. This stupid retreat is dumb anyway.” He shrugs, shaking his head. "And did you see the way everyone looked at me when he called me out?"

You frown, tilting your head and rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah baby, I saw.." you sighed. "Look, it's okay. You've been doing great. I watch you everyday, and you know practice makes perfect." You speak as you cling to his arm, walking alongside him. "Remember how hard it was for you to throw your bola at first? And now look at you, you're great at it."

His expression softens at the mention, earning a genuine smile. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point. Just gotta keep at it.” He walks with you, holding your hand. “Thanks, y/n." You smile, resting your head on his shoulder. "Mhm, of course. You know I got you, what kind of a girlfriend would I be if-"

"Lo'ak!" An somewhat familiar voice calls after your boyfriend, you shoot your head around to see- his.. ex? She was around the same height as you, shorter hair, braids tied back. "Áyena? Hey, what's up, what are you doing here?" Lo'ak instantly unclasped your hand as if he didn't want her to see. He walks up to the girl and gives her a handshake that soon turned into a hug. Your arms fold, tilting your head as a disgusted expression forms on your face. You scoff, watching as his manerisims completely changed.

"Hm, I hear Jake has been giving you a hard time during training," She starts. "I could give you some, pointers later on.." She flashes a shit eating grin at you, snaking her hand up to his neck. Lo'ak pushes her hand away, he mumbles "Not here" under his breath, hoping you wouldn't hear, but you still caught it.

You folded your arms in disbelief, shaking your head. "Wow.." You're at a loss for words, Lo'ak snaps out of whatever trance he was in and turns around to you. "Later, Lo.." Áyena speaks in a shallow tone, winking as she left.

“She’s just a friend..” He says after a moment, his voice quiet. He doesn’t even look at you while he speaks. "Didn't even have to ask you, huh?" He now looks at you, face screwed in guilt. "A friend, my ass. That shit she pulled speaks for itself." You huff in annoyance, walking away from him. He follows behind you “What, you don’t trust me?” Lo'ak asks, coming off overly defensive. He knows he's been found out, but of course, he won't go down without a fight. Even if he is in wrong.

You ignore him and continue strutting away, knowing that this will only agitate you more. "It was just a hug. Just listen to me, fuck!" He says from behind you, irritation growing as you give him the cold shoulder. Nothing he's saying is adding up.

Just a hug? Fuck that. You saw the way he looked at her. You knew that lust filled look, and just the thought of him going behind your back entrances your body with rage. "You know what? Fuck you, I'm leaving." He speaks huskily. It made no sense how he was getting so upset over this. He was the one who cheated on you, not the other way around.

"No, you're not!" You pull his arm and turn him around. "Tell me the fucking truth, Lo'ak! Did you fuck her? Huh?" You raise your voice at him, anger building by the minute. His face twitches, eyes stuttering to look at you. "I know that look, so just tell me. Don't fucking lie." You demand.

He yanks his arm back to escape your hold. “Áyena is my friend.” He growls, scowling. “Nothing happened.” He adds quickly. He’s so clearly lying to you, and doing a very poor job of it.

"Lo'ak. If you lie to me one more time.. you'll regret it. You, and her. I swear." You step closer, whispering a threat in his ear.

Lo’ak took you seriously this time. His expression softens in fear. He takes a breath, looking straight into your eyes, but can’t maintain the look for long, your expression is too intimidating. He looks to side, a heavy sigh falling out of his mouth as he slumps. “Fine..” You look at him, expecting the unvarnished truth this time. "Okay.. It's complicated, but-"

"It's not complicated. Did you fuck her, or not?" Your voice is stern. "Yes.. I did- fuck her." He finally admits. You sharply inhale, closing your eyes for a moment and collecting your thoughts. He looks at you with saddened eyes, worrying about what your next reaction might be.

"We're done." Just saying those words made your heart crumble. You loved Lo'ak so much, a part of you wished to forgive him. To let it all go, pretend that nothing ever happened, but you couldn't live like this, you couldn't do that to yourself.

"Y/n, I-I'm so sorry!" He sniffles, tears rolling down his face. “Tell me what you want from me,” Lo’ak please. “I’ll do whatever you want” He’s desperate to show he’s sorry. So much so that he kneels before you. “I love you, I want to be with you forever, how can I make this right?” He cries, his words broken with desperation. "Please, don’t leave. Please.."

You have to admit, he looks pathetic like this, but your heart still aches for him.

'I can't do this to myself.' you remind your consciousness.

"I'm sorry.. I can't. I'm sorry." You fight back an ocean of tears, shifting your view away from his as you back away. Ignoring the calls of your name. Your heart feels as if it's been shattered.

The walk back to your hut was silent and lonely. You tried to distract yourself from the terrible experience you've had tonight. Focusing on the rustling leaves, Fkio chirping, and bioluminescent flowers moving with the wind.

｡⁠*☆ﾟ⁠+

It's been 3 days since the breakup. You've been cooped up in your hut since then, only leaving during the dead of the night, to collect food for the next day, or bathing in the nearest cave.

You wake up in the middle of the night. Feeling groggy and exhausted. You prayed to Eywa that you'd feel even a sliver of relief, but alas, your heart is still heavy. Sitting up and throwing your blanket off your body, you sigh. After a few moments, you notice the silhouette standing in your doorway. You gasp. "What the fuck.." You whisper, standing up while your tail stays alert, flicking as the figure stays still.

The moonlight shines on the person's back, their shadow now coming into full sight. You face drops once you realize who it is, body becoming weak at the sight. "Lo'ak..?" You speak in a hushed tone. His tall form steps closer to you, pulling you close by your waist."Y/n, baby.. I'm so sorry." He's now peering down at you. Your eyes are filled with such sadness, but you avoid looking at him. No, you won't give him that satisfaction. "You need to leave.."

"Give me one more chance.." he leans his head down, giving your neck a soft kiss. You stand still, silently refusing to give in. "C'mon.." He abruptly wraps his hand around your neck, catching you off guard.

You rumble a tiny whine. But he doesn't stop his lips, infact, they only grow more intimate against your neck. Lo'ak snakes his hand to your breasts, squeezing them as he inhales a moan. "Let me make you feel good.. just.." His breath fans against your neck, you shudder. "One more chance.. I know you miss me, don't you mama?"

You felt a puddle of heat growing in your loincloth, you hated how easily wet this got you. But you couldn't lie. You did miss him. His touch, his strong arms, and the way he fucked you. "N-no.." You breathe out, fighting his eyes again. Lo'ak notices and catches your chin, forcing you to look at him.

He maintains eye contact. Undressing you with his eyes. He pulls you into a kiss. Tounge immediately slipping in your mouth, as if it's making up for lost time. Your hands wrap around his neck as you fall into the kiss, jumping onto him, legs tight around his waist.

Lo'ak grips your ass, squeezing it. He pushes you into the wall, a surprised wince comes from you. You look at him, silently pleading with your eyes.

Please, take me.

That look was all he needed. He scrambles to untie his loincloth, hard cock springing out. Veins are protruding, aching like your heart. Lo'ak moves your loincloth to the side, met with your glistening slick. "So fucking wet for me.." He huffs. Aligning his cock up to your pussy, teasing your clit while he's at it. You whimper at the friction. Without warning, he pushes himself into you.

A strained moan comes from you, he smirks with a breath. He pumps into your tight cunt, pace quick and determined. "Shit.. so tight for me," He grunts under his breath, rutting into you like no tomorrow. You squint your eyes shut, suppressing your moans. They come out as chopped breaths.

"Nah, don't hide from me baby, just- fuck.. let go for me." He tells you, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. You refuse, eyebrows narrow as you fight your body. "Really?" He laughs at you, now snapping his hips into you relentlessly. "Ah!" You finally moan, feeling him deeper than before. Lo'ak looks down at your pussy, watching your liquids mix with his, he notices the buldge in your stomach.

