#file under; shit he'd say to you

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[kerink]

i want to talk about this idea the fandom has that curly didn't do anything to help anya. the fact of the matter is, curly didn't do anything to help anya on screen.

when we first join the conversation, anya's already told curly about the assault and is just updating him on her pregnancy status. we're never privy to what that first conversation looked like, what anya said or how curly responded or what decisions were made about it. but given that anya confided in him twice more about the situation (that she was pregnant and later that she had told jimmy), i have to assume his response to the initial assault disclosure was sufficient enough in her eyes that she knew she could continue confiding in him.

this exchange reads to me like "what to do about the assault" has been an on-going conversation between them, but curly has limited options to help her. but if he could figure out something to do, he'd do it.

let's look at the options available:

report it to HR. i don't think this option is very viable for a few reasons:

first, pony express doesn't seem to care about its employees. there aren't locks on their bedroom doors, there's only enough food and oxygen to get them from port to port with no emergency allotment, there are more crew than cryopods, they're not allowed to sleep for more than 5 hours a night, etc. i don't think they would have done anything to support her even if they had reported it.

HR may even blame anya for the assault, they may say that it happened because of something she did or did not do. it's her responsibility to take, not theirs.

second:

(thank you to @mudstoneabyss for pointing this one out to me)

curly needs this money because he's considering changing careers, which is likely to result in a pay cut or some amount of time job-hunting without income. swansea has a family back home he needs to provide for. it's daisuke's first year on the job and what a piss-poor welcome a pay cut would be, and he's an intern so the pay cut may be all or most of his salary. jimmy is living in poverty. anya has no savings.

it's entirely possible anya asked curly not to file an HR complaint not only because it would make her financial situation worse, but because she doesn't want to ask him, swansea, and daisuke to literally pay for jimmy's actions.

third:

even if curly did file an HR report he may have been told to do nothing. it's a long trip and they need all hands on deck to make the delivery on time! productivity over employee welfare. it's his job to keep the peace but keep jimmy working.

given how much stress curly's shown to be under, it can be assumed being captain is an extremely taxing job with a lot of both assigned duties and off-book duties. it may not actually be feasible to run the ship without a co-pilot.

maybe all he could do was talk to him.

2. go to the police. are there even police in space? i have to assume so because the alternative poses way too many questions. so there's space police. curly and anya call them and they come to the tulpar and dock on the ship and do an investigation and what happens to that limited food and air supply? the late delivery fee?

i'm a psychologist and my first psychology job was working as a crisis counselor for my county. my primary job was to sit with rape survivors as they had their rape kits done and support them as they made their reports to the police. this may not be true everywhere or across the board or in this dystopia but in my experience the police won't take a rape case seriously, or will have limited options to prosecute, or maybe won't even take the case at all without a rape kit.

so curly and anya call the police. they're going to have to file with HR too, to let the company know what's going on. and now anya has to pay for an HR complaint, a late delivery, and a rape kit.

is she going to get this paycheck at all?

3. curly acts on his own accord. this is the one that makes the least amount of sense to me, personally.

if curly just beats the shit out of jimmy then what? now jimmy's mad and embarrassed and takes it out on anya. we're going to confront him and risk making her suffering worse?

curly can't lock jimmy in his quarters for the duration of the trip not only because, as i said, maybe having a co-pilot is necessary for the ship to operate, but there are not locks on the doors.

curly can't lock him in the cargo hold because a) pony express would probably be beyond pissed off about that and who knows if the crew's pay would get docked or curly would get fired or if dragonbreath would sue them all for property damage and contamination. b) how do we get food and water to him? let him go to the bathroom? we open the doors and he busts out and who knows how violent he'll be then.

curly isn't going to kill him because a) that's one of his oldest friends, and i don't care what he's done or how angry curly is or how badly he wants to help anya, i really don't think it's realistic to think he'd be able to separate the anger from the love enough to end his life. b) it's cold-blooded, premeditated murder. it'd be one thing if curly caught jimmy in the act and killed him in defense of anya, he could maybe get away with that. but after the event is over? curly's going to jail for that, possibly for the rest of his life. if you worked at the post office and a coworker told you your best friend since childhood raped her are you clocking out and going to his house and killing him? it's not reasonable. i'm also just really floored how often i've seen this option brought up on the "prison reform abolish the police no matter how bad you are you still deserve human rights" website.

i also don't think it's reasonable, realistic, or kind to ask curly to act on his own accord without consulting anya. for curly to go against her wishes or act without her consent, that's further taking agency away from her. that's another man deciding what happens in her life. even if curly wanted to beat jimmy up or lock him away or kill him, maybe anya asked him not to.

so i ask, what was curly supposed to do? what did he and anya explore as options? what did anya ask him to do? we don't know and we'll never know. and that was intentional on wrong organ's part.

i don't say any of this to discount or discredit conversations or explorations or analyses about the role The Boys Club, toxic masculinity, and bro culture play into the plot, themes, narrative, or personal take-away players have. i fully 100% agree with, support, and endorse those narrative because despite everything i just said above, it's also true that curly is partially responsible.

it's true that he was irresponsible and an enabler for helping jimmy cheat on his psych exam, but there's no evidence at all that he's a conspirator to sexual assault and abuse, that he was going to cover for jimmy in a court of law. all he said was they would figure it out, and that could mean a whole lot of things.

i think curly has some percentage of the blame for what happened on the tulpar, i just don't think that percentage is as large of a number as a lot of people seem to believe. i'm not asking that we forgive or apologize or absolve curly, what i am asking is that we try to look at the situation with more nuance and empathy and good faith.

i don't think curly was a bad man or a bro who was ignoring anya and covering for jimmy's actions. but i also don't think he did enough to help her. he was never good at seeing the small details amongst the larger picture. he couldn't see jimmy for the dead pixel he was.

i think curly was sleep deprived, possibly under-fed, definitely overworked, and juggling too many balls with not enough options. i think he made the wrong choice, but i think he thought it was the lesser of the evils.

[celestialprincesse]

Just going to leave this here and then sneak away! K bye! 🎀🩰

John Price is a man who runs on instinct. After years in the forces, he has to be. He's learned that the feeling in his gut is almost never wrong, and learning how to trust it is a skill. Right now though? He's wishing that his stomach would stop roiling. He's so anxious he feels like he might actually be sick. Kyle sits earnestly at his side, hunched over in the plastic hospital chair nursing a long gone flat vending machine Coke.

They've been tuning out your screams for a good three hours now.

Something within John breaks with every guttural cry that sounds from under the doorway. He's heard so many countless screams of agony from faceless people. They've been and gone in his head like a passing storm. Yours, he thinks, will stick for a lifetime.

Realistically, he knows that you're safe. Receiving the best care you possibly can, safe within the walls of the modern private hospital his insurance more than covers. He also can't help but remind himself just how complicated giving birth can be - and you're so delicate to him.

He's not actually sure when Kyle got here, having been running on autopilot since your contractions started yesterday. All the boys love you just as much as you do them, and when he'd messaged their shared group with a simple: > On way to hospital now. they'd been so shit scared.

Each one of them had opted to take up shifts staying beside their captain in the hospital, waiting earnestly for if they were at all needed. Johnny had picked up groceries, claiming that he' d best know what to get for a new mum, seeing as he's the only one besides Price who actually has sisters, and a niece of his own. None of them would ever admit that they also wanted to be the first to see little baby Price, and to check in on his wife who'm they'd grown to love so much, but there'd definitely been attempts on all three sides to work out when the baby would approximately pop, so that they could time their stint accordingly.

"Think she's okay in there?" John croaks, lifting his head from his palms, squinting at the fluorescent hall lights with a tired grunt.

Kyle swallows the sip of Coke in his mouth before responding. "She's a trooper. I think if anyone can handle having a baby, it's your missus."

Hours later, your small hospital room falls silent, and John is immediately up on his feet, back ramrod straight, everything alert. And then, a baby cries. It's a little hiccuping whinge at first, but then his baby seems to find their voice, wailing up a storm.

"You should go. See them." Kyle prompts quietly, noticing his captain's reverie as he just stands there staring at the closed door.

Nurses file out one by one, whilst he makes his way in, a dazed sort of look on his face as he sees the swaddles blanket you hold close to your chest, gurgling softly as tiny fat fists reach out to your nose.

The stillness in the room is like time stops entirely, only finally broken by a soft "Hey." as your husband makes his way quietly to your side.

"Hi." You breathe, a soft smile blossoming on your tired face, scooting along in the hospital bed so he can sit beside you.

The reverence on his face as he looks down towards the face of such a small creature is a look only talked about in fairytales. A look that tells you that your baby is the luckiest child in the world to have a dad like John.

"She's a girl." You laugh softly, noticing the look on John's face, the one that says he's holding his tongue.

"Oh, my baby girl." Tears spring to his cerulean eyes as he brushes a gentle finger down the soft slope of her tiny nose.

For a moment, the two - three - of you sit in total stillness, entirely enraptured by the tiny human you currently keep held so closely to your chest. Until there's a quiet, tentative knock on the door.

"Mrs Price? Can we come in?" Kyle's voice comes softly from the other side, but before you can even finish your "Yes" not just Kyle, but also Simon and Johnny are practically barrelling into the room, barely able to contain their intrigue as they lock eyes with the little blanket wrapped parcel they've been waiting nine months to meet.

The minute you invite them to look at the sleeping face of your daughter, they're practically tripping over themselves to see the much anticipated baby Price.

"Looks jus' like her mam." Johnny observes, whilst Simon just stares, and Kyle busies himself with taking a picture of you, John and your baby girl.

"Bought 'er a present, mrs Price." Simon admits a little sheepishly as he pulls a haphazardly wrapped parcel from his coat pocket. A stuffed ghost teddy only just the size of your fist. "To remind 'er that uncle ghost is always looking out for her."

You're practically crying at the thought behind his gift, carefully side-hugging the lieutenant with the arm that's not holding your daughter.

"We're all here for her. And for you. Always. One for one and that."

[banj0possum]

All You Need

Yandere! Bodyguard x Gn Reader

CW: obsessive behavior, minor stalking

i changed his name, his old name was doo doo, it was but a trick of the light

IM CHANGING HIS NAME AGAI-

♠️ Never before would you have ever considered hiring a bodyguard, you could defend yourself on your own just fine, but with all your rival manufacturers trying to get you out of the competition with assassinations and attempted kidnappings, you had no choice.

♠️ Feelings were a very rare thing for Baron, and he was fine with it, after all, emotions weren't a very helpful thing to have when your job is to kill people. There was no room for soft, sappy things like that when you lived in his side of the city.

♠️ But his cold and empty demeanor was somehow broken through the moment he saw you.

♠️ The smile you had on your face pierced his heart like cupid's arrow, it was like love at first sight for him.

♠️ He was just getting some rest after a particularly stressful job at a nearby bar when he heard the sweetest laughter from across the room.

♠️ There you were, the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes upon. You were sitting with some other people, talking and drinking together like all the other patrons, but you stood out to him like a precious gem amongst stone.

♠️ It seemed as if the world slowed down when your eyes briefly met his.

♠️ He would now frequent that bar, learning what you like to order, when you get there and who you'd be with.

♠️ He's never talked to you, or even interacted with you in any way, but the feelings he had for you couldn't be denied. You're just too adorable!!

♠️ Through his connections, he found out you were a big name in weapons design. Unique and beautifully deadly instruments of death were created by your hands. Is it weird he finds that hot?

♠️ He'd start off making anonymous orders for weapons to you, it was normal to get one that was unnamed, so you thought nothing of it.

♠️ When he got his order, an intricately designed dagger, he couldn't bring himself to use it on anyone. This is a gift from his kind and talented darling! He couldn't just stab it into someone's chest like any other knife!

♠️ Yes, he has a little shrine of you.

♠️ When he heard you were hiring for a bodyguard, he was ecstatic! Finally, he can be with you for real! He had to stop himself from giggling like a little girl in front of his colleagues.

♠️ He applied for the job and immediately was given instructions to your address, he read it over and over again until it was engraved into his mind.

♠️ "Tomorrow, 5pm. 93 Lebberside Ave. Door with the hummingbird symbol on it in the alley. Do not be late."

♠️ When he arrived at the location, his heart was pounding under his cold expression. He knocked on the door and heard a muffled crash from inside with a small "Shit!" before the sound of multiple clicks of locks followed.

♠️ You pulled the door open and looked up at the man with dark eyes.

♠️ "Are you the applicant?"

♠️ "Y-yes.." God he stuttered, he hoped you couldn't see his flushed face.

♠️ "Good, come in." You pulled him in and swiftly locked the door again.

♠️ He looks around and it looked like a normal home, albeit a little cluttered. Boxes of files and paper were almost everywhere with takeout boxes and noodle cups on every surface of the house. Looks like you've been piled with work for a long time, poor thing, you really need him to take care of you don't you?

♠️ He sits down on the couch across from the little bean bag you were sitting on while reading a file you grabbed from the coffee table, god you're adorable..

♠️ "So you're..?"

♠️ "Baron..Baron Valencia.."

♠️ "Baron..."

♠️ Oh god say his name again please plea-

♠️ "Hm..your file's pretty good..and you don't have any recent dealings with my competitors? Interesting, looks like you have a good eye for quality weaponry huh?" You smile at his file before looking at him with fox eyes. The things he'd let you do to him...

♠️ "I just took a liking to your model's, they're more convenient and useful than others.." He says with a straight face.

♠️ You chuckle and ask him a few more questions before eventually moving on to small talk, he relished in the time you two spent together laughing at past experiences and jokes, it was like he's known you forever, it took every muscle in his body just to stop himself from smiling too much.

♠️ Eventually, you got up and patted his lap, putting down the file. "Well, Mr. Valencia, you're hired!" You say with a smile, the same smile that melted his heart the first time he saw you.

♠️ "Really?! I-I mean- thank you..Boss.."

♠️ He regains his calm composure after letting his voice go a little too high for his liking, any embarrassment he would've had in that situation was replaced with a warm, tingly feeling as you placed a hand on his shoulder, giggling.

♠️ After that, he'd watch you like a hawk, always being by your side ready to protect you, even if you’re just at home. You never know when someone will try to hurt you!

♠️ He'd be looming over you, giving any poor soul trying to talk to you a death stare until you introduced them as friends of yours, he's a giant guard dog basically.

