#how about that team white!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kiwriteswords]

She Gets the Job Done [Aaron Hotchner x Bratty!Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: >2k|| AN: IF YALL KNOW ME YOU KNOW I DONT LOVE WRITING SMUT. BUT I'M OVULATING AND BEEN THINKING A LITTLE TOO HARD ABOUT HOTCH. Tags/Warnings: SMUT! MDNI! NSFW!! 18+, female reader, established relationship, bau!reader, pwp, p in v smut, no protection, no talk about protecting (just assume they've got this established!), fingering, brat tamer!Hotch, possessive!hotch, brat!reader, like no "after" scene really because I did not feel like it--lol. office sex!!, seducing an unsub in an interrogation, reader has hair Summary: When you decide to use an Unsub's weakness of being seduced by women to your advantage, it really pisses your boyfriend off.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, muscles strained beneath clenched teeth as he stood rigidly behind the one-way glass. The low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead seemed overly loud in the silent observation room, amplifying the palpable tension that had settled thickly in the air. 

Aaron Hotchner was rarely a man to lose his cool, but right now, he felt like a tightly coiled spring on the verge of snapping.

Through the glass, he watched you closely, noticing the slight, intentional sway of your hips as you circled the interrogation table. 

The unsub's eyes were fixated on you, tracking your every movement hungrily, the intensity in his gaze revolting yet exactly what you intended. 

You had unbuttoned your blouse just enough to draw attention, something that had not gone unnoticed by anyone on the team. 

Certainly not by Hotch.

The way your skirt rose up just a little too high. Or how you pressed your arms closer together, so your breasts stood right in the line of sight for the unsub. Your hair touseled in a way that only Hotch had seen--

In a way where you looked fulled fucked. 

You leaned forward slowly, palms flat against the cool metal surface, eyes locked onto the unsubs with a sultry, playful challenge. 

"Come on," you murmured, voice dripping honey, the seductive undertone unmistakable. "Don't you want to impress me? It'd be our little secret."

Hotch felt his chest tighten, his knuckles white as he squeezed his hands into fists. Rossi glanced sideways, clearing his throat uncomfortably, sensing the impending eruption.

"Hotch," Rossi began cautiously, "maybe we should—"

"No," Hotch cut him off sharply, eyes never leaving your form. He felt a fierce surge of possessiveness clawing at his throat, anger burning hot in his veins. He had agreed reluctantly to your tactic, trusting you implicitly, but this—

This was beyond the pale.

You laughed softly, a delicate sound that danced dangerously around the unsub. The man visibly shivered, eyes wide with anticipation, lips parted in silent surrender. "I'll tell you," the unsub breathed shakily, eyes greedily drinking in your appearance. "But what do I get in return?"

You tilted your head, gaze smoldering beneath lowered lashes. "You tell me first," you purred, leaning closer, deliberately letting your hair brush across his trembling fingers. 

Hotch’s heart hammered violently in his chest, his blood roaring in his ears as the unsub hungrily eyed you.

"He's going to break," Reid muttered quietly, visibly uneasy as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Hotch didn't respond. 

He couldn’t. 

His entire being was transfixed, paralyzed between the overwhelming urge to storm into the interrogation room and drag you away, and the knowledge that your tactics were working.

The unsub exhaled roughly, eyes glazed with desperation. "Fine," he gasped, chest heaving. "The body's behind the old warehouse on Elm—buried shallow."

A cruel smirk curled at the corners of your lips, eyes suddenly cold as you pulled away, straightening your posture and buttoning your blouse calmly as if nothing had transpired. 

"Thanks for the cooperation," you said coolly, every trace of seduction vanishing instantly.

Hotch felt a wave of relief, immediately drowned by a surge of anger-- 

Raw and primal. 

He turned sharply, stalking out of the observation room without a word. 

The sound of his shoes pounding harshly against the linoleum matched the racing of his heart.

Moments later, you stepped confidently from the interrogation room, smug satisfaction evident on your face until you caught sight of Hotch’s furious gaze pinned firmly upon you from down the hall. The arrogant smirk faltered briefly, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty as you squared your shoulders and approached him.

"My office. Now." His voice was dangerously soft, controlled with a rigid effort that barely concealed his simmering rage.

You lifted your chin defiantly, a hint of mischief playing in your eyes even now. "Is there a problem, Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch moved closer, invading your space, his presence dominating and overwhelming. His voice dropped lower, vibrating with intensity. "You know exactly what the problem is."

He turned sharply, leaving you standing in the hall, the air between you charged and crackling dangerously as he stalked toward his office, knowing you’d follow, knowing the line had just been irrevocably crossed.

Hotch’s jaw remained tightly set, his anger simmering beneath a mask of forced calm as he stalked into his office, the door closing behind him with a sharp click. 

He turned, arms crossed rigidly over his chest, watching you enter a moment later, defiance radiating from your posture. You stood before him, eyes flashing with an audacious mix of arrogance and curiosity, clearly unfazed by his obvious displeasure.

He moved forward deliberately, narrowing the distance until you were forced to tilt your chin upward to maintain eye contact. 

The air around you both crackled with charged intensity, tension thick enough to choke on. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was?" His voice was low, edged with barely restrained fury.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes dancing mischievously as you shrugged casually, playing off his anger. "I got results, didn't I? Isn’t that what matters most?"

Hotch leaned closer, his eyes dark and stormy. "What matters most is that you stay safe and professional. You compromised yourself—and us."

"I handled it," you replied boldly, leaning into him ever so slightly, the provocative gleam in your eyes unmistakable. "Maybe you're just jealous."

Hotch inhaled sharply, the vein in his neck visibly pulsing as he fought for control. His voice dropped lower, becoming dangerously quiet. "Jealouus? You deliberately let that monster think he had a chance with you."

You laughed softly, a wicked, bratty sound that tugged at something primal deep within him. Your voice dripped honeyed sarcasm, pushing every button he had. "Maybe you're just upset because he liked what he saw. Jealous someone else enjoyed the show?"

Hotch snapped, his large hand darting out swiftly to grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body with a force that drew a startled gasp from your lips. He bent down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered harshly, voice trembling with intensity, "Say that again. I dare you."

You smirked, eyes blazing defiantly as you pressed closer, your voice dropping into a taunting whisper that brushed his skin like a forbidden caress. "Why don't you bend me over your desk and show me who I belong to?

He felt something snap inside him at your words, a powerful surge of possessiveness and raw desire flooding through his veins. He spun you around abruptly, pinning you against the edge of his desk, chest pressing firmly against your back, one strong arm holding your hips firmly in place. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice ragged and rough. "You think you can provoke me without consequences?"

Your breath hitched audibly, the arrogance melting into something softer, breathless anticipation trembling in your voice. "Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you."

Hotch's grip tightened possessively, voice thick with barely contained passion. "Then prepare yourself," he growled lowly, his control unraveling as he gave in to the powerful tension that had ignited between you both, fully intent on reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

His hands quickly found the edge of your skirt, pulling it up roughly to your waist. He felt your body shiver beneath his touch, your breathing quickening as he leaned closer, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss against your neck. 

His voice was a husky murmur, every word laced with possessive intensity. "You're mine. Never forget that."

You whimpered softly, leaning back into his touch, all traces of defiance giving way to desperate need. His hand slipped down your hips, fingers teasingly brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. 

You arched against him instinctively, desperate for more--

The tension between you reaching an explosive peak.

Hotch groaned lowly against your skin, guiding you firmly into position against his desk, one hand gripping your hip possessively while the other reached to loosen his belt impatiently. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps--

Anticipation nearly unbearable as he pressed himself against you, his voice commanding and darkly seductive as he whispered roughly, "I'll make sure you never doubt again who you belong to."

Had he locked the door? He wasn’t sure. But one moment he was pulling you into his office--

Filled with rage. Anger. Honestly, jealousy--

And now, he was stroking himself, pulling your lace panties to the side, finding you wet and ready after this little episode. 

He knew you liked to poke his buttons--

He knew this. 

He knew being a brat--

Being his brat…turned you on.

But what turned you on more was his visual reaction. And your actions sure as hell lead to a reaction from him.

He never thought of himself as a reactive man. His proud ability to remain stoic within even some of the most trying situations was a strength of his. But you? You with your whits and your body and your pure…pure seduction without even so much trying--

It had him whipped. Whipped in a way he couldn’t explain. 

Whipped in a way that has him fisting his cock with one hand and parting your wet, ready folds with the other. He slid his index finger in you--

Stretching you for him. The tight, wet, warm heat closed around the length of his finger. Practically sucking him in. 

He felt your hips stutter against his wrist.

Needy, needy girl, he thought. 

You mumbled something--

He thought it might be his name, but his heartbeat thud so heavily within his ears, he’s not sure what you said, if anything at all. 

It could have just been a whimper--

A sound he’d come to love so much.

Sure, he’d love you not always having to be such a defiant brat to get here. Yet, here you were. And as he stroked himself. Once. Twice. Three times more, he wasn’t complaining.

Not really. 

Removing his finger from you, he reached around to where your face layed pressed against the cool wooden desk. Papers sprawled out. Case files and budget reports mixed around. 

A clerical mess.

A human resource disaster. 

But pure nirvana to him as you knew to open your lips and taste yourself off his finger. 

Watching that, he bit back a groan as he teased your entrance with the tip of his cock. Up and down, teasing you. He planned to tease and use you. 

Just in the way you did with him today.

He entered you with a deep, assertive thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Hotch’s movements were powerful and controlled, every stroke filled with possessive intent. 

His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back gently to expose your neck fully to his hot, demanding mouth. 

Every touch, every thrust, reinforced the undeniable truth of his words—

You belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded roughly, breath warm against your skin, his pace relentless and passionate. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you breathed out shakily, your voice breaking under the weight of overwhelming pleasure. "Only you, Aaron."

"Good girl," he growled approvingly, his grip tightening as his movements quickened, driving you both toward a powerful climax, sealing his claim unmistakably and completely.

As the intensity peaked, your body trembled against his, both of you gasping as waves of pleasure crashedover you. Hotch held you tightly as you both gradually came down from the euphoric high, pressing gentle kisses against your shoulder, murmuring soothing words against your skin.

Slowly, he withdrew, carefully adjusting, reaching for a tissue--

Cleaning you with reverence and respect, then fixing your clothes with unexpected tenderness. 

He turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands, eyes filled with warmth and a fierce protectiveness. "Never again," he whispered softly, a plea and promise intertwined. "You mean too much to me."

You met his gaze, your defiance fully melted into sincerity and affection, nodding softly as you leaned into his gentle kiss, knowing you'd finally found your boundaries—

And exactly where you belonged.

[madnessiseverything]

great day for people who can read articles, and an awful day for people who go off of headlines alone and spiral into mutual worst case scenario despair

(he IS NOT playing jesus. jesus is played by nicholas pinnock, a black man. there is no white jesus in this movie, only a gag about how the b and c actor gets turned into stereotypical white jesus look-alike. thats why there are quotation marks in the headline. he is fake jesus.)

also this movie has already been out for a hot minute, it's called the book of clarence and it's actually got a majority black cast and production team. so you guys in the notes can stop screaming in a panic and watch it if you want, now that you know jesus is not white in it.

