#i don't even know what to do anymore. i can't do anything faster or more efficiently than i currently am. and clearly that's not enough

[fantabulousfelix]

man it's bad tonight huh

[sceletaflores]

LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

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｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that. 

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age. 

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. “Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air. 

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up. 

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground. 

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out. 

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave. 

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers. 

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot. 

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[chaoticwriting]

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4

Part 3

Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.

Trickster: Sure, why not?

???: Thank you.

Trickster: So, what do you want with me?

???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?

Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?

Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.

Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.

Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).

Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.

Clark: Oh? What is it?

Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.

Clark: GIW? What is that?

Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.

Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.

Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.

-1 month later-

Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.

Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.

The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.

But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.

Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.

???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.

???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?

???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.

???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.

???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.

???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.

???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.

???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.

Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.

Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.

Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.

Part 5

[ama3003]

The Cost of Sides

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! I didn't want to respond directly since it does contain some Thunderbolts Spoilers but I really hope you see this. If you do see this, please message me that you did so, I can have some peace of mind.

The request started with "Can I request a fic for Bucky please? I’m wanting lots of angst of reader and Bucky not seeing eye to eye after..."

Type: Angst

Summary: You and Bucky seem to be on opposite sides.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You met Bucky through Steve during the U.N. bombing fiasco—back when everything was falling apart and nothing felt safe.

From that moment on, you were in it with him. Every step, every fight, every quiet moment in the aftermath. He never had to ask; you were just there.

And when Steve died, when the weight of it all came crashing down, the two of you leaned on each other like you were the only solid thing left in the world. Somewhere in that grief, love happened. Slowly, then all at once.

After that, you were just… you and him. No big declarations. No drama. Just this steady, easy rhythm.

Sure, there were arguments—small ones, over stupid things like laundry or leaving dishes in the sink—but never real fights. Nothing that stuck. You could read each other so well it never got that far.

Until you played the video Sam sent you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers,”

And there was Bucky. In the center. Wearing his suit. Standing with them.

Your heart dropped so fast you couldn’t breathe for a second. Not because you thought he betrayed you or Sam though he definitely did—but because he let it happen. Because he stood there, quiet.

You didn’t want to pick sides. God, you really didn’t. But it felt like he already had.

He said he didn’t ask for it. Said he wasn’t even sure how it happened. But he kept showing up to their briefings, kept running missions with them, kept wearing that title like it didn’t burn.

And the worst part? The government—the government—was backing them. Funding them. Controlling them. You grew up watching them twist heroes into weapons. And now they had Bucky.

You tried to talk. At first, it was calm. Then it wasn’t.

Now it’s been fourteen months. And you barely recognize the way your fights stretch out, sharper, faster, more frequent. Less about the Avengers and more about everything that’s not being said.

You still love him. That’s not even a question. And he loves you. You know that. But sometimes love isn’t enough to close the space that’s growing between two people who don’t see the world the same way anymore.

You try. You both do. But it’s harder than it used to be. Way harder.

This morning, you show up at the compound with coffee in your hands, the paper tray trembling just slightly from lack of sleep—and everything else. It’s your way of saying sorry without saying the words. Not for what you fought about, but for the way it happened. For the silence after.

That’s how you find yourself stepping off the elevator and into the team’s living space chest still aching from the night before—just in time to hear it:

"Weren’t you going to talk to him?"

"I already did," Bucky says. His voice is low, tired. Like he’s already lived through the argument in his head too many times to want to say it again.

"And?"

"It went poorly."

You stop just past the doorway, your stomach twisting. You shouldn’t have heard that. But now that you have, you can't pretend you didn’t.

“You spoke to Sam?” you ask, stepping into the room fully.

Everyone looks up. The weight of too many eyes lands heavy on your skin. No one says anything. They don’t have to. Everyone knows what’s been going on—what’s been quietly breaking between you and Bucky for over a year now.

“I brought coffee for everyone,” you offer, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. It doesn’t hide the tension. It only highlights it.

Then, gently to Bob: “I got you decaffeinated tea.”

“Thank you,” Bob says, offering a soft smile, trying to smooth out the edges of the moment. But it doesn't do much.

You turn back to Bucky, heart in your throat. “You spoke to Sam?”

He exhales slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?” you ask. You already know the answer. You’re just hoping it’s not the one you’re thinking.

“To see if he would stop all of this,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face.

You stare at him, jaw clenched. “I told you he wouldn’t. Ross is breathing down his neck. He basically has his hands tied.”

Bucky shakes his head, frustrated. “That doesn’t give him the right to make this whole thing hell for us. It’s not our fault that Valentina decided to do all of this.”

You feel the words catch in your chest before they come out. “But you didn’t fight it.”

The room is still. Even the air feels heavy.

Yelena, sitting off to the side, casually adds, “You do know that he filed for copyright of the name.”

Bucky turns toward her, caught off guard. “Did he?” Then his eyes swing back to you. “See? We're not doing anything. He’s taking it too far.”

You feel heat rise in your chest. Not anger exactly—something messier. “Look, the Avengers stay with the one who has the shield. He has the right to start up the team again. And don’t forget—you’re the one who told him he should.”

“I never said that.”

You glare at him, the words hitting before you can stop them. “He vented to you, Bucky. You gave him advice. You told him Steve didn’t make a mistake handing him the shield. You told him to lead—to build something new. The Avengers. And now not only is there a new team, but you’re in it. With the same government that once tried to erase him. And you didn’t even try to understand his side."

