#how to hide your usb

[itbabasachinsharma]

How to hide any pen drive | पेन ड्राइव को Hide & Show कैसे करें | Windows 10,8,7 | By Sachin Sharma

[darkbluekies]

Intruder 2024 ver

Yandere!mafia OC x reader

Summary: finding a mystical USB in your bag leads to more danger you ever could have anticipated. It leads you straight into the arms of a well respected mob boss.

Warnings: gore, kidnapping, breaking in, chains, crime, yandere

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: I thought it could be fun to remake my first one-shot almost 2 years later to see how I have improved! I hope you like the new version♡

Your hands tear through the bag, impatiently looking for the lip balm that is somewhere in the mess of papers, water bottles, wallets and receipts. Your head is pounding, your back is sore and your fucking lips are dry and you can’t think of anything else. You grab the backpack and turn it upside down, shaking it violently until every little thing has fallen out. Receipts dingle down like snowflakes. The lip balm falls out on the wooden floor and when you bend down to take it, you notice that it’s lying beside something that you can swear that you have never seen before. A white USB. Confused, you turn it around, looking for some kind of indication to remind you of what it contains. No tape, no pen, nothing. You sigh and stand up. Before walking over to your computer to figure out what contains on the USB, you smother your lips in lip balm. It gets in your mouth, tasting buttery and putting a greasy layer on your front teeth.

You sit down in front of your computer, boot it up and press the USB into the right port. If you see what is on it, maybe you’ll remember what you have used it for. It takes a few moments before a file pops up at the bottom of your screen. You press on it and are met by multiple folders, all having cryptic titles.

When have I ever done this?

Is this a Friday night drunk act? It would be an answer to why you don’t remember anything about it. You decide to press on one of the folders. Pictures and videos. Hundreds of them. You click on the first picture. What meets your eyes puzzle you. For a few seconds you can’t even process what you are looking at. A mushy red sponge-looking … something. When it hits you that what you are looking at is a dead, mangled body you gasp and shoot your chair away from your desk. A wave of mixed fear, disgust and disbelief washes over you as millions of questions bash into your head. Panicked worries about where the USB came from, who was in the picture, how many more there are like this, why you have the USB and if you would get in trouble and. If you give the USB to the police, would they find you suspicious? Would they think that you had anything to do with this? And will the ones who owns this USB kill you for it?

You find yourself pacing back and forth in your room as your heart beats in your ears. What are you going to do? You have to get rid of it. Quickly.

You turn back to the computer and pull the USB out as quickly as if it was on fire. The grotesque picture disappears. You drop the white stick into your pocket, as if it was really in flames. Just holding it made you feel dirty. You wipe your hands on your shirt, expecting it to smear blood. Nauseous, you run to the bathroom. Despite washing your hands in water and soap until your heads become gnarly and sore, you feel as if you have murdered that poor girl yourself and nothing will clear you of what you have witnessed.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom, how long you’ve tried to wash yourself of sin and guilt. Suddenly, the front door’s lock seems to click. You freeze, listen closely. Perhaps it isn’t your door? You quickly find that it is, indeed, your front door creaking open. Quickly, you get into the bathtub and hide behind the curtain. Your entire body trembled.

“Little thing”, a deep voice sing-songs in what can only be interpreted as amusement. “I see that you have something that belongs to me.”

The voice is unfamiliar, which is only for the best. You’re able to locate him in your bedroom.

The click of a gun snapping in place makes you flinch against the ceramic tub. If he finds you, you will die.

“Don’t try to hide from me.” You can hear the evident smile in his voice. “I know that you are here somewhere. I saw you on that low resonate web cam of yours just ten minutes ago! I don’t have time to play hide and seek with you. The longer I have to look for you, the less fun it’ll be for you when I find you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that all of this is a horrible nightmare. Your chest is burning with fear. All you want is to scream and cry, plead and beg for your pitiful little life.

“Little thing, I know that you saw some gruesome stuff on that USB”, he says, his voice now drenched in false pity. “Don’t you want to get rid of that horrible filth, hm? I can take it off your hands. Just come out and give it to me and I will spare your life. What do you say?”

A silence follows. An excruciating silence that makes you want to claw out of your own skin. You prepare yourself to see him ripping the curtain away and putting a bullet through your skull.

“Oh, would you look at that?” His voice appears again, back to the amusement. “A call from your mother? Let’s answer, shall we?”

Panic goes through your entire body as you realize that he has your phone — and, indirectly, your mother, in his hands. You can’t let your family be involved in this! The more people who know, the more people will be in danger and the harder it will be to get out of this mess.

You hurry out of the bathtub, out of the bathroom. You make your way down the corridor and storm into your bedroom. The man is tall with hair as dark as night and when he looks over his shoulder you can tell that his eyes, as well, are as dark as his ruthless soul. He’s standing in front of the same computer you watched the picture on — the same computer he claims he saw you through. He smiles at you, a triumphed ‘i told you so’ smile.

“Please don’t”, you beg. “Don’t answer the call. Please.”

He clicks away the phone call before throwing the phone on the bed. He turns to you. He’s wearing a black suit.

“There you are”, he smirks and tilts his head. “You look much better in person.”

With trembling fingers you fish the USB out of your pocket and throw it at his feet. He looks at it for a few seconds, appearing clueless.

“Take it!” you shriek. “Take it and leave me alone!”

The man scoffs out a surprised laugh and lifts his eyebrows before slowly bending down and picking it up. He looks at it for a few seconds and then at you, meeting your eyes. They’re surprisingly calm.

“Please, just take it and go.” Your voice is barely audible.

The man stays silent for a few seconds before opening his mouth again. “I don’t think I can.”

“W-What? I haven’t done anything, I don’t know how it ended up in my bag, I didn’t steal it. I don’t even know when or how I got it.”

The man seems amused by your rambling. As if he’s hearing a little kid try to reassure their innocence in a sandbox fight.

“I know that you haven’t done anything”, the man calmly answers. “My man’s incompetence of carrying an USB is not your fault. But you have seen what’s on it. You know what it is, don’t you?”

“No”, you lie and shake your head.

He scoffs. “I saw you on your webcam. I know that you understood what was on it. Do you think I can just let you off the hook and walk straight to the police? Now that you’ve seen me too?”

You are going to die. Holy shit.

“I-I won’t tell anyone!” you stutter and start to back away from him. “I will pretend that I have never seen anything. No one will know. Please.”

Before you have time to run, he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him. You scream and try to fight back, but he’s bigger, stronger. He slams his hand over your mouth, forces your back against his chest. You sob and shake your head, your pleas getting muffled by his hand.

“Don’t cry, pretty thing”, he says. “It doesn't suit you.”

With that said, he pulls you out of the apartment. You can feel the gun in his pocket poking your back. You have never been this scared before, and have no idea what your body will do when it is this panicked. To your surprise, it decides to black out.

For a few seconds you're sure that you have dreamt the worst nightmare in your life, until you open your eyes and find that you aren't in your bed. You aren't even in your apartment. Quick eyes search around. A bunker or a basement. Those are your best guesses. Blood, both dried and fresh, covers the cement walls. You hurry to look around your body to make sure that none of the blood belongs to you. For the moment you seem to be unharmed. But for how long? You have chains around your wrists, ankles and throat to keep you in place. Like a dog. You repeat your name, your background and family in your head, just to not go completely insane. Will you ever see them again?

You damn that little piece of plastic and metal, wish that it would self-destruct and ruin that man's life. Such a little thing got you in such big trouble.

A door creaks open above you and your man starts to walk down the stairs to the basement. He's wearing a black buttoned shirt. He has something in his hands.

“Awake now?” he says.

You don't answer. He strolls over to where you're sitting and crouches down. He reaches out for you, removing some hair from your forehead. You will bite his fingers off if he doesn't keep them to himself.

You glare at him. You wish that your eyes could penetrate his skin and pierce his ice cold heart.

“What's your name?” he asks.

“Why do you want to know?” you ask carefully.

“It might be so that you'll have to stay here with me for a while. Telling me your name will make it easier for me to talk to you.”

“What's your name, then?” you ask.

He smiles, and the smile is almost soft. He seems amused by your counter question.

“Silas”, he says. “Achilleos.”

The name rings a bell in your brain. You've heard his name before. On the news. He's a mob boss. Your eyes widen. You really have screwed yourself beyond belief.

“My name won't hurt you”, he smiles.

“It's not the name I'm scared of”, you mutter.

“And your name?”

You hesitate. You know better than to give your name to a literal mob boss, but you also know better than to lie to one.

“Y/N”, you whisper, hoping that he won't hear and that you won't have to repeat yourself.

Silas makes himself more comfortable on the cold, hard floor. He leans on his arm.

“I have to say that I am genuinely sorry for this”, he says. “I don't like pulling innocent people into something they don't have anything to do with. Especially this kind of shit. I have more important things to do. My man stupidly dropped the USB into your bag and now that you have seen what's on it and know who I am, I can't let you go.”

Maybe you shouldn't have asked for his name.

“Normally, I would have killed you”, he says. “But I think that I'm going to keep you for a little while. You interest me.”

You lift your heavy, chained hands and cover your face. Sobbing. Silas removes your hands and lifts your chin up with his index finger.

“Let's make a deal, shall we?” he asks. “I will not hurt you … if you do as I say.”

“So I can't go home again?”

“No, because the second you put that USB in your computer, and I got the notification that someone had opened it, you’ve belonged to me.”

Beyond screwed isn't even enough to describe what you are.

“So?” Silas says. “Do we have a deal?”

What choice do you even have? You nod shortly.

“Good”, Silas says.

He reveals what he had in his hands when walking down the stairs. A small yogurt packet and a spoon. The text on the packet isn't in English.

“I used to eat this when I was a kid”, he says and opens the lid, giving it to you. “I guess that you're hungry.”

You shovel it into your mouth. It tastes like strawberry and is smooth in texture. It's first after eating it all that you remember who gave it to you and perhaps that you shouldn't have eaten it.

“No, I haven't poisoned it”, Silas scoffs. “Didn't I just tell you that I have planned to keep you alive?”

“You could have lied”, you whisper.

He scoffs again as he starts to remove the chains. The weight drops off of you like angel light. Silas pulls you up on your feet, buy your knees buckle the second you try to put pressure on them. Silas catches you and lifts you up in his arms. He carries you up the stairs, to a hall, and then up another flight of stairs. Your body aches.

Silas walks into a bedroom, dressed in modern interior design. You're placed down on a king sized bed, tucked in under heavy blankets. The crinkle of chains makes you flinch. Silas lifts an identical cuff to the ones you wore five minutes ago.

“This is just to keep you here”, he explains and places it around your wrist. “Sleep now.”

With that said, he walks out and leaves you alone. The door closes. You tug at the chain, but it's obvious that you'll stay there. Too tired to cry, you sink down on the mattress. Too alert to fall asleep you stare up at the ceiling. A thought crosses your mind, quick and easy, buy loud enough for your heart to ache. You have to get out of here before it's too late.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Ooo you’re doing Pressure!!

May I request an artist reader who, throughout the journey found some paper, pencil and made a little makeshift sketchbook and when later bought Sebastian’s document decided to try and draw him? Like maybe both when human and current (and maybe the monsters)? 

Perhaps he saw them sketching, got curious and decided to look through it when reader left it somewhere or just straight up snatched it and held it out of their reach and sees those sketches of him. Could be hurt/comfort or angst/fluff.

Of course you’re free to change any of the details but please keep it platonic TwT

Aw love this idea! And it works considering all the paper and notebooks in the drawers of the blacksite.

............

"Great, [y/n]. One moment, you're doing some harmless graffiti on a brick wall nobody cares about. And the next, you're risking your life for a stupid crystal in hopes you'll get a federal pardon.."

Sighing, you held onto the overhead handles within the sleek black submarine, feeling it shake and rumble as it breached the water's surface. And after hearing the chime, the door hissed and opened up, the platform extending out onto the dock of a place already familiar to you: Hadal Blacksite.

'No place like home..' As you stepped out of the submarine, you could hear HQ over the PDA system informing you of your objective in reaching the crystal and collecting any "loose assets" you find along the way...

As if you needed any reminders of what you were doing here.

Immediately, you unlocked the first door with the keycard and began your journey to room 100. Along the way, you found a good handful of research data. Nothing too special aside from folders, USB drives, and a couple blue DNA vials.

Then after narrowly dodging the Angler in one area and avoiding Eyefestation's gaze in the next, you reached a room requiring yet another keycard to exit. You checked the nearby office cubicle, finding it in the first drawer you opened.

But that isn't what made your eyes light up. Rather, it's what was right next to the card that did:

A brand new pencil to go with the sketchbook you've been carrying with you.

Because you weren't given the luxury of doodling while sitting in jail for over 90 days, you felt your creativity flames being snuffed out, leaving you itching to draw something again.

Before all of this, you had a decent following on social media with your art skills, and you could imagine that they're worried sick over your sudden absence. But you hoped that, if you survive and succeed in this mission, you'll be able to come back and reassure them that you're very much alive.

And perhaps show them what Urbanshade has been hiding from the public...that is to say the sea monsters that have taken up residence in the Blacksite since its lockdown, freely roaming and haunting nearly every room you step into.

With the makeshift sketchbook you had (and somehow kept even after death), you've filled its pages with simple and detailed sketches of each creature you encountered.

But you doubt that they would let you leave with physical evidence of entities nobody else in the world should know about...unless you somehow convinced the guards that they were "original characters" that so-happened to look like them, but you had a feeling that excuse wouldn't fly.

Regardless, they've given you tons of artistic inspiration, despite your many close-calls with them in pursuit of studying their features from afar.