I’m literally on thr verge of tears

[dawnwriterimagines]

Sunny Days

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER The END of the BEGINNING

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: While leaving Task Force 141, you finally encounter Price, you encounter your team, and share a final goodbye.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Was it fair?

That they'd get away with it...

Was it fair?

Every step felt like splinters...

That your body would never be the same...

Was it fair?

They'd only receive an extended period of service, a delayed deployment for their crimes against you...

Was it fair?

Nothing would be done...

You'd receive no real justice...

Was it fair...

That you were losing your fucking mind...

Moments ago, you'd been a tangled mess in your dormitory, alone in this overwhelming storm of emotion.

Clawing your skin raw in the corner of your room, unable to touch another piece of your life in this place, it burned and screamed with their memories, moments you'd be forced to hold onto.

Every bitter thought was loud, gnawing at the tender mass of your brain, sending painful bursts through your skin. Shaking, sweating through your shirt, every sob that rips through your throat is guttural, muscles locked with tension.

Nails biting through to your flesh, you dig in uncontrollably, trying to get rid of the ache with nothing in your life now to brace against or hold onto.

Maybe that's how you found yourself here...

.

.

.

Price had to be seeing things.

At first, he had felt it, the sudden weight of someone's presence looming over him, like a storm about to break apart and take hold of him. His eyes spring open fast, but not faster than his hand that extends to the underbelly of his desk, reaching for the gun that should've been strapped to the bottom.

He finds the holster empty.

As his eyes adjust to the dark, he sees the white of your eyes first, in the darkness of his room. Eyes that pierce into his own, suddenly he can't move, can't look away. Like an animal lurking in the dark, your eyes illuminate as you've found your prey.

How you stand unmoving at the foot of the bed, you give him nothing...not a blink, not a breath, not a move, until he opens his mouth.

But, he can't speak. He's frozen.

Though, he wanted to speak, to apologize, to explain, to confess the sins that have brought such a moment upon them. But, the words catch in his throat, he's lost it, every possible admission of his guilty conscious dies on his tongue.

What could he possibly say to make any of it right?

"I trusted you..." he stiffened, as you spoke in a whisper. Your voice a startling contrast to the previous silence of the room. "More than anyone I'd ever known up till Simon. I trusted...you."

Your foot comes up, bringing yourself up and over the end of the bed and onto his mattress, he can hear the light screech of your metal brace as you stand tall over him. In your hand, the pistol that had been missing from his bedside holster.

"You taught me what family was. What it could be..." you said, speaking plainly. "You taught me how to survive out there, find my place on the team..." you spoke quietly, allowing him the melancholy calm of your storm. "I would've never made it this far without you to push me, really."

Price says nothing, he can't, he's frozen, laying still as you right yourself along his mattress, your boots digging down and into the springs.

"You were the only semblance of a father in my life that I thought really loved me. The one that when everything went wrong...would still be there when I got low. Or when it all became too much," you admitted, slowly. "I told you so much shit. I told you about my life, my family, god, I even told you the things that haunt me still," And finally, he could see your eyes drop and blink, the glint in your eyes disappear for only a second before opening again, this time it's brighter, narrowed and angry. "And you'd act like you understood. Like you wanted to help, that you'd be there....and yet you..."

Your breath is sharp, your eyes filled with so much pain and anger, it’s overwhelming as you surge down and onto him. Finally, unleashing the violent wave of the betrayal you've felt, the rage that has brought you to him. "You!"

You push him down, hand grabbing at his jaw and nails biting into his skin, "I realized that wasn't who you really were..." you suck in a shivering breath, digging into his skin with every word. "I should've never...I should've just kept you far. Kept you at who you were to me. Captain. John. Price..."

His face swings to the side, his cheekbone burns red hot suddenly, he can already taste blood in his mouth as you raise the heel of the pistol you had just brought down on his face.

"You're a liar, you're sad and pathetic and scared of everything under the fucking sun because of course--" you seethed, "I had to be the traitor, right! It had to be me. ME. The one that came to you about everything, risked my life to protect you, dragged you out of the fucking depths!" You sneered. "The one that NEVER would've let anyone convict you without making them regret even thinking about it first!"

"I wanted to believe..." A maddening, howling laugh, tortured as you threw your head back with tears in your eyes left your throat. "I wanted to believe that you were pushed to do it, that you were fighting for me out there while you ripped me apart."

"But, the lie was so simple for you to just take all my trust in you and let it fall away," you brought him in as you cried, fists shaking in your anger, burning so hot you could barely breathe. "you didn't even hesitate to throw me away like it all meant nothing! Stripped me down, took the air from my lungs and left me in the dark for days, for weeks! You wanted to fucking KILL MEEE!"

You balled up his shirt in your fists as you screamed, enraged, eyes shot red and tears that poured down to his face so fast he could taste them. Price's eyes were bulged wide, his horror and the overwhelm of his mistakes and his current situation told by the pour of his own tears that shed like a river.

The two of you were a mirror for only a moment, staring at the other, expressions polar opposites but eyes a blistering hue of red as you both cried for the destruction of your love for one another, the daughter he'd taken under his wing and abandoned under the same.

Who was he to deny you this...

And then you bring the gun down on his head, using it like a pair of gloves as you strike him again and again hoping to god that he could feel every single hit to its fullest. The clink and shift of the pistol in your hand with every shuttering strike, you feel the blood that coats your fingers, flowing out of his nose, out of his mouth.

Still, Price says nothing, allowing his hands to stay glued down to the mattress, holding down the instinct to stop before it goes too far, but they've both passed that point. He's done worse to you, you deserve this much at least, this he can give to you, this he can allow.

He doesn't even know when he can't find the energy to bring his hands up to stop you.

And soon, finally, you stop.

Huffing wildly, face stained red, the underside of your nails filled with the torn skin of his flesh.

Looking up to the ceiling, you stare at the chipping paint for a while as Price coughs with a choke, taking another breath that strains wetly, he shifts uncomfortably and gurgles beneath you. His head going to the side to let the blood that had begun to pool in his mouth dribble out and soak into the sheets of his mattress.

"I was so afraid..." you breathe in. "...to see you. All this time, I was so afraid of you, John..." you sigh, your eyes sting, you realize, but it's different from tears, it feels like blood, as it crusts around your eye lids. "But, I realize now, I was just afraid of what I'd do to you if I saw you again..."

Price couldn't speak, instead he moaned from the pain blossoming across his face, a terrible migraine that had emerged from a broken nose and a shattered cheekbone, a tooth that had lodged into his wind pipe after swallowing it during your onslaught.

He couldn't see. Not just due to the dark but also the swelling in his face that squeezed his eyes shut and let not even a crack of light in for his pleasure.

His breathing having turned heavy and his hands pulled up and onto your forearm, unwittingly going for the only person around to anchor him away from the pain.

"I loved you, John," you confessed, quietly, to the deflated man. "Did you love me?"

He huffs out a heavy breath, opening his red stained mouth as you pull out of his grip. "...Always--th..." he spits out a bloody glob, sucking in a breath. "That hasn't...changed..."

"Captain!"

"John, you alright in there?"

"Price!"

Maybe you had ignored the knocking, the pounding, that had begun in the middle of you beating down on your former captain, the voices you could recognize as your former team.

The noise finally having pulled them all out of their slumber and toward the other side of the dormitory.

Shifting your weight to the side, laying next to your captain for a moment, lifting yourself off of him and to the side. As you listened to him wheeze and your team shift the door handle before starting to force their entire weight into the doorway.

You sit up, facing away from Price, "I--love you, kid..."

"If you do," you sighed as you sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the remaining members of your delegated Task Force to break through the door to get to you both. "If you really do. Then, god, your love is shit."

You laughed just a little, the first in a while.

Staring down at the pistol you held in your grip still, the light from under the doorway illuminates it enough for you to see the drop of blood that falls from the metal before the door swings open.

Light coming in as fiercely as the sun, the light that pulls Price's attention to the doorway, and illuminates both bloody figures settled on the mattress in the corner of the room.

"CAPTAIN!"

As they race in, pushing open the door, determined to stop the noise and put an end to anyone that's made their way here to snuff out their captain. They lock eyes with you, putting them to a stop.

They stand there, eyes wide, frozen in place as they take in the scene you've strung out for them to see.

The chaos.

The anger.

The blood staining the curtains, the trinkets, the face of their disfigured captain.

The broken trust made all too real.

Their feet don’t move. Their bodies, once in motion, are now rigid, locked in place. They’ve seen enough. They don’t need to look any further.

They just stand there, like shadows in the doorway, helpless but not innocent. Their guilt hangs in the air, palpable, and it's goddamn suffocating.

For the first time, you can look at them all, each and every one of them.

Kyle.

Johnny.

Your Simon.

And finally, your fears are gone, maybe it's the blood on your hands, maybe its the predicament they've all found themselves in, maybe it's the journey and the madness that's drove you this far already.

Whatever it was...took it all.

All but one thing.

You wished to feel nothing.

But, the rage still stays.

That...isn't going anywhere.

"Look at us, what a team," you managed a smile, letting loose a breathless laugh. "Together again, huh."

Price's blood even stains your teeth.

---

You leave freely in the morning.

Price presses no charges. He practically says nothing, this time accounting only of your innocence, ironic.

The one time you did do something...

Johnny offers to help with your bags, you hand him only one thing: the knife that should've pierced his heart the day he had confronted you.

Kyle meets you at the entrance of the dormitory, offering you a simple thing, a jacket, it's fresh, new. It's not his this time. "It's cold on the ride out, I just wanted to make sure..." he spoke, quietly. His movements slow, careful, as if not to startle you.

You just stare at him, eyes shifting from the gift back to him, hands kept close at your sides still. "Keep it. I think you'll be seeing colder days than I ever will again..." you declined.

His lips pressing together as you reject it, walking past him and into the vehicle, lifting your bag onto your shoulder before halting.

"And Simon?" You wondered aloud, out of curiosity.

Kyle swallows, briefly. "Somewhere around here," he reveals. "He wasn't sure if..." you wanted to see him.

He was right. You didn't.

You stand still though, waiting, Kyle thinks. But, then you take the passenger handle and pull yourself into the vehicle.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)," Kyle says, quickly. Face burning hot with the turmoil going through him, as he sadly watches as you depart from him, from the family all of you had built together. "I really am. More than anything."

You only adjust your bag across your thighs as the driver starts the engine, it roars to life before slowly pulling off. You give him nothing, not a word.

"(Y/n), please..."

As the car pulls from view, Kyle wipes his face, turning away from the vehicle, shoving his hands into his pockets before walking back into the dormitory. Shoving his way past Simon, "Give it up, Ghost, she's gone," Kyle grits out, bitterly, sniffling shortly at his lieutenant stares silently as his ex-fiancé leaves her life behind, leaves him behind.

Simon takes short, numb steps out into the sun, watching as the car exits the roundabout, pulling away as he can see you face once again. Your eyes meet for a final time, his mask is gone, he's just Simon Riley once more, he continues to walk as the car drives, hoping to catch the final remains of your presence here.

He watches and watches as the car drives into the distance, and he doesn't look away even as vehicle disappears at the horizon, driving down into the sunny day.