"Mnphh.. Lo'aaak!" You moan out, throwing your head back in pleasure. "Fuck, Lo'ak!" Your chest rises and falls, feeling your climax build. His head lifts at the moan of his name, hips stuttering. He's close too. You feel it. Feel his cock twitching inside.

"That's right, say my name baby.." As your back arches, your boobs bounce in his face. He rips your top off, swiftly bringing his lips to your hard nipples. Licking circles around the bud, his hand meets with your clit, rubbing up and down, angling his hips up, cock kissing your cervix.

"Haah- oh, Eywa! Right thereee, please don't stop! I'm s-so close!!" You pant and whimper. "Gonna cum!"

"M-Me too! Fuck, hold on baby. Not yet." He groans. Grinding his hips into yours, you both moan in ecstasy. Lo'ak feels your walls clench around him. "Cum at the same time. You're gonna wait for me, aren't you? Gonna be a good girl?"

"Uh huh, y-yesss!" You babble, eyes rolling back as you pant. "Tight pussy's choking me.. oh, fuck." Lo'ak tries to focus on your movements, closing him eyes.

Squeeze and release.

Squeeze and release.

Squeeze and release.

He feels the blood rushing to his cock, pupils wide as that familiar feeling builds inside of him. You feel it too, how his cock is begging for a release. You look at him. "Please, I need to cum. Please, please please pleaseee.." Your weak moans just turn him on more.

"Almost baby, almost.." He says, remaining eyes shut. You whine, not sure if you can hold back much longer. "Mmm.. ngghh, I can't, I can't-"

"Shit, now! Cum now baby, cum all over my cock!" His abrupt demand cuts you off. You obey in an instant, finally relaxing your body as your clear liquid spurts out onto him. "Fuuuck!" You cry.

His thick and warms load floods your womb, getting his last thrusts in as he moans above you. One last grunt comes from him before he pulls out.

You're completely winded. "Hey, you okay?" He asks with concern, setting you down. Your body is limp, mind empty but you respond with a low sound. "Mhmm.."

He lifts you up, placing you back on your cot, seeing how he fucked you right back to sleep made him laugh to himself.

"So glad I could make you mine again.." Lo'ak lowly whispers, softly kissing your plump lips and exiting your tent before the sun begins to rise.

[sharp-silver4795]

Hello!! So I’m pretty sure you haven’t answered a question like this,, (I haven’t read that much of thine content .I’m sorry😔) so I’m just gonna ask

The goggle boys (Cody & Toby)(& yes I’d rather pull my own hair out than type ‘bois’ just seeing the word fills me with a kind of rage ) have more in common than their name; they both have incredibly, vastly different to each individual person, although it is much more common to see for Toby..😅

So uhh could you share with us their personalities in your au/headcanon please

🙏

Toby + Cody Personality HCs

Omg! Ofc! I haven’t gotten a lot of asks, and I don’t have many actual posts- most of them are reblogs XD

And uhhh sorry to break this to you, but I say “boi(s)” all the time 😅

I don’t think I need any warnings here-

Sorry if this isn’t great lol I suck at personalities

Cody

A cocky little shit, but not in a completely bad way-

He more just likes to humble people.

He’s a field proxy and tends to go out in more missions than the high proxy himself (Toby).

He has enough experience to make people look stupid, and he loves doing it just to have those embarrassing and awkward moments (for them).

If you’re on his good side, he’s a big goof.

His sense of humor doesn’t make any sense and that’s why it’s funny

He isn’t too short-fused, but if you push him too much get ready for the biggest verbal beat down of your life.

He’s really smart, ofc.

He is good at manipulating people. Whether he uses it for good or evil is up to him. He really doesn’t do it often tbh

He got the name X Virus from the first concoction he made that he called “Virus X.” It would late be called “the changing death” due to how it changes based on how people react to it and how it is administered.

He thinks he’s slick, but he never is- he’s clumsy as hell.

He’s really easy to get along with, but not in a boring way.

He’s an ok listener… he’s a little scatterbrained at times, but if you catch him on a good day or really drill to him that it’s serious he will give you his undivided attention.

Bud is a gentleman. Whether the other person is a man, woman, or anything in between he drinks all the respect juice.

Despite his charm and humor, he is socially awkward. He can’t talk to new people without making himself look like a whole entire fool.

Man likes to try to be an edge lord but will cry if he actually offends you

He is secretly a sweet summer child…

Toby

He is the happy medium between knowing what he’s capable of and humble at the same time.

Toby is surprisingly serious. His humor is either really fucking hilarious or just dry as hell.

He just isn’t good at making jokes verbally.

But he is good at making jokes when it requires action.

For example, he was practicing accuracy and precision with Kat (Kat uses a gun and he uses an axe- duh). Kat got full bullseye. Toby’s response was to hit the tip of the axe blade in the exact place that the bullet hit. He then comically bowed to him.

It was a good laugh for everyone. No one’s feelings were hurt.

He can’t read the room very well, so he has friends do it for him (namely Jeff and Clockwork) and explain it in simple words.

Before I say anything else, I do this IRL with my friends bc I can’t read the room. I don’t see this as calling Toby stupid or infantilizing him at all. This is something that I feel he would do just cuz… head cannons 🤷

Ok, back to head cannons-

He is chronically sleep deprived.

He’s a great listener. If you need to vent, he’s the perfect person to go to. (This is the main reason him and Cody are so close)

He takes shit from no one

While he’s on the job, he seems very cold and rude at times, but he just takes his job kinda seriously.

He is the kind of person that starts something, leaves it on the desk or smthn, and never comes back to finish it and then randomly in the day with just be like: “OH SHIT-”

Sorry if it’s not great, when ppl ask me for personality shit I’m always confused as to what to fucking say. Anyway-

Hope this was ok!!! Have a good day/night/whatever the fuck it is for you! 💜

[dontsh0vethesun]

baby

kinktober 2022 masterlist | monstober 2022 masterlist

natasha romanoff x reader

18+ : breeding kink, strap use (r!receiving), talk of pregnancy and children ofc

Natasha had been watching you fondly all day, running around the compound happily with Morgan, bounding around and playing with Billy and Tommy. The smile never left her face as you laughed childishly, playing silly tricks on the rest of the team and enjoying building Lego houses much more than the actual children did.

She didn’t think she could love you anymore than she already did but this was proven false with the way she saw the three children look at you in awe, hanging on every word you said when you explained an overly complicated plot of the pirate role play game you’d decided to initiate. And the exaggerated gargles you let out when you played dead at the stab of a foam sword to your chest made her laugh from where she sat, watching smilingly with Wanda beside her.

“You should tell her.” She whispered, eyeing the way the redhead's eyes never stopped sporting an admiring glint.

“Tell her what?”

“That you want this with her. It doesn’t take telepathy to know what you’re thinking - the two of you would be great. Just look at her, she’d be the leader of the group.” She laughed, pointing towards where the four of you had your eyes glued to the animated movie on the tv screen as spoons of ice cream lifted to your mouths.

“God she’s an idiot. I love her but she’s an idiot.” Natasha chuckled.

—

She watched behind her in the mirror as you readied yourself for bed, pulling a t-shirt over your underwear clad body before flopping onto the mattress with a sigh.

“Tired after your play date?” Natasha questioned with a smirk, heading over to perch on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, too much fun.” You pouted with a nod, leaning into the soft touch she brushed against your cheek.

“You’re great with them. You’d be a good mom.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you’d want that obviously but I dunno if that's something you-“

“Nat, calm down.” You interrupted her with a laugh. “If this is your way of asking if I want to start a family with you, the answer is yes. Obviously.”

“You do?” She beamed, pressing her lips to yours in her excitement as she grinned against your mouth. “You’d look so good pregnant.” She mused with her lips softly ghosting over your neck and her hand stroking over your belly beneath your shirt.

“You think so?”

“Mhm.” Her voice held that seductive rasp you know so well and her hand palmed at your breast before she ripped your shirt over your head hungrily. You felt the hum of her voice against the skin of your chest as she spoke with her body straddling yours. “You’d look fucking perfect with your belly swollen and full, carrying my baby.”