Thanks to the files Sebastian Solace has shown you, you've learned how to safely observe the Angler from a distance and better remember their details. They were merely a grotesque face surrounded by smoke, so you didn't have to worry about drawing any limbs or tails (assuming they had those).

You encountered their variants so many times that you could recall the little things that made each them unique--like how Pinkie had four pupils, how Blitz was missing pupils in one socket completely, how Froger was..well..a big frog with lots of needle-shaped teeth, and Chainsmoker was a sluggish blobfish through all that smoke.

Making eye contact with Pandemonium was a death sentence..as you've already learned after trying (and failing) to safely observe him through a glass window. So you draw him as you see him in his file.

The Squiddles' "intimidating" faces were scary in the dark when you least expected them, but they served as amazing inspiration. You even had a page full of what faces you'd think they make up to frighten others. It's too bad you couldn't show them, however, as that required you getting in their personal space.

Eyefestation, Good People, and the Wall Dwellers were quite..risky to observe, as they had ways of quickly and painfully sending you back to square one if you weren't careful. Even so, you made some pretty damn good sketches..and you wish you could show them off to them, too, especially to the shark who'd probably appreciate a human's drawing of herself.

Even the DiVine, who were always frozen in poses for some reason, joined your ever-growing list of muses. The oxygen gardens were a nice place for you to rest and appreciate the flora for a few moments--before an Angler came along, of course.

Then there was Sebastian.

While he was fully aware of your artistic passions, in the beginning he seemed a bit annoyed whenever you came into his shop just to sketch.....or if you took an unusually long time to reach him. He just assumes you've stopped to "doodle" and wonders if you really care about getting out of this place alive.

He'd remind you that HQ could get suspicious if you're off their radar for too long, but you've stayed in his shop for 10-20 minutes at a time and not once did your diving gear beep. So you reassured him not to fret.

It was kinda sweet that he worried over you, an expendable, although maybe that's because you actually treat him with decency..and don't take his snarky comments to heart whenever you died.

Aside from the occasional eyeroll whenever you brought out your sketchbook, he did inquire about some of the things you've drawn, and you'd show him, bearing a little pride in your work.

All you'd get in response was a "neato" or "wowie, that's how you see them?" and nothing more.

It wasn't insulting, so...you'll take that.

Obviously he was more concerned about how much research data you were willing to fork over in exchange for supplies, and how far that equipment will carry you before your next demise. So you'd eventually close the book and barter with him for whatever wares were on his tail.

Unbeknownst to him, you've actually started sketching him as of late. Now that you've met him dozens of times, it was easy for you to recall his features without needing to stare at him for reference every five seconds.

That would not only be rude, but very creepy.

Then one day, you showed up to Sebastian's shop with enough data to be able to afford his document, which described him as Z-13, "The Saboteur" who the company wanted "dead on sight" if he was spotted or trying to escape.

When you had time to read the file on your own, you learned some..pretty shocking things about how he caused the lockdown, went through torturous experiments, and was falsely accused of nine murders and was proven innocent far too late.

The most upsetting part was that he was never informed of this.

He learned that after presumably stealing his own document.

It made you feel sick to your stomach, knowing he's the reason you're being terrorized by those beasts, but you couldn't find it in your heart to be angry at him.

If anything you were angry at Urbanshade for their "guilty until proven innocent" system--or in his case, being proven innocent didn't matter.

His human mugshot was also included in the file, and even with the black censor bar covering his eyes, he still looked like quite a handsome fellow. You could make out some details, and ended up drawing him on a separate page, too, although part of you wishes you never started.

You doubt he would kill you or rip apart your book for drawing him, but considering how volatile and rude he could be at a moment's notice..you did your best to conceal the sketches when you visited his shop.

You didn't want him to be offended or reminded of his past..and make him resent the one person who he almost considered a genuine friend.

Unfortunately, you'd soon come to realize that your actions were only heightening his suspicions.

And that it was going to come to a head next time you entered his shop.

...............

"Okay, I'm going to bite...what're you really hiding in that little book?"

"Pardon?" Pausing mid-sketch, you looked up at Sebastian, wondering why he appeared so disgruntled. "I'm..uh...just doodling like I always-"

"No, don't give me that "like always" crap." He huffed, flicking the end of his tail as he crossed his two arms over his chest, staring down at you. "Last time, you couldn't stop showing me a stupid face you'd think one of those S-Qs would make...and now you won't even let me have a sneak peak of your next "masterpiece"." He spat the last word, voice dripping with disdain. "Are you really drawing something...or are you secretly writing intel to give to Urbanshade?"

"...wha.." You blinked in disbelief, wondering where he'd get that assumption from. "Why would I ever do that?"

"Oh I dunno, maaaybe because you have access to my file and know my location? I bet you're gonna sell me out to those scumbags once you reach the crystal." He gnashed his teeth. "Did they say you'd get extra cash for leaving tips on my whereabouts, huh?"

"Sebastian, there's no reason for this hostility. I'm not giving any intel to anyone-"

"Then you wouldn't mind me taking a look at this, would you? Yyyyyyoink!" His third arm was quick to snatch your sketchbook away, holding it out of your reach as you jumped up in panic.

You were already dreading his reaction.

This could very well be the end for you.

"Please give that back! You'll tear it!"

"You look frightened. So maybe I should, considering you're writing secrets about.....about...." But as Sebastian finally looked at the page, all he saw were sketches of his current self, and you began to see a shift in his expression.

It went from pure anger, to surprise and confusion, and then to....something unreadable.

"These are...all of me?" His voice became quieter as he flipped the page, only for his breath to hitch upon finding the drawings of his human form.

And for once, he was completely speechless.

The details were immaculate, everything from his hair style to the scar he used to have across his face--given to him from an angry cellmate who thought he really did kill those people and tried giving him a "taste of his own medicine".

But the way you made him look was...incredible.

That's him.

That's really him.

The man--the human--he was before...

Before...

"Yes." Your face was burning with embarrassment, and your heart was pounding with fear of both death and ridicule, now knowing that your fate laid in his hands now. "I-I'm sorry. I should've asked for your permission and I know the details aren't perfect but you didn't let me........huh?"

Ceasing your ramblings, you noticed the tears welling in his eyes, and you were stunned. Then his shaking hands closed the sketchbook and returned it to you. "Um..are you okay? I'm really sorry if-"

"I...a-almost forgot what I looked like before all of this.." He raised a claw to wipe at his watery eyes, sniffling. "They're...good drawings, friend. I'm sorry..I...I-I didn't mean to..." His voice cracked, and he forced himself to stop, bringing his hands to his face. "Why am I crying over something like..t-this..?"

He hated looking so weak in front of you, yet he couldn't help the tears that kept slipping down his cheeks. A certain sadness was weighing heavily on his heart, yet at the same time he felt...honored that you wanted to draw him, putting your heart and soul into every sketch--with him getting the most effort.

You didn't overexaggerate him as the hideous beast he and everyone else was convinced he was, but just him as, well, himself. His smiles when he realizes it's you coming through the vent again, his cheeky grins when you buy up all his supplies, and even the one time he pouted when you died to Pandemonium because you risked it all trying to draw the moldy fish-creature.

The human ones, as you could tell from the way he broke down, especially hit home for him. Just from a mugshot alone, you were able to create a near-accurate depiction of him.

It made him wonder if you two have met before any of this happened.

Sebastian sniffled, struggling to stop the tears and expecting you to make fun of him as he finally uncovered his face. But instead he saw you standing there with your arms opened up. "I feel like you could use one of these. It's okay. I know you miss being human."

".........."

"C'mon, big guy. My arms are kinda hurting--oh!"

Without warning, he accepted your embrace and squeezed you tightly in his hold. Of course he was careful not to crush your diving tanks, and you smiled in appreciation and patted his back. "It's okay, it's alright..I got you. I didn't mean to make you cry."

He sniffled a few times, but otherwise said nothing and tried making sure you weren't supporting all of his upper body weight.

Curse his size. He wishes he could experience a normal hug again.

This one will do, though.

"I-It's...it's fine. Don't worry.." He finally spoke after a few moments, calming down. "As long as you don't tell anyone about this."

"I'll take it to my grave." You chuckled, letting go and stepping away so he could straighten his back out. While he did that, you gently tore a few pages from your book, to which he blinked in confusion.

"What are you doing with-?"

"Keep them." You insisted. "In case this sketchbook falls into a pit or gets waterlogged, I want you to hold onto these. Besides, I can tell you appreciate them a lot. So...consider it a gift."

"Why..thank you." A smile appeared on his face as he took the pages carefully. "Rest assured, they'll be safe and sound." He gazed at them both one more time, feeling a tug on his heart.

But it wasn't as heavy as before.

After neatly folding and stowing them away into his pockets, he saw you already sitting in one of the chairs, your sketchbook opened to a brand new blank page.

"Sooooooo what are you going to draw this time?" He tilted his head, ear fins twitching with curiosity.

"Hm...I did see a vision of a white glowing man a few rooms back. I think he was from...the Mindscape? There was a file talking about him and some floating gears and a white ball."

"Ohh yeah, he's an interesting guy. I'd love to see your interpretation of him." Now Sebastian was 100% invested, as he curled his tail around himself, resting his upper body on it so he could see your book better. "But y'know you won't be able to leave this place with sketches of-"

"I'm well aware of that...I could always change a few things and turn them into OCs."

"Hah. You should."

"Maybe I will." You snickered, grateful that you didn't have anything to fear.

At least somebody in the Blacksite appreciated your art.

[box-of-roses]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Dolled Up‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Characters: Daichi, Oikawa, Kita, Daisho, Kuroo, Bokuto, Ushijima

Warnings: fem! Dressed reader for Oikawa

Synopsis: How the captains of Haikyuu would react to you dressed up cheering for him

a/n: This literally came in my head because of how I dressed up for the Haikyuu movie today, so I hope you got a laugh out of it

Daichi

Blushy McGee over here

But also, like so proud??? Like Hell yeah that’s my partner!

He only notices you after the match ends, the moment he sees you his face turns red so quick. Suga immediately takes the chance to make fun of him as you wave and do a small spin showing off your outfit. It’s his missing jersey, not missing anymore, black shorts, and shoes that he can’t see yet that have beads that spell his name on them. Of course, the piece de resistance. His number on your face.

 He feels frozen in place. Gods, you were so cute. He’s almost glad that he didn’t see you earlier. But there’s also the part of him that wishes he had seen you earlier. He thinks he might’ve played harder. You rushing down to give him a hug makes it all the better. “Daichi!” You say happily and wrap your arms around his middle. He happily wraps his own around you as well. 

The minute the two of you are alone he’s hiding his face in the crook of your neck 

You definitely tease him about his red face

Asks if you’re planning on doing this next game and he can’t help but get a little excited when you say yes

Oikawa

The one who acts like it doesn’t affect him, but everyone knows better

Sees you, has to do a double take, and he almost misses his serve

It’s his first serve of the game and Oikawa looks around to find you. What he doesn’t expect to find is you dressed to the nines. He’s not entirely sure where you got it (Iwaizumi because he wanted to see the reaction and laugh at Oikawa about it) but there you are in one of his jerseys, his extra practice jacket, a blue miniskirt, a sign that says ‘My Boyfriend is the Setter (The best one obviously), bracelets he can’t quite makes out from here, and his number on your cheek. 

He hears the whistle blow and thinks ‘Fuck’ as he tries to prepare for his serve. Iwaizumi caught the whole thing and hopes someone got it on video (Someone did). He serves and it barely goes over the net and he takes a deep breath. 

Once Iwaizumi gets the video it’s kept in safe keeping on multiple USBs 

Oikawa refuses to admit that it did anything to him

Gives you his spare jersey for every game now though

Kita

Probably one of the few that actually doesn’t have much of a reaction (on the outside)

Since he doesn’t play much in games when he sees you, he just gives you a smile

Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna try and tease him about it but he’s just sitting there like ‘And?’

After the match is over you run over to Kita. Number on cheek, Pom Poms in hand, and of course, the jersey you had previously asked to borrow on your person. “You did so good!” Your bracelets jingle as you move your hands excitedly. Kita’s name is on one surrounded by hearts and on the back is the number one. You pull out another bracelet from your bag and hand it to him. It has your name on it. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” you say sheepishly. 

Suna is standing off to the side with his phone out recording the whole thing. And he’s glad he did otherwise he might’ve missed the blush on his captain’s cheeks as he took the bracelet and put it on. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

Kita later asks Suna to send him the video and the resulting photos he also took

The photos are now his lock screen and home screen*

Daisho

Also, one to have to do a double take

Asks to take a photo for his lockscreen which gets you blushing (perfect for his lockscreen)

He’s also one of the lucky few who sees you after the game. He also saw the sign you were holding. ‘My boyfriend is better than your’s, he’s a captain’ with printed out candids of him playing volleyball and one of you two in a small heart in the corner. 

Definitely one to tease you 

“Oh? Had to stake your claim on me?”

Kuroo

One of the unfortunate few to see you during the game

Completely misses one of his blocks and the ball hits him in the face

Kuroo wishes he had seen you a few minutes later. After they had won the set. Or better yet after Nekoma had won the whole game. Instead, he’s unlucky and catches you when he’s mid-block, your voice rang out in support, and he got distracted. Seeing you in a stark white jersey with his number, his name. He also suspects that’s where his extra set of warm up pants went as he can spot just a little bit of red peeking out. Once he gets hit in the face with the ball he’s reminded that he is in fact playing volleyball right now. 

Kenma finds the video online and plays it when he feels bad

You tell him you found it charming that you still have that effect on him, and he melts

He asks you to wear it more often

Bokuto

Akaashi is actually the one to notice you first

Bokuto is the last to see you and only does when he gets really sad about being blocked so much

Akaashi points you out to cheer him up

As you see Bokuto get upset by how many spikes he’s missed you move closer to the bar in the stadium. Akaashi noticed you much earlier and not even he is able to cheer Bokuto up. Once he points you out though you raise your poster higher and scream his name. “You’ve got this Ko!” You wave your sign with a smile. 