And as you breathe evenly for the first time in weeks, in months, a tear falling from your eye but wiped away to look to the sky. The clouds pulling away to reveal the beating sun, the rays giving a warmth you haven't felt for months. Reaching out, you let the gentle breeze run through your fingers and carry you away from this place.

Simon falls to his knees, hands clutching at the ache in his body, at the pain in his chest, at the mistakes he's made, at the ring he'd found at his door this morning. The one you had left behind. The one he had ripped off your finger the moment he'd doubted you.

He bawled, a guttural sound, in the middle of the street.

What a mistake he had made.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, he wanted to take it all back.

But, most of all, he wanted to tell you over and over again:

"I"M SORRY!" he wanted to beg.

"PLEASE!" he wanted to hold you.

"DON'T LEAVE ME, GOD, (Y/N)!"

But, he could only claw at the gravel that stabbed through his uniform, that punished him for mourning so late, for letting her go, for not believing in her sooner, for not doubting the evidence that told such a blatant lie.

He could do nothing now.

It was too late.

Simon kneeled in the street, in the sun, he cried.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Just reminding everyone, the journey isn't over! We've still got a few endings to go.

[dix0nspretty]

Ours

Summary: Your boyfriends get jealous when the soldiers on base get overzealous and prove who you belong to.

Task Force 141 x GN!Reader, 1.3k words.

Era: MW2-ish

TW: Polyamory, jealousy, marking (hickeys), the 141 being grumbly assholes. Unwanted advances (not 141), Ghost being ghostly. AFAB genitalia.

Can you believe it's only one more week of TCoD? I don't want to let her go :((

Day 25 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 25: Hickeys with the 141 (kink)

It goes without saying that any good thing a 141 member manages to get their hands on is shared between the four men. Price’s fancy bottle of bourbon is split with Simon first before the Sergeants are allowed their tastes. Despite Soap’s bitching and moaning about all of his food being eaten, he’ll always bring enough leftovers from home to feed his lovers.

Ghost shares his cigarettes and his bed, glimpses of the face under the mask and the gentleness he tries to smother into nothing. Gaz frets after his teammates like a mother hen- using every bandage and suture in his kit before he even thinks of patching himself up.

So when you make your way onto the team, it’s a matter of who got to you first. If Gaz would charm you with his perfect white teeth and admirable loyalty. Maybe Johnny with incessant flirting or his infectious rambunctiousness. Or maybe you were a little cracked, with a sex drive driven by a need for praise and an insatiable daddy kink only Price could fix.

No one expected you to latch onto Simon first- the person least happy to have you joining the team and interrupting the perfectly balanced polycule. These are his lovers, his group that he reluctantly let into his scarred, traumatized heart and gave access to the most vulnerable parts of him. Then you show up and throw a wrench in everything.

Debriefs lose their touch of intimacy, meals feel almost formal again. There’s not as much touching and contact because no one knows how to introduce the very-against-regulations romantic situation that you aren’t a part of yet. Simon didn’t want you or the change in routine you brought along. Losing his frequency of physical contact that he only just got back after decades nearly killed him.

He wants his Johnny, his Gaz and his Cap, but you’re fucking everywhere, looking at him with those big eyes and the slightest pout on your pink lips that he can’t decide whether he wants to slap or kiss you.

The latter eventually happens, tensions boiling over during a late-night training exercise until it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. You’re not trusted enough to catch more than the smallest glimpse of his mouth, the balaclava rolled up to sit right above his eyes and a flash of pale skin before spit and sloppy kisses turn to rough thrusts into the gym mat and scraping bites to your throat, intent on leaving a claim.

When you stumble into the 141 wing over an hour later than normal, limping and covered in blossoming hickeys with the worst sex hair known to man as you trail after Ghost like a dazed puppy, that’s all the rest of the team needs to know.

You’re theirs and they’re yours, even if it takes you a while to catch on. Soap shoves his tongue down Ghost’s face right in front of you just to watch you bristle, but the second your eyes turn wet with hurt and confusion about how the Lieutenant you’re screwing is kissing someone else, they’re falling over themselves to explain the situation to you. They can’t have their newest love crying, after all.

Once things are explained and your tears soothed, you melt into the polycule and everything finally feels right. The four-person relationship felt perfect before you, but now it feels complete. Like there was a piece missing they were unaware of until the space was suddenly filled. Now they share everything with you, too.

Slowly, you start gaining attention from men on the base. Your lovers can hardly blame them- you’re fucking stunning with the perfect body, the brightest smile, the kindest heart they’ve ever seen. Who wouldn’t look at you as if you’re the sun when you shine as bright as one?

But then one of the soldiers becomes overzealous, corners you in the weapons locker while you’re cleaning guns and gets handsy. All it takes is Price seeing how flustered and nervous you are when you crash into his chest to know something happened. You’re avoiding his eyes the way you did before you knew him as a lover, how you always show submission to a superior.

That won’t do.

“Come on, pet,” John’s task is forgotten immediately, his arm winding around your waist to tug you into his side as he walks you to Soap’s quarters- he knows for a fact the Sergeants are in there, having heard the noises as he passed earlier. He would’ve stopped but he had work to do… except now you’re flustered and quiet and something needs to be done about it. He knows without checking the security footage that one of the many Sergeants and Privates that have had their eyes on you finally crossed the line. “Let’s go see your boys, hm?”

He doesn’t bother knocking when he gets to Soap’s quarters, instead opening the door and ushering you in even as Gaz and Soap startle. The two Sergeants are scrambling to cover naked flesh before they realize it’s just you and John and settle. “Steamin’ Jesus Cap, give a warning next time. Gaz was going tae…”

Soap trails off, brows furrowing unhappily when he sees the way you’re acting. Like a shy little kitten, avoiding eye contact and picking at your shirt. “What’s wrong, bon?”

“One of the men got too close,” Price speaks for you. Your head snaps up, startled that he knew considering you didn’t say a word about it, but he continues with nothing more than a kiss to your hair. “About time we let base know the pet’s taken.”

“C’mere, love.”

Gaz emerges from the sheets, pretty cock bobbing as he steps close and wraps you in his arms to press kiss after kiss to your face. He leads you slowly to the bed, leaving Price behind to undress as he kisses your brow, your nose, cheekbone, chin.

Soap gently eases you into the sweat-dampened sheets as Gaz’s mouth latches onto your throat, suckling a mark onto the skin and drawing a quiet whine of pleasure into the air. “There’s my love. Sweet as always.”

Gentle hands undo your clothes, slowly stripping you until you’re just as bare as the others. The bed dips when Price crawls in. You don’t notice how he leaves the door unlocked, undoubtedly for the ghostly Lieutenant to slip in when he deems it time. You’ve never been quiet when melting under their touches.

It's hard to tell who’s where, three sets of hands working through hair and caressing over soft skin, a calloused finger swiping through your arousal to make you whimper. Someone shushes you before ever so gently feeding your weeping cunt two fingers, curling unhurriedly and caressing that perfect spot. No matter what’s being touched, two mouths are coating you in marks that’ll undoubtedly bruise onto every inch of skin.

You mewl at the first nip of teeth against that sensitive spot on your pulse point and your first orgasm unravels so softly it’s nearly soothing even in its intensity.

No one hears Simon approach except for Price, greeting him with a murmured “There you are…” from where he’s busy leaving beard burn between your thighs, eating you out as you cum on his tongue repeatedly. John’s always been a munch.

Simon smells like blood, but you know better than to ask. Someone messed with a 141 member, so he acted according to his own ethics.

“Not enough hickeys,” He critiques in the soft tone reserved only for the people in this room, nipping at your bottom lip in a rough but not unloving manner. “That won’t do.”

By the time your lovers finally let up, you can’t remember your own name or the year, much less the irrelevant Private healing in medbay for daring to touch 141 property. “You’re ours…” Price whispers as you all doze together in the bed, sated and spent to the ends of your reserves.

[mayakern]

Hello Maya and team!

Your wrap shirts have been a total lifesaver for me lately; they pair perfectly with nursing bras to allow me to feed my infant easily while still looking super cute~. And I’ll be happy to continue wearing them long after I’m done nursing because they’re truly the most flattering tops I’ve ever owned.

I want one in every color under the sun! But I know you can only do so much. Soooo I took it into my own hands to experiment with dye and I’m pleased to share that the viscose tops take to dye REALLY well!

These all started as the white wrap top (don’t…don’t ask me how many I bought total 🫣). Most were dyed with Rit All-Purpose dye, though a few were done with Jacquard iDye (for natural fabrics). I’m so incredibly pleased with the results from both!

SO if anyone wants a wrap top but didn’t see it in a color they want (or missed out on a color they want, as was the case for me with the dusty rose), just know that you can get a bucket and some dye and GO CRAZY. 🌈

omggg what!!!! this is so freaking cool, thank you for showing me!!

i’m so glad you love the shirts so much, that makes me so happy to hear 🥺🧡🧡

and ty for supporting the store. would you mind if i shared this on other socials? some people have been asking about dying!

[can-i-make-image-descriptions]

[Image IDs: Image #1: Message from Pete Hegseth at 8:49am reading: VP: I fully share your loathing of European free-loading. It's Pathetic.

But Mike is correct, we are the only ones on the planet (on our side of the ledger) who can do this. Nobody else even close. Question is timing I feel like now is as good a time as any, given POTUS directive to reopen shipping lanes. I think we should go; but POTUS still retains 24 hours of decision space.

Message from S M at 9:35am reading: As I heard it, the president was clear: green light, but we soon make clear to Egypt and Europe what we expect in return. We also need to figure out how to enforce such a requirement. EG, if Europe doesn't remunerate, then what? If the US successfully restores freedom of navigation at great cost there needs to be some further economic gain extracted in return.

Message from Pete Hegseth at 9:46am reading: Agree

Images 2: Text reading: At 11:44 a.m., the account labeled "Pete Hegseth" posted in Signal a "Team Update." I will not quote from this update, of from certain other subsequent texts. The information contained in them, if they had been read by an adversary of the United States, could conceivably have been used to harm American military and intelligence personnel, particularly in the broader Middle East, Central Command's area of responsibility. What I will say, in order to illustrate shocking recklessness of this Signal conversation, is that the Hegseth post contained operational details of forthcoming strikes on Yemen, including information about targets, weapons the U.S. would be deploying, and attacking sequencing.

The only person to reply to the update from Hegseth was the person identified as the vice president. "I will say a prayer for victory." Vance wrote. (Two other users subsequently added prayer emoji.)

According to the lengthy Hegseth text, the first detonations in Yemen would be felt two hours hence, at 1:45 p.m. eastern time. So I waited in my car in a supermarket parking lot. If this Signal chat was real, I reasoned, Houthi targets would soon be bombed. At about 1:55, I checked X and searched Yemen. Explosions were then being heard across Sanna, the capital city.

I went back to the Signal channel. At 1:48, "Michael Waltz" has provided the group an update. Again, I won't quote from this text, except to note that he described the operation as an "amazing job." A few minutes later, "John Ratcliffe" wrote, "A good start." Not long after, Waltz responded with three emoji: a fist, an American flag, and fire. Other soon joined in, including

Image #3: national-security officials, including the secretaries of defense, state, and the treasury, as well as the director of the CIA. It should go without saying—but I'll say it anyway—that I have never been invited to a White House principals-committee meeting, and that, in my many years of reporting on national-security matters, I had never heard of one being convened over a commercial meeting app.