♠️ His stoic expression would persist even when you make small talk with him all the time so casually. It was like he wasn't even your bodyguard sometimes, just a friend you were hanging out with.

♠️ He wasn't all intimidating and cold, he was also very concerned for your health...all the time, and can you blame him? You've been living off of takeout and instant noodles for months!

♠️ "Boss, I think you should eat a proper dinner and not fastfood again, I'll cook for you."

♠️ "Your work can wait, Boss. I'm sure your client can wait another day, please, you look tired."

♠️ It's all part of being your bodyguard! He has to keep you safe and healthy! He'd be happy to move in so he can protect you 24/7 if you'd let him.

♠️ He'd offer to help you clean your living space a little too, since you're so busy and all with work, he might as well make life easier for you. You said yes to get him to stop pestering you about it and when you came back to the living room, all the clutter and empty food containers were gone..as well as a few of your clothes..I guess he put them away as well, how nice of him.

♠️ If you confront him about this, he'd deny it all flushed in between stutters.

♠️ "Well Baron, it sounds to me like you want to be my househusband more than a bodyguard with all your offers for looking after me and such."

♠️ "Wh- Me? N-no! I'd never! I-I mean unless you'd want that..Not that I'm saying I want to! But well uhm- I-if you uh..uhm..I'll leave you alone to work..."

♠️ On days off a.k.a. days you forced him to take a break from taking care of you to get a bit of breathing space for yourself, he'd stalk your social medias or flat out stalk you. A true bodyguard never stops protecting their boss! He just wants to watch over you!

♠️ On the rare occasions that you're too deep in work and not getting a blink of sleep, he'd use his strong arms to pull you into bed and force you to rest. It wasn't long before he heard you softly snoring in his arms, you were exhausted from long days of working and delivering orders and evading taxes and such, no wonder you went out like a light.

♠️ He looked down at you as he sighed lovingly, placing a kiss on your head, whispering a soft "Goodnight, cariño.." Before drifting off to sleep himself.

♠️ "..Goodnight Baron.."

♠️ "B-Boss! Y-you heard that?!"

[dwaekkicidal]

pussyplay with channie????? like taping and slapping??? oh god

this plagued me since the second i saw it earlier today so i had to write something for it or else i'd explode.

edit; i was rereading this and realized that you mightve meant taping as in (tape) and not tapping LMFAO if thats what u wanted lmk and i’ll write you something for that bc i lowkey find that hot😭♥️

~700 words | warnings: fingering (f receiving), pussy slaps/taps, generally mean dom chris icl..., exhibitionism

god Chris and pussy slaps are so MMMMMMMM👹 he's the type to do softer slaps just to tease but hard slaps as a punishment for you misbehaving and/or moving around too much. unless its a day where he's pissed off for whatever reason and you give him the ok to use you. then you're really in for it.

❥ let's say that something went wrong at the studio earlier today; maybe one of his files corrupted and he lost hours worth of progress. i lowkey think he'd be the type to be so angry that he would cry bc he admitted to having anger issues lmao but after that, he's coming home and walking in the door in pure silence. maybe slamming doors subconsciously and/or setting things down aggressively.

❥ and, being the good little toy you are, you pull him into the bedroom and give him the option to either [A] talk about it with you or [B] fuck his anger out using you <3 and who is he to deny that good of an ultimatum???

❥ so he'll get all rough and pin you down to the bed >< almost ripping your clothes as he takes them off. or- better yet, if you have nothing but his shirt on then he's simply pushing your panties to the side. he'll force a few fingers down your throat to wet them and then shove two right into your cunt

❥ he'll finger you soooo meanly and the second you start to squirm too much for his liking or the second your legs try to close, one of those pretty, veiny hands are coming down on your clit >< he might even pull his wet fingers out to slap them across your folds too before plunging them back in

THIS JUST CAME TO MIND BUT IF HE'S ANGRY HE'S DEFINITELY THE TYPE TO SAY SHIT LIKE "This greedy fucking pussy. So tight and can't fit all my fingers in it." *whack* "What am I gonna do with you."

❥ but he's not a complete sadist though, so he'll rub over the area a few times as an apology and maybe give you a kiss or two there. but that's all you're getting <3 because this is about him and for once in his life he's allowing himself to be greedy (🔫), so he's gonna sit there for as long as it takes for his anger to subside (not long but he can and will pretend to be angry just to keep going)

the first way i thought of him tapping your pussy is through your panties ><

❥ maybe you're at an event with him or you're out at dinner with him and the boys. maybe you're just a liiiittle more bratty than usual for whatever reason, maybe you were being rude/a brat the entire way there and now that everyone is sat, you just can't seem to keep your hands to yourself. so when it's <15 minutes into dinner, the appetizers haven't even arrived yet, and he already feels your hands on his thigh? his patience is thrown out the window.

❥ even more so when that hand moves right over the semi-hardon in his jeans and rubs it ever so lightly. then you're stealing his hand and sliding it under the table, to everybody else it looks like you guys are holding hands but trying to do so secretly, so if somebody notices they just smile and wiggle their eyebrows at the "PDA."

❥ but in reality you're sliding that hand between your parting thighs and placing your hand over his, basically instructing him to rub over your pussy through your already thin panties. and those thin panties that seem even thinner by the way your wetness seeps through.

❥ he'll shove his tongue into the skin of his cheek, squeeze his legs together to relieve some tension, and then he's swatting your hand away. he'll spread your folds through the fabric just to tap against your clit meanly. he wont even rub it or give it any other sort of attention; just tapping it softly sometimes then roughly the other. the rough ones make you actually jump/shiver and some of the guys catch on, but he'll just say you're cold.

❥ then he's not stopping until you start to make some noise, either if whines start to come out of your throat or if your breaths turn into low moans. at that point, he'll pat you a singular time and remove his hands. he'll act like nothing happened the rest of the night... until you get home c;

[babyleostuff]

https://x.com/_zainab_khawaja/status/1785791043872456834?s=46&t=Pno0_nYlg0gSYtHkBk336g

this is so cute?? 😭😭😭 which member dyt would say this

"text me when you reach home"

ohmygod LET ME FUCKING SCREAM AAAAAA!!!! i love love love this prompt, my oldest daughter syndrome lives for this shit <33333 thank you so much for sending this in my lovely anon! <3

-> choi seungcheol

is anyone surprised??? HELL NO!!! of course daddy coups would be the type to make you promise to text him when you reach home (he'd probably send you at least twenty texts of "are you home yet" before you'd even have the chance to get into your car). not only that - he'd make you take a pic of you safely tucked under the covers OR ELSE HE'LL PANICK AND YOU DON'T WANT CHOI SEUNGCHEOL TO PANICK OVER YOUR SAFETY!!! HE WILL GO TO THE POLICE TO FILE IN A MISSING PERSON CASE JUST BECAUSE YOU WERE FIVE MINUTES TOO LATE WITH YOUR TEXT.

-> joshua hong

"text me when you reach home" is a very subtle, low key, and not overbearing way of showing you care about someone (unless you're choi seungcheol) which is very much joshua hong coded, and people who are the "text me when you reach home" types give me very gentlemen-y, caring, soft, chill vibes. again - joshua is all of those.

-> jeon wonwoo

IF I SEE ANY OF YALL BITCHES SAYING THAT JEON WONWOO IS "COLD" OR TALK ABOUT HIS "COLD PERSONA" EVER AGAIN - I'M GOING TO FIND YOU AND CHEW YOUR HAIR OFF! the way this bitch is a certified simp and loser and some of you decide not to see that is astonishing - he's the epitome of *cue in boba eyes* "please text me when you get home, 'k baby?" *kisses your forehead*. sure he wouldn't scream at you at the top of his lungs for you to text him, but he is so so caring and so so sweet, and it's sad how people overlook that. and if you'd be taking too long to get back (in his opinion) he'd call you to check up on you BECAUSE JEON WONWOO HAS EMOTIONS!!!

-> xu minghao

this bitch acts as if he doesn't really care, and would ask you to shoot him a text after you get home because it's what a good boyfriend should be doing but lmaoooo the way he'd be stressing before receiving that text from you. hao tries to reassure himself that it's whatever WHATEVER MY ASS - HE IS A CERTIFIED SIMP AND HE CAN ACT ALL UNBOTHERED AND "UGH I HATE ROMANCE" BUT I KNOW BETTER!!! imagine his lil smile after getting your message I CAN'T DO THIS

-> vernon chwe

i feel like he'd text you this using an emoji coded message, like - ✍🏼🚗🚶🏼🏡👍🏼 or some shit

-> lee chan

baby wouldn't be able to fall asleep or proceed with his day without getting an "i'm home ☺️" text from you. would be checking his phone every five seconds minutes with a lil pout on his face BECAUSE HE HAS TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE SAFE.

honorable mentions:

the only reason dk isn't on this list is because he'd be on a call with you the whole time you'd be on your way home.

mingyu would text you this after you'd get home.

[fleuraimer]

how would carmy react if he ever accidentally hurt his girl…like not in a fun sexy way but in a real way…whether it’s genuinely fucking/spanking her too hard or saying something rather mean during sex

oh god i feel like he'd literally burst a blood vessel 😭

tw!! carm hurts his cub (emotionally). allusions to domestic ab*se (carm is a healing boy, all right?) happy ending.

i can see this happening after carmy loses for the first time. like, it sucks to lose for anyone, but this is carmen we’re talking about—the definition of a loser; a boy small and quiet enough to frighten into a corner, terrorize into a blank mind (poor, bruised boy. built a name for himself out of hollow self-confidence and false healing, a persona that crumbles with one (hundred) too many punches).

he walks through the tunnels with his head hung low, eddie’s hand massaging his right shoulder and benny’s soothing his left; nacho in front, his larger form shielding carm’s blotchy face from the inconsiderate paparazzi. y/n trails timidly beside her bear—hurting and erratic.

the locker room is stock-still silent as they file inside. usually, there's hollering and chanting in celebration as soon as they step through the threshold, and after congratulations and hugs (and kisses from his sweet cub), carm heads for the shower to wash away the grime of his brutal victory.

this time, though, there are no congrats to be given.

everyone seems to be walking on powder eggshells, overly tentative and precautionary as they tend to him. any questions they have for him are low and prudent, and any answers he has to offer them are clipped, and slightly cruel—finds it difficult to show kindness when their own is unwarranted, he lost. he failed (and failing does not call for sympathizing but for reprimanding, punishment; not consolation but condemnation).

"jus' fuck off, dude," carmen huffs, shrugging benny's hand of his shoulder. he sighs, drops his palm from figure and turns on his heal to walk out, anxiously twirling his toothpick along his tongue.

he steps next to y/n, where she waits, pretty in pink, like always, with her hands folded in front of her legs, eyes to the floor. he bumps his boney shoulder to hers, "think he needs you." her eyes flit up to meet his, and he gives her a small smile, and look of encouragement. "go get him, tiger," he whispers gently.

famous last words.

everyone silently gets the message and leaves the locker room to give carmen his space; all except his girl, his sweet cub.

"carmy," she utters softly, stepping toward him.

he throws her a look over his shoulder, "not now, cub, i'm... not now."

she frowns—presses still.

"carm," she tries again, sliding a supple palm up the curve of his back.

he jerks away from her touch, "not fuckin' now, y/n!" he keeps his back to her and starts toward the medical bed, blood dripping from his fingertips.

she bristles, but doesn't let him see it. takes a defesive step back, kicks up her chin, and swallows the lump in her throat (she hated it when he yelled, when he bunched himself up and tucked himself away in that corner of his mind, away from everyone, even her, but his protector. she couldn't help him there, couldn't pry him from the clutches of claws).

"please don't speak to me like that, carmen," she says, soft but firm. "i'm your girlfriend, not on payroll."

he snorts as he rips a white towel off the overhead shelf and starts soaking up the blood from his various wounds. he's rough as he scrapes it up and down his battered body, hurtful. y/n longs to reach out and do it for him—delicate and caring, the way he deserves—but keeps her twitching hands at her sides.

"fuckin' act like it," he mutters under his breath.

her eyebrows rise with indignation, "excuse me?"

"i said y'fuckin' act like you're on my payroll, shit!"

y/n's spent a long time trying to learn how to not be sensitive. she came from a household of men—four brothers, all boxers, thanks to her father—but just because she was constantly surrounded by their brutality doesn't mean she ever fully adapted to it. she inherited their tough skin—took the chipped pieces on the gym floor and melded them to her flesh herself, thicker, harder to pierce—but she couldn't bury her very being, no matter how hard she tried; she would always be a sensitive soul.

she exhales a shaky breath, her fingers curling into her palms, nails digging. he didn't mean it, he was just upset with himself.

"watch your damn tone, carmen."

"or what?" he scoffs, whipping around to face her, tossing the bloodied towel to the side. it's the first good look she's gotten at his face since the start of the fight, and it makes her want to scream.

he's got a swollen, bruised left eye and a crooked nose, a swelling jaw and busted lips; battered and bloodied, from his collarbone, scattered all across his torso.

her throat threatens to close up, and carmy's taking a looming step closer to her too fast for her to combat it.

"what the fuck are you gonna do? fuckin' bitch at me like you always do, huh?" she flinches as he gets in her face, stumbling back. "carmy this and carmy that, but s'never fucking good enough, is it? you just get to sit there and look pretty—live in my house, use my fuckin' money—and god fuckin' forbid i ever ask anything of you!" he throws his arms up, exasperated, huffs out a laugh, though it's certainly humorless. "i'd screw those precious fuckin' feelings a'yours, get y'cryin' like the fuckin' crybaby y'are..."

his voice trails off, the fiery blaze in his eye faltering—like he knows he's fucked up—but his face hardens again before she has the chance to decipher it.

there's part of her that wants to hurt him the way he's just hurt her, put up a fuckin' fight and scream at him the way they're both so used it. another part, though—a much stronger part—is too hurt to hurt him; too sad that her bear would take violence and cruelty over the kindness of others because he'd never been taught how.

she looks at him with a broken furrow between her brow—a bitter smile on her lips. her voice is watery as she starts, "i never asked you for any of that. you offered, and i accepted. and my sincerest fucking apologies for being a human, with emotions." she scoffs, let's out her own humorless laugh. she bites her lips to try and stop the river of tears at bay, looks to the side so he won't notice as a tear slips down her red cheek.

carmen exhales a long breath—he went too far. "cub—"

she lifts a dismissive hand, "no, y'know what? it's fine," she sniffs harshly, rubs underneath her eyes to stop the stray tears from slipping. "i'm— i'm gonna give you some space," she utters, turning to find her purse and coat. carmy watches her gathering her things uselessly, stuck. "seems like y'could use it."

she doesn't look back at him as she rushes to the door, and only stops when she feels a large paw grazing the exposed skin of her back.