‘My Boyfriend is the best ace and captain ever!’ is what it says with a few photos of his best shots you had found online. Once he sees you, he immediately lights up. “You’re right! I am the best!” He’s back to his usual self with a ‘Hey, Hey, Hey’ 

Once he gets a closer look at your outfit at home, he’s smothering your face with kisses

He tells you how helpful you were in cheering him up

Akaashi messages you later asking you to ‘Please do this at all of our games.’ 

Ushijima

Another unbothered on the outside king

He may not fully get why you did it until you tell him he’s happy about it

He sees you after a service ace, he spots you in the stands. Your loud cheer makes him smile softly before he gets serious again. You’re zipped up in his practice jacket and a pair of your own Shiratorizawa sweatpants and although you don’t have a sign everyone knows he’s your boyfriend. Your cheering makes him happy, but he plays his best no matter if you’re watching or not. 

Asks Tendo to help him change his wallpaper so it’s the two of you

Tendo does him one better and takes a live photo of you giggling at something as the lockscreen and the two of you as his homescreen

Ushi tells you that you look nice

When you ask if it’s something he wants you to do for all of his games he just replies “I just need you there”

I hope you guys liked it; it was a very spur of the moment thing so sorry if it's not good!!! My requests are open although I unfortunately go through them at a snail's pace

masterlist

rules

[foone]

AAA games? Pfft. Indie games? Double pfft.

I only play games from the alternate history where Hillary Clinton was elected in 2008 and banned all video games. You can only imagine how weird their underground gaming scene is. People like to call unlicensed games "bootlegs" but they've got actual bootlegged games! I've played games about helping your grandmother in hospice care realize she's a lesbian by reading Sappho to her, at 2am in a speakeasy in Baltimore. The cops raided it the next night, hundreds of Gamers were arrested. They posted pictures all over Friendster of the Baltimore PD destroying the arcades with axes.

I nearly got busted once because I was imaging old disks from a 386 and someone tipped off the gaming cops that there was a copy of Commander Keen in there. I had to prove that I didn't know it, I was imaging the disks blind and then indexing them later, and I would of course turn over any contraband to the proper authorities.

I was already on a watch list because I'd been known to have some gamedev-related activities pre-ban. They can't arrest me for making games back in 2007 when it was still legal, but they do want to keep an eye on me since I have the skills to break the law.

Anyway that universe's bootlegs are mainly PC games. Can't really have console games if there hasn't been a console release since the Wii/PS3/360 era. At one point Nintendo threatened to release the Wii SDK so game devs in the US could make unlicensed games, but that didn't happen as there were quickly no functional Wiis left in the US, except for very rare holdouts that never move. PC games are easy to distribute samizdat and hide on a USB stick or CD-R labeled "nickelback".

Japan's games industry is still going, so the later Nintendo and Sony consoles still exist, but Microsoft got out of the business of course. They sold the franchise to Sega who were hoping to release the 360 successor (the Xbox One in our universe) as the Sega Phoenix but it never materialized, either through their own financial incompetence or because of pressure from the US. There's a lot of international treaties that the US has pushed "and this aid only goes through if you ban games" clauses into. That would have been an official UN resolution if the USSR hadn't vetoed it. For once, thank God for the security council, eh?

I mainly get my gaming news through Japanese gaming sites (through a set of VPNs, since they're blocked at the border firewall), and some tor onion site run by a weird guy in Minnesota who is obsessed with documenting all the underground US games.

There's a lot being worked on, but it's always a tricky trade off. Too much attention and the police might be able to track down the creators, and it's basically impossible to fund underground games, as the VISA/PayPal etc funds get seized immediately. There's a whole task force for that.

Anyway one of the weirdest differences between our two time lines is that they've gone back and edited out gaming from a bunch of movies. Those that they can, of course. War games was just banned because they couldn't remove the tic tac toe ending. The Net just removed the scene at the beginning where she's playing Wolfenstein 3D, by recording some new screen footage and a new voice over. She's fixing a spreadsheet in the new edition.

(Yes, I've seen The Net from this alternate timeline. On Laserdisc, of course. I'm just that kind of person!)

They even edited Star Wars. You know that scene where R2-D2 is playing holochess with Chewie? They edited it to be a board game instead of holograms, because that made it too "video gamey".

Technically it's not illegal to show gaming in a movie, but it needs to be an 18+ film and you have to show the deleterious effects of gaming and/or the gamesters coming to a bad end.

This has affected films less than you'd think, to be honest. They were never great about showing video games even before they banned them.

Anyway, go have fun playing your AAA games with hundred-million-dollar budgets. I only play indie games made by people under a constant threat of arrest for their art.

[qaxqxd]

Spider Lust

♡Pair: Miguel O’hara x Afab!reader

Genre: Smut

Warning: NSFW / Sexual content

A/n: Fulling my Janitor.ai roleplay (sigh) Also Miguel could release his venom on command if he wanted. (first time writing smut in forever.)

Summary: You and Miguel were on a mission to stop an anomaly in a lab. It was supposed to be a stealth mission. You both got caught red handed and were now hiding for it to die down a bit. Hiding in a small cramped space wasn’t a good idea, or.. Was it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Great, just absolutely great. You were in a tight space and sitting on your Boss’s lap. Just how you wanted to spend your Tuesday’s night.

“Stop moving around.” He whispered, gripping your waist.

“Your lap is uncomfortable.” You whine.

“You should have thought of that before you grab the USB.” Miguel spoke, seeming a little pissed.

“Why would I think about sitting on your lap?” You teased him.

“What?- No! You know what I mean.” He frowned. You couldn’t turn around to look at him, but you knew he was a little red.

I mean it was technically your fault that you were in this situation. You grab the USB without thinking it wasn’t guarded. You technically could have done this on your own too, but Miguel insisted on coming along. Now you know why. He probably predicted you would screw up or something.

Miguel always acted like he knew the future which was- True sometimes. He is trying to stop the multiverse from collapsing, so maybe he predicted your screw up. But goodness, his lap is uncomfortable. You tried to move a little closer into his lap. It was a little more comfortable, still uncomfortable.

“(Y/n) stop moving.” He whispers again, his hot breath on your neck. You didn’t listen and moved closer, until your back touched his chest. His grip on your waist tightens. You heard him grunt a little.

“My bad, it's just really uncomfortable on your lap.” You said. He had both hands on your waist trying to move you somewhere comfortable on his lap. He didn’t say anything after, so you scoot back to your original spot. Laying your head on his chest.

You heard his heartbeat, it was pretty fast. He was breathing heavily on your head.

“You alright, boss?” You spoke sort of concerned.

“Yeah, I’m. I’m fine.” He had his head buried in your shoulder. You felt a bump underneath yourself. You felt like you were sitting on a rock. You moved a little, not knowing you were grinding on his groin.

You felt him flinch.

“Please stop moving, (Y/n).” Miguel sounded like he was out of breath.

“What are you carrying in your pockets?” You asked, still moving a little. “My suit doesn’t have pockets.” He grunted.

A moment of silence went by when you realized what you were sitting on his cock. Your eyes widen and you turn all red.

“Shit- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

He crashes his lips onto yours. Exploring every part of your mouth. Shutting you up. You both let go to catch your breath. A string of saliva connects you two.

“I can’t resist you anymore, amor.” His words send shivers down your spine. You felt your core heat up.

“You can have me then.” You mumble. 

The look in his eyes was lust hungry. Using his claws to rip off your suit. He kissed your bare neck.

“You owe me a new suit.” You whisper. “Mhm..” He continues to kiss your neck caressing his fangs onto your neck. His hand going into your panties and feeling your folds.

“You're so wet for me, querida.” He teases, sliding his fingers inside of you. Pumping them in and out. You moan at the pleasure.

“Shh… You don’t want to get caught do you?” He coe.

As his pace picks up, you feel your climax rise. His large fingers felt so good. You jolted as you felt his fingers go deeper inside. Your back arch as he finds your g-spot. He kissed your lips, trying to silence your moans.

Miguel was using his other hand to play with your breast. Flicking your hard nipple with his thumb.

“Miguel- I’m, I’m close.” You whine. As you felt the waves of pleasure crash over you. You came on his fingers, riding your orgasm out. He took his fingers out of you, licking his fingers. You watched the nano tech disappear from his groin and his cock flinging out.

The bead of pre-cum dripping from his tip. Your eyes widen at his size. Miguel lifted your thigh up with one hand. As the tip of his cock enters you. He rubs your clit with his cock teasing you.

 “Put it in already.” You mewled as he slowly slid his lengthen into you. You felt so full, tears forming. 

“So needy” He chuckled lightly. 

You moaned out, as he started to thrust into you. You felt his cock so deep inside. He was throbbing inside of you. As pain turns into pleasure. You heard him groan as he picked up the pace. You tighten around his cock, but he was able to thrust in. His thick cock stretched your hole so much.

“Ah mami, you're so tight. Such a perfect fit for my cock.” He bullied your tiny cunt. Your eyes rolling back to the intense pleasure. Your only vocabulary was his name. As you came for the second time.

He rubbed your clit while thrusting into you. He loved that you came on his cock. He was hungry for more. His hips, bucking to your hole. His pace is a little sloppy from before. You clutch onto his back, basically digging your nails into him.

You came so many times afterwards, he fucked you stupid. You cried into his shoulder. As he release, you felt a hot liquid shoot into you, painting your walls.

“ngh.” You moaned, but Miguel covered your mouth with his hand. Your thighs trembling on his cock.

“You did so well.” He praised you. Miguel kissed your head. Exhaustion took over you, and you fell asleep. As for Miguel, he placed a long lab coat over you. Carrying you out of the cramp room as the coast was clear.

Back to HQ with the USB.

Mission succeed? 

-

WC 1k

[sluttycinderella]

Razorgate: an empirical, peer reviewed study*

*there is nothing genuinely scientific about this, it is merely a result of mental illness and unemployment.

So we all saw this right?

But after this bomb was dropped I began to get curious about the other slittenings. Did they use the same razor for all of them and no one had noticed? Do they actually own more than one razor? And if they don't, if this is truly the only phrazor, then I don't think I have to tell you that raises a lot of questions.

Firstly, I went back to where this all began, Phil's Birthday stream, to identify the razor that carved the very first slit and forever cemented itself as a part of herstory:

Now that is very clearly the Manscaped logo, no question about it. Here’s a high quality photo of the logo for comparison:

(You can also clearly see in the Twitter post that it says "Manscaped" across it but I like to double check my work and I also wanted to prove that they were both Manscaped)

And it's a good thing I did double check because OP made a CRITICAL ERROR in their post! They claim that the razor in question is the Lawn Mower 4.0 when in fact it's the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra! Unlike the PUNY, PATHETIC, UNMANLY 4.0, the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra comes with an interchangeable foil blade, a USB port, and a more advanced spotlight!

How could OP be so careless? Dan and Phil would never own an outdated razor! They require only the finest in ball shaving technology!

Also fun fact: The first appearance of the Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra on the Manscaped YouTube channel falls right in between the dapg return announcement and their first video back so make of that what you will...I for one shall be sculpting my own hill out of the very earth itself, "Manscaped Sponsorship Hill", I encourage you all to join me.

So after spending far too long researching the intricacies of razors that shave an organ I don't even have, I now needed to check if it was the same razor being used in every slittening:

Here they are side by side for comparison, left is Phil’s birthday, middle is the We're All Doomed post-premiere, right is Dan’s birthday. Now it appears the WAD one is missing the logo but I'm going to go ahead and chalk that up to the poor quality of the clip I found (if anyone has a better version PLEASE hit me up so I can confirm my hypothesis). And considering the photo taken in the aftermath seems to show Phil holding the 5.0 Ultra:

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's the same thing.

“But,” I hear you shouting, “so what if Dan and Phil used the same razor for all the streams? They already said they only owned one razor so who cares?” Well this isn’t so much about proving that they’re the same razor as it is establishing a baseline. It’s hard to trust basically anything Dan and Phil say lately, what with piggate and the “pillow” bar and the fake view from the Phouse, knowing that they aren’t lying about only having one razor (to the best of our knowledge) is crucial in figuring out what exactly is going on. Remember, we’re doing science here.

And with that in mind: In my professional opinion, I can say that for all three slittenings, the Manscaped Lawn Mower 5.0 Ultra was the weapon of choice.

Sidenote: I went down a bit of a rabbit hole of Manscaped reviews during all of this and apparently Manscaped razors are kind of just a scam. This razor is $109 and they try to trick their customers into subscribing to their "Peak Hygiene Plan" which you don't actually need by offering a deceptive discount and hiding the terms where people aren't likely to see them. So yeah, fuck Manscaped and I for one think we should cancel Dan and Phil for not ethically consuming under capitalism.

But that's beside the point, we know that they indeed only have one razor and that that razor...is for balls. What does that tell us?

Conclusions

There are a multitude of conclusions one could jump to in the light of such a revelation, I shall display them in a convenient numbered list for your viewing pleasure:

One of them prefers to use straight (lol) razors to shave their...you know...I don't actually know if this is a thing people do or if it's even possible, people with balls please sound off in the comments, thank you

Only one of them actually shaves in which case I support them as an infamous pussy hair enthusiast (iykyk)

They share a razor (Please, God, no, that's actually disgusting)

Either way, this thing was on someone's balls and then it touched both their faces so I really hope they cleaned it properly!

Alright, so that whole exploration may have been a bit useless, it indeed only confirmed what we had already been told, but I spent literal hours comparing photos of ball hair trimmers and I'm not one to admit defeat. Consider yourselves peer reviewed, Dan and Phil, and maybe check out Beardscape instead! Apparently they have better, more comprehensive razors for the same price.