She swirled her tongue around your pert nipple with a graze of her teeth, kissing a path down your torso to your stomach.

“God, what i wouldn’t do to be able to fuck a baby into you right now. Just fill you up and breed you, make you truly mine.” She breathed with a ghost of a kiss over your clothed cunt. “Just me talking about it is turning you on, hm? Want me to try?”

“Yes, Nat, please. Let’s make a fucking baby.” You both laughed slightly against each other's lips and she made quick work of pulling the underwear from your body before hopping off the bed to pull her strap around her hips.

The tip of her cock brushed against your hole teasingly when she kissed you again, dancing her tongue with yours with possessive bites of her teeth into your bottom lip.

“You want my cock, baby? Want me to fill you up, yeah?” She rasped with a suck to your neck beneath your ear; she eased the thick strap into you at the nod you responded with, slowly pushing each and every inch into your pussy until she bottomed out.

She savoured every sigh of breath you let out with slow rocks of her hips, picking up her pace with perfect accuracy hitting your sweet spot in a practised way. She held her body up with a firm grip on your hips with her nails digging into the flesh, bound to leave marks behind as she pounded into you, watching your breasts bounce while the skin of your knuckles grew taut with your grip on the sheets beneath you.

Natasha looked down with dark, hooded eyes, a soft pink flush to her cheeks and stray hairs falling over her face; the sight only made your belly twinge more with your cunt clenching around her. The way her teeth sunk into her plump lip made her own arousal clear, the strap hitting her clit with each snap of her hips making her actions grow sloppy and stuttered.

“My little breeding bitch, aren’t you sweetheart?” She breathed out through heavy breaths, leaning down to push her lips to yours with bare chests pressed together. Her hot forehead leant against yours as her hands held onto yours, fingers entwined in a soft act of love and possession. “I just wanna fill you with my cum until you’re dripping and my baby’s growing inside of you.”

“Fuck, Nat, ‘m gonna cum.” You choked out with your breath hot against her lips and hers against yours.

“Me too, baby. Cum with me.”

Your hands squeezed hers with the wave of pleasure that crashed over your body and her skin littered with goosebumps at the choked moan that tumbled from your throat beside her ear with her own orgasm washing over her just moments later. The sound of sloppy kisses filled the room whilst you rode through your highs, sporadic snaps of her hips into yours with your free hand tangled in her hair whilst she kept a loving hold on the other.

“You’re in for a long night, sweetheart, I’m not gonna stop until we succeed.” She teased with a grin, stroking her thumb over your heated cheek before claiming your lips again.

[blueberryarchive]

Peaches and Cream. (Pt.1)

In which Jungkook, a one-star Michelin chef, gets the information: a new blogger, you, gave him a bad review of his restaurant, and he gets obsessed with the things you wrote; and in the process, with you. Wanting to show you he's a good chef, he invites you to a good meal cooked by him.

—⁠☆Pairing: Bi Chef!Jungkook & Blogger!Reader

—⁠☆Genre: au, enemies to lovers.

—⁠☆Word Count: 4.3k

—⁠☆Warnings: filthy mouth Jungkook, like so much for no reason. smut, two doms trying to dom each other, stalking, dub-con, masturbation, prejudice/bigotry, depictions of queerness and family. (these are the warnings for the whole two-part series)

—⁠☆a/n: this the first part of a 2 part ff, i hope you gals can help me get better at writing in english since it's not my first language. as always thank you for reading.

The morning painted the windows of his office with a slight dew, the clouds announced how gray that Friday would be. Every time it rained it wasn't busy in the restaurant, but Jungkook appreciated the sweet aroma the concrete emanated in the alleys. 

The smell of the city of rotting garbage and asphalt goes to give way to childhood memories of him. Running home, jumping through long puddles, the taste of freshly cooked rice. Mild and fluffy in the mouth. 

Jungkook dropped his cigarette halfway to the ground as a van turned the corner. Grocery shopping was one of the favorite parts of his job. Maybe the best. At 4 in the morning, he would open the back doors of his restaurant, clean and file his knives, which he kept wrapped in cotton cloth that his grandmother sewed for him with his initials. In a rather old mocha pot, he used to put three spoons of freshly ground coffee and water and stayed waiting for the men from the market, who came to bring him the freshest products for that day's dishes. Cup of coffee in hand and a lot to say.

He loved to touch, press, smell, taste and pinch the vegetables; pick them up on the light and complain that the salmon was from yesterday and the courgettes were too big. Loved to bargain with Tomas the price of trivial things. 

"Tom, don't be a bitch. I'll have to throw away half of these tomatoes before four o'clock." 

"Jung-" Tomas, a Hispanic man with the face of that painting from Alexandre Cabanel, inhaled sharply, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what Tomas was saying in Spanish, but Jungkook knew, somehow, that it involved fucking his mother. 

"You take the two boxes and the Montserrat." Tomas repeated.

"Tom, what am I going to do with shit as acid as Montserrat tomatoes. Green ones." Jungkook yelled, almost spitting out his coffee, taking a healthy tomato in his hand. 

"Shove it up your ass." Tomas shrugged casually. Jungkook hit him on the shoulder, and both laughed. 

"Okay, give me both. Maybe Vic will think of making something with your fucking tomatoes..." the imaginary disgust on his palate at the thought of a Montserrat tomato sauce or a salad. Worse: fried. 

Tomas knew that silence and the lost look of Jungkook's idiot fuckface. "You can't change your mind anymore, chef. I already had my boys put the boxes down." 

"I know. I'm just regretting letting you win." 

Tomas clicked his tongue, revealing a perfect smile to the ched. "Sometimes you have to let it go, chef." 

"Go away, motherfucker." Jungkook smiled, still looking at the boxes of green tomatoes. 

"Bye, Chef." 

"Mmm," Jungkook took the last sip of his coffee as the truck pulled away. Now it was time to lift the boxes. That kept Jungkook's arms in good shape. He rolled up his baggy shirt to reveal his colorful tattooed arm. Smoothly tying his wavy hair in a low ponytail. With one arm, he lifted the sack of rice to the kitchen island, then the oysters, then the crate of vegetables. 

With precision and finesse, he grasped the knife with the curved edge from his collection and began to peel each vegetable. Everything was with the accuracy of a surgeon. 

If lifting sacks was his daily exercise, cutting and peeling the preparatives was his meditation. With so much attentiveness to his peeling, he almost cut himself when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He growled and cursed in a breath. He hated getting called on the phone. If it weren't for his mom, he would have thrown away that piece of plastic years ago. 

Vic, the screen said, the face of a curly-haired man in a perfect afro, teeth so perfect as he smiled into the camera. Jungkook took that photo about a year ago, just outside his favorite café. He had months without buying a cup of coffee there.

With his knuckles, he opened the call. "I thought you were coming over to help me with the oysters, Vic," he demanded with a frown concentrating on peeling the shiitake mushrooms until soft and white. 

Vic didn't answer until after a lengthy silence. Pretty long, considering he had just finished peeling a couple of mushrooms. Jungkook looked at his cell phone. "Victor?" 

"Here I am," he replied reluctantly. 

"Why the hell are you calling me if you aren't going to talk? I'm busy." 

"I thought, when I met you, that you cuss so much and act like a piece of shit because you wanted to be like Gordon Ramsay or something." 

"What's the point, Vic? The oysters are still here unopened, and Helena doesn't come in until six, and I-" 

"You're busy." They both spoke in unison. That made Jungkook feel a sting in his throat, a slight tickle. 

"Are you going to come, yes or no?" 

"My God, Jeon, just for a moment, stop thinking about the damn oysters and pay attention to me." 

"I do, Victor, and you still don't answer my damn question. Do I have to pick up a fucking bum off the streets to do your job?" 

"Why did you come to my house on Tuesday?" Jungkook stopped the fluid movements of the knife, his eyes on the phone. 