"y/n," he whispers, wavering, unsure.

she brushes his hand from her figure.

"i'll be at your house," she mumbles, and slips out of the door.

when it slams shut, carmy can't help the chocked sob that works its way up his sore throat. he stumbles backward, trips over his feet and crumbles to his knees. he curls into himself (like the boy in his mind, tucked safely in the corner), wraps his aching arms around his bent legs a cries like the crybaby he'd just accused his girlfriend of being.

his sweet cub.

god, he fucked up. they fight, so much—too much. he knows her mannerisms, has studied the inclinations of her sadness, frustration, irritation, and anger. he can't ever recall being faced with her disappointment, however, her utter hurt.

he fucked up, bad. but he's gonna fix it (has to, or the boy in the corner will never stop shaking with fear, sobbing, wailing—waiting for his protector to return with his cub).

——

it's late when carmen gets home. their home, not his (couldn't call it his, was never his when she's the one who made his house a home). he walks through the door of their penthouse with his hands full—his duffle bag, a bag of take out (from the three michelin star joint down on 39th), a heart-box of chocolates, and a large bouquet of flowers—and his tail tucked between his wobbly legs.

he places her gifts on the kitchen counter when he walks by in passing, groaning in relief as weight is lifted away from his body (he got beat the shit out of—had to if he fuckin' lost).

he walks into their bedroom as quietly as he can, softly kicking the door shut behind him. in their king-sized bed lay his sweet cub, curled up beneath the blankets—chin tucked and knees pulled to her chest—in a baby pink nightie and matching bonnet. he watches the subtle rise and fall of her back, smile fondly.

he shuffles to the foot of the bed and sets his duffle there, then moves around to her side, kneeling before his sleeping beauty.

"cub," he whispers, feather light as he presses stray baby hairs peaking through the band of her bonnet back underneath. "wake up f'me, baby, 've got some grovelin' t'do."

she groans groggily into the sheets as she starts to come to, stretches out like a cat as her tear-clumped, heavy eyes peel open.

"hey, sweet cub," he murmurs. she eyes him blankly through fluttery lashes.

he deserves that.

"i'm sorry, my girl," he sighs heavily, beginning to pet at her blotchy cheek. "i didn't mean it, fuckin' any of it. you don't bitch at me, y'never ask too much of me," he brings his free hand up to cradle her pretty face as tears begin to well in her eyes. "this is your house, your home. my money is yours, more than it's mine—fuckin' spend it all, cub, i don't care," the both huff out a short laugh, his fond, hers snotty. "y'not a crybaby, you're my baby—my girl, my sweet fuckin' cub, and i'm so goddamn sorry i said those things to you, baby."

she sniffles, curls her fingers around his wrists to keep him close. "y'mean it?"

his lips twitch up in a gentle smile, "i mean it, cub; m'so fuckin' sorry, sweetheart."

"good."

she pulls him in by her grip on his wrists, mouth pressing to his.

safe to say he's forgiven (he carries her out to the kitchen—arms clasped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist—and presents her gifts to her for good measure, though. sits her in his lap and feeds her yummy pasta and chocolate with a glass of sangria, one of her go-to drinks, to see that giddy smile.

then eats her out of the kitchen counter, too).

——

a/n: how to make the writing process go faster no glue no borax

not edited/proofread!!

[leviraaaaaa]

"Coffee? This shit's expensive."

You reached for the packet that was sitting on top of the desk, surprised. Coffee was for rich nobles, not for soldiers with meager pay. Levi swatted at your hand.

"Don't touch my shit."

"What?" You took back your hand, pouting at him. "I was just saying."

Levi shot a glare at you, irritated. "Why don't you just shut up and go back to your work? My possessions are none of your business."

You groaned, eyes flicking to the empty papers in front of you that you were supposed to write reports on. "But I've been working for hours. My fingers hurts. Let me take a break."

"Stop being dramatic.

"I'm not being dramatic. You're being dramatic." You mumbled, again reaching for the package. He didn't try to stop you this time. He only glanced, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance, then going back to working. You were stubborn as fuck and he had learnt long ago telling you not to do something only inspired you to do the opposite, specially when you realized it pissed him off.

"Where the heck did you even get this?" You flip the packet, eyes widening at the price. It wasn't just expensive, it was super expensive. Levi sighed.

"Must you be so nosy all the damn time?"

"Yes." You nod, eager to know. You weren't going to let it go until you got answers. You were stubborn that way. And his unwillingness only made you all the more interested.

Or maybe you just loved pissing him off. It was amusing in a way.

Your crude captain barely ever showed emotions, so you'll take what you get. Even if the only emotions he has the capacity to display is annoyance and frustration.

Getting him riled up was perhaps, the highlight of your day. Only source of entertainment ment in the four walls of this boring facility.

What made it all better was, he'd grumble, he'd complain, he'd spew curses under his breath, but he'd still let you stick around. And he'd rather die than admit it, but it made you think that perhaps, he didn't find you as 'unpleasant' as he says he does after all.

"I didn't get it." He responded irritatedly, eyes on the papers.

"Huh?" You tilted your head, not satisfied. "What do you mean? What, this packet just grew legs and started walking and came all the way up over here? Plus, I didn't think you even like coffee. I only ever saw you drink tea–"

"You talk too much."

"Okay but," You ignored his little snide remark. "No, but this is premium quality and you haven't even opened it yet. Why'd you get it of you won't have it?"

"I didn't get it." He repeated. "And I don't like coffee."

"Thought so." You nodded. That's also another reason you were surprised to see the packet. He loathed coffee, you knew. Even though the cheap shit served in the cafeteria was truly repulsive, you would chug it down without hesitation. And the face Levi made every damn time was worth it all. That's how you learnt the bitter captain surprisingly hated the bitter drink.

"So if you're not gonna have it, can I have some? Because I'm falling asleep."

"No. I can't stand the smell of it."

"Of course you don't." You scoffed. "You drink your tea just fine though. In my opinion, that tastes more horrible."

"I didn't bring you here to comment about my drink preferences."

"Volunteering. Because you have shit preferences and someone needs to let you know–"

"Do you ever shut up?"

"No." You grinned. "Where'd you get it captain?"

"If I tell you, will you shut up?" He looked up, exasperated.

You pretended to consider. "Perhaps."

He glared at you.

"Okay I might." You nodded. "No promises, but I might. Go on, tell me."

He stared at you skeptically, weighing his options of either answering your questions so that you'd let it go or smack you in the face with the heavy file. He was seriously considering the latter at this point.

Then he sighed.

"I just know this is gonna make this worse." He muttered. "If you must know, it was a gift."

"A gift?!" Your jaw dropped.

"Captain! Who gifted you something so expensive? Don't tell me you have a secret lo-"

"Get your mind out of the gutter." He snapped, cutting you off before you could say it.

"Okay." You raised your hand in mock surrender. "Okay. No secret lovers got it. Who was it then?"

He pinched his nose bridge closing his eyes. Bracing himself for the shit you were going to give him after what he's going to say next.

"Some random Garrison Regiment Squad leader I think. Captain sova or shiva or something of that sort. Carried some heavy loads for her and then she got all soppy and grateful and wanted to express her thanks, despite my insistence that I despised coffee." He explained, ignoring the change on your expression with every word. Dear walls, he can practically hear the screws turning in your head.

"...no way." You gaped at him.

"How expensive is this shit anyway?" He reached for the packet, curiosity poking him at the genuine disbelief in your face.

"50$?" His eyes widened, brows raising. He had no idea gratitude for helping out was worth that much.

"You're just noticing it now?!" You were absolutely appalled.

"I told you I have no interest towards coffee." He said defensively.

"But– how could you not?"

"Because it's insignificant?"

"It's–" You weren't sure whether you should laugh or cry. "Have you heard of the term, 'curiosity'?"

"I simply don't care. I have way too much in my plate to sit around and observe the price of a coffee package. Have I mentioned that I loathe coffee?"

"Jeez, it was a gift. You could at least pretend to care."

He only raised an eyebrow.

"I mean..you might not have a lot of interest in coffee," You said. "But she sure sounds as if she had much interest in you."

"She? The captain?" Levi furrowed his brows, clueless.

"Yes?!" You were even more confused to see his confused expression. "Who else would I talk about?"

He shook his head. "You're misunderstanding. She was just grateful."

"Grateful because you helped her heave heavy things? So she pays you back with 50$?"

Levi pressed his lips together, considering your words. Now that he thinks about it... no it's just you making the situation more than it is.

" .... How am I to know what she was thinking?" He said finally.

You rolled your eyes. "Well.." You asked after a while. "Did she try to express her gratitude in..any other way?"

"You're not gonna drop this, are you?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Of course you won't, you nosy little shit." He sighed. "She sent me a letter last monday."

You almost fell out of your chair. "You're telling me this now?!" You demanded. "What did she say?" Half of your body was practically on the desk, you were so leaning forward so much in excitement

"You're hopeless." He shook his head at the gleam in your eyes. "Not everything is drama. She only thanked me and asked if she could treat me to dinner some night."

It was how he said that with a straight face that got you. The lack of interest, the blank expressions, it all added up.

You sat back down in silence as you realized that he wasn't really trying to deny anything because he was flustered.

He simply had no fucking idea.

"Captain. Just..how dense are you?" You asked softly, almost in awe. How a man like him could be so clueless you had no idea.

"Watch your mouth, brat."

"No offence meant." You said casually, setting his irritated words aside, too invested to give a fuck. "But did you say yes?"

"To what?"

"The dinner proposal? What else?"

"Of course not." He looked surprised you even considered the idea. "Do you have any idea how busy I am? And it's annoying. She's acting as if I saved her life and now she owes me a life debt."

You internally sent words of sympathy to the unfortunate woman. Girlie couldn't have picked a worse person to flirt with.

"Oh poor her."

"What poor her?"

"Captain. Do you seriously...not realize that she..asked you out..?"

He stared at you for a few seconds, ears growing red. "Bullshit." He muttered.

It took every bit of your effort to hold back the laugher bubbling in you. It was already difficult enough to keep a straight face. He looked so embarrassed it was hilarious.

You wondered how many girls had ever flirted with him like this and he had no fucking idea, probably shook it off thinking they were just being nice. How many hearts has he broken without even realizing it?

"Well, was she pretty at least?"

He shot an incredulous look. "I can't even remember her name, and you think I memorized her face?"

"Huh. Fair enough."

A giggle escaped you despite your hard efforts to hide your amusement. That seemed to have embarrassed him more.

"Don't laugh. There's nothing funny here."

"Oh if only you knew exactly how hilarious it is." You grinned. "I'm like two seconds away from losing it."

"I will hit you if you don't stop laughing."

You pursed your lips, the corner of your mouths still quirking up.

"Captain."

"No." He cut you off. He was tired. He was embarrassed. He was flustered. He had zero desire left to talk with you and he was fully aware nothing that ever comes out of your mouth is pleasant.

But of course you ignored him.

"Have you ever even been on a date?"

He groaned, cursing internally. This is the last thing he wanted to talk about today.

"You have no sense of privacy." He hissed.

"No. I'm serious. Because that seems highly unlikely." You continued, yet again paying no mind to his pissed remarks.

"I'm too busy."

"Nah." You shook your head. "You're too clueless. You wouldn't be able to tell if someone likes you even if they held up a sign with huge red block letters spelling out the words 'I love you!'"

"Stop."

Yeah, you weren't sure how much longer you could hold that laugh back.

"You've never been on a date in this... I don't know, how old even are you– like twenty something years of your life?"

"I'm thirty. And no."

"Holy fuck, you're old." You exclaimed, caught off guard by the information. You knew he was older than you, just didn't think he was in thirties already. He looks so...young.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"It's not that old. I'm hardly a couple years older than you."

"Still old." You shrugged. "But damn, you're life's as dry as sandpaper."

"You do realize my life revolves around fighting titans? So excuse me if I didn't give romance a chance because I was too busy trying not to die." He mumbled.

You spluttered a cough trying to hide the sound of the laughter choking you. He had looked away when he said the words, but the tips of his ears were so, so red.

Never in your life have you seen him this flustered.

"Can you shut up now and let me work?"

"Aren't you charming?" You raised an eyebrow.

Then you paused.

"Say, captain, let me help you." You suddenly said. You couldn't resist the urge to fuck with him a little more. You'd be damned if you didn't.

"With... what?"

You grinned. "Dating. I could be your official love life assistant."

The reaction was exactly as you thought it'd be. His face was absolutely flushed.

"Fuck off."

"Now, that's just mean." You pretended to be offended. "Tip 1: you don't speak to ladies like that."

He stood up without saying a word, walking around the table and stopping besides you. Then with two fingers, he flicked your forehead. Hard.

"Ouch." You cursed under your breath, rubbing your temple and turning to look at him as he walked towards the door. "What was that for?"

"Youre insufferable." He said as he twisted open the door.

"Why thank you." You mumbled as he slammed the door shut behind him. "You're extremely lovable as well, beloved captain."

Levi leaned against the door, the corners of his mouth twitching up the slightest as he heard your laugher through the door.

Oh, but here's the the thing Levi hadn't told you.

That maybe, maybe, the reason he never even considered the approaches of the admirers, or even sometimes realize their intention wasn't because he was clueless. Maybe it's because he barely ever processes the words or the actions, think about it for a second for the situations to make sense.

That maybe, he had no intention to let anyone new in his life because he already had you. What more could he possibly want?

How could he? Not when you existed in his life, with your stupid face and your stupid voice and your stupid, stupid, stupid laugh.

Maybe, just maybe.

He doesn't notice faces much because yours never leave his mind.

@sad-darksoul

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 - 𝙸'𝙻𝙻 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Armando calls you with the feeling that something isn't right, but lets you know he'll come back to you no matter what.

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: A small little blurb. I give full credit to @violetmuses for this idea!