If anyone even more demon than me has any corroborating evidence (maybe of them using straight razors at any point or anything else razor related that they've said in the past) please let me know so I can take it into consideration! Thank you all for your time.

[delightfultheoristfox]

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

This can be considered as a part 2 to Un-evil, but it can also be read as a standalone.

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

18+

Word count: 6k

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are. 

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words? 

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion. 

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately. 

You are your worst enemy. 

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming. 

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw. 

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?” 

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

“Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling. 

You sigh. 

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent. 

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is. 

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know. 

“Off.” He states. 

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.” 

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash. 

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded. 

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt. 

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot. 

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion. 

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood. 

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable. 

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.   

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems. 

“The fuck are you doin’.” 

It is not, in fact, a question. 

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air. 

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?” 

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters. 

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment. 

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts. 

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?” 

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic. 

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms. 

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd. 

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth. 

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to. 

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it. 

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you. 

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes. 

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. 

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile. 

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice. 

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs. 

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.” 

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax. 

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back. 

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes. 

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside. 

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration. 

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw. 

You stiffen. 

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view. 

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade. 

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite. 

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood. 

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces. 

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t. 

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now. 

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks. 

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest. 

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it. 

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier. 

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then. 

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and – 

He stops you.  Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal. 

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip. 

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you. 

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle. 

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath. 

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples. 

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted." 

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often. 

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between. 

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere. 

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut. 

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck. 

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words. 

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets. 

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths. 

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt. 

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side. 

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning. 

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him. 

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted. 

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new. 

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together. 

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets. 

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose. 

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily. 

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.  

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you. 

Right? 

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts. 

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear. 

You shudder. 

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust. 

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear. 

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied. 

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away. 

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside. 

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact. 

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead. 

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening. 

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin. 

Is that why he doesn't touch you? Is that why he's taking pains to not press his weight on your body when he'd usually have you flattened under the whole of him?

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice. 

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative. 

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand. 

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere. 

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary. 

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music. 

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it. 

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace. 

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low. 

This is his time. 

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He asked for one thing. 

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.” 

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you. 

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once. 

Your body perks up. 

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore. 

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space. 

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips. 

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes. 

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon. 

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

[moon-my-beloved]

Run: (Eventual 141 x Vamp! Reader, but first let’s start from the beginning. 🕯️)

Bloodied, injured, and exhausted, Laswell finds herself in the last place she would like to be lost in: the woods. After escaping what was supposed to be her ultimate death, Kate wanders off into the wilderness in hopes of finding refuge. She is unlikely to make it out of this situation alive.. at least that’s what she thought.

TW: blood, mentions of a gun shot wound, reader can be considered as fem but anyone is welcomed to read it! that’s pretty much it babes. xoxo

— September 15, 1996. Location: Unknown

If you were to ask Kate Laswell where she would be in the last twenty-four hours, she wouldn’t even muster the thought of being in the most unpleasant and unfortunate positions. Nothing surprised her anymore, not when you were doing work that’s perceived as illegal, unethical, and dangerous. Kate knew this. She understood this job would bring unavoidable losses, sacrifices, and risks. She knew it as soon as she signed those papers to get her hands dirty. To keep the world safe from such cruelty she had and has to see. This was her life now and she was okay with it.. That was, until now.

Kate had no fucking idea where she was going. She had been running for god knows how long once she heard the sound of booming voices echoing through the hallway as they made their way into the small base. Slamming, kicking, and taking doors down to the ground from the other side of the building. She had been finishing up her last report when she and her team were ambushed. Things taking a dark turn before the gears in Laswell’s head could even process what was going on. ‘So much for being under high surveillance.’

She didn’t manage to get much. Just her laptop, a few files that read ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in red bold letters, an already messed up USB along with a crappy radio in hopes of getting in contact with the agency before she was bolting to the nearest exit she could find. Her colleagues were long gone, she knew it. She heard it.

She didn’t have much time, barely managing to escape bullets flying past her while throwing her leg over the sill of the window and deciding that it was a safe enough jump for a three-story building. Her ribs making immediate contact with the grass and soiled dirt in an attempt to shield her prized possessions from meeting their ultimate death.

Managing to catch her breath, she shot up. The denim of her jeans and shirt soaking up all the mud from the fall. It was uncomfortable the way the material stuck itself to her skin, but that was the least of her concerns at this point. The wet ground made an irking ‘squelch’ with each stride she took, sprinting through the trees mindlessly to wherever the woods would take her. If she even got far enough.

‘Just keep running Laswell. Run and find somewhere to hide.’

And that she did. Chanting those two sentences over and over again like it was a damn prayer. Running to the woods was probably a bad idea, but where else would she have gone? The base was just a small pebble in the middle of endless trees. It was pitch dark and it was getting cold. No noise at all except for the ringing in her ears and the rustling of leaves she left behind. You could only go so far with adrenaline running through your veins before it eventually runs out.

She must have been far away now. At least enough to catch her breath now that she feels her body crashing down from that pure bliss of epinephrine. Strands of hair sticking to her forehead from exhaustion. Not even noticing the big crimson spot forming on her thigh but hell could she feel it now. It was a miracle she wasn’t dead by now.

She must have gotten hit when she was trying to get out. ‘Shit. Okay, okay, everything’s going to be fine.’ Hissing through her teeth, she reaches out to inspect it. Leaning down against the trunk of one of the many trees and lifting her leg to get a better view. The glow of the moon blessing her with enough light for her to see the big gaping hole in her jeans. Did it go through? She had no idea. Too busy focusing on not face-planting on the dirty ground as her sight grew dim with the amount of blood she had lost. Skin glistening with all the sweat she was accumulating despite feeling more cold than usual. A shiver running down her spine and teeth clattering against each other. She felt like a whole bucket of ice just got dumped on her.

‘Getting eaten alive by nature wouldn’t be such a bad way to go,’ She thinks to herself. But before she could feed into the thought some more and become one with the food chain, she zeroes in on a roof. Seemingly making itself known from behind the leaves of the too tall trees.

‘She can make it. Just a little further.’

She takes a deep breath as she pushes herself off the trunk, biting down on her bottom lip to keep a cry from slipping into the night. The pain was getting worse. A hot, almost burning sensation spread throughout her thigh and body. She tries not to put too much pressure on her leg and slowly walks (more like drags) her way down the dark trail just enough to catch a better glimpse of the house. It’s big. It’s undeniably huge the more she gets closer to it. It’s not just a house, it’s a manor. What is a manor doing in the middle of the woods? Well, with how old and unkempt it looks, she wouldn’t blame anyone if they mistook it as one with the trees considering how roots, stems, vines, and leaves seem to be sprouting from every corner of the walls. It looks abandoned, that's for sure. No one would live in the middle of nowhere where there’s no food source let alone transportation.

Taking a look around, Kate sees nothing. No neighboring houses, cars, or bicycles that would hint at any sign of life. Not even a rolled-up piece of newspaper was left scattered on the ground. It’s secluded, but so out of place that it makes Laswell’s gut twist with uneasiness. Either no one lives here or nobody knows this place even exists. The thought alone just makes her more hesitant to try and figure out the truth. The unbearable pain only got worse the more she stood there thinking of what to do next.

‘Fuck it.’

If she was going to die, she would at least die with some dignity left in her. Mustering up all the strength she could, she limped her way towards the door. Dread filled her senses once she noticed that she would have to climb a few steps of stairs before she could finally reach the handle. Trying not to put too much pressure on her bad leg, she settles on hopping up the stairs with her good one. Her body must have decided that she had enough once she made it to the last step and before she knew it, she was falling into the abyss, her ears ringing endlessly until there was nothing but darkness.

⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟

The first thing Kate notices when she wakes up is the softness and warmth surrounding her. The smell of something sweet and earthy filling her nose as she ponders what it might be. Patchouli? Lavender? Maybe it’s vanilla bean.. whatever it is, it’s comforting. An overwhelming sense of tranquility washing over her body as she shifts onto the other side of the cushion– wait. Cushion?

The realization dawns on her as she sits up abruptly, eyes flying open in confusion and fear. She was on a couch, a nice one. Pillowy cushions with a smooth texture to them as she traced her palm against the velvet fabric. The ringing in her ear interrupted her yet again as a pained groan slipped past her lips now that she was fully conscious. She sits there for a while until the tinnitus stops, hand pressed up against her head as she frantically takes in her surroundings. She was inside the manor, in the living room from what it appeared to be. The interior of it was much more.. beautiful. A complete contrast to what it looked like from outside. A dim, golden glow cascading over the room with how the lamp beside her shined. Across from her there was a fireplace, freshly lit on that she could still feel the heat of it lingering in the air. In front of her there was a table, shiny wood reflecting on itself. Everything looked so antique. Whoever lived here was either filthy rich or was stuck in the eighteenth century.

Her train of thought was disrupted when she heard the sound of a voice, head whipping to see who was the source of it.

“Finally awake?” The figure asks, tray in your hand as you carefully inch closer to her. “Didn’t know what you prefer so I sett-”

“Don’t come closer,” Kate states, twisting the blanket around her fingers and pressing her back against the corner of the couch. “Who are you? Where am I?” She sputters out, a hint of demand in her tone. For all she knows, you could be someone out to kill her. Laswell couldn’t risk herself putting her trust on a complete stranger. Let alone one she couldn’t see. Your face was completely covered by a veil of some sorts, only managing to catch a small silhouette of your face with how the material pressed up against your features. Your choice of clothing was rather modest and old-fashioned. You weren’t one for color, Laswell assumed. The color black consuming your form from your long-sleeved shirt down to your long black skirt, boots barely peeking out from under the material.

“You mustn’t move too much, wouldn’t want you to open your wound after all my hard work.” You said, dismissing her questions while carefully setting the tray down against the table, and pouring her a cup of tea. “It’s herbal tea, it’s good.” You added, carefully pushing the porcelain cup towards her as you kept your distance. Wound? Oh. She must have hit her head pretty hard when she passed out, throwing the blanket off of her to reveal her bandaged thigh. It didn’t even hurt anymore, eyebrows furrowed and mouth gaping with bewilderment. It felt like she never even got shot. Had she come across a witch of some sort?

“Uh.. thank you?” She mutters, leaning a bit to grab the cup carefully to take a sip of the warm beverage. Mhm. It’s delicious. Usually, she preferred to drink coffee on days where missions like these kept her up until the crack of dawn. Yet, here she was drinking tea with an odd stranger after almost getting killed. An awkward silence filled the room, followed by the sound of her sips as you sat across from her in an armchair. Legs crossed with your hands placed in front of your lap, not particularly looking at her but your body language signaling that you were acknowledging her presence. “You were gone for quite some time. Thought you would never wake up,” You finally said. Head turning to face her. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Yeah.. I ran into some trouble..” It wasn’t a complete lie, she wasn’t about to spill private information to you just because you’ve been polite to her so far. It all could be an act. You can never be too sure.

You must have detected her uneasiness towards you, getting up suddenly to exit the room before coming back with her belongings. “I didn’t peek through your things if that’s what you’re worried about. Whatever your dilemma is, that is none of my concern,” You said rather abruptly, dropping her stuff beside her. Kate was ready to throw a glare at your direction for handling her things with no care just to see your covered face already facing her. She might not be able to see you how you look, but she can feel your eyes pinning her in place through the fabric like an unseen force. “I can take you to an area where your friends can come and pick you up,” You explain, reaching out to grab the radio and tapping your fingernail against it. “If you promise me one thing.” You say, tone eerily stoic. “Never come back here, understand?”

Feeling paralyzed under your gaze, she nodded. Clammy hands gripping onto her things as she threw her legs over the couch. Feet planting against the patterned carpet. ‘Where were her shoes?’ As if you read her mind, you drop her muddied boots next to her. “I’ll wait for you by the door. Hurry up.” Before she could even manage a word, you were rounding the corner of the living room and disappearing into the shadows of the enormous manor.

‘She needs to get the fuck out of here.’

Without a second thought, she hastily put her boots on, not even caring to properly tie her shoelaces. Her thoughts were all over the place. First, the mission was an absolute failure that cost the lives of people, and probably much worse for those who didn’t manage to escape. Second, she wanders off into the wilderness in hopes of finding an empty flat to hide in until she could contact the damn general only to faint and find herself inside someone else’s home. Now, she’s here. Struggling to get in contact with the intelligence unit. Just her luck.

“This is Kate Laswell, do you copy? Over.” Static. That’s all she’s been hearing for the past five minutes and her patience was wearing thin. “This is Kate Laswell, CIA communications analyst. Do you co—”

A voice from the other end of the line speaks. She recognizes that voice. Joseph Allen, chief of the communications department she works for within the agency. “Bravo-4, we hear you loud and clear Laswell. What’s your status?” Allen asks, a hint of concern laced in his tone that makes her feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. “It’s good to hear you, Allen.. I-I’m doing okay. A bit roughed up, but alive and well,” She stammers a bit, clutching onto her things before taking a deep breath in. “Don’t worry Kate, we’ll get you out of there in no time. Sending a chopper your way. Hang tight.” The man reassures her, stating how there would be a few soldiers waiting to bring her back. With that, she bids her goodbyes to the chief, swiftly grabbing her things, and slowly approaching you.

The door was cracked open beside you as you waited for her arrival. Silently, you beckon her to go first. The bright light and melody of birds chirping greeting her as she takes her first steps. A new day has come. It was nighttime when she stumbled upon your house, but now that the sun has come up, she has a clear view of the environment. Trees as tall as ever, a bit less intimidating with light now. Her boots stepped on dried leaves with fall inching closer, a crisp, cold wind hitting her face sending shivers down Laswell’s spine. Everything was much brighter, more alive.