"You wrote me to go," the chef replied.

"Yes, but for you to pick up your things." 

"I did that." Jungkook snorted, finishing with the mushrooms and starting with the carrots. 

"Yeah, after fucking me and telling me you loved me... like twice in the process." Vic sounded hurt. Jungkook hated it when he did that because he knew how dramatic Vic could be. 

"And after that, you kept treating me as your sous-chef the next day."

"You are my sous-chef, Victor." He interrupted, leaning on the metal table.

"Yeah, but I'm talking like outside of work."

"Yes, because you're still my sous-chef, Victor. I don't get-"

"Do you do this to Marianne? Or Helena, Joseph, or every waiter with an innocent little face when you tell them they're your favorite." 

"Vic," warned the chef. 

"Or maybe you were in a year-long relationship with your maitre d' so he wouldn't fire you. No, that was me. If it weren't for me, that place wouldn't have the popularity it has" 

"Vic," Jungkook growled, feeling the blood rush to his head. 

"You are a pest to your restaurant, Jeon Jungkook." 

That was it. Jungkook dropped the knife on the table and gripped the device as close to his mouth, thin lips brushing the screen. 

"Victor, if you hadn't opened your legs to me, you wouldn't even have the chance to lick the leftovers from my alley." 

"Bullshit, if I'm the whore, what makes you?. Who did you have to fuck for your place, chef?" 

"Everyone." Jungkook laughed sarcastically, "And yet, I'm the one who has a fucking Michelin star under my name and my sweat... what have you done with the fucks on your record?" 

Victor was silent. "You are a prick." 

"Okay" Jungkook didn't understand where this was going, but it was almost six in the morning, and he had to start removing the skin from the salmon. His walking around the station didn't keep him calm, nor it was productive. 

"I don't know why I let you into my house." 

"You were alone, just like I felt that day too. And you also act like it doesn't turn you on when I drunk fuck you." Jungkook waited for an answer, but there was nothing. "Vic?" Silence. When he saw the screen of his cell phone, there was no longer the photo of Victor or the creaking of the telephone line. "Vic, the oysters" He didn't even know why he was trying, he closed his eyes and put the cell phone in his pocket. 

The door opened suddenly, startling Jeon. It was Helena, a curvy thirty-something girl taking a last puff from her vape. With a rush, she put her hair in a high ponytail. 

Jungkook tried to act as naturally as possible. 

"Good morning, chef." Helena hastened to say, putting on her apron. 

"Mm," he muttered as he followed his work, musing among the damn green tomatoes that he had no idea what Vic asked them for.

A long time passed while both, Jungkook and Helena, worked at their stations. 

"Chef," Helena broke the silence by pressing her lips together. 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm trying to make a list for my future...you know I want to open my place one day." 

"Everyone wants their own little place," Jungkook interrupted, opening the oysters with swift movements. 

"Yes, yes. But I really don't like getting fucked in the ass, and it's not that there are a lot of women in this business, much less lesbians." She burst. Jungkook grinned against his own will when she wasn't looking. 

"Fuck you, Helena. Cut the mangoes for the sauce." Jungkook hissed, and set the oysters aside as Helena laughed at him. "I'm going to the market for more onions and tell Joseph to finish the oysters by himself" 

"Yes, Chef." voiced Helena with a grand smile.

Jungkook left the station, the cold air soothing the remains of his anger. Without thinking much, he reached into his pocket taking out a cigarette.

He started walking through the streets of New York. Vic had worn him out, and his 14-hour shift hadn't started.

The steam rising from meats, the incessant sound of vegetables being cut, three different sauces being stirred. Jungkook's kitchen was alive, it was seven at night and this was the time when his guests arrived like flies on the cake. Men in Italian brand suits and their girlfriends of the week, older women with picky palates, fanatics, high-class tourists…you name it, you find it.

Normally, Jungkook would be in the front. Preparing each dish, tasting each sauce, checking each cut, and scrutinizing that each dish looks like something he is proud of.

But here he was, in the dark alley behind his restaurant as he called Vic over and over on the phone, the cigarette in his hand melting with the wind and light drizzle. His hair and his white suit getting wet as he left the umpteenth voice note for Vic.

"Victor, for God's sake, I have the restaurant full tonight. It's a fucking Friday, why the fuck aren't you here?" he breathed sharply, the tension had his shoulders tense and the veins in his arms looked like they were going to explode.

The messages did not reach him, the wretch had turned off the phone.

"Shit," he muttered as he thumped into the kitchen that blazed with the heat of thirty pots on the stove. What happened after going through the door seemed…uncanny. All of his cooks looked at him at the same time, fleetingly to return to their tasks again.

They knew something that Jungkook didn't.

He sighed deeply before tying his hair into a half-bun. He rolled up his sleeves and went to his station, reading the orders aloud.

"One duck, two mussels, one Bok Choy" Jungkook ordered.

"Yes, chef," the others said in unison.

Food was piling up around Jungkook, sauces, and stir-fried vegetables. With a spoon he tasted the first and nodded slightly, then the shiitake. With agility he grabbed an empty plate and began to order each detail: first, the sauce spread like a brush, the green color so bright; then the piece of meat, glistening with juice, three drops of yellow radish sauce, a delicate yellow flower for the final touch.

"Service!" Jungkook pushed the plate away towards the waitress on the other side of his table.

"Fuck," Joseph muttered in the kitchen.

"Stop being an imbecile and attend your damn station," Charlie, the poissonier, snarled, hurling a frying pan into the sink with a crash.

"Where are my mussels?" Jungkook was sweating, his eye trembled slightly.

"Joseph just screwed them up, I have to do them again"

"And what are you doing wasting time talking?" Jeon interrupted on the verge of screaming. The others tensed, again that look from everyone.

"Sorry, Chef" said Joseph and Charlie.

"Hurry up, damn." Jungkook continued with his task of plating each meal, tasting over and over again everything that was within his reach.

"Where is my sauce?" he growled when his hand reached to his right, and Helena nor the sauce wasn't there. 

"In a minute, sir." 

"I don't have a minute."

Helena took the pan and stirred while going to the prep station. Jungkook took a small spoon and tasted it.

"More salt," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Helena seemed confused. "More, Chef?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, dear." 

"Yes, chef." Helena went back and added more salt, a few seconds later, he was pouring the sauce into the mushrooms. 

"Service!" the waiter took the plate, he started to feel a pain in his lower back and was exhausted. "Helena," he called, continuing his job. 

"Chef."

"Call Vic, tell him that if he isn't here in twenty minutes, I'll fire him."

There was no 'yes, chef', no answer at all. Actually, it was a little quieter in the kitchen. He didn't look back. "I said-"

"I don't think you want that, chef." This time, he turned around, and there it was: the look.

"When I say something, misses Gallo, I mean it" he felt more intense than usual if, that's even possible. Helena felt like she just saw a ghost. Jungkook knew she joked around with him, but she knew her time and place.

"Vic it's not coming back, sir." The youngest, Joseph, tilts his head down in fear. 

"Why is that?"

"God, how I abhor when things like these happen." The elegant man entered the kitchen with his sleek blonde hair and a black suit, calico eyes, and the most pretentious-looking glasses you could find. It was Jimin Park, his maitre d'. 

Jimin was the one who gave the classiness Jungkook lacked when it came to treating his clientele. He greeted and took care of everyone like they were his friends. 

"She's here." 

"Who?" Jungkook couldn't be more out. Jimin gave him his phone, and on the screen was a girl eating a plate exactly like the one he made minutes ago. Wait, that was his restaurant. 

"Oh my God, she's actually here. I didn't know Vic was such a petty bitch." Helena laughed while watching the live stream. Jungkook turned off the screen. 

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Vic tweeted to her to come here because his ex fired him for being a good cook, something like that." Jimin shrugged. Jungkook felt his chest contract, he started biting the ring on his lower lip.

"Who is she?" 

"She's a mukbanger but like a mean one, she's an icon," Joseph said smiling. 