Armando watched his mother walk away, the clicking of her heels hitting the floor fading away in the distance. For a moment he was stuck in place, feeling uneasy about this entire thing. He understood her wanting revenge against those who'd put her in jail. but who was this detective to her? His name wasn't on any files, and she seemed to hate him the most.

Taking a few steps towards the window, he pulled out his phone to call the only person he truly ever spoke to outside of the cartel.

"Hello." Her soft voice filled his ears. "Hey, I didn't wake you up did I?" He laughed a bit once she informed him that he had but that it was ok. "I was just taking a nap, but I like talking to you, what's up?" He loved that about her, how she was always there for him and was willing to wake up from her beloved naps just to speak with him.

"I-uh. I'll be honest baby. I've been up to some bad shit lately." He confessed, as far his she knew, he was a banker here in Mexico. Unbeknownst to her, her distant love was a walking weapon. "Bad shit? Like what? Letting people cash bad checks?" She snorted with laughter, and he could practically picture her pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose while doing so. "Very funny, y/n. But no. Seriously, I've been up to some shit here that I can't explain right now, but I will when I see you." He sighed, hoping that he actually got the opportunity to after tonight. There was all too real possibility that he may not make it out alive. "All I can say right now is that something's not right here, so the first chance I get I'm coming to you. "

Y/n sat up, now concerned at the seriousness of his tone. "Armando, seriously, what's going on? Is everything ok? I can come down there if you need me to." "No!" She was met with his immediate rejection. "Do not, and I mean under any circumstances do not come down here, y/n. Stay where you are, and I'll come to you. I'll explain everything and if you'll still have me after I tell you the truth, I'll never leave." Her end was silent.

His eyebrows furrowed together; one hand shoved into his pocket trying his best to control his nerves before she finally spoke. "I don't like this, Armando; you sound scared and that makes me scared. Just please, come back to me in one piece." Her concern for him was truly the only driving force he needed to survive; he couldn't leave her on this earth without him.

"I may have a few bumps and bruises." His strained laughter was an attempt to lighten the somber mood. "But I'll be in one piece, but if I don't.. Just know, I'll love you forever."

Their mutual sentiment of love was spoken simultaneously but the call ended. Whatever happened tonight, he'd be making it back to her come hell or high water.

[ghoulie-67-baby]

Good for nothing- BAU team.

Summary: On a case, you run into a figure from your past that you harbour a lot of anger about. It’s about time you unleash it.

Warnings: Vulgar language, Bad breakup, toxic relationship, cheating (main theme), descriptive language about being caught cheating, manipulation and mentions of controlling, abusive relationship.

Pairing: BAU team x fem!reader (platonic).

Word count: 1,543.

"Y/N?" Ice ran through my veins as the disgustingly familiar voice filled my ears. My fingers hesitated from where I had been rearranging pictures on our board, twitching in annoyance. I could feel the eyes of my team on me as they waited for me to answer the voice.

"Adam," I shot out through gritted teeth. Of course, it was just my luck my ex-fiancé would turn up when we were on a case.

"What're you doing here?" I took a breath, composing my face before turning towards him with a blank stare. Why the fuck did he think I was here? Was there a circus in town? If so god knows he'd fit in seamlessly.

"I'm working," I bit back the urge to add 'obviously' to the end of my statement. "This is my team, my job." He looked slightly lost as his eyes flitted around the room, unsure of the many eyes flickering between us.

"Oh, I see. Well, I guess I'll speak with you later." He attempted a smile but it looked more like a grimace, spinning on his heels and practically running to the exit.

"Like hell, you will," I muttered under my breath, suppressing a shudder of disgust as I watched him scamper away. I switched my attention back to the room, a few looks of amusement being thrown my way.

"So, Adam?" JJ's voice was playful and teasing but I fake gagged, imitating throwing up so she got the gist of my emotion towards the cop. "Oh, no Adam huh?"

"Not unless you want your heart ripped out and stomped in the mud honey, no Adam." I spat, the name feeling dirty in my mouth, before returning to my work.

A couple of days had passed since Adam had made his presence known and we had managed to close the case, catch the unsub and deliver the victims back to their families safely, but I couldn't get rid of the itch of annoyance in the pit of my stomach. Realistically I knew it was because when I broke up with him I had left without a word and never dealt with the shit he'd put me through and now I was presented with the opportunity to blow up and let it out.

We were back in the precinct packing up all of the evidence and case notes before we left, collecting what we needed before the trip back to Quantico when he surfaced again, lingering in the doorway like a bad smell. I finally noticed him when he cleared his throat and shuffled into the room.

"Y/N, are you free for that talk now?" I bit back a grin at his audacity and straightened up from the table, glancing his way momentarily before my eyes met Rossi's who shrugged and helped Hotch with files.

"Nope." I popped the P, smiling at him sweetly.

"This is the least you could do Y/N, seriously." The hair on the back of my neck stood as I clenched my fits, nails digging into my palms. "You're the one that left remember." I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes for a moment as I took in his words. I should've known this was the road he would take. It always was my fault. It didn't matter how big or how small, he never did anything wrong and damaged me enough for me to still hold bad habits from it to this day like apologising for everything and finding fault in every minute of my existence.

"The least I could do?" I seethed, back straightening and eyes staring daggers into him as the tension in the room became suffocating. The air became still as my team stopped in their tracks, wary of how I was reacting. "The least I could do."

"Yeah, that's what I said," his voice shook slightly but he pushed his shoulders back challenging me and staring at me down his nose.

"Of course," I spoke with a sickly sweet voice, "what is it you want to say, Adam?" I smiled at him, coating my anger in sugar as he nodded like he was entitled to this.

"You up and left. The month before our wedding. You broke my heart and I think I deserve an explanation, a reason." He feigned his sadness, eyes sparkling with something twisted as my team stared at me in shock.

"I broke your heart?" I questioned, still sweet enough to cause him some cavities. "Oh, I do apologise. I didn't think it would hurt you that much, you poor thing." The sarcasm practically dripped from my mouth, my eyes portraying fake sympathy as I leant on the edge of the table, close to where Spencer practically gawped at the shit going down. "Tell me Adam, did I break your heart when I cancelled the wedding, or when I took all my stuff whilst you were at work the following day or when I keyed your car. Did that hurt?"

"Yes it hurt, we were supposed to be together forever. You and me against the world and you shrugged it off like I meant nothing." I looked around the room, met with amusement from Derek, shock from JJ, Spencer and Emily and indifference from Aaron and David but I let their emotions spur me on.

"Maybe you could have remembered that when I found you in our home, in our bed, balls deep in some other wining bitch whilst I had just picked out our flowers and cake for our wedding because you said you were working a long shift. Maybe you could have remembered that when I gave you a second chance after the first time I found a girl with your cock buried down her throat on our sofa or maybe that was just me overreacting right. Maybe I should have stayed and lived out a miserable good-for-nothing husband who would rather fuck some random whore that his own wife." My voice had risen in volume as I ranted out angrily, aware of how Derek's amusement had fallen and instead, he had stepped closer to me as if trying to provide comfort and protection. Hyper aware of how tense my team had become as if all wound up to spring into action if I flew at the asshole before me. But the one thing I was most aware of was the way his facade had dripped and instead of the poor little man with the sad story he had become the controlling, self-serving ass I unfortunately knew too well.

"You wouldn't have come home to that if you did your duty as a girlfriend properly, not my fault you never fully satisfied anyone." I held back my flinch as the sting from his word spread through my chest. "I'll bet you don't sleep at night."

"You think you have that big of an impact on my life?" I laughed, packing away long forgotten. "You think I can't function now just because you decided I wasn't enough for you?" My smile was sour and wicked, amusement getting the better of me. "Let me tell you something sweetheart, I couldn't give less of a shit about you anymore if I tried. Yeah, it hurt, fuck me it felt like hell knowing I wasn't enough but then I realised that I had the world at my fingertips and boy did that feel good. I didn't dwell on little old you for long Adam, I went out and made the world my bitch. My only regret is I didn't cut off your dick and feed it to you for being a snivelling, conniving cunt that thinks so lowly of women and poisons any he gets close to. So, was that explanation enough for you?" I asked with a smile, ignoring the way my heart pounded my ribcage and my stomach bubbled.

"Fuck you, you whore." Adam ground out, finally realising he wasn't going to win this competition and I wasn't going to bow to him and cower with fear of disappointing him. With a red face and neck, hands shaking with anger he span around and stormed away.

"You wish!" I yelled after him, a satisfied smile on my face as he slammed the door. Taking a deep shuddering breath, I collected myself, rolling my shoulders and pulling at my shirt sleeves before facing my team with a calm smile.

"That was kinda hot." I burst out in laughter as Emily blurted out, the tension melting away from me. A few laughs made their rounds in the room and I took a seat, knees shaking as the adrenaline faded from my body.

"But seriously, why didn't you say anything? If I'd have known he worked here then I would've found a way for you to work away from him." Hotch questioned, concern in his eyes.

"Honestly, I didn't know, he must've moved towns." I shrugged, "But in fairness, it felt good getting that out of my system. God knows I've waited long enough."

"On a serious note, I think we should let you get pissed off more often." Emily continued with a grin, winking at me suggestively.

"Yeah, I second that." Derek laughed, pulling me into a side hug, his warmth settling my thundering heartbeat.

[countessrivers]

Say more about the weird violent sexual attraction River inspires in the people he meets, please

With pleasure.

You see, it's all about, to start with, Spider, and his psychosexual obsession with River (RIP king, you are missed). It's about Spider ruining River's life again and again even when no one is forcing his hand. It's about the bitchiness and pettiness and Spider bringing up what River does with his dick during work hours. It's about those fucking faces he makes when River throws him up against a filing cabinet. He wanted River to fuck him so bad it made him look stupid (and also ruin River's life. and also in a roundabout way kind of got him killed. But you could also blame that on him being a dick. Again, RIP).

It's all about Spider concocting an elaborate plan to first, get River to angrily threaten and toss him up against things some more, all while playing mind games, second, get the shit beat out of River, and third, stage a public humiliation scene where he reveals everything while his colleagues ooooo and laugh and clap along AND WHERE he both talks about the size of his penis and tells River to quit the service and instead go do porn on OnlyFans.

Also why are the Chieftan bros so into this? They don't know River, they have no stake in this. But see, that's just the effect River Cartwright has on people.

It's all about Duffy telling River he'd like to watch him get eaten feet first by pigs. Like, that's weird. That's violent. That's fucked up. Stansted and the Code September barely had any impact on Duffy, so why is he so angry? Why does he care so much? Why is he spending his time fantasising about elaborate ways for River to die? (see above)

It's all about the repeated threats of violence and Duffy calling him 'sunshine' as he and the dogs toss him into a car to be taken to a locked cell under the Park where Duffy will proceed to beat the shit out of an unarmed River while bringing up River's daddy issues. Which, he apparently knows about. And is apparently thinking about a more than 0 amount. Which is of course is normal and not weird.

It's all about Hobbs wanting to watch River humiliate himself in front of a crowd of recruits. It's all about Hobbs telling River he wants a recording of River humiliating himself in front of a crowd of recruits because he's going to jerk off to it, with an implication that he's worn out his old material which I guess may or may not have also involved River. And it's all about Hobbs then joining in with Duffy to beat the shit out of an unarmed River in a locked cell under the Park.

It's also all about the three of them in said locked cell talking a lot about River's dick and balls and potential lack thereof, while they beat the shit out of him.

It's all about how in the books Patrice kidnaps River, wrecks his shit, and then tells people passing by not to worry, his boyfriend is just having a panic attack because he gets claustrophobic on the tube. It's all about Patrice sitting down next to River, putting his arm around him to keep up the charade and whispering to him how easy it is/would be to hurt him. It's all about Patrice, later, kissing River on the cheek, telling him they'll talk soon, and then going off to murder his grandfather and Slough House colleagues.

(and it's, you know, a little bit about River doing the tossing of Spider up against things and getting one over on Hobbs and egging Duffy on while refusing to fight back and bringing up personal things that conflict with Patrice's brainwashed child soldier conditioning and I guess just in general being a beautiful, bitchy, blond man constantly getting into trouble)

[badomensbaby]

above the law. lrh

pairing: luke hemmings x fem! reader

summary: luke's so sick of his assistant, you, talking all the damn time. he finally does something about it.

warnings: 18+ only. minors DNI. smut, thigh-riding, unprotected sex, verbal degradation, rough bj, slightly dubious consent, office sex, cum-swallowing, cursing.

word count: 4,173

a/n: i wrote this originally back in early 2023 as an au using one of my wattpad original characters. through some editing, i've decided to change the pov and post it here! i hope you enjoy x

feedback and constructive criticism welcome. requests are open!

Copyright © 2024 badomensbaby. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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"Hemmings, get your head out of your ass for once and finish this goddamn deal."

The curly headed blonde's eyes snap away from the project he's currently in the middle of, various folders scattered amongst his desk, drowning him in useless paperwork all for a stupid fucking merger.

"The fuck do you think I'm doing?" Luke grumbles under his breath, snapping the Bolton file shut and tossing his overly expensive fountain pen on top of the mess he's created. Ashton Irwin, one of three named partners, stands with his arms crossed in the doorway of Luke's corner office, an unamused expression on his face.

"I think you're trying to do all this shit on your own instead of utilizing your associate, that's what I think," the honey blonde scoffs, thick brow raising, "Where's Y/N anyway? You send her across town for your stupid coffee again?"

"No," Luke's quick to defend, though it is the easiest way to get you out of his eyesight for a little while and focus, "I've got her on the Mansfield settlement."

"The Mansfield- that's Mike's case, idiot," Ashton shakes his head, "What's the deal, Luke? You really hate Y/N that much?"

A sigh of exhaustion leaves Luke's lips, head cocking back as he stares at the ceiling. "She's just chatty," he says vaguely, "Can't get a single fuckin' thing done 'cause she won't shut up."

"She's your associate, Luke, stop pawning her off on Mike or he'll swipe her out from under you."

"Good," he forces out a low chuckle, meeting the man's eyes, "He can have her."

"Don't say things you don't mean, you know she's one of the best associates we've got." Luke's eyes roll at his boss' words, sitting up straighter in his desk chair.

"Whatever," he mumbles softly, not willing to admit your brain is undeniably better than half the fucking people he's met. "Can I get back to work now?"

A defeated sigh escapes Ash's lips, "If I don't see Y/N in here working with you I'll make sure to send Calum your way."