That feeling of peace was short-lived, hearing you close the door and start walking off into the woods without even looking back if she was following. You hadn’t mentioned where exactly you were taking her, doubt sending warning bells in her brain not to follow you. Burying her nerves, the woman caught up to you, keeping her distance as she trailed behind you with a wary look. This was probably the only chance for her to get home, she couldn’t risk losing it. ‘This job would bring unavoidable losses, sacrifices, and risks.’ She reminded herself.

⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟ ⛰︎↟

Laswell didn’t know how long the two of you were walking for. An hour at least from how her feet were starting to get sore. This whole time, you haven’t said anything. Not a peep or glance her way. You were undeniably quiet. In fact, a little too quiet for her own comfort. With every step you took, it was like you were floating. Pristine and soundless. The crunch of leaves being heard by her own movements. Creepy.

Finding the courage, she spoke up. “How long have you been here for? It’s well hidden from the outside world.” She inquired, making a show of looking around to distract herself from her own self-consciousness. Shockingly, you halt in your steps, almost like you weren’t expecting her to ask questions, let alone about you.

“I’ve been here for most of my life. It was my family’s home originally. They’ve passed long ago now, leaving me with it.” You admit. Irritation lacing your tone at the mention of your parents. Must not have a good relationship with them. She couldn’t blame you, her relationship with hers was rather.. complicated. She barely saw them but on days she did, all she saw was disappointment and disgust. Partly because of her job, and the other half when they found out that their good daughter didn’t meet their traditional standards. She was fine with that. Sometimes she couldn’t bear to see their faces let alone hear them. It was for the best. Still, she felt bad for asking.

“I’m sorry to hear that, I did-” You wave a hand dismissively, turning around to face her. “No need.”

Laswell didn’t ask any more questions. A few minutes passed by before you stopped in your tracks. “We are here.” You announced. Nothing seemed to be too out of the ordinary, it was much more spacious, trees surrounding the empty land they were on, a few rocks covered in moss along with a few violets blooming in purples and whites. Perhaps this was a common area for hitchhikers to be rescued for those who got lost. ‘You probably encounter plenty of people carelessly wandering into the woods.’

“Well, this is where we go our separate ways.” You say, turning around without a goodbye and beginning to walk back into the endless path. Not putting too much thought into it, Laswell calls out for you. “Wait!” She shouts, watching you stop, and turn around to meet her nervous gaze. “I just wanted to say thank you.. for everything.” Laswell admits, a gust of wind passing between you two as you continue to stay silent. “I never got your name, I’m Kate, Kate Laswell.” She says, almost breathlessly. Anticipation filling her senses as you grab onto the corner of the piece of cloth and lift it up. Immediately, she’s struck by the void of your eyes. A small smile she could only describe as sad decorating your face before you opened your mouth.

“Don’t worry, you’ll forget.”

Laswell didn’t have the chance to ask what you meant before her knees buckled, making her lose her balance and fall to the ground. Black dots taking over her vision. She was immobile, unable to speak or move as she watched you disappear into the trees. Laswell felt herself being disassembled from her own body, a voice in the back of her mind begging her to get up. She couldn't. Her vision slowly dimmed, a force luring her into the abyss again until she couldn’t reach the top of the ocean and let the darkness consume her as a whole.

(A/N: I’ve had this whole idea planned out already for quite some time but never really could commit to it, until now!! I’m so happy I got to finish it after months. Hope you guys enjoy! <33)

[soapyghost]

Could we get captain price with a younger/inexperienced reader? Like someone who’s only had shitty hookups that didn’t care if they got off or not. He would completely ruin you for all other men omg. Like knowing that he’s the first person to really make you feel good would be so hot to him

TRUTH OR DARE? A PRICE X F! READER

A/N- I actually had a lot of fun writing this bad boy. I really hope I did this prompt justice~

W/c- 2.1k

WARNINGS- Smut, language, fingering, orgasm(s), p i v, choking, rough sex, inappropriate relations with your boss, and like a ton of SMUT. Ok cool enjoy.

Of all things, of course a children's game would be your downfall.

It all started after a you and the rest of 141 finally completed the 2 month long mission in bumfuck Russia. Safely back at the bunker, the squad pops open a bottle of whisky, bourbon to be specific, so even Ghost joined in. The game of cards long since abandoned in favor for a rousing game of Truth or Dare.

"Minx, you're turn" Soap slurs, "Truth or dare?" "Truth" you respond, after seeing the last dare done in the group you chose the hopefully safer answer. Gaz had last chosen dare and the image of his bare ass is now forever ingrained in your brain.

"Oh that is so not gonna save you missy," Price mutters, taking another sip of his drink. You raise your eyebrow at him as Soap asks "how many time has a guy made you cum in one night?". You spit out your drink at the bluntness of this question. You usually can hide your emotions pretty damn well, as it was part of your job. Your were 141's espionage agent. Their "honey pot" , which is how you got your code name, Minx. But this question, off of Johnny's drunk lips caught you off guard.

"I'm sorry, WHAT did you just ask me" you retort. "Oh you heard me." he counters. You take a sip of your glass and muse on how to get out of this one. But you know there is no way out, its either answer this question or down the rest of the bottle. Your stomach doing flips at the thought of drinking that much. After a long sigh you shrug your shoulders in defeat, "Not a single time Johnny boy" exhale. Every head in the room snaps up to stare at you in pure shock.

Johnny lets out a chuckle, "I can change that for you Sweetheart" he boldly asserts. "Johnny you couldn't figure out the difference between a pussy and an asshole" Price quips, which manages to get what sounds like a chuckle from Ghost and full on howls from the rest of the team. You feel your face redden and you look up at Price to try and come up with some snappy comeback but the words die on your lips when you see how he's looking at you. It's different now, hungry.

It's been a few months since that night in the bunker, but you can't get the image of Price's face out of your head. Are you falling for your Captain? You don't have the privilege's of loving anyone in your line of work. Not only can they be killed, but most men would lose their minds watching you flirt with mob bosses. How fragile their egos can be, but that's what makes it easy to get information. Which comes in handy on your next mission.

You slide on the little black dress laid out for you in the hotel room of some fancy 5 star hotel in the heart of Mexico. This mission was simple, get in, get close to the some high up cartel douche and get the information off the USB he's carrying. Slipping in the earpiece that is near invisible you breathe, "hear me alright lads?". "Copy" responds Price, "Loud and clear Minx. Remember the plan and stick to it." "Yes sir" you reply. The rest of the squad was outside, hiding in the shadows incase anything went awry and being subtle was no longer an option. You stalk out of the hotel room and down to the casino on the first floor, ready to outsmart yet another idiotic man. You catch the attention of every man in the room when you walk in, some even blatantly staring. You saunter over to the bar and order yourself a drink, ignoring the man at the bar trying desperately trying to get your attention. You swipe up your drink and leave him with his mouth open as you go to sit in the lounge and wait for your prey.

"Incoming now Minx" you hear Ghost breathe through your earpiece. Not a minute later incomes your target, a rather short man in an overpriced suit, Angel. All the pictures you'd been briefed with made it easy to spot him in the crowd. You take a slow sip of your drink and as he walks past you, you slowly look up at him with doe eyes. You can see in his eyes he's fallen for it hook line and sinker. After a few minutes a man in a black suit taps you on the shoulder, "Excuse me Miss. But Angel would like to speak with you" he whispers into your ear, accent thick. "Oh does he?" you respond, "well who am I to decline?"

You follow the man to the back of the casino and he leads you to an elevator. "He's on the top floor" he gestures to the door. "Gracias" you respond, voice dripping with honey. "You could work on that pronunciation." Gaz snorts in your earpiece. As the doors shut and the elevator moves you take a big gulp of air. "Shut it Gaz" you spit. The doors open to a dimly lit club, filled with music and smoke. "Hope you boys are ready for a show," you breathe as you step into the club.

He sticks out in his flashy white suit making it easy to pick him out of the crowd. You slide into his lap and purr "you wanted to see me handsome?" His hand slides onto your ass and you suppress a gag at the smell of his god awful cologne. "mmm, I've wanted to lay my hands on you from the moment you looked at me" he moans into your ear. "Well, I'm here" you murmur into his neck, placing kisses from his ear to the nape of his neck. You hand slides down his body, nearing his groin. You slip your hand into his pocket and slip the USB into your dress. "We should take this back to my room" he hums. "Mmmm, you'd think I'll just follow you anywhere?" You pull back, eyes wide, "I would feel much safer back in my room. But I need to freshen up first" you move your hand up his chest. After a few more minutes of some pretty heavy petting you get up, "you can find me in room 603" you whisper into his ear as you slink away. Of course that wasn't your room number, you weren't even going to be in this country by the time he figures that out.

The minute your outside the hotel you find a way to slip into the backstreets to rendezvous with the team. "I feel like I need to take a scalding shower for the rest of my life" you groan, still feeling his hands on your body. "Let's exfil and get you that shower, you earned it" Price smiles once he has eyes on you again. You wonder what a shower with Price might be like... you shake your head to get the image out of your mind.

After debrief and a long hot shower you get a text that surprised you

My office- 10 minutes. It's from Price. What could he possibly want with you at this hour? Your mind races with the possibilities as you leave your room, mostly of terribly dirty thoughts of being bent over Price's desk. As you approach his office door you pause, unsure of if you want to knock on the door or pretend you didn't see his text. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you rap on the door 3 times before you hear Johns gruff voice, "Come in."

You slide in the door and close it softly behind you, "You wanted to see me sir?" you choke out. The air in here thick with cigar smoke and anticipation. "Your performance on todays mission was good kid, but that's all it was, a performance." he mutters, voice low. "Sir?" you inquire. "You've never wanted to take a man to your room, none of them could please you" his words go straight to your core. "I've been thinking about this since that night in Russia" he continues, standing slowly from his desk chair, "and I know you have too" his eyes flick up to yours. They have that same hungry look from all those nights ago. You gulp, "have I now?" you tease, hoping to regain some control of the situation. "Oh you know you have love" he grumbles. In an instant his hands on your neck and your back is on the door. You let out a yelp of surprise and pleasure. His lips meet yours and the fire in your belly ignites. You had been thinking about this since that night, many times with your hands between your legs and the image of him in your mind.

"Why don't you show me then? What it should be like?" you moan as you nip at his neck. "I'm going to ruin you" he growls, flipping you around and face down onto his desk. The tone of his voice and the force he moves you around with is more than enough to get you soaked. He rips the booty shorts you wore down your legs, to reveal your bare ass, a perfect site to behold. You can hear him hum in delight at the sight of you bent over his desk. Your breathing is ragged as he takes one hand to hold your head down on the table and the other begins to rub your folds. His touch alone tightens the band in your stomach, he knows exactly what to do. "Wet already?" he croons, taking his thumb to your clit. He starts slow, moving in a circle causing your back to arch. The fire in your stomach turns into an inferno as he takes one finger and slides it into you. You gasp at the feeling of his rough callous fingers. He pushes up against you, his cock throbbing through his pants and slides in another finger. "Fuck John" you moan. "Shhh, let me show you how you deserve to be fucked" he grunts. His pace begins to quicken, fingers sliding effortlessly in and out of your hole. You've never felt this burning inferno in your stomach unless it was your own fingers. "Holy Shit John" you whine, your eyes loosing focus at how incredible this feels. "Cum for me" he commands, fingers moving at a speed you didn't know was possible. The gruff command is enough to send you spilling over the edge into an orgasm. You cry out his name as he doesn't relent. You have to bite down on your arm to ground yourself, the world going black from pleasure. "That's my girl" he praises, removing his fingers from you with a satisfying pop. Before you can catch your breath, you hear him unbuckle his pants. Shudders run through your body in anticipation for what comes next. If his fingers could do that, you can only imagine what his cock can do to you. "Ready?" he whispers. You're so fuck dumb all you can do is manage a nod, as he slides down your panties which are just a soaking mess. He teases you, moving his cock back and forth between your soaking folds before he finally slides his tip in. He's so much bigger than anyone you've ever been with, you cry out as he slides a couple inches deeper. "Breathe love" he groans through gritted teeth, "You have to relax for me". With one final thrust he's in, his size struggling against your walls. You whimper as he begins fucking you. His hand moves from your neck to your head, hands filling with your hair. Pulling your head back, he picks up his pace. Every thrust fans the flame of yet another orgasm. "Fuc- John I'm gonna- I'm gonna" you yelp. Words won't come out of your mouth, your brain to scrambled from the last orgasm. "Fuck" He grunts, and with one final punishing thrust you feel him empty inside you. His cum mixing with yours as you're thrown into yet another orgasm. His forehead on the back of your head, cigar smoke filling your senses.

"What are you doing to me Minx?" he breathes. You're still bent over the desk gasping for breath. You've never been fucked like this in your life, its nothing like those shit one night stands you've been used to. Your whole body feels like its on fire, but your head is where its the worst. Words are failing to come to your lips, all you can do is whine. He slides out of you and kisses your forehead.

"Truth or dare?" you finally gasp out. Shakily hopping up on the desk, regaining a miniscule amount of control of your body. A smirk crosses Johns mouth, "Dare" he answers.

"I dare you to make me cum again" you challenge, voice still shaky. His eyes light on fire again, "Gladly".

[futurebird]

Here is a cool little gadget I'd never heard of before. It's a temperature datalogger. It lasts 60 days. Sadly I think it may be disposable (but I'd imagine rechargeable versions exist. )

Suppose you are shipping fruit across the country and you've paid extra to have the trucks chilled down to 65F. How do you know they didn't ship them at 75F and only lower the temp fully just before arrival?