"She's like the new wave of food criticism." Jimin took his phone and put it in his pocket. "Our world doesn't care anymore about magazines or what the paper says."

A waitress came bursting from the door.

"Mr. Park, the girl went away." 

"Am I supposed to be scared because she's going to tweet about some overcooked lamb?" he asked the waitress who didn't know what to say. 

"She's gone?" Jimin raised his glasses taking a deep sigh, he looked at Jungkook and lightly smiled. "You're fucked, Jeon." 

"Fuck you, Park. No, I'm not" he was offended, how could he say that in front of his group?

Jungkook took Jimin by his forearm and took him to his office. The others were left watching through the little window looking for the infamous mukbanger.

For a second, Jungkook was going to look back and ask his sous chef to take care of the kitchen. But he didn't have a fucking sous-chef. 

This couldn't be possible, he had a Michelin star because of his discipline, the way he cooked, his crew, and the stories he told through the food. He had the perfect ambiance, the most amazing maitre d' in New York, and the perfect culinary experience. He worked his ass off for this.

He was above the trolly reviews from Yelp, the people who thought he just did something to fill stomachs. But why did he feel this was not the same? Why did she leave? He made sure everything was perfect. Everything. 

"Hey!" Jimin snapped his fingers in Jungkook's face. For a moment, he put his palm on Jungkook's forehead. 

"Jesus, you're burning" he saw the expression on his chef, with his eyebrow rose, the pierced end moving slightly. Lost in thought. 

"Do you really think this is going to ruin me?"

Jimin's heart felt heavy, he denied occupying his hands with some papers. 

"I don't know, Kook. Perhaps she went away because she didn't find anything bad to say, or maybe she had to go and that's it. You know how those people are."

Jungkook nodded, none of them were sure that Jimin said the truth. But it had to do for now. 

"Now go, the kitchen will be a mess without you."

It's already a mess.

Jungkook nodded again, hands behind his back. He needed to know who you were. As soon as possible.

Jungkook doesn't remember the last time he sat on the couch in his apartment, his legs were covered with two sheets and he had a black hoodie covering his chest and lanky hair. He doesn't remember how strange morning TV was: everyone was wearing makeup and smiling as they talked about how climate change was inundating homes in India. It couldn't be more bizarre. Maybe it was the fever that had him glued to the screen in front of him or the ache in his tired muscles. 

The icing on the cake, he was sick. 

The night of the influencer's drama, Jungkook came to his room. His hair was wet from the rain that fell that night and his body soaked. His body sank into the sheets with his uniform, the fever began to make him have strange dreams where orders came but never came out. He woke up around four in the morning the next day and called Jimin, his voice raspy as he changed out of his uniform.

"Call Jin, tell him to cover me this week."

"Okay," Jimin replied with a breath.

"Okay? No questions?"

"No, I already knew you were going to get sick." Jungkook pursed his lips into a small smile, eyes closed from exhaustion.

"As soon as the fever stops, you won't need Jin. I promise."

"As much as I want that to be true, I don't want you in the restaurant until you're completely well. It's enough for the restaurant that a cute girl says absurd things about your food and then we get rumors about you cooking with your boogers" Jimin blurted out.

"Absurd?" Jungkook looked for some boxers and changed, throwing his body on the living room furniture. "What did she write?"

"Um...," Jimin put the chef on hold as he thought of an honest but not unseemly way to tell him the review. "Well, she said she was sick of seeing the same wave of elite restaurants for the decadent new yorker elite, the same exotic cuts of a bird, and the environment with walls as white as a psychiatric hospital. She said that I looked like a nurse going from table to table to give them their pills in porcelain saucers to the long-lived of New York," Jimin laughed. "That was funny...it's like the truth-"

"And about me?" Jungkook felt the fever consuming his body, a headache approaching like a shadow behind his neck.

"Well, she said the food was tasteless and you screwed up the only thing she was looking forward to"

"The mushrooms?"

"How did you know?" 

"Of course, it was the mushrooms," Jeon muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, cursing Vic with the wrath of a thousand seas, wanting him to be engulfed and convulsing for all eternity looking for oxygen. 

"The sauce was salty to the point that she wanted to throw up, she said."

"The sauce was salty," he repeated and then smiled so as not to destroy the room in his sickly state.

He doesn't remember much of what he did those three days that had passed. Jimin would stop by his apartment to bring dinner and pick up the shirts from the floor. He complained about Jin for half an hour with a glass of wine in hand, until Jimin realized that Jungkook couldn't even stay focused.

"Hey, wake up." Jimin patted his cheeks and Jungkook didn't even flinch.

"Vic has been there? In the restaurant, I mean," Jungkook grabbed the wine from Jimin's hand, drinking it all in one gulp.

"No, he had a friend go get his things the next day."

"Who, the youtube whore?"

"No," Jimin chuckled. They both saw each other and laughed under their breaths.

"It was a redhead."

"Oh, you mean Chris."

"Yeah," Jimin answered looking at his friend with tipsy eyes. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Jungkook began to fidget around, looking for something to occupy his hands with.

"It can't be that Victor-" Jimin's mouth tightened. "Of course," he chuckled, a light rose painting his cheeks.

"What the hell do you know, Park?"

"I would have known."

"Are you spying on me through the cameras you have in my bathroom to see if I jerk off?" His hoarse voice was screeching, and Jimin couldn't take his anger seriously.

"There's a certain je ne sais quoi to it when you fuck, like you stop yelling so much and actually do your job."

"I do my job."

"But it would be better if you didn't scream all the time like a fucking maniac."

"Mmm," tiredness wouldn't let him continue answering. He had taken a pill for the flu but he didn't know it was going to hit him so fast. Jimin noticed.

"Well, I'll let you rest. I brought you a couple of plums and oranges from the market."

"Tell Jin I say hi in the morning," Jungkook mumbled.

Jimin patted him on the shoulder and left Jungkook's phone on the table with your Instagram open. "Stop watching morning TV, your brain will melt."

Jungkook didn't touch the phone for a long while thinking about the words that were repeating like a broken record: "tasteless" and "elite for the elite"...Jungkook didn't even come from a wealthy family. It was foolish.

He lazily swiped his way down through your profile, looking at the thumbnails of your photos where you smiled like nothing was wrong. 

You liked showing cleavage, he realized. In addition to being a liar, you liked the attention. There was one where you were in a jacuzzi with a glass of champagne and another where you were on the French shores.

Besides the fact that you liked the attention, it was for a reason. The way your lips curved into a smile as if your breasts weren't pinched in that bikini two sizes too small. 

What kind of reporter were you?

Without realizing it, Jungkook was lying on his bed looking at your photos while eating a plum. He didn't know if it was the sweetness of the ripe fruit or the fever, but he felt strange. His body felt like it was floating between the satin of his bed. 

Another brush up to your profile: more food, more cats, travel, you in a bikini. One, in particular, caused the lower half of him to brush against the sheets. It wasn't that different from the others, but for some reason this time you weren't smiling. You looked at the camera with a certain judging that made Jungkook's throat boil.

His fingers were covered in prune juice, the wrinkled seed clenched between his teeth. What he was going to do wasn't one of his most dignified moments, but the meds made him delirious, not fucking someone besides Vic made him even sicker. 

His sticky fingers trailed from his navel to the edge of his boxers. When he felt the wetness of his slimy fingers on his tip he clamped the seed harder into his teeth, growling in loathing.

Your face caused his chest to swell with anger and his dick to rise at the slightest touch of his tattooed hand. Thinking of your tongue tasting his cock on a plate, no garnish, no cutlery. He wanted you to swallow it and shed tears on your cheeks.

A shriek. He tossed the phone onto the bed and covered his embarrassed face with his forearm. His hand trembled under his Calvin boxers, saliva pooling in his mouth as he couldn't swallow. 

His tongue flicked over the seed in his mouth, and like a flash, the image of him covering your clit with his spit flashed by. He growled like a fleeing animal as his orgasm made him arch his back. He removed the seed from his mouth.