One minute later, a person identified only as "MAR"—the secretary of state is Marco Antonio Rubio—wrote, "Mike Needham for State," apparently designating the current counselor of the State Department as his representative. At that same moment, a Signal user identified as "JD Vance" wrote, "Andy baker for VP." One minute after that, "TG" (presumably Tulsi Gabbard, the director of national intelligence, or someone masquerading as her) wrote, "Joe Kent for DNI." Nine minutes later, "Scott B"—apparently Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, or someone spoofing his identity, wrote, "Dan Katz for Treasury." At 4:53 p.m., a user called "Pete Hegseth" wrote, "Dan Caldwell for DoD." And at 6:34 p.m., "Brian" wrote "Brian McCormack for NSC." One more person responded: "John Ratcliffe" wrote at 5:24 p.m. with the name of a CIA official to be included in the group. I am not publishing that name, because that person is an active intelligence officer.

The principals had apparently assembled. In all, 18 individuals were listed as members of this group, including various National Security Council officials; Steve Witkoff, President Trump's Middle East and Ukraine negotiator; Susie Wiles, the White House chief of staff; and someone identified only as "S M," which I took to stand for Stephen Miller. I appeared on my own screen only as "JG."

Image #4: Text reading: At this point, a fascinating policy discussion commenced. The account labeled "JD Vance" responded at 8:16: "Team, I am out for the day doing an economic event in Michigan. But I think we are making a mistake." (Vance was indeed in Michigan that day.) The Vance account goes on to state, "3 percent of US trade runs through the suez, 40 percent of European trade does. There is a real risk that the public doesn't understand this or why it's necessary. The strongest reason to do this is, as POTUS said, to send a message."

The Vance account then goes on to make a noteworthy statement, considering that the vice president has not deviated publicly from Trump's position on virtually any issue. "I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There's a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc."

A person identified in Signal as "Joe Kent" (Trumps nominee to run the National Counterterrorism Center is named Joe Kent), wrote at 8:22, "There is nothing time sensitive driving the time line. We'll have the exact same options in a month."

Then, at 8:26 a.m., a message landed in my Signal app from the user "John Ratcliffe." The message contained information that might be interpreted as related to actual and current intelligence operations.

Image #5: Text reading: Conceivably, Waltz, by coordinating a national-security-related action over Signal, may have violated several provisions of the Espionage Act, which governs the handling of "national defense" information, according to several national-security lawyers interviewed by my colleague Shane Harris for this story. Harris asked them to consider a hypothetical scenario in which a senior U.S. official creates a Signal thread for the express purpose of sharing information with Cabinet officials about an active military operation. He did not show them the actual Signal messages or tell them specifically what had occurred.

All of these lawyers said that a U.S. official should not establish a Signal thread in the first place. Information about an active operation would presumably fit the law's definition of "national defense" information. The Signal app is not approved by the government for sharing classified information. The government has it own systems for that purpose. If officials want to discuss military activity, they should go into a specially designed space known as a sensitive compartmented information facility, or SCIF—most Cabinet-level national-security officials have one installed in their home—or communicate only on approved government equipment, the lawyers said. Normally, cellphones are not permitted inside a SCIF, which suggests that as these officials were sharing information about an active military operations, they could have been moving around in public. Had they lost their phones, or had they been stolen, the potential risk to national security would have been severe. /End IDs]

This is possibly the most insane national security story in the last 50 years. Includes a massive text chain between senior members of the Trump admin gaming out foreign policy and war plans on Signal, and they accidentally added a reporter to the group chat.

[writingoddess1125]

Annoying Shit They Do

COD Men X GN Reader

Price, Simon, Johnny, Kyle, König, Horangi + Bonus

NOT PROOF READ

This is all tongue and cheek. Enjoy!

Simon

Simon was a very.. Well thought out man.

He was always prepared-

Painfully prepared.. for every situation and some situations that weren't even possible.

You knew Simon loved knowing what he was going into at all times. However it can be a bit much at the best of times.

Ever had 2 different types of navigation tools including a compass while going to the post office?

You have-

Ever had hiking gear loaded into your car cause you where going to a local park to jog?

You sure as fuck have!

Thanks to Mr. Always Prepared Skull Man!

You swore this man was prepared for a Mutant zombie apocalypse with the amount of supplies and preparations he had constantly.

Sure while it wasn't something you thought about often and it was clearly in a loving way, He wanted to make sure you were always safe and you appreciated it deeply-

However when you go into your kitchen and see MRE's and emergency dried food to last 30 years next to your chips-

It can get a bit much..

It was always a bit power struggle with the broody man. You'd have a better time fist fighting a brick wall or bringing a rock to a orgasm then winning over the Lieutenant when it came to stuff like this.

Which lead you to staring at the hard black suitcase that was being loaded into the back of the SUV along with your guys few shared soft luggage bags.

You rub your temple, perfectly in between the two emotions of either crying or laughing at your partner.

"Simon-.. I love you. So so much. However I don't think, We need a literal military grade survival kit.. on a couples get away to a private resort"

He looked to you calmly-

"Never know.."

You look up to the sky, Begging whoever is up there that he leaves the kit in the car the whole vacation- and that he doesn't bring a tactical knife into the resort..

Price

John, the love of your life. The apple of your eye..

A good man and a Captain of a special Ops team...

Also..

The bastard that leaves one God damn bit left of whatever he touches and tells no one!

From toothpaste where there is only a bead sized amount left.

To even leaving four chips in the family size bag you'd gotten.

Leaves a single bite of ice cream in the pint and puts it back like it's still full.

Ever opened a box of what used to be Chinese takeout and seen literally 6 noodles, 12 grains of rice and a single piece of meat with a perfect green onion on top?

You sure as fuck had.

You knew it started out as something he genuinely did naturally. However once he figured out it annoyed you- It was on.. he now did it cause he knew it annoyed you.

The fucker-

Just how now you stared at the empty jug of what used to be white grape juice. Now with maybe a shot glass worth in the bottom.

You supress the demonic feeling of wanting to Hex your spouse.

Walking upstairs to his office area where you knew he was both smoking a cigar and drinking from his private stash while watching football (soccer).

Opening the door slowly you make direct eye contact with him. Price slowly raising an eyebrow at the serious look on your face.

"Yes Dear?"

You hold up the empty jug of juice and shake it a little showing the literal trinkle of juice left in it.

"Couldn't just kill it off could you?-"

John gives a smile at you as he takes a sip of his scotch.

"Well, Wanted to save ya some-"

John laughed loudly when you threw the empty juice jug at his head after that.

Kyle

Kyle likes to mess with stuff...

Always moving stuff around, always touching stuff, messing or bending things.

If it's in reach his hands seem to find it-

He's like those children you used to see that had to have their hands on the cart at all times or in their parents pockets cause they would always touch stuff.

Kyle was one of those people in adult form- You'd even heard his mother yell at him saying 'Idle hands are the devils workshop' when he visits and continues the practice.

While in most cases you didn't mind, it was a bit irritating when things got moved from where you'd left them or things just appearing out of thin air.

Your tube of chapstick? Suddenly in the Livingroom.

Phone charger? Now sitting on a random shelf.

You knew it wasn't on purpose but damn, Hell he didn't even seem to realize it himself.

He'd be sitting there, shaking his knee as he rolled something between his hands casually. The two of you talking about something random in the livingroom.

You can't help but narrow your eyes a bit as you see something silver in his palm which he was rolling like playdough.

"Sweetie, What are you messing with?"

He also looks confused for a second, not even realizing he had been messing with something. He looks over whatever had been in his hands.

"Uhh Looks like a oat bar-"

You scrunch up your face a bit.

"We don't even have any granola bars in the house? Where did you get that?"

He shrugs having no idea himself.

Johnny

He buys bulk in everything...

Once he realized that it was a thing he could just do-

He did it with everything..

Bulk Paper towels, Bulk Soy Sauce, 45lb tub of Nut Butter? He got all of it, Leading you to staring up at what was equivalent to a Military food storage in your downstairs pantry.

Leaving you currently staring up at the 25lb cloth bag of table salt on the top of the easy 10ft tall pantry shelf wondering if this was worth the possible 80% death rate trying to fill up the salt shaker.

As you stare up at it, the man of the hour pokes his head in. Seeing you staring at the bag of salt.

"Love?-"

"Johnny My Dear- We have essentially a bunker of Bulk everything. I don't think we need anything else.. I cant even get the salt without risking a skull fracture"

Johnny chuckles at this. Setting down a box to grab the hefty stool kept in the pantry and pulling down the bag, Setting it next to you on the floor.

"Well just saves us the hassle"

He chimed with a chuckle. However you silently disagreed.. Before looking to the large box hed set down.

"What is that?.."

Johnny gives a shy chuckle as you move over opening it quickly you see a massive mountain of 250 individual bags of Welch's Fruit Snacks.

"Johnny.. Why is there enough fruit snacks to kill a small child?"

Hong-Jin (Horangi)

So you're darling husband, He has a wonderful terrible habit of just disappearing..

Walking through a store?

Going to a Restaurant?

Hell going down the hallway of your house!?

The Poof-

He's just gone.

Which always leaves you stranded looking around like a crazy person.. Currently in a giant ass world grocery store he had been the one to drag you to- Aka you knew nothing!

"God Damnit-"

You mumble looking around the aisles trying to see if you could spot him. The place was like a maze, each aisle was a different part of the world it seemed and had at least 60 people crammed in each section.

It was hell! Why did he leave you here!? Now rushing around to just find a spot that wasn't being occupied or in anyone's way.

Aisles 43!? You thought you where at 12!? Where is the Exit!?

Standing there confused by what seemed to be some sort of brooms, you feel a small tap and see Hong-Jin standing there calmly.

"Found you. Got what I needed, We can go now"

He holds up a single small package of a seasoning mix he liked.

...

There was a small tick in the back of your brain that said to shove that packet up his ass.

König-

One word-

ONE GOD DAMN WORD

Lüften...

While sure, it's good to air out the room..

However not when there is 4ft of snow outside and the heater is off because of König wanting to 'Save Gas'.

Bullshit to save gas, He just likes the cold. Correction.. He Loves the cold.

More then most around you or anyone probably in this country. He will happily have the window open and let the house freeze like the arctic saying its refreshing new air.

Ever seen those weirdos that walk in a blizzard in shorts, sandals and a shirt?-

That's him.. damn near skips when a snow storm hits.

However he drags that brand of cold enthusiasm into the house. Leading you huddled under 4 blankets as you have to turn the heater onto Max.

"I swear- If you open that God damn window.."

You mumble to you're spouse as you look up from the blankets of your guys shared bed hiding from the cold that was already in the room as the heater works hard to make the room livable.

Seeing König standing by the large window ready to open it- His hands on the little handle as he stared wide eyed at you.

"But-"

"There is a snow storm going on. The house does not by any means- 'need to be aired out'"

"It feels nice Liebling and it's goo-"

"Felix- I will turn the heat on during peak summer and leave you here... to melt"

And Bonus!

Nikto

This man will eat anywhere at anytime..

You leave him alone for .24 milliseconds?

He's munching on something in record time.