Hide this bad boy in your shipment, then check the USB for data on arrival.

They cost about $4 each.

I'm fascinated by things like this for reasons I can't possibly articulate.

I almost bought one just to try it out and take it apart... but instead I'll just tell ya'll about it... I bet there are other interesting ways to use such a device. For example... you could detect if a chair is being sat in or not by putting it inside of a pillow...

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Enemies With Benefits (3)

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: Enemies. That was what you were. She was an Avenger, you were a criminal. You should hate her, she should hate you. So why do you love the feeling of her skin pressed against yours? Moans spilling from her lips? The taste of her on your tongue?

Casual, rough sex. That was all it was supposed to be but soon feelings start to get involved. Would something so scandalous be able to last?

Warnings/Tags: Angst, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Hydra, Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture

General Masterlist | Enemies with Benefits Masterlist

Chapter 3- Surprise

As soon as you entered the grand hall, your eyes scanned around the room to search for your target. On the USB there was a file regarding an ex hydra scientist who not only performed on innocent people, which resulted in them dying, but he also abused many of his subjects, especially the young girls he managed to get a hold of.

Men and women in elegant outfits, showing off their wealth littered the room yet you paid no notice to the few looks sent your way from them, the lust in some of their eyes as you walked past in your suit. All black was always the way to go, it was the best colour to hide the blood stains after you had your way with a target.

You made your way to the bar, ordering yourself a drink before a woman sat next to you, her body closer than necessary to grab your attention.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Romanoff?” you say, not turning away from your drink as the redhead receives her own drink and takes a small sip.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pin you to this table and handcuff you?” she says with a little bite in her words.

“Hmm let me think,” you murmur, pretending to be deep in thought for a moment earning a glare from your side. You roll your eyes at her serious state and mumble how boring she is before answering, “Because I’m your favourite bad guy? Oh wait no, because you’d know I’d enjoy it too much,” you turn to her with a wink, her palm colliding with your cheek making a few people look over before losing interest. You rub the spot she just slapped, her expression stoic as you stare at her in disbelief, “You’re not one of my favourite Avengers anymore, that was just rude.”

“Cut the bullshit,” her tone dangerous, “This isn't a game Y/n. Why are you here?”

“The same reason you are,” you turn back to your drink, your eyes looking around the room as you take a small sip.

“And that is?” You let out a sigh at her words, annoyed you now have to deal with the Avengers meddling in your plans.

“Look, let’s ‘cut the bullshit’, we both want the Hydra prick, so why don’t we just make this easier for everyone?” she raises her eyebrow at you, waiting for you to continue, “Let me take care of him and you can all have tonight off, maybe you could go and learn to have fun somewhere.” She shakes her head at you, a breathless laugh escaping her.

“I don't think that’s going to happen,” you turn to her as she speaks, looking behind her to see if the man has entered yet.

“Why not? Is it because you don’t want to be a fun person?” She can see your smirk as you raise the glass to your mouth and holds back from slapping the smug and annoying look on your face.

“Because your methods of ‘taking care of them’ are inappropriate and illegal,” she’s read all the files on you and even seen you in the flesh as you punish whatever guilty soul you could catch.

“It’s not inappropriate, it’s what they deserve,” your voice loses the teasing tone, becoming more cold and angered. “Do you really think I’m just going to let you take them, stick them in a cell for the rest of their lives that protects them from the people that want them dead? I thought you were smarter than this Romanoff.” She sighs at you, but you're too focussed on seeing the man walk in, a smile plastered on his face as he greets the surrounding people. “Lovely speaking to you Miss Romanoff but I must say goodbye now,” you say with a sarcastic tone, your hand grabbing hers and raising it to your mouth to place a kiss on, her pulling away her hand at the dramatic gesture.

“If you carry on like this, you’ll end up in one of those cells,” she warns but you're already gliding through crowds of people to find the scientist.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice calls out, her arm interlocking with yours, holding you back.

“Not now my little witch,” you say, keeping your voice calm as you stare ahead, the man talking to a woman and standing a little too close to her and, judging by the expression on her face, it wasn’t welcomed, “I have to work.”

“All work and no play?” she echoes your words from a few nights ago, her hand cupping your jaw and making you look at her.

“Yes, I’m a very busy woman at the moment so, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.” You slip out of her grasp but she moves forwards and pulls you back, your anger rising now as you can’t let another one get a life of safety in an Avenger’s cell.

“I can’t let you do that,” she says, an indecipherable emotion in her voice. “Come on, let’s have some fun,” she purrs in an attempt to distract you. Your attention from the man falters for a split second, moving to gaze at her lips for a brief moment before returning to where the man was. You swear under your breath at the fact he’s gone, along with the woman, and turn back to the witch.

“This will be your only warning,” your voice low as you whisper at the shell of her ear, “ Stay out of my way.”

“Or what?” she challenges you, a low chuckle immediately leaving you.

“You should have kept your mouth shut,” you mutter, “Enjoy the surprise I will send you later.” With that said, you pull away harshly and leave to find the man, pushing a person into Wanda who then spills her drink on her dress, the other woman starting a scene with the witch making it impossible for her to follow you.

***

Wanda’s leg bounces as the other Avengers bicker between themselves, arguing about how they failed to bring in the scientist as well as how they lost them to you. Her fingers twirled the rings on her fingers, her thoughts out of control while the rest continued to speak. Her entire body froze when her phone vibrated in her pocket, a video and text being sent to her phone.

Unknown: I hope you enjoy your surprise :) See you soon my little witch Press play to watch video

Swiftly, she leaves the room, no one noticing her absence as they were too focussed on the argument, and heads towards hers room. Her fingers shakily pressed the play button, the phone taking a moment to load the video up.

“Hello my little witch” your voice can be heard over the groans of pain in the background. “I promised you a surprise, I hope you enjoy it,” the camera moves as you walk across the room, supposedly in an abandoned building. Soon, the man from earlier appears on screen, blood dripping down the side of his face, his white shirt unbuttoned showing the deep slashes across his chest. His head sluggishly raised to meet the camera, tears streaming down his face while a cloth was tied around his mouth to muffle the noises that left him. “Oh come on, smile for the camera,” you taunt the man, clearly unable to do so with the gag.

“Help,” the man screams behind the gag, but you only laugh in response.

“Stop with the pathetic pleads,” you groan in annoyance, moving closer to him. The bruising on his face is clearer on the phone as you move till the camera is practically in his face. “Now let’s say goodbye to witchy.” He glares at you but you're too busy trying to hold the camera still, not letting it shake with your laughter.

“Fuck you,” he manages out quite clear and you just tsk at him.

“Sorry for my rude guest,” the camera moves till it’s on your face, his blood staining your neck and collar bones. “Goodbye my little witch,” you say, a charming smile on your face as the video ends.

As soon as the video ends, she’s leaving the room, heading for the exit of the compound to find you. It doesn’t take long for her to reach your apartment, her fist pounding on the door. When you don’t answer, she tries the handle to find the door unlocked. She strides into your apartment, seeing your jacket laid across a chair along with your shoes near the door that shows you’re here.

“Y/N,” she grits out, walking through your apartment till she hears the water of the shower running. She wastes no time in heading towards the bathroom, her magic almost pulling the door off its hinges as it flies open. You turn around in the shower, smirking over your shoulder as you see her through the glass panel. The water around you is red, the dried blood on your body slowly washing off.

“It’s rude to walk in on people showering unless you plan on joining them,” you murmur, continuing your shower as if she wasn't there.

“Out. Now,” she seethes out, eyes glowing red while her fingers twitch with her magic.

“ Or what?” your sneer back, turning around in the shower, the blood now clean from your toned body.

“There is no fucking or what. Out.” Her voice sends a shiver down your spine and you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and not bothering to wrap a towel around yourself as the water drips down your body.

“Why did you do it?” her voice wavers with anger and sadness, almost disappointment, as she looks at you. “We were going to put him in a cell to rot in for the rest of his life,” her finger jabs into your chest, pushing you back slightly before she uses her magic to wrap a towel around you so she can push you against the wall. A groan leaves your lip at the force of her shove, the wall colliding with your back painfully.

“I gave him what he deserved,” you grit out, “Do you even know what he did?”

“He still didn’t deserve to die,” she argues and you scoff at her. “He should have suffered in prison for years, not been killed.”

“You’re telling me that a man who used people, children however he wanted, didn’t deserve what I did to him.”

“You should have handled it differently,” she sighs out irritated, walking away from you and sitting on the edge of your bed. You pull on a robe and follow after her, leaning against your drawers as she stares at you.

“I didn’t kill him,” you whisper after a few moments of silence, hope glinting in her eyes.

“Where is he-”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t already dead,” your hands run through your hair before massaging your temples. Why were you telling her this? “I sent his location to a few people who wanted him dead, he was still alive when I left him.”

“Where?” you stare at the hopeful look in her eyes, noticing how much it contrasts from her lust-filled ones, how it’s somehow even more alluring. You give in, writing down the address which she quickly types into her phone, most likely in a message to a fellow Avenger as you move to change. “Thank you,” she whispers, making you turn around to look at her. You hate how it made you feel warm inside when she said those two little words and clenched your jaw in anger at yourself. What were you doing?

“Unless you want me to fuck you, get out,” your voice is emotionless while you move to grab the bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers.

“Y/n..” her face contorts to confusion at your sudden shift in mood, a frown now on her face.

“Yes or no?”

“Y/n-” she tries again but you cut her off, walking close till you're towering over her.

“It's a simple answer, if you say yes, I’ll pin you to that bed and have you screaming my name,” her breath hitches at your words, “if you say no, you can get out and go be the hero you so desperately want to be.”

Wanda’s entire body freezes at what you just said, a new wave of anger washing over her. She scoffs as she pushes you away, “At least I’m trying to be a hero unlike you.” You glare at her while the green in her eyes turn red again. “Y/n and her fucked up ways of trying to save the world,” she practically mocks before walking away. “Talk to me when you’ve learnt how to stop being a dick,” she shouts before the front door slams shut.

[ilyasorokinn]

hi me again!! can i request number 3 (hiding face in neck) or number 8 (shielding the other one with their body) from the touching prompt list with frank castle please? whichever one you pick is fine with me <3

NIGHT TIME ACTIVITIES

my last blurb for my tumblr-versary :( tysm to evryone who sent things in! i love and appreciate you all, and i love and appreciate everyone who has followed me or read my work or sent in anything. i love you all! also, i decided to go with both prompts, so slay ;)

3. "hiding face in neck" 8. "shielding the other one with their body" (from this prompt list)

tw: crime/violence

frank didn't like it when you got involved with his nightly activities, but you were able to help him sometimes. this time, you offered him a lot of help.

you were really good with computers, and usually, he would just call up lieberman for help, but he was desperate and didn't have time to call for backup.

you stood behind frank, hands in your pockets as you waited for him to finish picking the lock. once the door was open, he yanked it open and pushed you inside.

"so, how long do we got before they come in and we become target practice?" he asked, scanning the room as you took the usb out of your pocket.

you didn't exactly know what frank needed from these people, but you knew it probably wasn't good information.

"13 minutes starting..." you plugged the usb into the other computer, "...now." your heart was beating fast as you typed away on the computer.

"and you're sure you know what you're doing?" you stopped typing and raised a brow at him, "right. sorry, dumb question." he nodded, turning around and standing guard while you got back to typing.

your eyes went from the block in the corner of the screen to the progress bar in the middle of the screen, "how much longer?"

"almost done," you responded through gritted teeth. you jumped at the sound of tires squealing outside.

"i thought you said we had 13 minutes."

"maybe they were down the street." you snapped. when the progress bar disappeared and the 'download: complete' message popped up on the screen, you ripped the usb out of the computer and turned to frank, "how're we gonna get out of here?"

"working on that." he snapped. before either of youcould do anything, a bullet flew through the wall and landed in the wall right by your head.

you yelped, flinching and covering your head, "down!" frank shouted, grabbing onto you and shoving you to the ground. he moved fast, his body covering you like a shield.

you gripped onto his shirt, shoving your face into his neck, "we're gonna be okay!" you heard him shout over the sound of gunfire.

the people shooting at you must've run out of bullets because the shooting stopped, and you heard tires squealing away. once the coast was clear, frank pushed himself off of you and looked around.

you lay there, trying to collect your thoughts, "hey, you okay?" he asked, bending down next to you again and caressing your hair.

"that was the scariest thing that's ever happened, and i was approached by the fbi to work for them." you reminded him.

he dropped his head, smiling sadly, "i'm sorry. i never wanted you to get involved in this."

"are you kidding? if this is what you go through every night, i never want you to be alone again." you punched him softly in the shoulder.

"awe, you're worried about me." he teased with a smirk, "don't worry, i can take care of myself," he reassured. you pursed your lips, humming.

again, thank you to everyone who sent things in! i love you all <3

taylor's tumblr-versary!

[jolapeno]

rattled your bones

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!Reader (Helen!Reader) word count: 2.5k summary: It’s instinctive, a direct response, his hand moving to clutch his vest—the space directly above his fucking heart. A pain radiating through him, flooding like wildfire that’s about to choke him from the inside out.  an: blood, gun shot, ghost worrying (everyone is fine in the end tho, just pining and worries). for the anon who is desperate for the bullet story 💕 new readers, Helen is a nickname, it’s part of a whole “world” with reader as a medic nicknamed Helen by ghost (read Helen. Simon. for more info)

simon ghost riley masterlist

++++

“Helen.”

“I’m going as quick as I can,” she snaps, almost hissing it out through her teeth. 

He watches her. How her eyes scan over the monitor, fingers pausing over the keys.