"Calum?" the curly haired boy's nose wrinkles, shaking his head, "That's like giving me a fucking puppy, Ash, literally useless."

"Your call." he responds, a little smirk on his lips before pulling Luke's office door shut behind him. A groan leaves Luke's throat at this, the urge to rip every last blonde ringlet from his head at the idea of spending the remaining afternoon going over these stupid files with you.

Regardless of the fact that you’re distracting, which he'll never admit aloud, he shoots you a vague text requiring your presence in his office, no more than twenty minutes from now.

And of course, your dainty little wrist began knocking on the dark wooden door of his office precisely twenty-three minutes after he'd sent the text, only fueling his annoyance. A curt "come in" leaves his lips but his eyes remain on the file, instead of the sinful black dress on your curvy frame.

Tasteful and tightly fit, your fingers instinctively tug at the material resting on your mid thigh, a worrisome look on your features. For as long as you can recall, Luke's always teased you about your wardrobe, especially the bright colors and silken skirts.

"You're late," his tone is flat, hand scribbling away at the paperwork he's nearly memorized already, "I swear to god if you say some bullshit about the elevator again-"

Luke's words die in his throat as he lifts his head, eyes landing on the tight fabric on your frame, hugging every fucking dip and curve of your body. You meet eyes, yours widening, worried you’re going to be lectured again. Was your dress too plain, too boring?

The sweetheart neckline alone almost makes Luke lick his lips, stifling the urge to say something far, far more inappropriate to his associate. "Doesn't matter," the blonde rushes out, "We're gonna be here all night. Preorder from Machi's while you're at it."

"Okay," is all you say, walking closer to his desk, the click of your heels echoing Luke's ears as you bend over, just slightly, grabbing his desk phone and beginning to dial.

After nearly four hours and neither had made a miraculous discovery, a whine of agony leaves your throat, sat across the moderately sized office, snapping yet another useless file folder shut. "Luke,"

"What?" he rasps, tearing his eyes away from the file, meeting your eyes, his own filled with annoyance. "Don't tell me you've got nothing, Y/N."

"There's honestly no reason why Bolton should be merging with Daniels," you sigh out, running a hand through your hair, "Seriously, it's like Pampers merging with Microsoft, they have no interest in one another."

"Christ," Luke mutters under his breath, jaw tensing as you continue to ramble useless information, "Do you ever shut up?"

Mid-sentence, your lips snap shut, a warmth spreading across your cheeks. "Sorry," you respond softly, and Luke almost feels bad for being so curt, but god you never close your fucking mouth. "Did you find anything?"

A huff of air leaves Luke's nose, "Maybe," he says, twirling his fountain pen between his fingers, leg bouncing aimlessly as he scans over the documents for the umpteenth time. "But you keep fucking talking and it's throwing me off."

"Sorry."

"Damnit, Y/N," his curls bounce slightly as he shakes his head, rifling a hand through them, glancing over at your position on the small sofa, dress slightly ridden up your smooth thighs. "Come here, let me show you something."

Hesitantly, you toss the file on your lap onto the cushion, standing and making your way over to Luke's desk, oblivious to the fitted material of your dress riding a bit higher than intended. Luke swallows thickly, attempting to keep focus on the file in his hand. As you lean over slightly to see what Luke's underlined, his eyelids fall shut, the smell of your perfume annihilating his senses.

"But that means-" you cut yourself off, lower lip tucked between your teeth, palms flat on the corner of Luke's desk, "This isn't about combining their companies, is it?"

"No," Luke finally says after a moment, slowly blinking his eyes open, "But we need to convince the judge it is."

"That's impossible, Luke, it's clear they're only doing this for-"

"I know, just figure it out, Y/N."

"That'll take all night," you whine softly, "I'm not sleeping in the office two nights in a row." Luke's teeth grit together at your response, frustrated and fed up with your goddamn attitude.

"If you can't do it I'll find someone who can," he cranes his neck to meet your eyes, narrowed and darkened, "You wanna whine about a few more hours be my guest, but you're not doing it here."

"But-"

"Jesus fucking-" he abandons his pen with a thud, rubbing the palms of his hands against his tired eyes, "I seriously have never met someone so goddamn annoying. All you fucking do is whine and complain and talk my fucking ear off," Luke rambles lowly, "You wanted to be an associate, so be a goddamn associate and shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you."

You stand upright, embarrassment washing over your features, attempting to remain composed as tears threaten your eyes. It's not a secret that Luke's always harbored some sort of annoyance toward you, but he's never spoken to you in such a vile manner before. You swallow the thick lump in your throat, fists balled at your sides. How dare he say those things to you?

"You're an asshole," you say, voice wavering slightly, "You're always a dick to everyone. Nobody's ever good enough for you. I wanted to be an associate to learn and do what I love, not be talked to like a child."

"The fuck did you say to me?" Luke counters with a raised brow, ringed fingers slowly rolling up the sleeves of his fitted black dress shirt. "I think you forget who you work for. Not Ashton, not Michael, definitely not Jessica. You work for me, Y/N, and if you want to keep your fucking job I think you owe me a goddamn apology."

Luke's eyes flicker between yours and the hemline of your little black dress, the skin of your thighs soft and tempting as he widens the distance between his legs, splayed open. "Come here," he says, a bit quieter this time, though he's fucking seething internally, he can't deny how fucking hot it is talking down to the you. Hesitantly, you step closer, stomach swirling with uneasiness.

"You don't wanna go through those files? Fine," Luke forces out a low chuckle, "But I've got work to do and I'm not gonna let you get in the way of that. So what you're gonna do is sit right here," he taps on his clothed thigh, "Shut your fucking mouth and make yourself cum on my thigh."

"What-"

"You heard me."

"Luke, I-"

"It wasn't a question, Y/N. And so help me god if you complain or make a fucking sound you're more than welcome to leave."

For the first time, you’re speechless. Standing so close to the man you swear hates you with every fiber of his being, asking you to make yourself cum on his thigh, you can't help the clench of your own thighs at the thought. Sure, you’ve had those kinds of thoughts about the tall blonde, but never did you imagine his request.

"So? What'll it be?" Luke asks impatiently, a thick brow raised as he grabs his pen, clicking it profusely, leaning back in his chair.

Wordlessly, and swallowing your pride, you step closer, slowly lifting your leg over the blonde's thigh, his foot firmly planted on the small rug beneath him. His eyes almost widen, as if he didn't expect you to comply, and he stifles a grunt when your warm center meets the fabric of his slacks. He can feel how fucking wet you are through the thin material of your underwear, your dress sliding a bit further up your thighs, almost exposing yourself to him.

"Alright then," Luke clears his throat, leaning forward slightly to grab the Bolton file, relaxing in his desk chair. "Get to it."

With her heart rattling in her chest, you grasp the armrest of Luke's chair to ground yourself, filled to the brim with shame. Are you really going to do this? You can still back out, you don't need to show Luke how pathetic you are, fucking leaking on his slacks just from his crude words. You don't even register the rock of your hips against his thigh until a soft moan slips from your lips, catching Luke's attention, his eyes briefly flickering to you.

And fuck is it hot. Your eyes slowly flutter shut as your hips roll in slow motions, the friction from the fabric forgotten, sensitive clit throbbing from your movements. Luke's jaw tenses, tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight, his cock twitching in his slacks.

Shame and embarrassment are out the window as you near your first orgasm, the explicit images of things you’ve only dreamt of unfolding behind your eyelids. You can only fucking imagine how Luke's fingers would feel inside you, the things he'd say as he's bottoming out inside of your tight heat. And it's suddenly overwhelming as you clench pathetically, throbbing against his thigh and your own legs shaking as you finish. "Fuck-"

Luke's eyes widen, biting hard at the inside of his cheek to keep his composure, the sound of you falling apart on his thigh sending a jolt straight to his aching cock. He wants nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck the daylights out of you until you’re drooling and forgetting your own goddamn name.

Reality comes crashing down as your orgasm passes, ragged breaths leaving your parted lips. Did you really just make yourself cum on your boss' thigh? "Luke-"

"Do it again."

"What?" You ask breathlessly, straightening your back, "You- you want me to do it again?"

"What did I say about shutting that pretty mouth of yours, Y/N? If I tell you to do something, do it," he scoffs, acting as though the sight of you cumming didn't turn him on even more, "If you're pathetic enough to do it once I'm sure you'll have no problem doing it again."

Your sensitive clit throbs helplessly as you swallow, white-knuckling the armrest and rocking your hips yet again. The swollen nub continuously brushing Luke's slacks has you choking down whimpers and whines, fearful of Luke's reaction to you making noise. Though, the idea of what he'll do if you don't comply lingers in your hazy mind.

The intermittent bounce of Luke's leg isn't doing you any favors either, little uh uh's leaving your parted lips.

You’re fucking drenched, the thin fabric of your lace underwear doing nothing to keep your arousal from coating Luke's thigh as you roll and rock your hips a bit quicker, your second orgasm creeping up on you, your head tossing back when a low, drawn-out whine leaves your lips, cumming for the second time like a pathetic whore.

And Luke fucking loves every goddamn second of it.

Attempting to calm yourself down from your release, thighs still trembling, Luke tosses the file onto his desk. He hadn't read a damn word of it anyway, not when you’re grinding your pretty little cunt against his thigh like a slut.

Suddenly embarrassed, your cheeks flush a deep crimson shade as you realize what you’ve done. You’ve soaked the fabric of Luke's slacks with your release, your own goddamn boss. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't say another word," he firmly cuts you off, "Get on your fucking knees."

"Why-"

"I'm honestly so fucking tired of listening to you, Y/N," Luke's tone lowers, a scoff leaving his lips, watching as you scramble to the floor. "Gonna shut you up, make good use of that stupid fucking mouth of yours."

Catching sight of the wet patch on his slacks, he nearly groans, ringed fingers fumbling with his belt buckle in record time, desperate for the release of his achingly hard cock. You seem to catch on, widened doey eyes flickering up to Luke's, your hands neatly folded in your lap. Luke pulls his slacks down just enough to allow his length to be exposed, not wanting to show an ounce of vulnerability to you. You don't deserve a sweet intimate moment, you deserve to be fucking ruined.

"Open your mouth," he grunts, hissing as he grasps the base of his cock, your lips parting slowly, the blonde stepping forward and guiding the tip past your lips. "Wanna see you choke on my cock."

He doesn't give you a moment to register his words before he's thrusting fully into your mouth, tip poking the back of your throat and a choking sound emitting from your lips. You scramble to grasp at the backs of his thighs to keep yourself steady. The sight of your sparkly lipgloss coating his cock is so fucking intoxicating and he wonders why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

Using his hands to grasp your hair quite roughly, he continues to fuck into your mouth at a degrading pace, not allowing you to adjust to the forceful movements. Choking and gagging sounds fill the otherwise quiet room, spit dribbling from your lips. "Yeah, you like choking on my cock, Y/N? So much better than hearing you fuckin' talk."

Your nails dig into the fabric of his pants, a grunt leaving Luke's lips as his hips continue thrusting his cock into your mouth. You can barely take all of him, the base nearly untouched. "All you're fuckin' good for, hm?"

And suddenly he's removing himself from your mouth, chest heaving from how fucking wrecked you already look, the small tears pooling your waterline smudging the mascara you'd put on. "As much as I wanna watch you swallow for me," he heaves out, "I wanna feel that pretty fuckin' pussy of yours."

A pathetic whimper leaves your lips, clenching around nothing as you remain on your knees before him, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips and the reddened, aching tip of Luke's cock. "You want me inside you?" he asks.

You have no words, honestly, the burn left behind in your throat from Luke's forceful thrusts halts you from speaking. Instead, you nod. "No, I want to hear you fuckin' say it, Y/N. I'm not an asshole."

"Yes," you weakly respond, "I want you."

"Good. Take that fuckin' dress off while you're at it."

Your shaky and frail fingers grasp the hemline of your dress hesitantly, eyes flickering between his leaking cock and his firm gaze, pulling the fitted material over your head and tossing it aside. Now sat in nothing but a pair of soaked, white lace panties and your heels, Luke's eyes fall on your bare breasts. "So fuckin' pretty."

"Luke-" you whimper quietly.

"Shut up," his hands reach beneath your arms, pulling you to your feet. Luke reaches around you, large hand swiping the array of documents off of his desk, sending them to the floor with a thud. You release a soft gasp when your bare backside meets the cool wooden desk, "Can't say I've never thought about this."

Luke's hands fall to your hips, gripping the skin roughly, and guiding you down until your back is flush with the desk, legs spread pathetically, displaying your clothed core to him. "God, you're so fucking soaked it's pathetic," he laughs lowly, shaking his head, and trailing a finger along the dampened material, coated in your previous orgasms and current arousal. He sends a soft smack with the back of his hand to your swollen clit, causing a whimper to leave your lips. "You'll let me have you any way I want, huh?"

"Luke-"

"Don't talk, I already know the answer," he raises your legs so your heels are resting on the edge of the desk, fingers ghosting the inside of your thighs teasingly, "Because here you are, spread out on my fucking desk like the whore you are."

"Please-"

"God, you just can't listen, huh?" his hands retreat from your skin, fumbling with his necktie, folding it into a neat little square. "I said I don't wanna hear you, Y/N." leaning over you, the tip of his cock pressing against your clothed core, he forces the folded tie between your lips, gagging you. "There, much better."

Luke works quickly to pull the pathetic excuse for underwear down your legs, tossing them alongside your dress on the floor. His cock twitches at the sight of you, fucking glistening and leaking just for him. He trails two fingers up your wetness, slicking his cock with your arousal, and prodding the tip against you. "Look at me," he says, hovering over you, hands on either side of your head. Hesitantly, you meet his eyes, your own widening, "Wanna watch you take my fucking cock."

You look so fucking pretty all gagged up for him. Running his tongue along his lower lip, he roughly juts his hips forward, instantly bottoming out and a muffled scream leaves your lips at the stretch. The tears that brimmed your eyes previously begin to fall, feeling so full, "Fuck," he hums lowly.

He rocks his hips a few times, watching as your eyes practically roll back into your head. And god does that make him so fucking proud, staring at you as drool slowly dribbles from yourr lips. He halts, roughly tugging the tie from your mouth, fingers gathering the spit and shoving it between your lips. "Don't be messy," he tuts, before placing the tie back, "Already fuckin' droolin' like a whore and I'm barely getting started."