Sure he seemed to burn it off but it was the amount he could eat, what he ate and then if it was close to dinner. He would eat again-

You where honestly starting to worry about his health.. He was concerned about the scars on his face but not the amount of sodium he just drank from the pickle jar.

It made it so when you left to grab one of his prescriptions from the pharmacy which you swore was 15 minutes tops you walk in and see Nikto there with a mountain of food on your coffee table watching TV.

A opened pickled onion jar which was now empty- juice gone too, Some sort of packaged meat that seemed was mostly gone and what seemed to be a rolled newspaper filled with the shells of sunflower seeds and seemingly walnut shells (You hadn't even bought either of them-) And now he was cutting up an apple with a knife and using it to eat the slices.

"H-How, Its been 15 minutes... We don't even have walnuts in the house?"

Nikto looked to you eating another slice of apple and shrugged.

"We got hungry-"

He said plainly before looking back at the TV you standing there both worried and frustrated.

"How we just had dinner? There are leftovers!"

"Not anymore. I ate it-"

[l1tw1ck]

Symbiotic Bonding

Bottom!FTM Peter Parker x Top!Masc Reader

🕸️ Word Count: 1,477 🕸️

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Non-Con, Yandere Peter, Murder (Blood, Mentions of Corpses), Wombfucking, Creampie

Peter blinks a couple times, trying to wake up from what he thinks is a dream.

Blood is splattered all over the floor. Hundreds of glass shards reflect the bright moon outside. Did he kill someone?

Peter whips his head around. His heart drops. A corpse. With markings around their throat. He looks at his hands, it's not his usual suit color. Black and white. He can clearly see the victim’s blood on this suit.

There won't be any evidence he was here. His suit…or whatever he's wearing, won't leave footprints. His mask is intact, no stray hairs to analyze.

He gulps. He needs to figure out what happened. Maybe he passed out while trying to defend them. Peter lets out a shaky breath before leaving.

Peter still can't wrap his head around what happened. He knows that the symbiote you were studying escaped and chose him as its host. You’ve been looking for it but he's scared to tell you. He also knows that the person he killed was someone who worked in your lab. What he can't understand is why. If it happened in the lab or the building itself, he could blame it on the misfortune of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it happened in their home. In a place Peter would never have a reason to enter. He didn't even know their name until a few days ago.

Then it clicks.

They touched you. He assumes the symbiote has some sort of connection to you. Is it capable of having complex thoughts and feelings? Or could it just see you as its caretaker?

Whatever it is, he needs to get rid of it.

“Peter, you’ve been zoning out lately. I know one of your friends went missing so if you need a break, I’ll make sure you get paid time off.”

“What?” He looks at you, bewildered.

“You didn't hear? Flash disappeared without a trace two days ago.”

What could Flash….

“Oh my God.” Peter covers his mouth. A while ago, Flash had a private interview with you. Long before the symbiote was even discovered. It knows his memories.

“You should go home.”

You're right. He needs to focus on getting rid of this thing.

“You're so soft, Peter.” You gently kiss him all over. “And you feel so good.”

Peter moans as you fill him up.

“I’m glad you killed my husband." Your cock pokes his cervix.

Peter wakes up gasping. Another corpse. The corpse of your husband. He didn't even know you were married. You must've kept your ring somewhere safe, that kind of jewelry isn't safe in a lab. But how did the symbiote find out?

His spider senses alert him of your presence. You're never going to forgive him. He tumbles to the ground. His body begins to move on its own, getting him out just before you open the door.

Peter doesn't stick around to watch.

In the morning, an email is sent to the team. Everyone's getting time off. The place can't really function without you and everyone knows it.

No matter how hard or what Peter tries, it won't leave his body. When he's out of the suit, it just…becomes part of his skin. It leaves…a tattoo. He doesn't like to look at it.

He has blood on his hands. He has to tell you. He knows he does.

“Peter…” You let him into your hotel room. There are bags under your eyes. It's his fault. He did this to you and he can't blame the symbiote. He should've told you. “How did you know I was staying here?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Peter frowns. “It’s my fault, Doctor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The symbiote—” He drops to his knees. Strong feelings of arousal overtake him like waves in a storm. He finds himself grabbing your pants, part of the symbiote transfers itself to you. You start to feel what Peter feels too. You know what he wants. What he needs.

You get down and pin him to the floor. Your aggression causes his head to hit the ground too but he can't feel the impact. Your hands move on their own to remove both of your clothes. “Peter-”

He moans your name and spreads his legs, his pussy dripping slick onto the ground. You're both fully aware of what your bodies are doing and you can't stop it.

“What– what’s going on?” You sound exasperated as your body forces you to penetrate him. Peter can see your pain. He knows how much you hate this. There's nothing he could do to you that's worse than this. It hasn't even been a day since you found your husband's body.

“I’m sorry- I didn't—” He hisses in pain. You're just as big as you were in his dream. “I can't control it-”

As you reach deeper inside him, you start to lose your awareness. You groan with pleasure as your brain removes all memories of your husband and replaces them with ones of Peter. “God…Peter~”

Peter looks at you with confusion.

“You're so fucking sexy.” You slide your thumb around his womb tattoo.

“You- your- your husband-”

“You wanna be my husband, baby?” You smile.

If the symbiote can access memories, it's no surprise that it can alter them.

“I..”

“You're so cute.” You kiss his cheek. “I’ll buy you a ring tomorrow.”

Peter looks at you in fear. He can't get over his guilt. His mouth hangs open once you reach his cervix. He whimpers your name.

“Fuck….I could…” You bite down on your lip.

“Do it.” Peter's mouth moves on its own again.

You bury your face into his shoulder as you thrust inside him. You can hear his adorable voice even better now.

Peter's almost surprised it doesn't hurt. There's nothing normal or realistic about this, it seems reasonable…in this situation. He doesn't understand the symbiote’s obsession with you. Is it amplifying his desire for you or is it acting on its own? He can't tell.

You marvel at the feeling of penetrating his womb. Your horny sounds drown out the guilty and fearful thoughts in Peter’s brain.

It's not a sin to enjoy himself, it's not like he's the symbiote. Does he really have to resist the very thing he's been dreaming about for months? The thing that's drastically increased his masturbation frequency? Maybe the symbiote is just making him act on the desires he was too ashamed of. Maybe he is the bad guy, but…

You shakily moan Peter’s name as you start to fuck him. He can see your excitement painted all over you. If you're feeling good, then isn't that a greenlight? If you're acting like this just from your memory being altered, then technically, you are consenting. Technically.

Peter wraps his arms around you. “More– more~” He moans your name. “It feels so good!”

“I didn't think it'd be possible..” You sloppily thrust into him. “What if I….”

Peter already knows what you're thinking. “Yes~ inside– come inside~!” He already comes at just the thought.

“Peter~” You give his skin a gentle kiss before coming inside him. You pull your head back. “Can I…Can I keep going?”

Peter smirks. He can tell you're still hard. He wraps his legs around your body and sits on top of your lap. He's at the point where he can no longer tell whether it's him or the symbiote in charge. “I wonder how this’ll feel.” He holds onto your shoulders and starts to ride you. “Oh God..” His mouth hangs open. It's even more intense like this.

He picks up the pace, increasing the erotic sounds in the room. If it's not soundproof, you two are gonna have a few complaints. He leans in to kiss you, sealing your relationship with his tongue. He's fully embracing this even though he knows he shouldn't.

You deepen the kiss and grope his body. He moans into your mouth. The two of you come at the same time, cum dribbling out of his pussy.

Peter relaxes his body, his breaths in sync with yours. He soon falls asleep in your arms, finally catching up on all the hours he missed this month.

It's been a week and everything has been completely altered to benefit Peter. He has no idea how but the story of your dead husband was twisted into a false story. Now, reports say your friend who was staying over got caught in the crossfire between criminals. They got into your apartment and used your ‘friend’ as a hostage. Not a single person or website has any information about you ever being married. Although, that'll change once you two set the date.

He knows it's awful and completely contradictory to his beliefs, but he's glad it worked out. He loves you.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto’s Guard Dog – Part 5

Part 1 Parte 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 636

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: Y/n finally kisses Toto, but when Christian Horner catches them and starts running his mouth, she unleashes hell.

________________________________________________________

Y/n had Toto Wolff right where she wanted him.

For weeks, he’d been smirking, teasing, playing his little power games. But now? Now she was in control.

And Toto hated it.

Well, hated might be the wrong word.

Because every time she leaned in just a little too close—every time she touched his tie, ran her fingers down his arm, or murmured something suggestive just for him—his restraint cracked just a little more.

She was winning.

Until, of course, he decided to ruin her life.

It happened in the Mercedes motorhome.

The paddock had been hot, sticky, exhausting. Y/n had been up since sunrise, running around, dealing with logistics, making fun of Horner three times before breakfast—the usual.

By the time she made it back to the hospitality lounge, she was done.

Toto, of course, looked perfectly fine. No sweat, no exhaustion—just standing there in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed, watching her like he knew things.

She scowled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His smirk deepened. “Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking.”

Toto chuckled, stepping closer—too close, really. “I was just wondering…” He tilted his head. “How far are you willing to push this, schatzi?”

Her breath caught. “Push what?”

Toto leaned in, so close she could feel his breath. “This game of yours.”

For the first time in her life, Y/n was speechless.

And Toto?

Toto knew it.

He chuckled, so smug, and started to pull away.

Absolutely not.

Before he could move, Y/n grabbed his collar and kissed him.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was a collision—weeks of tension snapping like a rubber band, lips crashing, hands tangling in fabric and hair.

Toto made a sound deep in his throat—half surprise, half something much darker—and then his arms were around her, one hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her face as he devoured her.

God, he kissed like he did everything else—completely, overwhelmingly, like he owned her.

Y/n felt dizzy. Drunk. Gone.

And then—

“Ohhhhhh, well isn’t this adorable?”

Y/n and Toto ripped apart.

And there, standing in the doorway, looking way too smug—

Was Christian Horner.

Y/n was going to jail.

She could already see the headlines: Mercedes Strategist Murders Red Bull Team Principal in Broad Daylight.

Horner was grinning. “I knew there was something going on with you two.” He wagged a finger between them. “You know, Toto, for all your talk about professionalism, this seems very—”

“Get out.” Y/n’s voice was deadly.

Horner ignored her. “Honestly, this explains so much. The guard dog routine? The constant defending?” He smirked. “Tell me, Y/n, is it loyalty or are you just whipped?”

Toto tensed.

Y/n saw red.

“Oh, that’s rich,” she snapped. “You want to talk about being whipped? You’re the one whose wife has to publicly defend you every other week because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Horner’s smirk faltered.

Y/n wasn’t done.

“You have the audacity to call me Toto’s guard dog when you’re literally running around begging for scraps of validation from a team that doesn’t even like you? How embarrassing.” She took a step closer. “You think I’m obsessed with him? Sweetheart, you’re obsessed with beating him. And you never will.”

Horner opened his mouth—then shut it.

And for the first time ever, Christian Horner had nothing to say.

Y/n smiled sweetly. “Now. Get out.”

Horner turned on his heel and left.

The second the door shut, Toto let out a long whistle. “Mein Gott.”

Y/n turned to him, still fuming. “I hate him.”

Toto grinned. “I know.”

She crossed her arms. “I—”

Before she could finish, Toto grabbed her face and kissed her again.