Ghost hadn’t meant it to come out sharp. Cold. But he couldn’t shake the fact something was wrong. It was too easy, too clean.

That, and the fact she shouldn’t even be here. Should be on the base, or at the Heli. Not here, not downloading information Price had demanded. She should be safe. Away from this shit—as much as he could prevent. 

But she wasn’t. Isn’t.

The sound of boots—a pair, at least—filled the air. His eyes look to her, watching her rip out the USB as he removes a knife. 

“Hide.”

“Wh—“

His finger over his mask, silencing her, moving to the door. It’s quick, easy—hand over their mouth, two punctures, neck and chest, moving them to the floor. 

Ghost wants to think, and hope, it’s just him. 

One lone man. 

One man checking out this side of the base, but he suspects it isn’t. 

Something in the air, something knotting in his stomach. 

He spots her head poking up, his eyes stern, I need you alive, Simon, don’t die. Your eyes purposeful, direct, and beautiful—like fucking always.

But, from the worried look she’s giving him, she’s likely hearing them too—boots, more boots. He shows his knife, her hand raising, showing the one he gave her earlier. 

Because all she can do is defend. 

Part and parcel of being a medic in the field. Something he finds ridiculous and half the reason why she shouldn’t be here. The other being… she’s his. 

He can’t lose her. 

Keep her safe. Keep Helen safe. 

He cracks his neck before he grasps approaching fabric, fist clenching vest as he disposes of one person after the next. His ears tuned in, forcing himself to listen through the grunts and hisses. Almost on top of it, thankful her head hasn’t popped up, almost sure they’d done it—remained undetected. 

As in-and-out as two people can be in this situation. 

Until he sees a shadow, a flicker of something in the other doorway as more boots approach. Trying to calculate, gripping his knife tighter to dispatch the one closer—making a snap decision he hopes will pay off. 

Because it’s clear they’re already fucking compromised. 

The four bodies on the floor are evidence of that. 

So he stabs, and dispatches—glove soaked with other people's blood as he removes the knife, sliding it through more flesh to be sure. 

And he hears it too late. 

The sound of a bullet leaving a chamber—a handgun, the specific type coming to mind as he turns, and he sees it.

Sees her. 

He hears her small, ‘No’. 

There’s nothing he can do. Not a single, fucking thing. 

Her body is already launching through the air between him and the man trying to shoot him—straight in his back. All he can do is watch it all happen. 

A passenger. 

A bystander to the fact the woman he cares about is about to be pierced with a bullet. One meant for him. Watching her take the bullet, hissing before continuing—adrenaline thumping as she attacks. His knife in her hand landing once, twice—just like he taught her. Like he’d shown her, her body slick with sweat, flushed cheeks and body pressed against his on the mat. 

This isn’t practice. 

This isn’t him showing her how to defend herself.

It’s real and it’s all in slow. slow. slow motion. 

The sound of it all reaching his ears way after he’s watched it happen, punctuated by the horrific sound of her gasp. A horrid, fucking sound he’s not sure he’ll be able to scrub from his mind. 

And for a moment, he’s lost. Frozen. Stuck. Even his blink is slower, his swallow slower than that.

Then, as though someone flicks a switch, everything rushes back to him. The sounds, the smell, the moment—it’s almost overwhelming.

His hand raising—all instinctive, a direct response—moving to clutch his vest—the space directly above his fucking heart. A pain radiating through him, flooding like wildfire that’s about to choke him from the inside out. 

Even if the two of them land with a thud, his focus is on her. 

Because it hurts. Almost as though the bullet has gone through him to hit her. 

And then. 

Like all moments, it shatters. It snaps. It cracks. 

And he’s charging. Closing the small gap, grabbing her, lifting her to her feet, feeling her stumble before he holds her close. Her eyes looking down, scarlet blooming around her hip as she tries to smile—tries not to show how much she’s in pain.

Even if the air is tinged with sawdust and the iron of blood, his heart hammering as if he’s been struck with adrenaline himself. 

They won’t take you from me. 

They cannot have you. 

Mine. You’re mine. Only mine. 

He doesn’t look, supporting her, pulling her close by her vest, hearing her grumble at the movement as he radios. 

Her hand taps her pocket, silently telling him she has the drive—has what matters. As though he even gives a shit. 

Pocketing his knife, he shifts his gun into his other hand, trying to take the knife from her fingers, shaking it until she lets go.

“Simon…”

“Keep y’blood in you, Helen. That’s your focus.”

His grip on her tight, so fucking tight. 

She says nothing, glancing to see her plugging the hole with one finger, the other clutching him. Tightly. Desperately. 

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he groans, “Takin’ a bullet for me.”

The corridors feeling long, too fucking long. 

“You’re one ungrateful bastard, you know that?” 

Her voice breathless, tinged with something he doesn’t want to linger on. Because it’s clear she’s in pain. Clear that it’s more than a graze from the way she is breathing too. 

Each corner they take, half expecting more people, more things requiring a fight—until he hears the distinct sound of an explosion—far away, distant. He almost grins, almost. 

It’s not until he kicks open the door they first snuck in through, the sun hitting his eyes does he allow himself a moment to look at her. Seeing her face full of the same determination he’s sharing, the same look he’s seen when she’s assessing which part of someone to begin with first. 

“I love you, just so you know.” 

It’s not quiet when she says it, her eyes not meeting his either. 

It’s purposeful—the same way her hand grips his tighter. 

He almost loses it, almost readjusts her so he can see her face—rip her vest and tactical top off to see the damage. But Johnny skids into view, he hears it, hears the noticeable panic of him shouting ‘Doc?’ ‘Lt?’ 

He almost bites, almost tells him to back the fuck off. But he doesn’t. 

He squeezes her hand instead. “None of that, Helen.” Please. 

Her head nods, a silent acknowledgement before a slight hiss replaces it—falling from her tongue as Johnny takes her other side. 

“Whatcha’ done ‘ere then, Doc?” 

He likes that she laughs. 

Short. But sweet. 

“Took a bullet for our Lieutenant, didn’t I?” 

“Sure he appreciated that.” 

She laughs, more breathy, more through her teeth. “Y-yeah. He’s been thank-king me ever since.” 

+++++

You’ve been hit before. 

It comes with the territory of being a combat medic, of being on the field, back turned, in the midst of it. 

There’s a scar on your thigh, a graze on your upper arm and a stunning one shoulder too. Ones he’s kissed before, paid attention to purposefully—as though he can will away the memories and pain. In a way he does. And he doesn’t even realise it.

But, this. This is something else. 

Your side, from chest to hip, burns with something far worse than pain. It consumes you, it almost swallows you—desperately trying to pull you into its dark depths. 

“Talk to me.” 

You look at him. Snap your eyes to him.

And then you really look at him. 

Read his eyes, the only thing on show, focusing on the way he’s holding your hand still. Having not let go. Not even when evac arrives, not even when the woods begin to fly past the window. 

“What-t do you want to t-talk about?” 

He leans close, and you wish you could feel his breath on your skin. “Where am I takin’ ya? Next time we’re off?”

You laugh, even if it hurts. Rolling your head against the window, hissing—your lung burning, your side throbbing.

“You like Italian?” 

“It’s alright.” 

You swallow, trying to take smaller breaths—already having assessed your lung has collapsed. The other needing to work twice as hard. 

“You tell me where and I’ll t-tell you what dress I’m wearing-g.”

“You need to live first, Helen.”

You smile, just for him. “Not going anywhere, Simon. Y’need me.”

“I do.” 

You blink, watching his eyes drop at the realisation of his words before they land on you—asking you what dress you’re gonna wear. 

“Black. Probably.” 

“Not red?” 

You snort, eyes feeling heavy. “Y’seem like someone who prefers black.” 

“Maybe I like red?” 

“I know you like red, can tell from how much of it gets soaked into those gloves and mask,” you say, lips feeling dry, skin beginning to feel cold. “Black, though. Silk. Below the knee, a slit. Low cut—give you three things to look at.” 

“What’re those then?” 

You manage to open your eyes, finding him looking at you with worry—a look you rarely see in his eyes. 

Always so confident, so self-assured. A little standoffish—unless behind closed doors when he can remove his mask. When he can unveil the full man you love. A man who has wiggled and fought his way out of situations other men would have died in. 

“My smile and m’boobs. You like my boobs.” 

“I like your arse too.”

Smiling, you try to squeeze his hand. “Know that. But. Y’Can see that when I turn around.” 

“Helen.”

“I’d do it again… take it. The bullet...”

“Helen.”

He sounds distant. 

Your throat is dry, chest burning more and more—your breaths harder to find, your hip not hurting as much. “I need Soap…”

Ghost mumbles something. 

“Inflate. M’lung,” you manage to grumble, hoping he can hear you. “Bullet… likely fracture… lung. Yeah?”

Your eyes struggling to open, feeling his hand—his bare skin—on your cheek, moving your chin, tilting your face. “Copy.”

You hear him bellow something, likely Soap. Your head almost colliding with the glass, even if you feel his gloved-fingers clutching your skin—desperately trying to root you. 

“Love you…”

Hoping the words come out how you intend them to.  Hoping they’re not lost in whispers and groans. 

You want those to be the words he hears last, not knowing if you’re close or far. 

You’re sure he knows. 

He has to. 

++++++

He’s been pacing, drilling his boots into the wooden floorboards. It doesn’t matter he’s been told to sit down. Doesn’t matter that one of the times he has, had been from Price. He isn’t sitting. 

Not when she’s still unconscious, not when he’s watched Soap inflate her lung in the ‘exact way she’s shown him’. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Johnny!”

“I’m doing m’best, Lt. Lass is normally barkin’ orders at me.” 

They all have basic medical training. 

His likely more extensive, having needed it, having required it to be sent on so many solo missions. But, working on her is different. He knows it, Price knows it. 

It’s why he imagines it was Soap who was ordered to inflate it, to check for a bullet—even if he’s sure the lung is due to a fracture. The bullet hitting your hip, through and through. He knows that from the blood loss—and from stitching her. 

Not trusting Johnny to do it. 

“Give it ‘ere,” he’d eventually snapped, taking the needle from him, trying to tell himself this isn’t her.

Isn’t his Helen.

It’s a soldier. Someone who needs him.

It works well, almost convincing himself until he moves from the hole on the back of her side to the one on her front. Seeing the places he’s kissed more frequently, the soft ghostly marks of bruises he knows he’s left from holding her when her thighs are either side of his. 

And then he waits. 

Waits some more. 

Looking even smaller, more fragile than he ever recalls her being as she lays in the bed. The one she’s usually tending to, the one she’s normally rushing around. It’s weird she’s in one of these beds.

He doesn’t move, wringing his hands out as he stares at her—willing her to open her eyes. 

And then, her eyelashes flutter. A soft groan. Then, her eyes land on him. It feels like something close between the sun and a spotlight, illuminating him, warming him. For a moment, the two of them sitting in this second that’s all their own.

Until her face shifts, and the hold on his chest lessens. 

“Hi,” she whispers.

As if she almost didn’t die on him earlier.

He bites the inside of his mouth as he sighs. “Hi.” 

She tries to move, groaning as she does. “How mad are you?”

“Very.”

“Thought so.”

He places his hand on her shoulder—the good side—urging her down. Happy she relents, taking a breath, fingers finding the tube still sticking out her chest. 

“Soap did good,” she mumbles, licking her lips before staring at him. “You stitched me though.” 

“No.”

“Liar.”

“How’d y’know?” 

Swallowing, her eyes glance over his mask—unsure what exactly she’s looking at. “I was sorta awake. For parts. You're gentler than I imagined.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. 

He takes her hand, “You shouldn’t have done it… that.” 

“Not apologising.”

“Course y’won’t, stubborn—“

“Unless you want me to pop my stitches, I’d swallow that word. Because y’know I’d do it again.”

“You’ve said.” 

Sighing, she smiles. “So, let it go.”

“Let it… Helen? That was the stupidest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever done!”

“Cool.”

“Don’t… don’t fucking do that.” 

Her fingers turn, sliding between his as she sighs. “Simon, it’s done. You are worth saving—y’hear me. That’s why I did it, why I’d do it again. I need you around too. Did I think? No. But….” I love you. 

“I’d have been fine.” 

“Just like I am?” 

Fuckin’ bitch. 

But, fuck, she’s everything. She’s the only person who fights him, fucks him and loves him like she does. And, for the last so many hours, when she wasn’t awake, he’s had a chance to ponder it all.

How he can’t be without her. Ever. 

That he wants to go back to that building and burn the entire base down. How he didn’t even slam his knife into the man’s skull, having only focused on her. He forgot the mission—even if it was done, accomplished. 

Simon has never, ever done that. 

“You passed out.”

It comes out fragile, cracked at the edges. 

Her shoulders sinking, the most beautiful smile spreading over her pale face. “People do that sometimes when it’s hard to breathe, Simon. But, other than some stitches, I’m guessing a cracked rib, bruising, a sexy scar in my hip and a temporarily deflated lung, I’m fine. You’re fine.” 

“You bled.”

“And yet still, here I am.” 

The other words churning on his tongue. Tasting bitter, burning a hole into his mouth as he stares at her, hoping she knows them. 

Until they fall from his lips anyway. “You scared me…”

That silenced her. 

Just for a moment. “I can’t lose you either… I—“

“I know… I don’t. I don’t need you to say it,” she whispers, looping her fingers between his—and he’s suddenly thankful he’d changed his gloves, clean ones for her clean, soft skin. “I had needed to say it…”

“Just in case?” Her eyes dropping, as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Helen. Don’t… don’t fucking do that again.” 

“What say it? Or take a bullet for you?”

“Both.”

“I can promise to try and not do one of those things.”

“Tell me it’s the latter.”

“Sorry, Zero.”

“Zero?”