"Fuck," he mumbled when he saw the stain on his pants. Air rushed out of his nose for the first time all day. He closed his eyes in pure bliss. Two minutes later, he wrinkled his nose and repeated: "Fuck," this time rolling his eyes, angry with himself for what he was going to do. He turned on his cell phone screen and opened the dm of your profile.

jkookcooks: So what kind of reviews do you do when you leave mid-meal? You didn't even try dessert. If you really want to do something worthwhile and not your unnecessary sensationalism, maybe you should come try something made by me.

He almost threw the cell phone when he hit send. Feeling the cold of his cum in his pants and the words he send to make him cringe.

When he got up to clean himself up, he heard his cell phone vibrate almost immediately. 

Didn't you have things to do on a Friday night?

CherryCloud: Just say the day, chef.

A smile left Jungkook's lips. He'd love to grab your face and make you eat the best meal you ever had, to see if you'll shut up that way... He'd have to plan the menu for the night.

Why did he feel a sudden fear? He saw the photo again: your judgy eyes, hugging your knees.

[your-averagewriter]

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.”

Summary: After trekking through the rainforest the Suicide Squad stumble upon a camp and after a brief massacre they discover Rick Flag, uninjured and not captured.

Word count: 1.0K

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, gore, Suicide Squad violence and warnings

-

-

After a day of walking through a rainforest, moisture attaching itself to my skin I try to shrug off the feeling of dirtiness. We reach a makeshift camp and are instantly told to execute anyone and everyone within.

A brutal but sadly common order in the Suicide Squad. DuBois and Peacemaker have an obvious rivalry not leaving many to the rest of us but I’m not complaining. I’ve never been someone to enjoy killing, only when ordered to or when it’s necessary, that’s not to say I’m bad at it, don’t misunderstand.

I approach the camp, following behind the two in competition, not something I wanna get involved with. Slowly, I pull out a few bullets from my bag, toss one in the air, catch it then throw it, propelling it straight into a man’s head. Sunlight shines through from the other side, illuminating the cascading blood from the wound. I repeat the process with a second bullet, lodging it in someone’s skull before moving on through the camp.

Watching the two ‘vigilantes’ act like children is entertaining for a few minutes but gets old quickly as they fight over the last victim. Quickly, I pull out two bullets from my bag and propel them at the same time towards the last man standing. Falling over, you can see the two holes the bullets paved through his eyes, perfect shot, I think allowing a small smile at the precision and accuracy.

Both of them turn to me, glaring ever so slightly annoyed that I took away their tie breaker but we have a mission to do and competition with each other will only get each other killed.

“Damn it.” I hear both of them say, frustrated, watching as the man falls, flat on the ground, the remains of his eyes splattered nearby.

Staying silent, I follow closely behind the leader and another who has also deemed himself a leader (Peacemaker). His ego seems to have no bounds, from his pretentious name to stupid hat.

Heading towards a tent, DuBois pulls open the entrance to reveal a short woman in some sort of uniform and a patched up Rick Flag. They turn to us in confusion which is mimicked by our faces.

“(y/n)?” He asks and I furrow my brows looking at him, sitting laughing in a tent whilst we were out fighting and trying to protect the island.

I step back, out of the tent slowly as too many emotions flood my system making me not be able to think straight. I just need to get out of here.

I don’t walk far and I don’t know what to do so I walk through the camp following the trails of my murders tracing my bullets. They’re not really that special but I don’t know what to do right now.

Feeling a tear carve a path down my face, my hand flies up immediately to swipe it away and I refuse to cry or to let anyone see me cry. I grab at the bullets, forcing my fingernails into my palms almost drawing blood but the pain stops the tears from falling. Reversed logic but when did emotions ever make sense. Stuffing the bullets back into my bag I walk over to a fallen tree where I perch my head in my hands, not crying, not angry, just overwhelmed. Although, an overwhelmed assassin can be a dangerous thing.

This whole experience only lasts seconds in reality but it feels like it’s going on forever.

Waller convinced me to go on this mission stating that Rick had been captured, that he was being used by the enemy, she didn’t outright say he was being tortured but it was heavily implied.But here he is laughing in a tent with some random people, certainly not looking captured.

I know it’s not his fault that he's unharmed, not captured by the enemy, I’m not mad at him, it’s Waller as usual - manipulating me using my emotions and using the one person I care about to force me on this mission.

Rick emerges from the tent a few moments afterwards, likely done with a short debrief for DuBois and the others. He scans the forest, tracing the treeline, looking for me and eventually he clocks me sitting on the tree.

“(y/n)-” I interrupt.

“Why are you here? I don’t understand.” I say, my hands threaded in my hair.

“Trust me, I’m about to ask you the same thing.”

“Waller called me in, she told me you had been captured and were probably being tortured. That’s why I’m here. Why aren’t you being tortured?” He chuckles quietly. “I know that sounds weird.” I say, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Waller lied to you.” I sigh. What I thought has now been confirmed.

“I can’t believe she would do that… Well, I can.” I frown.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, wrapping his arm around my waist, resting his head on top of mine. “I don’t want you to be here because of me.”

“It’s not your fault. We’ve just gotta make sure we both get out of it now so we can deal with Waller later on.”

“Yeah. Then you can show Waller what you’re made of.” 

“She won’t know what hit her.” I manage a small smile. There’s a comfortable silence that falls over us before I stand up holding onto his hand, cherishing the warmth he provides me with. “We should get back to the others…” I say.

He agrees quietly, following after me. We walk back over to the tent where the others are standing and talking with the people in uniform.

“DuBois?” I say and he turns around upon hearing his name. “Did you know?” I ask.

“Know what?”

“That Flag wasn’t captured, wasn’t tortured.”

“I didn’t know Flag was here.” He says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Peacemaker asks. “Why is he so important?”

“Fuck off America’s sweetheart.” I say, the anger of Waller lying being emphasised by Peacemaker’s idiocy. I feel Rick squeeze my hand, an attempt to calm me. I don’t have anger issues but there are some specific things that rile me up.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Robert stands in the middle of us putting his hands up, preventing escalation. “He’s just a dick.” DuBois says quietly.

“Hey, I can hear you!” Peacemaker shouts.

“Fuck off!” I yell back.

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

I'm so boring with my title recently, I've just been putting quotes from the fics, I'm sorry haha.

I thought you'd want to be tagged @mandy-eminem-moxley77 (I have a much better Rick Flag fic that I'm gonna post tomorrow or the day after that's 'spicy' so...)

[chrisbangsbf]

Hyunjin/Jisung

Explicit | 910 words

TAGS: semi crack fic, Santa's elves! hyunsung, Christmas magic, double sided dildo, food fucking (literally), magic aphrodisiac (?), rimming, being walked in on by Santa

→ the post on AO3

"I can't believe you've done this," Hyunjin laughs, holding the candy cane dildo Jisung had just created in his hands, turning it over to examine its perfection.

The sweat on his palms is already making it stick to him a little, and he would grimace if he wasn't already so turned on. Rolling his eyes at himself for even considering Jisung's little idea in the first place, Hyunjin hands the dildo back to him.

Jisung had used a little Christmas magic to turn one of their double sided dildos into a real candy cane. All the dildo texture was still there and everything, but it was just... hard, and made of candy.

Unbelievable. He truly has an exceptional mind.

"Hey, you're the one who put the image of you fucking me with a bundle of candy canes in my head to begin with!" Jisung pouts, crossing his arms over the swell of his chest and cocking his hip, and looking positively edible doing so. The little bell on his hat jingles with the movement, and Hyunjin grins with amusement.

"Santa is gonna be pissed," Hyunjin says while pushing his pants down and kicking them off his ankles in a hurry. They probably don't have much time before the higher up elves start trying to find where they've run off to, or even worse, the jolly man himself.

Hyunjin can't even really complain though, especially not when Jisung was thoughtful enough to offer lube with a matching flavor to go along with the candied dildo.