Hard.

Possessive.

Like he owned her.

Like he was saying, Mine.

And Y/n?

She kissed him back.

[hughes-your-daddy]

Juno

pairing: luke hughes x singer!reader

warning: slightly suggestive, fluff, swearing

summary: you’re performing in new jersey with luke, his family and team in attendance

luke shuffles through the crowd, everyone following in tow since he knows his way around these events with your security. some of them occasionally stop for pictures with some of the fans, exchanging friendship bracelets some for him and some for you which he happily accepts, before they make it to the vip tent in the middle of the arena.

everyone shuffles into it, like finding the front middle seat, nervously awaiting for you to come onstage.

“you excited?” quinn asks bumping his shoulder, decked out in your merch.

“i think he’s more nervous than y/n.” jack chirps, swinging his arm around the other side of luke.

“she’s never performed here before, and considering we’re usually playing her it’s kinda nerve wracking.” he says looking around the prudential centre.

“crazy how it turns into a concert venue.” nico awes, a smile across his face as he looks about. they’re mid convo before they get interrupted by the lights going down, the intro video playing on big screens.

you stand nervously side of stage ready to run on to do your entrances, towel wrapped tight around you ready for the surprise. you run on your cue hearing fans erupt in cheers before coming to a halt centre standing, covering the lights with your hand to look out into the crowd.

hearing the beginning of taste play you let the first few bars go, locking eyes with luke in the vip tent smiling slightly before revealing your body suit for the night, a red, white and black striped body suit with the number 43 on your nude tights, hearing the crowd go crazy.

you giggle to yourself at the reaction before beginning the show. it’s goes amazingly, feeling the insane vibes from the crowd you get to one of your favourite part of the show where you get to arrest someone before juno.

you walk out with your two backup dancers, coming down to the front of the stage “thank you guys so much for coming out tonight, you’ve been incredible, but all night i’ve been seeing this guy,” you smile staring at luke, as the crowd turns to the tent.

“girls come here, come here.” you say hurrying over to the middle, “hey there, what’s your name?” you ask acting clueless, seeing luke blush, as the others around him shout luke, as he appears on the screen with “arrest” written around him, sirens going off.

“luke? oh my god wow,” you giggle, “how are you?” you ask, seeing him beam back at you, giving a thumbs up.

“i’m overwhelmed, like i knew you were beautiful, but i didn’t know you were that gorgeous.” you smile, seeing the others chirping him.

“guys somethings happening to my body, and, oh my god you’re making me so hot, my clothes are falling off,” you say, your skirt falling down to reveal a shorter one, “and oh my gosh guys i don’t know what to do with myself?” you ask the dancers as the you hand you the pink fluffy handcuffs.

“i’m just gonna have to arrest you for being too hot.” you smile, a hint of sarcasm in your voice, handing the pink fluffy hand cuffs to the security guard who takes them up to luke.

you see him go bright red, his parents watching as the beginning kicks in. dancing round the stage you perform the song having the time of your life before getting to your favourite part.

“wanna try out some freaky positions?” you sing, running up onto the hydraulic, sending a smirk luke’s direction before kneeling down into the famous hockey player stretch.

“have you ever tried this one?” you sing, bouncing a few times before spinning around onto your knees to keep singing.

the crowd goes wild and you can see luke’s friends and brothers riling him up in the vip tent.

you finish the song and a few more before heading off stage to get ready for your final number.

you quickly change into your final outfit a little surprise for luke.

the small platform on the stage rises, coffee cup in hand and the crowd goes wild seeing you wear a number 43 new jersey devils hockey jersey.

you sing and dance your way through the final number before hitting your final pose, seeing the vip tent empty meaning they’re probably waiting backstage.

“thank you new jersey, you’ve been wonderful as always.” you smile, waving and blowing a few kisses before heading off stage, handing your mic to the technicians pulling out your in ears and letting them hand down over your shoulders, heading backstage, seeing a large crowd of friends and family waiting, luke at the front.

they spot you walking down and begin to cheer, causing you to duck your head before doing an exaggerated curtsy and heading straight over to luke.

he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground slightly as everyone goes back to their own conversations.

“you were incredible baby,” luke whispers in your ear before setting you down.

“you like the outfit?” you ask, as he takes your hand and spins you, before pulling you back in by the waist, one hand remaining there, the other on your cheek.

“mmh, you drive me insane.” he whispers, his lips against yours before pulling you in for a kiss. you hear some of the boys chirping him, as he pulls one hand away shooting them the middle finger, before unexpectedly he picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

“luke!” you squeal, as he walks towards your dressing room. the two of you giggle until he makes it to your room, setting you down before he sits on the small couch.

“take a picture, it’ll last longer.” you smirk, seeing his eyes take your body.

“honestly, i’d do so much more, but we’re heading out to celebrate with the others.” he smiles, pulling you in between his legs by the back of your thighs.

“nothing to say we can’t have a little fun at home, i have a day off tomorrow.” you smile, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“y/n my mom and dad are staying with us, i love you but i can’t when they’re in the house.” he says, a small blush creeping on his cheeks as he lets out a small laugh, “but seriously, you were amazing, i have no words to describe it. i just, i seriously love you.” you smiles, looking up to meet your eyes, his hands resting on your waist.

“i love you more,” you smile before he stands back up.

“ok, gimme your in ears ill take them for you.” he smiles, already turning you to help you unhook it from your bra.

he gently takes them off before heading out, giving you one last kiss before you get changed.

you quickly change into some low-rise baggy jeans and a small white cropped top, before quickly brushing out your hair and topping up your makeup, slapping a cap on, grabbing your bag and heading out.

you say hi to everyone else, standing to wait with the hughes family.

“thanks for having us y/n, was a really fun night.” quinn smiles, giving you a big hug followed by jack.

“honestly, never seen like so happy in his life.” jack chirps causing yous to laugh.

“speaking of luke, where is he?” ellen asks, and just in time he returns, standing beside you, hand in his.

“all set.” he smiles down at you before everyone piled out to head to the bar.

“oh and fyi,” luke says, stopping you a little behind everyone else.

“yeh?” you ask, confused.

“we could try that position if your down.” he smirks, causing yous to slap his chest moving to walk away, “hey, you asked me.” he calls out after you before catching up.

“maybe, if your good.”

[dearstvckyx]

i know that you got daddy issues - max verstappen

After a devastating race where you drop from P3 to P19, your father brutally berates you in your driver’s room. Max, along with Charles and Lando, overhears and throws him out. You leave without a word, shutting yourself in your hotel room. Later, Max shows up, and you let him in. He holds you without speaking, silently offering comfort, and ends by softly telling you that he’s proud of you. - The Neighbourhood , Daddy Issues

Max Verstappen x Reader , Toxic!Dad x Reader

Warnings: Emotional abuse (verbal berating from reader’s father), angst, hurt/comfort.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The night air was heavy with humidity, sticking to the skin as the drivers trickled back toward the paddock. The adrenaline of the race still hummed through the garage, but the celebrations were muted.

Because no one could stop thinking about what happened to you.

You—Mercedes’ newest golden ticket, the one meant to fill Lewis Hamilton’s legendary seat—had gone from a podium contender to finishing a dismal P19. The fall was so sudden, so drastic, that everyone was asking the same thing: What the hell happened out there?

Max Verstappen was still in his race suit, the faint outline of his helmet straps marked on his jaw. His hair clung slightly to his damp skin as he walked alongside Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris, their faces still tense with confusion.

“I still don’t get it,” Charles muttered, shaking his head. “She was holding P3 perfectly, not even pushing too hard. And then…”

“Dropped like a stone,” Lando finished quietly. His voice was softer than usual, the playful edge gone. “No radio issue. No mechanical failure. Just… gone.”

Max stayed silent, jaw clenched. He had seen it happen from his Red Bull cockpit—the way you suddenly slowed, letting driver after driver pass you without a fight. No blocking. No defense. Like you weren’t even there.

And now, as they turned the corner down the hallway toward the driver rooms, their steps slowed.

Because they heard it before they even reached your door.

A voice. Sharp. Cold. Spitting words like venom.

“Do you have any idea how pathetic you looked out there?”

Max’s jaw tightened.

“Jesus,” Lando muttered under his breath, his eyes wide.

The three drivers slowed as they neared your room. Through the cracked door, they could see you—still in your race suit, standing stiffly by the window, your back to your father.

You were gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles were white.

“Do you know how humiliating that was? For me? For your entire team? Christ, you were a goddamn walking embarrassment.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing your breath to stay steady.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“You had the car. You had the strategy. You had a shot at the podium.” His voice grew colder, dripping with disdain. “And you threw it away. Like some—some fucking rookie.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“P19,” he spat the words like they physically disgusted him. “Do you know how pathetic that is? I bet every single person watching thought you were a joke.”

Your throat tightened.

“You think Toto is going to keep you around if you keep driving like that? Huh? You think you’re gonna last in this sport? You think—”

“Stop,” you whispered hoarsely, barely able to breathe the word out.

But he didn’t.

He never did.

“You are never going to be Lewis. Never. You’ll be lucky if they don’t toss your sorry ass back to Formula 2.”

You flinched. The words hit harder than any crash could.

And then, your father’s voice dropped lower, cruel and cutting.

“You think Max Verstappen would have just let that happen?” he sneered. “You think he’d just roll over and let people pass him? No. You’re weak. You folded. Like you always do.”

That was the breaking point.

The sharp, traitorous sting flooded your eyes, and you hated yourself for it. You stared hard at the window, blinking rapidly, desperate to keep it together.

Your hands were trembling so badly now that you could barely keep your grip on the table.

You didn’t hear the door open.

You didn’t hear the footsteps.

But suddenly, you heard a different voice.

“Get out.”

It was low. Cold. Steady.

And terrifyingly calm.

You barely turned your head, but your breath caught sharply when you saw him.

Max Verstappen stood in the doorway, still in his Red Bull race suit, the faint outline of his helmet straps marked against his jaw. His sharp blue eyes were hard and unreadable.

Behind him were Charles Leclerc and Lando Norris, both stiff and silent, their jaws set in stone.

Your father blinked, caught off guard for half a second.

Max took a single step forward.

“Get. Out,” he said again, his voice deadly low.

Your father’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Max didn’t flinch. His voice didn’t rise.

But the way he stared your father down—stone-cold, unwavering—was terrifying in its stillness.

“You heard me,” Max said, his voice like steel. “Leave. Now.”

Your father’s jaw tightened, but when Charles and Lando both stepped forward—eyes hard, shoulders squared—he faltered.

For half a second, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. Fear.

Without another word, your father turned sharply on his heel and stormed out.

The moment the door slammed shut, the room fell into a suffocating silence.

Charles stepped toward you cautiously, his eyes soft with concern. “Hey… you okay?”

But you didn’t answer.

You were already walking away.

Your feet moved on instinct, carrying you past Max, past Lando, past Charles—ignoring the way their voices softened as they called after you. You kept walking down the hallway, your head low, your vision blurred, your chest so tight it hurt to breathe.

You didn’t stop until you reached your hotel room.

And when you finally shut the door behind you, the weight of it all came crashing down.

Changing from your race suit to your sleep wear, still a crying mess. You sit on the hotel bed, trying to steady your uneven breathing.