“He’s a ghost dog, from Nightmare before Christmas.”

“Never seen it.” 

“I’ll show you one day.” 

“Yeah?”

She closes her eyes, fingers playing with his. “Promise.” 

[ijumpbridges]

Vape

(Ft. Scp 035, 073, 076, 682, Dr. Clef, Kondraki, Glass)

No, but in all seriousness, don’t do this, i did this and almost put me into a comma 🙏😍

Pov: You found a vape on the floor

TW: Vaping, Smoking.

035:

"Nasty ass...' He said when he saw you blowing out smoke from it.

"Give me that vape" She said after three second putting his hand out in a motion for you to give it to them.

You too struggle to get that vape he took it from you and tried hitting it.

"Awww... you took the last hit, damn!" He said, then trying to hit it again.

"At least i can state it" She said blowing the scent out then he hide the vape. "Its mine now"

“Yo! What about me?!” You whine trying to take the vape from him to which he refuse to give it to you.

049:

You hit the vape.

"Smoking kills and that lead to the pestilence..." he said, but it was too late.

Because you coughed and it triggered him.

He starts chasing you.

Having to fleet cuz this man, wanted take the 'pestilence' out of you.

073:

"Don't come closer" You said stopping Cain from stepping close.

"You are not being serious, a vape from the dirty ass bathroom floor"

"Very much yeah" You said blowing out the smoke, stay there i want you to ruin my vape, it looks new" You said turning it around to see it.

"Vaping kills more than cigarette" He says in am attempt to convince you to stop.

"I know, im trying to die fast" you said taking the last hit and throwing on the floor again.

He just simply looked at you with now expression as you laughed.

076:

He is looking at you with a straight face, how you keep hitting that vape.

"What are you doing?" He asked you, while you try to blew the vape, but there wasn't any left.

"Hitting it" you said.

"Hitting?"

"Yeah" You said raising your eyebrows many times.

He stood there watching you in silence.

682:

He looks at you with a straight face, then looks at rustiest, dustiest, with mud, usb and you trying to put yours lips in it.

"Disgusting" it said.

"You think i can still hit it?" You asked him to which he didn't reply.

Either other way you hit it to which it got you in a coma and came back 3 days later.

Dr. Clef:

"Oh shit you found a vape" Clef said getting.

He stands still watching you try to take a hit and snatches it out of your hand then tries to hit it too.

"My vape!"

"Stop crying, sharing is carrying" he said trying to hit but you already took the last hit so he coughed it up.

Clef process to throw the vape at a window.

Someone comes out from the door.

“GET BACK TO WORK!” Someone yelled at you two having to leave.

Dr. Kondraki:

You took the vape.

"Ewww.." He said, looking at you trying to hit it, but couldn't

"We need a straw to smoke the vape out" You said looking at the vape and then through the smoke hole.

"What the fuck is a straw gonna do when you cannot hit it? It has nothing! Throw that shit away. Don't you see how rusty that looks like?" Kondraki said turning to see you.

You laughed and dropped the vape.

Dr. Glass:

His jaw drops.

"You vaping that musty vape? Don't you see how rusty that vape looks like?" He rhetorically asked you, approaching you trying to take the vape away while you giggle.

"No, don't take it from me Simon, i need that vape" you said while you laughed

"No you don't" he said taking it and throwing it away, and forces you to keep walking.

[suzie-shooter]

Alex Rider season 3 unhinged liveblog ramblings scribbled during first watch. Spoilers, obvs. (also fair warning, I am not particularly a fan of Tom or Kyra lol)

Episode 1 - Widow

S2 recap trivia - Alex's therapist is Molly Doran from Slow Horses and married to Alan Blunt IRL

Malta: Ok, so we're not just going to pretend it's Venice lol.

Creepy old men already hitting on Alex. Standard.

"After this we're out of leads." How do you even have any leads in the first place? Oh ok, Smithers' phone. Terrible security protocols from him, leaving that much historical classified data on it.

"Find the Widow - surely he could have given you an address?" First thing Tom's ever said I've agreed with lmao

Aaaand within a second he's back to being deeply irritating, okay.

Yassen living rent free in Alex's head, you love to see it.

"They've got this picture of me being the responsible one." Have Tom's parents actually met him?

Ooh Razim mention.

You maybe want to clean that wound before whacking a dressing on it Alex?

"Do you think you'll ever lose your appetite Nile?" Spat my drink.

Damn, no harem pants then. Scrubs up well tho.

Listing Levin in the opening credits than having him be only a S2 flashback should be a warcrime.

Episode 2 - Lab

"This weapon is called pork sword, wait, no, shit, wrong USB."

"Julia Rothman. Definitely a wrong un." Spat my drink again.

Do Crawley and Pritchard not warrant helmets and visors? Are they somehow immune to shrapnel?

So, room 6, wired to blow, yes? It's what I'd do…

Oh yeah sure guys, they're going to still be sitting there, all unmoving in the dark, for sure that's a person, and not a Massive Trap.

Thereeeee we go. Agent mince. Top of your class huh, well you're certainly at the top now, and down the sides and partially out of the window.

I know there's the whole 'characters don't know what genre they're in' thing but you are literally in the 'working for MI6 genre', you are up against people notorious for booby traps and blowing shit up, why the fuck would you touch something that hadn't been declared safe first? Apart from anything else you're fucking up the scene before forensics get there.

"I love you man." Vom.

Alex: breaks into super sekkrit lab. Also Alex: doesn't have the faintest fucking idea what he's looking at, so not really helpful.

COMICALLY LARGE BOMB KLAXON.

Episode 3 - Enemy

"Welcome to Malagosto." OooOOooh.

Maybe I'm just looking at it from a fic writer's perspective but it does seem a massive anticlimax to immediately let Tom and Kyra know Alex is okay? Like, you could have got a good couple of episodes of angst out of that uncertainty.

"Do you want me to kill them?" Oh God yes please.

Why the fuck have they plugged the USB directly into the network rather than an isolated PC? 'Hur dur we checked it first', you literally believe Scorpia are smart enough to not be bluffing about the nebulous death threat but you don't think they could hide something on the hardware? Fuck's sake lads. Amateur hour.

Is this Home Secretary meant to be Suella Braverman? Or Priti Patel maybe lol. (Equal rights and all that, and if it had been a white male character I don't think I would have thought twice about the dialogue but having both your two new female characters be immediately proved wrong/ massively patronised/ blown up ain't hugely comfortable viewing tbh).

HOW MANY FICS INVOLVING ALEX GETTING FUCKED ON THAT BED HAVE JUST BEEN BORN?

"Are you suggesting we break into a dead man's house?" "It's not like he's going to be there." 😂

"He became a very close friend of mine." Fnar.

Omg making Alex read his father's love letters is hilarious.

Alex: you could have faked that news report Also Alex: handwriting can definitely never be faked (how is Alex even familiar with his dead father's handwriting? wouldn't recognise mine)

Ugh please stop trying to make Alex/Kyra happen.

Alex up the vent shaft. I hope they're sitting casually at the top going - you could have just taken the stairs love.

If he's climbing upwards, why is his hair dangling like he's upside down? Have they filmed this like 60's Batman, and he's just crawling along a horizontal set lol.

Alex never once asks about his mother does he. Given the shagger-John route they seem to have gone down you almost think Julia would be in a better shout of getting Alex to switch sides by claiming to be his mother.

And - yeah, Alex's recruitment just doesn't feel that convincing here. Adding Tom/Kyra/Jack so much to the mix has changed the feel of his life a lot, and TV verse Alex has had a lot less fucking over by the Department by this point too. And Rothman feels too creepy to be effectively convincing him of anything.

"I want you to meet your tutor." FUCK YES FINALLY 🙌 (may have rewound that part several times lol)

Episode 4 - Recruit

Nicaragua: 18 years ago OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING

Baby Yassen is adorable, I'm in love.

OH MY GOD THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE FUCKIN SPIDER THING

OH MY GOD THE REVEAL OF HIM STANDING OVER THE SLEEPING ALEX I'M DEAD

(Ok, I'm calm again. For now. We continue.)

"You killed my uncle" - all the hundreds of ways this conversation has been written over the years and Yassen's just like lol get over it 😂 (here for it tbh)

Rothman: He's one of our best Yassen: One of? Bitch.

Yassen watching Alex train like 👀👀

"Did he ever tell you you're no fun?" Oh you want to have FUN with Yassen do you?

Yassen bitchslapping Alex to fuck, both hilarious and hot.

Oh, you want to be WET wet.

"Matteo's the guy with the blanket." Why is that so funny.

Omg Yassen stepping in to protect his boy and humiliating Nile in the process lol. And Alex doing what Yassen tells him, because of course he does 🥰

"This one is my responsibility" 🥰🥰

"What about love, friendship?" Alex has only known Yassen five minutes and is already down bad.

"Kind of lonely though, right?" Yeah, Yassen needs you at his side Alex, so step up and stop being a whiny little bitch about killing people.

Never get in the first taxi, rule one of espionage.

Yep, called it. Tom's like: I'll have my fucking tip back in that case.

This scene is so dark I have no fucking idea what's going on, I thought Nile had attacked Alex, but apparently not. Is Nile officially part of this exercise or not, it seems really unclear lol.

The power of friendship and sparklerabbits saves the day, apparently. Yawn.

Jesus, we really ATE with this ep, huh.

Episode 5 - Revenge

"Would you rather your arms around me, or my arms around you?" Way to make it creepy Tom you skeevy fuck.

"Can we focus please?" "We're multi-tasking."

Sure Grendel, rock up to the super sekkrit spy base in a massively conspicuous car why don't you?

"Yassen will give you everything you need." Oh I BET he will.

Feels sloppy them not removing the diffuser from the vent tbh.

"What does this say?" Alex hasn't inherited John's neat handwriting then lol. Alex leaning into him like that > me making noises only dogs can hear.

"You've put lockpick?" "I left my last one in Nile."

Ooh, suicide pill, nasty. Kind've pointless though, given they've been left with the evidence anyway.

Yassen in Alex's bedroom again, likely place for him to be.

"I don't want you to fail. I don't want you to die." 🥹💕🥰

Yalex roadtrip, let's goooo.

Disappointed they're not making Alex do the Entrapment infrared acrobatic sequence here lol.

If this is Yassen's idea of a date it definitely needs work.

So no surprise scorpions then? Can't have shit in Detroit Malta.

"Why? Why did she kill him?" Well taking things at face value here he was a highly murderous member of a terrorist organisation, so you know, kind've her job.

Yassen does like a casual lean, doesn't he.

Episode 6 - Target

Alex and Yassen have shacked up in London, hope there's only one bed.

Now they're in the back of a van, SO many opportunities for shagging, they're spoilt for choice.

Yassen's impressed look when Alex reels off all the security details, so proud of his boy.

"What happened to my mum?" Finally he wonders lol.

"And I'm good at it. You could be too." 🥹

"You think Alex killed him?" I mean, he was also there with a notorious assassin, so probably not, y'know.

Domestic Yassen cooking Alex's dinner and also cooking him a gun lol.

Smithers' "How I've missed you" ahahaha. Smithers/Kyra much better pairing tbh.

"He's actually quite good at this stuff." Smithers' little snort lmao

Time for Alex to be blacked up/ dunked in a teabag bath/ gussied up. Although he still looks exactly like Alex afterwards, which feels less useful lol.

"You love him, don't you?" Yassen loves him more. I have to say Alex had far more chemistry with Syl, and frankly for that matter with Tom. I really don't get the Kyra agenda.

"It's a dry hole." Alex's worst nightmare.

Is Alex going to look through Mrs Jones' knicker drawer?

Episode 7 - The Shot

Mrs Jones and her tall murderous hobbit son lol. Otto really looks about 58 here.

Hope they bill him for her fucked up fridge.

Is that Bath? Oh, it is.

Mrs Jones casually throwing Alex back into play lol. Maybe she can have a little revenge for him trying to shoot her.

"Everyone breaks into houses." Jack's face lol

Ewww put him down, you don't know where he's been (Yassen's bed, almost certainly)

"Remember they can't hurt you unless you invite them in." "That's vampires."

Yassen arguing in favour of going to rescue Alex MY HEART

"Sit down. I'm going to tell you a story. About your friend, John Rider." HOLY PLOTHOLE TIMELINE PATCHING BATMAN

"John was embedded inside Scorpia for three years." Not the only thing he was embedded in by the sounds of it.

Alex seems to be hallucinating again lol.

Yassen, maybe psychoanalysing your insane boss isn't the safest thing to be doing?

"It's quite mad Julia." Yassen really gives no shits omfg

"I know my place." Yes, at Alex's side.

I like how Julia thought telling Yassen she'd killed John would do anything other than piss him off lol.

Episode 8 - Invisible Sword

"But you do owe me a new fridge." LOLLLLLL

Crawley feeling like a spare part during this lift convo, hahaha

"Smithers, you can do me some kind of tracker, right?" "Yeah, if you promise to keep it on you this time."

Alex is like ohshit I'm gonna die fr

"Not for the agents. They undid their seatbelts." Eyyyyyyyy 👉

Aww they've given him a little baby assassin outfit, how cute.

Where's Yassen, has he just fucked off to the pub?

"For the head of Scorpia, you're a really bad liar."

Laughing at all the other Scorpia agents having to listen to this convo about their boss like we are not paid enough for this shit 😬

"Everyone else is getting what they want, let me have my cereal."

Protecting his boy to the last. Yassen really is purely on Alex's side, we love to see it.🥰

And OMG HE LIVESSSSSSSS 🙌🙌🙌🙌 (I voted yes in that poll, I had faith lol)

Well that was - far more fanservice than I dared hope for, after the meagre pickings we got in the first two series. Yalex supremacy to the motherfucking end, let's go.