Jisung beams as he watches the other elf strip bare and lay back on the bed, spreading his legs to toy with his own hole eagerly. "You seem more excited than me!"

"It's hot that you're so reckless," Hyunjin groans, hating to admit that the other is probably right. He's excited. "You gonna get your tasty little ass over here or not?" he teases, a mess of giggles bubbling up out of his throat without permission. The smell of peppermint always gets him excited.

Jisung doesn't have to be asked twice. He throws his clothes to the side and crawls up into the bed as well, excitement buzzing under his skin at the prospect of it all. He watches Hyunjin slip one end of the candy cane into his slippery hole with a moan, his face twisting in pleasure. He scoots as close as possible, their balls touching, and lays a sticky hand against Hyunjin's hip. The smell of peppermint is almost dizzying.

"It feels so good," Hyunjin hisses, licking his beautifully plump, glossy lips.

After a few moments of adjusting to the girth of the candy cane, he reaches forward and spreads the lube across Jisung's entrance as well before slipping a couple of long fingers inside. Jisung whimpers as Hyunjin plays with his prostate, sticky fingers stretching him open with determination and accuracy.

When the candy cane dildo finally slips into him as well, he can't help but release a needy whine in response. Hyunjin rocks against him, making the candy shift inside both of them, and it feels incredible. Jisung grabs onto one of Hyunjin's outstretched, lanky legs to ground himself, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure.

Perhaps the magic has made them extra sensitive… or maybe it's like an aphrodisiac or something. They didn't know. Jisung definitely didn't read the fine print.

"Oh fuck, Jisungie. I'm gonna cum," Hyunjin wails, throwing his head back as his hips roll and buck wildly.

The warmth of being inside them, mixed with the wetness of lube has made the candy melt significantly, red stickiness seeping out of their holes and onto their asscheeks, making them messily stick together each time their skin touches. Which is with every movement.

"Me too," Jisung cries out, feeling the candy drag against his prostate in the most perfect way. He's almost delirious with need.

Their orgasms wash over them quickly, cum dribbling out all over each other and making even more of a mess than before. The two let the candy slip out of them before sitting up to kiss each other tenderly, smearing the melted sugar against the sheets even farther.

"Do you think we are on the naughty list yet?" Hyunjin asks, hoping that maybe Santa will punish them for this if so. That man knows way too much.

"I hope so." Jisung smirks mischievously, pushing Hyunjin back against the bed again and crawling up to straddle his face. He chuckles and turns around the other way before dropping down to lick the sweetness from Hyunjin's balls, tongue dragging over his puffy rim. "But if not, we'd surely have to be after this.

Hyunjin hums in agreement and wraps his arms around Jisung's thighs before pulling him down to tongue hungrily at his hole and slurp up the melted candy, eager to continue despite their matching sensitivity.

And with Hyunjin digging his tongue inside him like this, swirling it around, Jisung feels like he could probably cum again. He grinds against his face ever so slightly and lets his own sweetened drool run down to Hyunjin's abused hole from where he's laying, open mouthed and panting, against his taint.

High on sugar and adrenaline, and also probably the magic, neither of them even react to the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer from the end of the hallway… not even paying any mind when the door knob twists and there's a familiar huff of disappointment at the door.

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

hii i have a maybe somewhat difficult question:

how do you go about writing all of the police/detective stuff? I have no knowledge at all about that except having played the game a few times and watching bbc sherlock back when that was a thing.

I have so many cool kimharry things in my mind that i need to get on paper but i don't know how to involve all the cop stuff in a natural way because i don't know anything about it and don't want it to be too wildly incorrect.

so yeah.. how do you even learn the things for this?

thank you so much i love your work

Quite a difficult question I won't lie...... But I've answered at length so it's going under a readmore

This isn't my favourite thing to discuss online as it can trigger my psychosis, but I have an actual dismaying amount of experience with cops. I don't want to talk about it but... Bit like Cuno I suppose. Good ending for that kid is doing public services training ages 14 - 16, and going "oh this is shit actually" once he's got an out from his abusive parent, then working at a restaurant

I quite literally cannot go into detail - so don't ask because I WILL delete this post - but an ex military police officer told us a "funny story" about a "prank" he played on some kids in an occupied location during the late 80s that I recognised as psychological torture, but made my peers laugh. So I decided to become a faggot and poet instead.

~NOW FOR THE FUN ADVICE THAT IS ACTUALLY OF USE TO YOU!

Research:

Honestly, the amount of time I spend looking up stuff for writing is probably more than the time I spend writing. The internet's being fucked by SEO but it's a start. Like... There's plenty of info out there written on the police and their role in systematic oppression, I'm pretty sure there's free PDFs floating around on Tumblr actually...

If it's more "day in the life" I honestly don't know. Maybe reddit or if there's one of those "Ex-[blank} reviews [blank] in movies" videos on Youtube for cops, but obviously take everything said with a pinch of salt.

FAYDE:

Fayde is the best tool at your disposal. We bully Kim a lot for his dedication to the RCM but that makes finding out info pretty easy. EDC too! I've never played with high EDC so just typing in key words (especially names of other officers to try and get character info) and scrolling through is helpful.

Good keywords are "precinct", "RCM", "Militicia" as they'll bring up opinions/ info from other characters.

The RCM is not a traditional police force:

I would worry less about accuracy and more about being interesting. It doesn't need to be a perfect representation of police work since the canon makes a point of there being a distinction in the powers and roles of the RCM. Go listen to the collapsing tenement cut content. You don't need to write about them filling in forms if it's not relevant. It'll show in your writing if you're unsure/ bored.

Make them worse:

If you're going to write one of the officers doing something shitty (yes, that includes Kim and Harry) but worry that you've gone too far then I promise you haven't. Dickheads are drawn to positions of power and the impunity it gives them. There's a reason I wrote one of the 57's officers as a groomer.

Make them less competent:

Don't trust the police, but also don't expect anything of them.

As recently as Monday I had to call for the fire brigade because a lit (thankfully poorly made) petrol bomb had been left under a neighbour's car (I live an irritatingly interesting life for somebody who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere) nobody was harmed. Cop came to find me afterwards to get an interview from me since I'd spotted it and he told me, I kid you not, "Yeah, we're not gonna do anything unless anything else happens." Like, I expected as much but I wasn't expecting him to up and fucking say that. You're welcome for 85% of my council tax, you fucking moron.

Harry's a special case because he's, like, psychic and got "maybe if I solve *THIS* one my wife will let me sleep in the big bed" disorder, and nobody wants to read a case fic that they... don't solve (or do they..? *winks*) But if you care about realism you need dick-in-hand dipshits. Another favourite quote of mine from an officer two years back; "Is 'right wing' the good one or the bad one?" So the advice here is you're writing a cop well if you're reading it and thinking: holy shit please just go work at a TESCOs instead.

Don't worry so much:

You should write, first and foremost, for yourself. I like detective fiction, I have wasted an unfortunate amount of my life dealing with police due to my job and shit childhood. (I did originally write far more about this, but frankly it's better for myself if I don't bother. That's why it's taken me five days to answer this)

I've read/ watched a lot of detective fiction and I'm always more drawn to stuff that is less based in police work. Private investigators, investigative journalists, kid detectives like Nancy Drew, ect.

In particular my favourite book, perhaps of all time, is called Hideaway by Dean Koontz and is two fathers (one: the killer's father - a talented doctor who brought his shithead son back to life - and another, the doctor's most recent patient to be brought back from the brink who has developed a psychic link with the killer as a result) trying to stop him, but never actually meeting! It's one hell of a read if you need inspo.

Val McDermott is a good author for crime writing with less police input, too. She has a book called Killing The Shadows which is excellent. The Killer's motive is taking out crime writers who've romanticised psychological profilers after he was wrongly convicted. Fair enough! Until he starts... Killing about it? Sort of defeats the message... Anyway, what's fun about this book is that before each crime writer is killed (in the same way they wrote THEIR killers killing!! Love that) you get to read the first chapter of each writer's most famous work. So you are essentially getting six crime books in one (first chapter of at least) ...Also the main character's husband is a crime writer called Kit, which I've only remembered just double checking the book name now. Lol???