And then, after a hour or so—a soft knock.

You froze.

You stared at the door, unsure if you imagined it.

Another knock. Softer this time.

You slowly pushed yourself up and crossed the room, your fingers hesitating over the handle.

You opened the door.

And there he was.

Max stood in the hallway, now changed into his Red Bull shirt and pants, his hair messy and damp. His eyes were soft now, all the earlier anger replaced with something gentler.

He didn’t say anything—he just searched your face.

And without a word, you stepped aside and let him in.

The door clicked softly behind him.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

You simply walked back toward the bed and sat down on the edge, your shoulders slumping forward slightly, suddenly too exhausted to hold yourself up.

For a moment, you just stared at the floor, blinking hard against the lump in your throat.

And then—you felt his arms around you.

Strong and steady, wrapping around you from behind.

You let out a shaky breath as his arms tightened around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. He slowly pulled you against him, his legs folding around yours, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke.

He didn’t try to tell you it was okay. He didn’t tell you to calm down. He didn’t rush you.

He just held you.

Your hands slowly reached up, slipping over his arms, holding him in place. Your fingers lightly brushed over his skin, tracing small, aimless patterns as your breathing slowly evened out.

After a long moment, Max shifted slightly. He pressed his lips softly against your temple, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.

And then, so softly you almost didn’t catch it, he whispered,

“I’m proud of you.”

Your eyes burned. Your breath caught in your throat.

You slowly turned in his arms until you were facing him. His eyes were so soft, so unbearably gentle.

Your voice cracked slightly. “You are?”

Max’s lips parted slightly, his expression softening further. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly against yours.

“Always,” he murmured. “No matter what.”

You sat quietly against Max’s chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, the soft rhythm of his breathing slowly lulling you into a calmer state. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, as if he was afraid to let go.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

And then, his voice, soft and low, barely above a whisper, broke the silence.

“I know that you have daddy issues,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You froze slightly, your fingers stilling where they were lightly tracing patterns against his arm.

His voice was steady but quiet, almost fragile.

“And I do too.”

Your breath hitched.

You slowly lifted your head, shifting just enough to meet his eyes. His expression was open—vulnerable in a way few people ever saw. His blue eyes were so soft, holding the weight of unspoken memories.

He didn’t have to say anything else. You knew. Everyone did. You knew about the complicated relationship he had with his father—the sharp words, the impossible standards, the suffocating expectations.

And suddenly, you felt it—that quiet understanding. That bond.

Without saying a word, you slowly leaned in, pressing your forehead against his.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, holding him close.

“I know,” you whispered softly.

And with nothing else left to say, you simply closed your eyes and let yourself fall into his arms, knowing you didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

[ms-demeanor]

So the thing with my job is that we're three companies in a trenchcoat. What happened is that a couple of very wealthy guys who used to work in tech decided they were going to buy up companies and mash them together into a bigger company, which is a not-uncommon way to grow MSPs.

We're going to call the first company the Fluffy Bunnies. They were a very stable, white-glove-service MSP with 10 employees serving 30 high-end clients in San Francisco. They have existed for 16 years but got bought out two years ago.

The second company are the Scrappy Mutts. They were acquired about a year ago. They were a moderately stable group handling around 90 medium and small clients in orange county and san diego, they had 7 employees.

The third company, my company, are the Strangled Bats, and were acquired seven months ago. We were a sinking ship with 5 employees handling 185 medium and small clients and one very big client in Los Angeles.

I'm going to call our current company Frankenstein Inc (FI).

All but two of the Scrappy Mutts have left FI. So when we are talking about people who are "familiar" with the 90 clients from that group, it is one tech and one office admin. We have lost a few clients from that group because when FI took over, the service level changed (turns out the previous owner was providing a lot of free services and free computers, which FI will not and should not do).

All but one of the level three techs from the Fluffy Bunnies have left FI. We have several level two techs from the Fluffy Bunnies still on the team, and they make our white-glove, tier-1 san francisco clients feel very well cared for but there's no real account management going on. We have several big clients from this group who are shaky.

Nobody from the Strangled Bats has bounced. None of our clients have bounced. Gary not only trained us to suffer, he trained our clients to actually pay for their services.

Initially, one of the owner/investors of FI was the CEO. When he brought on the Fluffy Bunnies, he told them they were going to be the leadership and guidance for the company. He told them how he wanted the finances handled and set rules for some procedures. When FI merged the Fluffy Bunnies and the Scrappy Mutts, the Fluffy Bunny management had to scramble to figure out how to distribute workload when they quadrupled the size of their customer base and had to figure out how to merge contracts from the Scrappy Mutt clients to their system. This did not go well.

Because that didn't go well, the CEO hired a Professional Services VP and later a Project Manager. The PS VP got fired about a month after the Strangled Bats came onboard, and the Project Manager had only been there for a month at that point.

About a month after his VP was fired, the project manager looked at what a tire fire the acquisition of the Scrappy Mutts and the Strangled Bats was, and started organizing an acquisition process that we are putting in place for the next acquisition, because the owner/investors very much want to keep acquiring other companies.

Since the Strangled Bats have come onboard, ticket distribution has been shot to shit and MOST clients are unhappy with how we're meeting SLAs.

Because of this, the owner/CEO hired two outside execs, one of whom is a CEO with fortune 100 experience to replace him. These two execs have now been at the company long enough to flip on a lightswitch and see the cockroaches scrambling around.

The Fluffy Bunnies are middle management. They want things to move smoothly and customers to be happy. They are more concerned with service outcomes and dropping everything to make clients happy than they are with stability. The Fluffy Bunny response to the cockroaches is to say "yes that is quite unpleasant but we must overlook that for the moment to make sure our customers feel seen." The Scrappy Mutt reaction to the cockroaches is to go "yes, those do seem to be squirmy things, but I am currently chasing this tennis ball (being run ragged by being the only one who really knows 90 clients)". The Strangled Bat response is "yeah okay I eat cockroaches I guess I can grab those and do everything else" because we have been forced to do exactly that.

I thought I was signing on to a company where I'd get to be a Fluffy Bunny or at least a Scrappy Mutt. I am tired of being a Strangled Bat. But if I can't be a Fluffy Bunny then I can at least take care of the cockroaches because the Fluffy Bunnies are pretending they aren't there and they're busy chewing through our cables.

The new exec team doesn't want us to be fluffy bunnies or scrappy mutts or strangled bats working together at Frankenstein Inc, they want us to be normal human employees of a normal human company that is one company with one set of standards and one way of doing things instead of three companies in a trenchcoat. They are in the process of putting these standards into place, and the friction I am experiencing comes from techs on the ground chafing against change, but it ALSO comes from Fluffy Bunny management.

We have one fluffy bunny who is very hesitant to make decisive action and who doesn't want to bother the CEO. The issue is that they are the main interface with the CEO and I report directly to this person. The CEO is my grandboss and if I reach out to him directly I'm overstepping. This fluffy bunny is a yes-man who gets things done by working 70-80 hours a week instead of escalating or delegating and is unlikely to initiate change when it comes to things like "we need to have a drastic reassessment of how we document the hardware we've sold." The OTHER fluffy bunny manager is supposed to be doing service assignments and wants to be a manager, but does not like being told to act more professional, or working one weekend a month, and when you ask this manager for help the response you get is frequently "I don't care" or "ask the other bunny." I don't report directly to this person, but they have oversight over my tickets and can assign me to projects.

I don't want my outlook on the new execs to be too rosy, but it's such a tremendous relief that other people can see the cockroaches and understand that they need to be addressed. I do genuinely believe that the new execs are looking to promote based on how the team responds to the changes they're implementing, and how people tackle the issues that are coming to light, but they're still business dudes in a business setting and there's every possibility that I could work like crazy until my next review and get a "Great Job" sticker and a cost of living raise (which, hey, still better than Gary, but not good enough to set myself on fire for). Given that these guys have been the only ones to put their money where their mouth is in regard to my employment situation (new CEO is why I got my raise, and because I was making so little before it's still not a huge dollar amount but it was a 15% raise which is not nothing) I'm inclined to trust them at least a little. Buuuuuuut I'm also definitely documenting all the shit that I'm doing and I'm maybe also starting a separate document of when I needed something from fluffy bunny management and ran into a brick wall, because the exec team is very firm that i need to escalate through the bunnies.

I will say, if there's anything on our side, it's inertia. Changing MSPs is a huge giant miserable headache so it takes a lot for a customer to bail on us and we do have a solid customer base. Now we just need to make sure none of their goddamned servers implode because the fucking fluffy bunnies configured RAID 5 with no spares because "my fucking server blew up and you didn't have any plan in place to keep me up and running" is absolutely a reason that companies will drop MSPs.

_____________________

The whole server drive situation was because I was trying to wrangle bunnies; it fell into my lap before my pay raise and title change and after that (and the raid 5 panic) I couldn't get bunnies to escalate it or take it seriously and had to start dragging bats into the mix. The CEO has been very clear that this shit is a cockroach and needs to get handled but I'm not supposed to go around my bunny manager to alert him to cockroaches. My bunny manager's response to the fact that the server was RAID 10 (which was checked and confirmed by a bat) was "Wow that's so funny, I wonder why the system was reporting it wrong in the first place? That's some pressure off, huh?" and that's why I was losing my shit yesterday.

[edenprime]

Garrus' character arc is incredibly interesting in that, in my opinion, it's a sort of deconstruction of the bad cop trope. You know, the typical Hollywood detective who justifies any means to catch the perp, your run-of-the-mill copaganda guy.

He starts just like that. He joins Shepard because by running with a spectre he can avoid C-Sec regulations. He wants to endanger Dr Saleon's hostages because he thinks catching him is more important than their lives. He wants to catch Saren and kill him, period. He went off the rails, so he needs to be punished, and in his mind that means he should die, so thats why he expects Shepard to do just that, why he's got trouble understanding why a more paragon Shepard would want to capture and arrest him, instead of killing him. In his own words, he sees the world in black and white, and he decides what's good and what's bad. If it's good, fine. If it's bad, it should die. At this point, he ignores the gray, or maybe he doesn't even see it.

After the battle of the Citadel and Shepard's death, as the Council keeps burying their heads in the sand about the reapers, he realizes his objective (killing bad people so they don't hurt good people, mainly, since "stopping the reapers" at the time probably felt to him like something that was not going to happen) cannot be completed on the Citadel.

This leads him to become a vigilante on Omega. This is ideal for him. As he tells Shepard (and I'm paraphrasing), if he wants to find someone bad to kill he just has to point his gun. He does the Archangel thing for a while, and then he fails. Spectacularly. The sort of traumatic failure that stays with you for a long damn while. There's a reason, in my opinion, that he's got so little unique dialogue on the Normandy. Three conversations after his loyalty mission, and how many? 3 more at most before it? Poor man's got a shit ton of survivor's guilt to work through. He channels it into anger at Sidonis, into trying to avenge them, but still: he was responsible for their lives (in his mind), and they all, 100% of them, died.

He has all the time in ME2 to come to terms with the fact that he was wrong. To understand why he was wrong and how he failed. I'm pretty sure that by the time Shepard goes back to the alliance, he's learned his lesson: vigilante work, revenge, killing bad guys to save good guys, avoiding the law... all of that won't lead to a better galaxy. Sure, he and his team did good work in Omega, for as long as they lasted, but they weren't going to turn the tables. Archangel was good in concept, he changed lives for the better, but he wasn't going to save the galaxy.