Luke retracts his cock, hands grasping at your hips and flipping your body, the sound of your stomach colliding with the wooden desk echoing through the room. "I don't wanna look at you," he says, palming the skin of your backside before smacking the smooth flesh. He realigns himself with your entrance, one hand splayed on your bare back to hold you in place.

Roughly thrusting inside once again, the moans and muffled choked sobs barely reach Luke's ears, too fucking entranced by the feeling of your tight little cunt taking him so well. "This," he rocks his hips forcefully, "Is fuckin' mine. Anytime I goddamn want it, you're gonna give it to me."

You scramble to grab the opposite edge of Luke's desk, white knuckling it as he forcefully pounds into you, so fucking deep and quick you can barely breathe. "Such a tight fuckin' cunt," he groans, fingernails scraping along your back, "Taking my cock like a good fuckin' slut."

Instinctively you clench around him, eliciting a deep borderline growl from Luke's throat, hand previously raking down your back finding your hair, fisting the strands between his fingers and yanking you backwards until you’re halfway to his chest. You rest your palms flat on the desk, eyes pinched shut in pleasure while he continues fucking into you at an unruly pace.

"Clench again for me," he moans out, feeling the muscles in his stomach tighten, his orgasm slowly beginning to build. You comply, your thighs trembling, clenching as hard as you can. "Fuckin' god," Luke tosses his head back, eyelids fluttering shut in pure bliss.

You choke out another moan around the tie in your mouth, unable to warn the blonde of your third orgasm that's quickly approaching as he continuously pokes the perfect spot so fucking deep inside you’re nearly a drooling mess. The hand not entangled in your hair grips one of your breasts roughly, sending you over the edge in a series of muffled cries. Tears stream down your cheeks, cunt tightening around Luke yet again, the blonde hissing as he feels your release coat his cock, the slick sound of his thrusts growing louder.

"Fuckin' milkin' my cock like a whore," he spits out, grip tightening on your hair as he pulls you closer, thrusting into you impossibly harder. You can't fucking think, you’re a dizzy mess and can hardly form a thought. You can't even feel the drool pooling from the edges of your lips. "Gonna fill up that sweet little cunt of yours and make you mine."

Luke pulls you flush to his chest, your head lolling against his shoulder. Though he isn't one for kissing, he doesn't hesitate to graze his teeth against your exposed neck, sinking them into the supple flesh as his hips begin to stutter, groaning against your neck as he releases inside. You wince at the rough bite on your neck but you’re too spent to care, leaning fully against him as he rocks through his orgasm.

You’re in a daze when he pulls out of you, nearly falling against the desk, the blonde quickly reaching for you to keep you upright. Though he's smug and feeling overly satisfied for ruining you, a swirl in his stomach tells him he needs to make sure you’re alright. He pulls the tie from your mouth, not commenting on the drool spilled from your lips. "Y'okay?"

You can't fucking speak.

Luke's brows furrow with worry, hand delicately grasping your jaw and searching your hazy eyes. Pupils blown out just like his, fresh tears lingering on your cheeks. "Oh, baby," the pet name falls from his lips effortlessly, "C'mon."

Tucking his softening cock into his pants and guiding you away from his desk and towards the couch, he plucks your heels from your feet. Though he'd never in a million years consider aftercare, he's stripping his button down from his broadened frame and slipping your arms inside, buttoning it to cover your exposed body. "Luke," you toss your head back onto the plush couch.

"Hm?" he hums softly.

"I need to- need to clean up," you rasp quietly, a hint of a blush on your cheeks, head reeling from the soreness between your thighs.

"That's what m'here for," he coos sweetly, though the smirk of his lips has you swallowing thickly. His ringed hands trail along your warm and flushed skin, parting your trembling thighs, the sight of his release slowly dribbling out of your sweet cunt nearly has his cock stiffening in his slacks again. "Mm, such a pretty wrecked little pussy."

A gasp leaves your lips as he leans forward, nose brushing your lower stomach, tongue gathering his cum from your sensitive folds. Lapping up every fucking drop, Luke straightens himself out, reaching a hand towards your swollen lips and parting them with his thumb. You’re beyond confused as he tightly grips your jaw, before spitting the contents into your own mouth. Swiping any remnants from his own lips, he narrows his eyes. "Fuckin' swallow."

Clasping your pretty lips shut, you comply, feeling a stir in your stomach when your eyes meet, and swallow.

"My good fuckin' girl."

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Sorry this took so long. I moved city and pretty much have a new life. Still obsessed with Rust, though, so some shit sticks

Warnings: 18+, talk of war, alcohol, drugs, sex work, talks of past domestic violence, smut, just genuine misery between the two of them

America venerates suffering, that's what Travis had always told Rust. Sacrifice isn't pure if it isn't coated in a blood so red and so hot that your family can smear over their words, for centuries to come, excusing their comfort, their indulgence, their ignorance. They are afforded that comfort off of slaughter beyond their imagining. At least, that's what had happened after 'nam. A hero for his fucking country was the propaganda they had fed Travis; squash the bug of communism and, along with it, massacre millions of innocents, because what is America without its sons who are willing to fight for it.? Yeah, a fucking hero for a father, who's night terrors kept both of them up at night and who kept his engraved lighter saying High Speed Low Drag in his hunting jacket, always. That same lighter that Rust had used to light his first cigarette: rolled up flimsily in newspaper with the leftover tobacco and tufts of filter that he'd scraped from Travis' cigarette butts. The same lighter that Cassandra is now using to light her Marlboro Gold, hands shaking,

'Rust. That's all I get, huh? Not even a fucking surname?!' she spits, through a shaky exhale.

'I ain't gonna give you my surname. The less you know about me, the better,' Rust says back, his stoic demeanour attempting to mask that churning in his stomach. One that he has realised isn't for him but for Cassandra.

'Is Rust even your actual name?'

'You want a fuckin' social security number, too?' Rust drawls dryly.

'Don't you-Don't,' Cassandra's head shoots up from where it's been in her hands, her shaking tone now gaining a momentum of uncontrollable anger, 'Jesus-fuck. You men are all the fucking same. I-I ain't staying in this fucking place, anymore. Fuck it, fuck you, fuck every goddamn person in this wasteland of a place!'

Rust regards her with an even look,

'You ain't going anywhere. Not tonight. You ain't in the right state.'

'You ain't my daddy, motherfucker.'

'Goddamn right, I ain't but I'm also the only person you have who doesn't want to take advantage of you. So, hedge your bets tomorrow, baby, but tonight you're stayin' here,' Rust's voice is lapidary, stopping Cassandra in her tracks as she starts to shove clothes and books into her duffel bag.

'I said: you ain't my daddy and you sure as hell ain't keeping me in a place where I don't want to be,' Cassandra says in a tone equally as gelid, throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. That elegant, fine-boned shoulder tinged with its bronzed hue; some of the love bites that Rust had left a few nights ago decorating Cassandra's collarbone. Rust fears that the sentiment festering under his skin is nostalgia. A nostalgia that scares him and, then, makes him cruel,

'No, Cassandra. I ain't your daddy cause all he did for you was get heavy handed with you and cut you up with his empty liquor bottles when he really wanted to teach you about mouthin' off at him.'

The colour drains from Cassandra's face,

'How the fuck do you know about that?' a sudden spark of spite reaches her as she sneers, 'Pull my file in your spare time, huh?'

Rust grabs her arm and yanks up her tank top, ignoring her yelp. He nods to the fine, white line along her ribcage,

'I ain't a fuckin' idiot, Cassandra. Skateboardin' fall, my ass,' Rust snarls, holding her ribcage with a calloused hand. Cassandra viciously claws at his hand, tears threatening to spill from her eyes,

'Get off! Get the fuck off!' and Rusts lets her go cause in that moment, the smooth, sultry cadence made slightly husky from after-sex cigarettes reverts back to the pleading of a little girl. Cassandra's words are devoid of any real bite, Rust notes. All that rage has been stripped away and all that she is left with is the panic of a little girl's voice turning into burning sobs in her throat; the stale cookies in her stomach turning sour from terror. There's that wide eyed looked, too. He can see it as Cassandra hastily covers herself back up and rearranges the duffel bag back onto her shoulder.

'Fuck you, Rust,' she says his name like it's a poison that she needs to spit from her mouth before it corrodes the flesh into a pulpy mess. Corrosion. Rust. That's what he is, it's what he does because sometimes corrosion is needed to get to the bone of things; to see what everyone else in too caught up in their delusions or affectations about fucking Natural Law to truly comprehend.

'Don't you fu-Cassandra!' Rust's voice boils up from his chest in a rough bark, watching Cassandra explode out of the trailer door, almost stumble down the rusted metal steps and collapse into the red dirt. He thinks he can't get any angrier until he realises that she's pocketed the keys to his Harley, on her way out, and sees her bolt over to where it's parked, behind the trailer. A cloud of dust rises up as the bike rumbles out of neutral and Cassandra desperately revs on the accelerator; her legs hardly off of the ground before the Harley tears away. In other circumstances, the dramatics of the exit would have made Rust scoff and chalk it up to youth's thirst for impact: the flurry of a scene. Not now. Not when this kid is tearing down a highway in a bike that doesn't have enough gas to make it to Liberty, let alone wherever the fuck Cassandra thinks she's headed. A kid, Rust thinks, A fuckin' kid that I've pulled into the abyss with me. Rust calls her a kid now but knows that when he finds her, he'll treat her like she's grown. A sentiment that propels him into his truck, cursing to himself as the engine splutters.

It doesn't take long to track Cassandra down; there's only one road from the trailer park that lead to the freeway. No doubt, where Cassandra is headed to. Ride fast and hard, and get the fuck out when the heat starts to sting: the classic cocktail of self-preservation cooked up by kids who've already been burned. There are too many of them down here, below that Mason-Dixie line. Rust would know. Fuck, if he hasn't spent his entire career on the force witnessing the aftermath. Drugs, abuses, assaults, homicides: you name it. The abuser becomes the abused; Nietzsche's infinite return has those poor kids falling flat on their faces into the nice shit storm of generational maladjustments that their parents left for them. Shattered dreams, skin sucked dry from mosquitos, teeth black and rotting from sweet tea, underneath that sticky southern sun. Rust wants to believe that it's an innate sense of duty towards these kids is why he's currently violating every Highway Code there is. And for part of him, it is. The other part, however, won't allow himself the comfort of what he knows is a lie. What started as pure sex appeal has started to morph into something deeper, messier.

The bike has even less gas than he thought as, the first Texaco that he sees, has Cassandra next to the pumps trying to wrench open the bike's gas lock. She wants to be caught, Rust knows, Wants me to chase after her, show her I give a shit. If she didn't, she would've gotten a hell of a lot more reckless. He watches her, almost with pity, as her pulls into the gas station and slows the truck to a halt, the breaks groaning with their lack of galvanisation. Rust shoves the car door open, his leather boots landing heavily on tepid asphalt,

'Get your ass over here,' his voice rough, as he strides over to Cassandra.

'I told you to get the fuck away from me,' she whips around, her fury making her abandon her previous task.

'Get in the fuckin' truck, Cassandra. I ain't doing the whole scorned boyfriend act for these nosey fuckers,' Rust deadpans, his ice blue gaze conveying to her just how fucking pissed he is.

'Did you hear me, motherfucker? I said to go back to your junkie biker brothers, find some hooker so that you can fuck out your half-baked emotional needs and leave me the hell alone,' Cassandra says with such venom dripping from her mouth that she almost fully means it; warm milk out of hand, she resorts to spite. Not fully, though: Rust can see the tears glazing her eyes and that's enough for him. A firm hand comes to grasp Cassandra's arm and put her in what is practically a headlock as Rust drags her to the truck. Cassandra's duffel bag slips off of her shoulder as Rust holds her firmly against his chest, bicep right up against the column of her throat. Some old man up from his pump, spit collecting at the corners of his mouth as he calls over,

'Everything alright over there?' Not from the area, Rust notes. Not solely due to the licence plate and milky arms but the slight wariness of his expression. A man unacquainted with the imperatives that the arrid terrain commands. The violence. Cassandra takes it upon herself to drop the unwanted attention as she chokes out,

'They don't teach you to mind your own fucking business in Iowa?!' the rage in her voice stemming from a deep humiliation in how she must look, Rust's arm tight against her neck. Rust takes in the man's mortification and grits into her ear,

'Shut the fuck up.'

He opens the truck door and shoves her in, slamming the door and heading over to the driver's side to catch her as she climbs out. Rust concedes her a heavy slap to the face before getting in, essentially crowding her back to the passenger's side. As he starts the ignition and pulls out of the gas station, Cassandra is eerily quiet, tears leaving hot tracks of salt and mascara on her cheeks. Rust debates on whether it's shame at getting caught or just pure desolation at, once again, finding herself completely fucked over, until he feels his jeans' waistband go slack. He feels the air hit that sweaty patch of back where the barrel of his .38 S&W was pressed and licks the inside of his cheek in an almost smirk. There she is, Rust thinks, knowing full well Cassandra's loathing of acquiescence as she points the gun at his temple, sweat curling his caramel hairs.

'Pull over or, I swear to God, I'll put your brains all over your goddamn car windows,' Cassandra's voice is firm but Rust sees her fingers trembling. Red. Her nails are lacquered the same colour as a Shirley Temple, poised on cool gun metal of the safety.

'You don't want to shoot me, Cass,' Rust says, his tone flat.

'Oh, I don't?' Cassandra scoffs.

'Nah, you wanna make a fuckin' scene so that I'll burst into tears and beg for your fuckin' forgiveness or some shit. That ain't gonna work on me, baby. I'm around too many pussies who ain't man enough to pull a fuckin' trigger, as it is. I can tell when someone's bluffin'. And you, Cass, I can sure as hell tell when you're bluffin'.'

'How are you so sure?'

Rust looks at a small trail leading off of the main road before sparing a sideways glance,

'That gun ain't even cocked.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes and pulls the hammer back,

'Happy?'

Rust steers the truck off of the road, onto the rocky country road, before stopping and turning to her,

'You wanna go? Go.'

Cassandra's gaze falters before she contrives it into that practiced indifference,

'You're kicking me out?' she says, her voice so fragile that Rust almost feels bad for putting her in this situation but tough shit: wisdom comes hard.