...This is just turning into me recommending books.

TLDR: write what you know, write what is fun, ACAB, don't even worry about it

[seriously-mike]

Who's surprised, because I am not?

When ChatGPT set the world on fire a year and a half ago, it sparked a feverish search for ways to catch people trying to pass off AI text as their own writing. A host of startups launched to fill the void through AI detection tools, with names including Copyleaks, GPTZero, Originality.AI, and Winston AI. It makes for a tidy business in a landscape full of AI boogeymen. These companies advertise peace of mind, a way to take back control through “proof” and “accountability.” Some advertise accuracy rates as high as 99.98%. But a growing body of experts, studies, and industry insiders argue these tools are far less reliable than their makers promise. There’s no question that AI detectors make frequent mistakes, and innocent bystanders get caught in the crossfire. Countless students have been accused of AI plagiarism, but a quieter epidemic is happening in the professional world. Some writing gigs are drying up thanks to chatbots. As people fight over the dwindling field of work, writers are losing jobs over false accusations from AI detectors.

Of course. Just like I showed you a few weeks ago, an AI-generated image that is even marketed as such by the seller, was claimed to be "99.9% accurately" not AI-generated. A photo of the Mona Lisa uploaded to Wikipedia Commons thirteen years ago was claimed to be "99.9% accurately" AI-generated. We're having snake oil salesmen preying on moronic Butlerian Jihadi types with claims like this, with innocent people losing their jobs and chances for education.

In general, AI detectors work by spotting the hallmarks of AI penmanship, such as perfect grammar and punctuation. In fact, one of the easiest ways to get your work flagged is to use Grammarly, a tool that checks for spelling and grammatical errors. It even suggests ways to rewrite sentences for clarity using, you guessed it, artificial intelligence. Adding insult to injury, Gizmodo spoke to writers who said they were fired by platforms that required them to use Grammarly.

What. The. FUCK. If anything, computers are fairly good at scanning things and comparing them with rigid references, like style books and grammar manuals, often against the human writer's wishes (for example because a certain unorthodox turn of phrase is intended to shock the reader, or there's a play on words that cannot be expressed differently), but "perfect grammar and punctuation" is certainly not what I would expect from AI algorithms - for example, in the first minute or two of the Robert Makłowicz Gravel Bullshit I could hear ChatGPT stumbling over genders and grammatical cases, much like I sometimes do myself, particularly when typing quickly or in a runaway sentence.

Detectors look for more telling factors as well, such as “burstiness.” Human writers are more likely to reuse certain words in clusters or bursts, while AI is more likely to distribute words evenly across a document. AI detectors can also assess “perplexity,” which essentially asks an AI to measure the likelihood that it would have produced a piece of text given the model’s training data.

"Burstiness"? "Perplexity"? What kind of Stephen Colbert horseshit is this? I mean, seriously, those words sound like someone made them up for The Stephen Colbert Show "The Wørd" segment, in a "fuck me if I know what my software is doing" way. Like, you put the text in, pull the lever, the machine spits out the verdict and you're supposed to kowtow to its Grand, All-Encompassing Wisdom now. How it does what it does? You're not supposed to know and I'm not explaining it to you either, mostly because I have no idea myself. Magic everywhere in this bitch, man.

AI detection companies “are in the business of selling snake oil,” said Debora Weber-Wulff, a professor at the University of Applied Sciences for Engineering and Economics in Berlin, who co-authored a recent paper about the effectiveness of AI detection. According to Weber-Wulff, research shows that AI detectors are inaccurate, unreliable, and easy to fool. “People want to believe that there can be some magic software that solves their problems,” she said. But “computer software cannot solve social problems. We have to find other solutions.”

Of fucking course, why am I not surprised. Generative AI is snake oil as it fails to replace actual artists to any considerable degree (unless we're talking generic editorial cartoons you could left-hand in 15 minutes - DALL-E will left-hand something more specific in 30 seconds, particularly for the purposes of a dodgy third-rate website), and detecting AI is just as shit, much like I pointed out before. It's laughable, actually: we have companies run submitted writing through dodgy detectors in order to weasel out of paying, when in other circumstances they'd promptly have ChatGPT on the job of writing insipid clickbait listicles in order to weasel out of paying. It's like "I can fuck you over anytime, but god forbid you try to fuck me over".

“We hear these stories more than we wish we did, and we understand the pain that false positives cause writers when the work they poured their heart and soul into gets falsely accused,” said Jonathan Gillham, CEO of Originality.AI. “We feel like we feel like we’re building a tool to help writers, but we know that at times it does have some consequences.”

No, buddy, fuck you. Fuck you a thousand times with a fucking cactus. You're selling snake oil, you know it's not working and here you are playing dumb that your software just works, and when it inevitably fails, again and again, you're pretending it's not your fault, you coprolithically retarded cunt.

But Originality and other AI detectors send mixed messages about how their tools should be used. For example, Gillham said “we advise against the tool being used within academia, and strongly recommend against being used for disciplinary action.” He explained the risk of false positives is too high for students, because they submit a small number of essays throughout a school year, but the volume of work produced by a professional writer means the algorithm has more chances to get it right. However, on one of the company’s blog posts, Originality says AI detection is “essential” in the classroom.

CUNT.

Then there’s the way the company describes its algorithm. According to Originality, the latest version of its tool has a 98.8% accuracy rate, but Originality also says its false positive rate is 2.8%. If you’ve got your calculator handy, you’ll notice that adds up to more than 100%. Gillham said that’s because these numbers come from two different tests.

ABSOLUTE MOTHERFUCKING LYING CUNT.

Now don't be surprised that they're going to lie in multiple ways and make shit up only to make a buck on selling the tech to the gullible and, more importantly, the maliciously prejudiced. In the end, the whole thing is about money, and money curiously causes people to stop thinking about everything else.

[shifuaang]

even atla has problems though, not just lok...

https://kurtwagners . tumblr.com/post/618523364774035456/sorry-if-im-bothering-you-but-can-you-share-why

I really don't know how to explain to you all that people of color and Buddhists are not a monolith. One or even a handful of people on the internet cannot speak for every single person who practices a certain religion or philosophy. For every person who hates ATLA and thinks it was insensitive and appropriative, there are a hundred who defend it and argue that it's the best depiction of Buddhism and Pan-Asian cultures that they've seen. You can choose who you want to align with depending on your own set of criterium and research. (Which everyone should do instead of reading a tumblr blog and taking their word without a single grain of salt.)

ATLA cannot and should not be the only Pan-Asian fantasy that has to address every single political, historical, and cultural event that took place in the last millennium. It is not meant to be a documentary. It is not meant to draw direct parallels to specific incidents. It is inspired by the vast and rich history of Pan-Asia, and I personally think it's really fucking weird that ATLA is held to this unreasonable standard of accuracy and perfection that no other fantasy series is held to. If there is an issue in ATLA that was not the focus or explained to your liking, you can simply go seek that out somewhere else. Sure, certain elements in the show could have been addressed in a better or more understanding way, but does that not go for every single piece of media out there? Humans are fallible and biased, and that is reflected in all art forms.

I would also argue that ATLA did bring a ton of awareness to real world events. I was not taught about the 1959 Tibetan uprising or the use of prison labor in The People's Republic of China or even Asian and Indigenous sacred practices and mythologies in school, but because of ATLA I took interest in these subjects. It is actually incredibly condescending and presumptuous to believe that an audience, no matter their age demographic, needs to be hand held and given explicit one-to-one parallels in order to prompt them to make their own inquiries or experience empathy for another culture. Undoubtably, some people watched ATLA casually and took nothing away from it. But others discovered an abundance of information and narratives and history that they had no knowledge of previously, and others felt represented in Western media for the first time.