So what does he do, when he sees his methods have failed and shit's about to hit the fan? He finally turns to the official channels. He goes to his ex-C-Sec father, with whom he "did not see eye to eye", and he asks him for his help, in what is, in my opinion, the narrative showing his changed attitude towards formal authority, that which made him a "bad turian".

He gets official government help, he gets his task force, and he gets recognition for his work. He helps the turians' chances against the reapers. He gets formal recognition for his work, as even generals are saluting him.

He learns that there's value in following procedure. He finally starts seeing that gray, a little at least. He outgrows the "bad cop" persona.

[minyard-05]

concussion

usual suspects tags: @bsideheart @you-know-i-get-itt @millportisntreal @absolutely-existing @sunriseabram @tessasilverswan @andrewsleftarmband (lmk if you want to be added)

this is a little thing that i like to call Mildly Homoerotic Medical Care don't think about it too much

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Aaron tipped Seth's head upwards toward the light, turning his head to better study his eyes.

"I'm not high, if that's what you're looking for."

Aaron rolled his eyes but pressed the pads of his thumbs into the soft skin above and below Seth's eyes, gently tugging them further open to get a better look.

"Checking for concussion, actually," Aaron said, matter-of-factly, but he finally let go of Seth's head, sitting back and flipping him off, expression blank.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Seth stared him down with false malice in his glare, before he ducked his head, biting the tip of Aaron's finger lightly before slipping it inside his mouth. Aaron's expression changed, undetectable if Seth hadn't been watching for it. A flicker of hesitation for a moment, gaze dipping, before he looked up again. Seth didn't move until Aaron did, until he pulled his hand away and rolled his eyes as he wiped his finger off on Seth's shirt.

"You're not concussed, which should be a miracle, but you've got such a thick skull it's more impressive you felt a thing."

"Too many words, dumb it down for me," Seth replied.

"I called you an idiot, Seth."

Seth didn't have time to process that, much less answer, when the sound of a loud buzzer blared out. Aaron looked in the direction of the sound on instinct, still scratching his nails against the base of Seth's skull.

"There's a first."

"It was your fault," Aaron said, changing the subject and moving away.

"You have to stop picking fights with the other side. This is what you get."

"I don't have to do anything," Seth replied, but he moved his head a little too quickly to track Aaron's pace, and a bolt of pain shot through his skull. He didn't say anything, but closed his eyes and grit his teeth, letting out a long breath. When he opened them again, Aaron was standing over him, an orange bottle in one hand and an I-told-you-so look in his eyes. Seth returned it with a glare.

Aaron shook two white pills out of the bottle and held them up.

"Painkillers."

Seth didn't break eye contact as he allowed Aaron to place the pills on his tongue, and to close his mouth afterward with a finger underneath his chin. Seth swallowed the tasteless drug dry, gazing up at Aaron's unchanged expression. He knew by now that Aaron didn't trust himself with even the most mild of painkillers, choosing instead to suffer through his regular migraines, waving off any offer of help and flat-out ignoring anyone who told him to just take something for it. The sentiment was cute, but Seth knew better.

"Jealous?" he asked, giving Aaron every right to punch him in the mouth.

Aaron didn't glare at him, didn't even roll his eyes, just looked bored. The hand that still rested over the line of Seth's jaw crept toward the back of his neck, blunt, bitten nails grazing across his skin. Seth felt every point of contact amplified a thousandfold, but Aaron didn't seem to take any notice.

"Of what?" he said, monotone.

"That's half time," he said, which was obvious. He started to step away from the bed.

"Better get back out there," Seth said, shoving the small of Aaron's back away as he let go of his hand.

"Go defend my team, Five."

Aaron didn't look back when he left, only pausing in the doorway to say "If they were your team, they'd like you better."

Then he was gone.

Seth dropped back on the bed, staring up at the white lights of the infirmary.

Maybe he really was concussed.

-----------

[howi99]

From the Nest 12

Ruby: *looking at team BBRN's table* i wonder where's Jaune?

Weiss: *sneer* Who cares where that brute is? *crossing her arms* Beside, he can't be trusted.

Pyrrha: *wince* Weiss, i know you don't like him, but-

Weiss: *frown* But what? The school is hiding his last name, he knows almost nothing about the world, he is from a Mistralean tribe and worked with the White Fang.

Yang: Didn't he say his tribe hadn't interacted with the White Fang in years?

Weiss: *Sigh* The SDC was attacked multiple times by bandits in Anima. Coincidentally, those bandits stopped attacking when the White Fang became more belligerent.

Pyrrha: You think Jaune was a bandit? That's a bit farfetched, don't you think?

Weiss: *frown* Maybe, but there's something fishy about him.

Yang: *looking at the missing spot at BBRN's table* (A bandit tribe... I wonder if he knows anything about...)

_ meanwhile _

Raven: *having transformed back into her human form, stretching herself* Ah~

Ozpin: Miss Bran-

Raven: *glaring at Ozpin* Don't even try Oz, if it wasn't for your dirty tricks, i wouldn't even be here.

Ozpin: *clearing his throat* Quite. *Looking at Jaune* Tell me, young man, how much-

Jaune: *point to Raven* As much as her.

Ozpin: *feeling the headache* I see.

Jaune: *looking at the young woman in stasis* If i can manage to heal her, you will give amnesty to the Branwen tribe, right?

Ozpin: *nodding* That is correct, yes.

Raven: And you will leave the spring maiden alone.

Ozpin: As long as you are protecting her, i see no objection.

Jaune: *chuckle* As if she needed protection. *To himself, a bit nervous* Heck, i'll need protection from her during the tournament...

[windixie]

the perfect pair ⟢ ch. 1 broken cd

satoru gojo x reader ꒰18+꒱ smut, angst, fluff

⟡ pairing . college au soccer player! gojo x alt! reader

› summary . in which opposites actually attract. you're not the kind of girl who seeks validation from anyone as your world is surrounded by indie films, music, and clothing. meanwhile, satoru lives in a completely different world from you. the campus soccer star who practically radiates confidence and popularity. but that doesn't stop satoru from attempting to throw himself at you, with his playful grins and teasing but loving comments. but before you can accept his advances, a certain party exposes who he truly is and now he is left determined to change himself for you.

› warnings ⓘ tags . 18+, fem! reader, smut, angst, fluff, college au (have syracuse university in mind), friends to lovers (reader hates him, he thinks otherwise), slow burn, jealousy, some suguru x reader because he doesn't respect bro code or wtv.

› wc . 1.1k

⟡ taglist . @unreleasedlana11

cd's are actually expensive.

well at least for you actually, only because you happen to listen to artists that are no longer active and have to buy discontinued cd's through sketchy websites that definitely overcharge. you couldn't judge though, easy money for the seller. your bank account disagrees.

you promise yourself that this will be the last cd you buy - till you're financially stable again. the disc nearly cost you 60 bucks plus taxes and shipping, 80.99. that greedy seller. regardless you were happy especially when you got the notification from the app telling you that your order has arrived.

at your college you had to walk all the way towards the front where the school mailboxes were located. the second you stepped foot outside your dorm, which, thankfully you had all to yourself because for some reason you weren't assigned a roommate, you are hit with the sound of cheering. the soccer team has just returned from a tournament.

including satoru gojo.

you knew of the boy. you knew he was the most known player in the school. and i'm not just talking about soccer. in each frat party he has to get in at least two bodies. he has a whole line of girls patiently waiting for their turn to warm up the white haired boys bed.

he's everything.. you hated in a guy.

how do girls go crazy over him? he's deadass the most basic boy you are sure each college in the state has. but you couldn't help but stay a bit to watch as all the boys make their way through the applauding crowd. a new face emerged from the bus, all looking proud. they must've won.

you were pulled away from your thoughts when his face appeared. suguru. he was best friends with gojo. you can't help but stare. his piercings, long hair, style that was different from the rest, just like you. it's hard to not notice him.

you almost don't realize who's looking at you instead. your eyes meet with satoru for a brief moment before you continue making your way to the central mail room, not allowing your brain to even process the eye contact.

as he made his way out the busy, satoru is met with a crowd of students cheering. he smirks as he kept the conversation going with his friends. he knows how attractive he is. not every one is 'blessed' to have a body count of half the schools girl population.

he knows how good he is. so why is it that when his eyes land on you, his heart skips a beat. he's never seen you before, why now? why does he like the way your hair frames your face so beautifully and the way your outfit compliments your body so well?

he felt his world stop for just a second when your eyes finally met his. a split second.

you unlocked your assigned mailbox after reaching the central. other students were there as well looking at letters from their family back at home or the same reason as you, a package. your eyes lit up as you took out the perfectly wrapped cd. .

not wasting one more second, you carefully unwrap it. here it is, finally in your hands after a month of waiting and two days worth of hard labor. the light reflected like heaven itself shining upon you from the glossy surface. you flipped it over, reading through the track list as you locked your mailbox once again not even bothering to check if there's any other letters in your box.

right as you turned, you bumped into something hard, causing your cd to slip from your hands, the sound of it hitting the floor haunting you.

it broke.

and so did your heart.

no. no way.

a month of waiting. money wasted. just for the cd to slip right out your hands.

okay you're being dramatic, it obviously didn't break. but the impact caused the case to open once it fell on the floor. the cd might just have a few scratches. one scratch is one scratch too many though.

"shit, sorry about that."

you lifted up your head to look at the one responsible for this.

satoru.

the satoru himself was in front of you giving you another reason to dislike him. he looked at you with his eyes widening a bit. its you. the girl he saw from earlier. he crouched down, placing his bag on the ground next to his feet to pick up your disc, carefully placing it back in the case. definitely not a band he was familiar with.

he handed it back to you, his hand touching yours slightly.

"here pretty, am sorry again."

your eyes narrowed. "It’s fine," you said, trying to keep your cool. "Not like you can fix it."

his eyes watched you push past him and they trailed past you until you were out of his view.

he finally got the chance to talk to you which he's been wanting to do since he's know you which was only like 20 minutes.

he couldn't help but smile to himself as he opened up his own mailbox, stuffed with fan mail.

a few scratches as you suspected. it shouldn't affect your listening experience.

you placed the now damaged disc in your cd player which was gifted to you by your parents on your sixteenth birthday. the music filled up your room in a nice and warm space.

you sank down on your mattress closing your eyes to enjoy the listening experience. no amount of scratched could ruin this.

they did.

your eyes shot open as the cd started to tweak out not even three minutes into the track list. guess the damage really was done. its all his fault. satoru gojo.

"no..please.." you begged taking out the cd to look at it again seeing that you missed a crack running right through it.

it was all his fault. you barely knew him but now that you had your first ever encounter you had all the reason to despise him. there's no way you will be able to listen to your 80.99 worth cd with there being glitching every other song.

you couldn’t shake the image of satoru standing there, his awkward attempt at helping, the way his gaze had softened for a brief moment. you'd make him buy you a new one, that being if the discontinued cd was even out there anymore.

what if you bought the last one ever?

you groaned into your pillow.

that's it you're throwing a bf.

a bitch fit.