'Nah, just callin' your bluff. You got 30 seconds to go, if you want to,' Rust says, not even facing her but staring straight out ahead.

Cassandra stares at him, lowering the gun, and looks around helplessly. The tears come back, not when she looks at Rust's stony expression or the destitute surroundings, but when she looks at her duffel bag. All her life fitting into some beat up gym bag and, now, she's about to throw away the one thing that can protect her. A gun isn't shit compared to his hand on her ass and his fingerprints bruising her thighs; not to these fucking animals. Rust gives her the mercy of two minutes of silence before speaking,

'You ain't movin',' he says more as a statement than a question.

'Don't mock me,' Cassandra murmurs out.

'I ain't mockin' you.'

'You know that I ain't gonna go. I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to.'

'You can and you will, eventually.'

'I ain't sure, Cra-Rust. You ain't either.'

'Use Crash. I don't need you gettin' confused and fuckin' this up,' Rust says, gruffly.

'You sure that's it?'

'Am I sure 'what's' it?' irritation starting to creep into his tone.

'That the reason you don't want me using your real name is cause I'll jeopardise your cover.'

'I thought you were smarter than that, Cass.'

'What the fuck's that supposed to mean?' Cassandra suddenly straightens, her voice hard but still slightly tremulous.

'I thought you were smarter than to get your emotions mixed up with what is gonna keep your ass outta the crossfire.'

It's a low blow but it hits home. Cassandra looks down at her scraped knees, gravel and raw skin, before looking up again; her voice now a whisper,

'Do you feel sorry for me?'

Rust clenches his jaw, the simple juvenility of the question making him feel sick. He knows neither of them will be able to bear whatever tidal wave of sentiment is about to breach their carefully instated distance. The partial revelation of his true identity has already been more of an unmasking than he can stomach; especially to someone he cares so deeply for as Cassandra. Her knowledge of 'Rust' throws whatever the fuck they are doing with each other into something that goes beyond sex and protection, and Rust can begin to feel everything veering off track. He won't allow her to expose herself to him like this, not when he's already emotionally fucked her over so much, today. So, Rust finally turns to her and says,

'Take off your top.'

Cassandra falters, her voice still that hoarse whisper as she ask,

'What?'

Rust wills himself to turn his pity into scorn,

'Did I fuckin' stutter? Take off your top. Those shorts, too,' he says, his tone unnervingly even and made rough from his Camels. Cassandra stares at him for a moment before indulging him: shirt discarded first before she lifts her hips and awkwardly shimmies out of them. Rust notices her holding her side, her hand cradling the scar; something she's never really done until now. Not until Rust had forced her shame into the searing white light of recognition. He knows what Cassandra must be thinking, grouping him into that homogenous, male blob of ill-intent: her next job, her next dance, her next humiliation. He tries to pretend that it doesn't slightly tear him the fuck up when she looks at him with those eyes, now cold.

'What now?' Cassandra asks, sitting up with her spine long and upright, shoulders terse.

Rust pats his lap,

'Come here.'

'Rust, I-'

'I ain't ever remember sayin' you could call me Rust, Cass,' he says harshly, completely disregarding whatever appeal Cassandra's about to make over how to treat her. Pretty words that don't mean shit to Rust nor to this godforsaken part of the country. A place where women bring guns in their purses to hookups and there are wards for the babies born hooked onto opioids, has no use for floral, storybook sex. Here, it's fast and it's hard and it's painful and it's often paid for. Cassandra knows this type of sex, or rather its corruption. So, she shuts up and sits in Rust's lap; swallowing the bitter pill of docility.

'Move 'em to the side,' Rust taps the waistband of her panties with his knuckles. For a moment, a light tinge comes across Cassandra's collarbones at the crassness of the act. She hooks her fingers into the waistband, moving to pull them down, before Rust grabs her wrist,

'I say to take 'em off, Cass?'

'No,' Cassandra murmurs, trying to asses if Rust is pissed beyond belief or on some pretty loopy downers.

'So, you can hear me. I was thinkin' otherwise, given some of the shit you've managed to pull,' that dangerous mix of anger and worry begins to seep into Rust's tone. He can feel her wet heat through the lace of her panties; almost disappointed that she can get turned on by this shit. Old habits die hard, Rust thinks, lighting a cigarette and leaning back into his seat,

'Undo my belt.'

Cassandra stares at him, holding unflinching eye contact as she unbuckles him and unzips his fly. It's like a game of fucking chicken: which of them is willing to degrade the other more, for the sake of self-preservation. Rust exhales a slow stream of smoke watching Cassandra's thighs tremble from the exertion of holding her position. He quirks an eyebrow,

'You gonna tap out on me, baby?'

'No.'

'You wanted this shit that bad, didn't you, Cass?' Rust says, the forcefulness in his tone coming out of the pit in his stomach when he thinks what he's done to her.

'I did. I wanted this shit. Don't paint me out to be some dumbass little girl who opened her legs to the first man who reminded her of her daddy. That ain't what this is. I'm tougher than that, you know I am,' her voice starting to tremble again. Her hands absentmindedly wrapped around her midsection., as if to protect herself from the next laceration.

'You want it? Then move those fuckin' panties to the side.'

Cassandra stares at Rust with that fucking stupid bravado of rapacity, before gripping the crotch of them to the side; the tepid truck air mixing with the heady scent of her arousal and Rust's cigarette smoke,

'Go on. Fuck me like a man.'

Rust looks up at her while he pulls down his boxers, before grabbing her bruised hips and slamming her onto him. Not giving a fuck about the sharp, shuddering inhale. The lamb must learn to run with the wolves and Cassandra is far from a lamb. Especially as she is now, gulping down her whimpers of pain, desperately rocking her hips against his coarse hair to stimulate her little nub. She buries her head into the crook of his neck, nose rubbing against his jugular as Rust lands a firm slap on her ass,

'Don't get sentimental on me now, Cass,' he manages to grit out, feeling her arousal literally drip down him, 'Fuck am I gonna do with a weak lil' thing, huh?'

Cassandra tries to nod, her eyes squeezed shut and her groans muffled into the leather of Rust's jacket. Rust wraps his arms around her, holding her in a vice grip for the third time today, all of which have been some form of degradation or excavation of the dirty, nasty shit that Cassandra keeps hidden under sultry, bedroom eyes and that cutthroat tongue. At least this time, the aggression of the act is more tangible; neither of them are allowed any delusions. Not with how Cassandra's spit smears against Rust's stubble when he fucks into her especially hard or the cutting of taught lace on her hipbone or Rust's still lit cigarette burning dangerously close to Cassandra's dark waves. Apt symbolism, Rust thinks, as she angles her head to inhale from the tip; eyes starting to roll slightly at the mixture of in adverted friction of her bundle of nerves, and Rust's angry, frantic pace. She turns to look him right, as she leans her head in him, exhaling the smoke right into his mouth. Rust catches some powdery grey wisps, shoving Cassandra down once more onto him. As she groans, her hands never loosening, Rust leans in to mutter into her ear,

'You never fuckin' learn. Do you, baby?'

[willowser-but-nsfw]

this is just. a mess. of sad boy katsuki LOL angsty. not meant to be a sad ending. on this account because i will probably do a little more with it.

"alright, jus' sayin',"

katsuki looks up from the label of his beer, how it's peeling back from the glass with all his anxious fiddling, only to fix kaminari with a heated glare that has the blonde raising his hands in surrender.

"between me and you, she thinks you're not interested."

—and his stomach drops. considerably.

this entire night has been a bust, just as he knew it would be, and if he wasn't so sure that walking out would ruin any and all chances with you then he'd be long gone. filing himself down into something likeable has never been katsuki's strong suit; there's a wicked resentment the size of a wild little blonde boy, one that thrives on being as stubborn as possible in times like these.

kaminari whispers loudly, concealing nothing within the hand he cups around his lips. "you gotta make your move, dude!"

and if the doors to the women's restroom hadn't swung open at that exact moment, then there would have been only tatters left of the sparky little shit. katsuki leans back in their shared booth, wiping the threat of his hands off on his pants before tucking into his shoulder; what little bit of alcohol is in his system already has his face hot, and kaminari's subtlety is only furthering his flush.

it's hell, how aware of you he is.

before moving to acknowledge your return, already he can smell that you've reapplied your perfume—something spicy and dark that has his stomach tightening with a desire he doesn't know what to do with—and upon looking at you, all your features are sharper, brighter. remade, maybe, and the dreary tone of his thoughts has him wondering if he's caused the need, that had you wiping tears from your face because he's a fucking idiot.

you look — katsuki doesn't know the words, because they're too fragile and light for his vocabulary, too soft for his bite, for someone like him to hold; the only comparison he can make is to a dream, how you look in all of his.

but still — he finds himself leaning back into the corner, averting his eyes back down to the wood grain as he traces patternless shapes into the table. the heat of your attention makes his cheeks burn and his stomach flux; isn't it obvious, how nervous you make him? katsuki's sure you must be able to see right through the passive facade he's been trying to front all night. that he's been trying to keep up since he met you.

the blue light of your phone glows in his peripheral vision and when he dares a peek, your lips are in a thin line, withdrawn, before you look up to stare at jirou across the table — who just so happens to receive a chiming notification.

talking about him, most likely. how fucking bad he is at this, which is why he never should have agreed to coming out in the first fucking place. should have just kept his interest in you to himself, all in his head where you were safe and out of reach.

"i'm ready to go." ears says it while openly glaring at him, not softening her attitude in the slightest. denki shrinks, eyes jumping to the ceiling as he loudly slurps on his frilly drink. "do you think you can handle getting your date home, bakugou?"

it sounds an awful lot like a challenge and his jaw locks, nostrils flaring as he withholds from flipping the whole table on her. if it weren't for you being in his way, at the end of the booth, he'd be long fucking gone—

"oh, no, that's okay," your voice is soft when you speak up. defeated, almost, and all his annoyance fizzles out at the absence of a smile on your face. "the train station isn't far. don't worry about it."

and that sounds like doubt, so he grits out, "i can handle it," teeth grinding when ears rolls her eyes. something gets mumbled under her breath and denki pales and you take enough of a hint to step out of the booth, eyes on the ground as he shuffles past.

it's not until everyone is outside that you even say anything, hugging jirou too long, whispering in a too-low tone meant just for her. whatever it is earns you a sympathy that makes your eyes shine, and katsuki has to turn away before all the yeast and sugar brewing in his stomach comes back up. if he's made you fucking cry, then he'll never—

"sorry that we dragged you out," you've caught up quicker than he expected and finally, finally, you smile at him — but it's dim, and katsuki knows it's due to more than just a busted streetlamp. looks twice as heavy as it was when you first spotted him tonight, going so far as to leave your seat in order to meet him at the door, only to have him shy away from the hug you'd tried to offer.

a car blows by with the wind and katsuki feels the hands of time ticking away from him; how many nights has he laid awake, wondering what it would feel like to have you? just to touch, just to hold. all for himself.

and now he's fucking up his only chance.

what he should tell you is that he's been looking forward to this night all week, that he spent way too long picking out his clothes and fucking with his hair, that he even broke into whatever designer-brand cologne his old man got him last christmas.

but instead he shrugs, stares at the snow flurries collecting on your shoulder and mumbles, "wouldn't have come if i didn't wanna."

it's not the answer either of you were looking for, but it placates you some, enough that the smile on your face lifts with sincerity. katsuki loses himself in its curve and the apple of your cheeks, how cozy you look all bundled up for the winter; his stomach drops, hard, at the inescapable fact of just — how pretty you are, looking at him like that. intrigued, even after the failure tonight has been.

the hope in his chest thins out and he's taken back to your first meeting, at some show of ears'; intrigued then, too, but you were blind to the ugliness of his insecurities, his indecision. back then you didn't know that it would be like this, that he wouldn't be able to open himself up even a little fucking bit—

"i'm really glad you did," you say, raw and unafraid. "i like spending time with you, y'know?"

and what katsuki should say is that he likes spending time with you, too. enjoyed it since that first night, sitting far down the table from you, snickering to himself at the sharp-witted sarcasm sparkplug was constantly on the receiving end of. funny is a trait he doesn't find often, not in just anybody, and you're loved by the people closest to him and you don't know who he is or who he was and it's like a new beginning; katsuki can be whoever he wants to be, with you, and not just the worn remnants of an angry, vengeful child soldier and yet he's just — fucking it up.

"sorry," you laugh once to break the silence that's found its way back to the two of you, twisting your lips to one side so that the corners won't fall. "ah, i'm being so weird, huh? sorry."

"no, you—" his teeth grind as he thinks, hurried, though it seems like the harder he searches for the words, the faster they slip away. "it's—"

"i keep telling kyouka that she definitely read this wrong," the soles of your shoes scratch across the sidewalk and he thinks you've finally decided to abandon him, but you're just staring up at the high-rise buildings of downtown. blinking heavy, anywhere but here. "maybe now she'll finally get off my case about this."

this: him and his inability, his unwavering fear of coming up short. it's been a long time since he's had to meet someone new, had to hook them and keep them. all the shits in his inner circle planted themselves there against his will; katsuki doesn't know how to try, because he's never had to, not at this. there are very — very — few people whose approval he's ever needed, and wanting for it has never been anything short of painful.

it's okay, he tells himself — but it's toshinori's voice that echoes. it's okay to let people in.

another car goes by, another minute wasted; katsuki grunts, digging his fingers into his eyelids before frowning at you. at the zipper on your jacket, so he doesn't have to witness your disappointment any longer. "'s'why they need to stay the hell out of my business." his discomfort dissolves into irritation and makes itself known in his voice and in his scowl, the way everything does. "then shit like this wouldn't have to fuckin'—"

"it's okay, bakugou, really." you offer a wooden smile, the kind you have to hang up with nails. "you should head home, i don't want to keep you out any longer."

"i already told you i wouldn't—" the edge of his temper flares, reins coming loose. "if i didn't wanna be here, then—"

"seriously," you interrupt, "i'm a big girl, it's fine if you're not interested."

"that's not—" the snap of his teeth rattles his jaw, a muzzle over a wild animal; the bakugou he doesn't want you to meet is making his way out, ill-tempered and too sensitive for his own good. "there's no—fuck. look, i ain't stupid enough to believe that dunce face doesn't tell his little girlfriend every goddamn thing i say about you, so no, ears didn't read shit wrong."

(but maybe this is the only way to get the words out.)

katsuki sighs and steps back, inhaling the harsh december air until his lungs hurt. it's the most he's spoken all night and it's become the hardest thing he's had to say. "i just—don't—fuckin' know."

how to fix this. how to keep you. how to let the cracks in his foundation spread, until they're wide enough to slip past.

quietly, you nod, as if you could possibly understand the disaster of him. as if maybe you'd want to. headlights shine in the city-sheen of your eyes and his heart throbs, literally; how many times has he stared into nothing, wishing to know what it felt like to have you look at him like he was something more than he is? something better?

"what is it you don't know about?"

what he wants. how this will end. the depth this scar will wear into him. and— "you."

finally, finally, you smile at him again and it's as soft as you are warm. as safe as you are terrifying.

"do you want to? know about me?"

and what he should say is yes. what he wants to say is teach him, please, because if he has to go another night wondering if he really is better off behind his walls, he'll crumble. collapse back into himself. if he keeps looking at you as the battle and not the victory, then he'll never survive.

—but instead another car passes, and only silence follows in its wake.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Breakfast in Bed

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Soap x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, language, married couple, flirting, a bit of smut, kissing/making out, groping, fingering, P in V, licking, biting, aftercare

𖤐Summary: Soap wants to be a good husband to his wife Y/n, and decided to make her some breakfast in bed.

—————

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4:00AM

Soap woke up before the sun, he looked up at the ceiling and saw the streetlamps hitting against the ceiling. He sits up and leans against the headboard of the bed.

He looks to his left seeing his sleeping wife. He saw her sleeping face, she looked happy, comfortable and so sound. He smiles at her and slides down and kissed her forehead.

She stir in her sleep, but got back to being comfortable. He smirks and gently gets up from the bed.

He puts on some sweatpants, he just gently shuts the door behind him and went downstairs.

He turns on the coffee pot and fixed himself some coffee. He pulls out a pan, the toaster and a plate. He was going to surprise his lovely wife with some breakfast in bed.

It was no special occasion, he just wanted to do it for her. She's been stressed with work, and having to deal with her crazy family. Soap knows she needs to be destressed from everything.

5:30AM

He makes toast, eggs, bacon and even cut up some fruits for her. He stood by the coffee pot and placed the mug under it letting it dispense hot water, he grabbed a tea bag that was meant for stress-reliving.

He puts a spoonful of sugar in it along with honey.

"Perfect," he states, as he was placing everything on a tray and walking back upstairs, he gently pushes the door open with his foot and saw Y/n was up.

"You're up," he sounded surprise.

"Yeah...I was wondering were you darted off to," she says, kicking the covers off her feet.

"Yeah, I was going to bring you some breakfast," he says sitting the tray over her lap.

"Why?" She asked with a smile and looking up at him.

"You just deserve it."

"Aww~ thanks you," she says, leaning forward and kissing his lips.

"Anything for you," he smiles down at her. He plops down next to her and turned the TV on, today felt like a lazy day and an everything about Y/n type of day.

Soap admired Y/n as she ate, she looked cute and so peaceful, she would sometimes offer a bite to Soap, but he'd gently decline and tell her it's all for her as he sips on his coffee.

Y/n was happy that Soap made everything for her and about her. Y/n leaned back in her plush comfortable pillows and smiled to herself.

"Are you done?" He asked.

"Yes, for now though," Y/n says, biting her bottom lip and rolling on Soap, sitting on his lap.

"My love?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just looking at you, my handsome husband," she compliments.

"My love, don't today is about you not me," he says, cupping the back of her head, moving forward till her back hit the plush bed and he was above her, her arms still around his neck.

"You look so beautiful."

"Don't I always?" She says. He only chuckles at her and attacks her neck with kisses. She lets out a soft moan and ran her fingers through his hair.

His lips then moved from her neck to her jawline and then finally to her lips. She slightly opened her mouth letting his tongue inside.

"I do hate to ruin this moment, Soap," she says as his lips went back to her neck.

"Hm?" He hums.

"My boss called and asked if I could come in, tonight."

"Tonight? To do what?"

"Just come in and do some filing and end of the month shit," she says.

"Did you tell him, no?" Soap asked.

"...No..."

"Love."

"Soap, it's for a few hours." He sits up and placed his hands on her thighs as she stayed on her back and held his wrists.

"How long is a few hours?" He asks.

"4?"

"Fine," he groans.

"Soap," she teased him, her hands moving from his wrists up her shirt and exposing her braless boobs. "I don't leave till the afternoon, care to-"

"Fuck yeah, you don't need to tell me twice," he holds her waist and then started to kiss her neck and his hands went up and squeezed her bare chest.

She lets out a soft moan as her hands went to his hair and down to his shoulders, squeezing his buff shoulders and enjoying the kisses on her bare skin.

"K-Keep going."

"Wasn't playing on stopping, my love," he says, kissing her lips and moving his hands to her hips and pulled at her shorts wanting them down off her body.

As he pulls them off her lower half, he pushes two fingers inside of her, quickly pushing them in and out of her and earning a soft and loud moan from her lips.

His eyes focused on her face seeing her eyes squeeze shut and let out soft moans.

"God, I love your moans, they drive me crazy," Soap says as he pulls his fingers from her and starts moving down kissing, licking and biting at her thighs.

"S-Soap, h-holy fuck," she moans.

"Shhh~ my love, let me pleasure you, only enjoy yourself," his rough hands squeeze at her thick thighs.

His tongue went to her inner thighs, licking at her and biting her leaving some small teeth marks on her thighs.

"Ah nngh~!" She moans.

He then starts to strip from his pants and started to mess with his harden dick. He moves it and watched her eyes land on his hand touching himself. He smirks when he sees she wasn't being discrete about it.

"I know you want it, my love, I can see it in your eyes that you want to be fucked by me," he then pulls his dick from his boxers and started to pump himself before pushing himself inside of Y/n.

"Ah!" Her head goes back into the plush pillows and her hands were around his neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he was thrusting deep into her but was also being so gentle at the same time.

He only took it slow so she could get use to him before he picks up the pace.

Her eyes fluttered open as she looks at Soap and begs him to move faster which he gladly did. He was moving faster and faster and watched her face become red and her eyes held tears threatening to fall but never did.

His thumbs wiped the stray tears away and kissed her lips as she moans into the kiss and the tip of his dick just barely hitting her g-spot.

Her head goes back and she let's out a soft moan.

"S-Soap," she moans.

Soap could feel her squeeze around him, they both moaned and he came inside of her. He pulls out and watches cum leak from her lower half.

White liquid leaked form her, he smirks looking down at her.

---------

"Was breakfast good?" Soap asked as he watched Y/n drinking her tea.

"It was good," she says.

"You don't seem...happy?"

"No, I'm happy," she smiles at him. "You did a romantic gesture and very much apricate what you did, and I love you for it," she says, kissing his lips. "Thank you."

Soap watches her eat and smiles at her.

He moves closer to her and cups her chin and kissed her lips again.

"God, I love you," Soap says, kissing her some more.

[sailingfireshipz]

Alright! Yall said, "Let it rip so you know the drill! Grab yourself a little snacky snack & let's unpack this shit.

I find it funny how people are trying to misconstrue the problem that we have with the way Pascal is acting & treating Stella. No one has said Stella was right in the manner in which she approached him in episode 1. Hell Kelly called her out on it & Stella herself admitted it. My issue lies in the fact that regardless of episode 1, it appears that Pascal has given his other LTs a level of grace & understanding that he is not giving Stella. So I genuinely want to know why. And if episode 1 is his why, then it goes back to what I said preseason about Stella's mistakes (minor compared to those of others, her husband included) following her. Stella being held to different standards & expectations than her male peers.

If episode 1 is not his reason then I'm left to assume & those assumptions lead me to facts that are rooted in systemic misogyny, racism & sexism.

1. Stella is the only female WOC LT at Firehouse 51.

2. Stella is a younger LT compared to what the CFD is accustomed to seeing per the chief comments in 9x03

2a. Also let's keep in mind the conversation she had with Carver in 11x01. When Stella came home she told Kelly that when she told Carver she got support from DC Hill & his response was "that makes sense" as if she was incapable of earning the shit on her own accord or merrit but implying Stella got a leg up because she was a WOC. Are we forgetting how Stella even met DC Hill? DC Hill came to 51 looking for the FIREFIGHTER that got control of the rig & prevented an accident with civilians. That firefighter was Stella Freaking Kidd.

3. Maybe Pascal thinks less of Stella because she's married/dated a coworker. He could have the same perception that "she slept her way to top"that was expressed in 9x03.

Some observations that I'd like to consider as we unpack his behavior.

1. Pascal brought up turnover on truck yet didn't have the wherewithal to look at the files of the firefighters who transferred out? We've seen that every time someone transfers out, there's a transfer slip that has to be completed. He would have seen Mason & Gallo didn't get transferred to another house within the CFD. He would have saw that they literally are in different STATES still firefighting. I honestly don't know what Gibsons would have said but it would have shown that only one of her FFs that was under her command is no longer on the job.

2. Why was Pascal so QUICK to believe Damon's (White male) word & opinion of Stella over Stella's request to put him back in the floater pool? Stella has been at 51 as a firefighter & LT LONGER than Damon has been a fucking firefighter! So you mean to tell me you're about to strip a LT who has received the firefighter award for valor based off the word of a firefighter who came to 51 as a floater & per Kelly in 13x04 relatively fresh out the academy!? Yall see how insane that sounds right?

3. The only reason Pascal changed his tune on Stella in 13x03 was after Mouch brought him her files/records. So my next question is, why did it take another white male to help sway him? I'm not saying he had to take Stella's word outright but it's the fact that he absolutely SHUT her down & redirected the blame back on her & her "lack of leadership" without investigating the facts. He claims to be all about rules & protocols yet failed to effectively do his research on the situation prior to going to Mouch & asking if he'd be ready to take the LT exam if he needed him...? Huuuuuuh?? I love Mouch, but someone point me to the major save or rescue he did this season so far to "prove himself" to Pascal.... oh wait, he hasn't had one, but you know who has... more on that later.

4. So after Mouch literally saves the night because he himself felt it necessary to go to this man's house off shift at night to bring him her records. Pascal does the right thing & tells Stella to make sure the next replacement on 81 sticks. So what does Stella do!? Does she drag her feet? Does she ignore his orders? Nope she gets right on it. She knew who she wanted but was STILL vetting other candidates because she wanted to make the best informed decision. Yet Pascal was at her neck again saying she was overthinking it. It had been 2-3 shifts MAX. It seems like Stella is showcasing leadership skills that Pascal should be because good leaders don't make important decisions lightly or without all the facts. They research they do their homework they vet out the low hanging fruit to ensure the best decision is made for the betterment of the house.

5. Hermann overheard Pascal & out of HIS mouth, he said Pascal had Stella so stressed out that if she didn't find a replacement for truck, he'd have her bugles. So again, that's not us making the shit up it's quite literally implied in the dialogue that clearly people are picking up the energy & animosity Pascal has towards her. So again, I'm asking where the professionalism is, or is Stella the only one required to be professional?

6. So now I want to talk about Kelly & Pascals interaction in 13x05. It honestly felt like Pascal said that shit to Kelly to see if Kelly would react. We watched Pascal go to LT Vales house & physically assault him for a conversation Vale had with Monica... so clearly he's very protective of his wife so why would he think Kelly would be the person to call Stella an asshole to? That shit was so uncalled for & CHILDISH because if Kelly had punched him in the fucking stomach then what?

At the end of the day before Kelly is Stella's husband he is her peer when they are on shift so again why are you talking shit about one of your direct reports to another direct report?

It sort of felt like a powerplay because Pascal has already brought up to Kelly about him & Stella working together & that he'd be keeping an eye on them. Then he goes & makes that comment knowing that Kelly probably won't respond to it out of fear that he'll throw them being married in his face again if he defends her.

So what we're not about to do is try to normalize or justify Pascals behavior based on the argument that "Stella shouldn't have mouthed off or challenged him." Because honestly, we've seen Kelly & Casey go head to head with Boden & other chiefs, commissioners, etc. when they felt passionately about something (right, wrong, indifferent, they've done it). Not saying what Stella did was right or absolving her from accountability but we're not about to act like she yelled at him & told him to go fuck off! She should've handled herself differently but she shouldn't have to continue to bear the brunt of his twisted ass power plays or whatever the hell he's power tripping on.

He doesn't have to like her & as far as I'm concerned she doesn't have to like him but hell bare minimum he needs to start acting like Battalion Chief with 20+ years on the job versus a petty ass manchild who's mad the girl on the playground embarrassed him in front of his friends.

And I don't want to hear about "Stella hasn't been challenged or Boden let her get away with blah blah or Boden didnt make her "prove" herself & that maybe if she "proves" herself he'll give her a break.

Hard stop, NO! Kelly hasn't had to prove himself. Hermann hasn't had to prove himself. So WHY TF would Stella have to "prove" herself to this man? Like i mentioned before, the playing field needs to be fair across the board for all of them. If anything, Stella has proven herself because she's the one who pulled Damon out of that collapsed sign. She's the one who saw Ritter laying there & still gave clear, concise direction to her truck company (instead of getting all emotional like they think women are going to act in times of crisis 🙄) She took the case in 13x05 & ran with it. Kelly was with her in one scene investigating those crashes. After that, Stella was the one making house calls & following up. Yet at the end of the episode, they had Kelly debriefing the chief on the outcome of the case & not Stella... WHY? At minimum, Stella should have been there & they could have used it as a moment to have them move forward. Instead, they used it as a way to have him add fuel to the fire with that backhanded compliment laced in disrespect by saying she's a pain in the ass & i don't know why!?

Do i think Pascal is a racist, misogynistic, sexist POS sent to uphold the CREEKY views of the CFD? Idk 🤷‍♀️ but what i do know is if it walks, if it talks if it looks then it just might fit. Because there's a clear distinction in how he has handled Stella over the last 4 episodes versus everyone else. & if he's none of those things & he's still just hurt over being challenged by her in episode 1, then I say this with care, but it's time to build a bridge & get over it because I'm tired.

So, in conclusion..... Dom Pascal

When you're referring to anyone at 51 but especially Stella Kidd. 😌