He scoffs, voice rising. “Sam’s side? He’s the one who doesn’t want to speak to me! He’s the one who’s blaming me like I planned this!”

“What happened during that call?” you ask, arms crossed tightly in front of you like it’s the only thing holding you together.

“I told him—” Bucky starts, then shrugs, eyes flicking away. “I told him he was being ridiculous. That there’s already an Avengers team. That there’s no reason to start a second one.”

Your lips part, but it takes a second for the words to come. “So you basically told him to back off.”

“He’s making this really difficult,” Bucky mutters.

You feel something in you crack—quietly. You can't keep arguing. You lost all willpower. You grab your purse off the counter. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

But behind you, his voice calls out, rough and wounded. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

You stop. You turn. Slowly. “I’ve been hearing you out for fourteen months, Bucky,” you say. “Every time. I’ve listened. I’ve tried to understand. But you signed on with them. What more is there to hear?”

He steps forward, like being closer might help you hear him better. “It’s not like that—”

“No?” Your voice trembles, but the anger in it keeps it from breaking. “Because it feels like exactly that. And fine, let’s say you didn’t sign up for the politics, but you’re still here. Standing next to them. Like that shield and that name didn’t come with blood and pain and history.”

His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. That flash of guilt flickers in his eyes again—but he swallows it down too fast. Again.

“This isn’t about Sam.”

You almost laugh. “Everything is about Sam.”

“I didn’t want this,” he snaps. “But sometimes we don’t get to wait for the perfect cause to show up. The world’s on fire. Sam had time—he could’ve acted. But now he’s creating this new team out of spite.”

You look at him like you don’t recognize him for a second. “And sometimes you don’t even realize you’re helping the very system that tried to erase your best friend from history...That tried to bury you.”

He flinches. That one lands. You can see it in the way he goes still.

You take a shaky breath. “Sam bled for that shield. He earned it. But they made him prove himself again and again. Until he was almost broken. And now you’re smiling for the cameras next to the same people who happily tried to hand that legacy to John.” You glance at Walker. “No offense.”

“Some taken,” Walker mumbles. You ignore him.

Bucky’s face darkens. “I haven’t forgotten what they did. But I haven’t forgotten the threats out there, either. This team… it’s not perfect. But we show up. Sam’s team haven’t shown up at all.”

“And when they do?” you say, stepping closer. “Are you really going to go up against Sam? Against his team? Over a name?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

It feels like a punch to the ribs. You stare at him, voice soft and hollow. “And what about me?”

That shatters something in his expression. You see it—the flicker of fear he tries to bury but can’t. Because this time, it’s different. You’ve fought before—circling this dilemma for months, both of you carefully pretending it lived outside your relationship. Like you could keep love and ideology in separate rooms. But this? This is the first time the line disappears. The first time it feels personal.

And you can’t pretend anymore.

“We’re a family, Bucky. After Steve, it’s always been us three. And now you're ready to go against him? Over a group name that we both know belongs to him.”

“I want to be where I can help,” he says, quieter now. “Sure, the government backs us up, but we're not letting them control us. We're on the right side."

Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. “And what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, Bucky? When the people you’re working with start justifying things again?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

You lower your voice, barely above a whisper now. “What happens when history repeats itself?”

He looks at you, offended. “You think I’d let that happen again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

The silence hung there like a bruise. No one said a word.

Silence settled between you again, broken only by the muffled sounds of the team whispering amongst themselves, trying not to be obvious, failing miserably.

You turned toward the window because it was easier than looking at him. Easier than seeing what was—or wasn’t—left in his eyes.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant, cracked at the edges.

“I can’t follow you into this, Buck.”

You heard him breathe in—sharp, like maybe he hadn’t expected that. Or maybe he had.

“I never asked you to,” he said. But there was something in his voice. A break. A catch. Something small but real.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You nodded, once. No drama. No grand speech. Just… done. Then you turned and walked toward the elevator.

No one stopped you.

You felt their eyes on your back. You felt his most of all.

The elevator dinged open, and you stepped in stiffly, trying to keep your hands from shaking and your heart from breaking right here in front of them.

The doors started to close.

He still didn’t move.

Still didn’t say your name.

And that? That was the part that broke you. He was letting you go.

Only when the doors shut and you were alone did your shoulders slump. Only then did the breath you'd been holding finally let go—and it came out shaky.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You pulled out your phone, meaning to call Sam. Ask if you could crash for the night.

But your screen lit up before you could type.

Your lock screen.

That damn photo.

You and Bucky, wrapped up in each other, grinning like idiots. Some blurry picture someone else had snapped at some rooftop barbecue. He had his arm around you, his mouth near your ear. You were laughing like the world wasn’t ending.

Back when things still felt easy.

Before sides. Before names meant more than people.

Before all of this.

You stared at it, and your chest ached. Actually ached.

Different times. Different battles. Same man.

But maybe not the same love.

You’d followed him through hell and worse. You would’ve followed him anywhere.

But not this time.

Not into something that went against everything you believed. Not when it meant losing pieces of yourself just to stay close to him. Not when it meant standing against the memory of the only real family you've ever had.

Ahhh, I seriously love getting Bucky requests—they're always my favorite to write!

Also, I know this whole Sam vs. Bucky situation has stirred up a lot of emotions, but honestly, their friendship is so strong that I doubt it'll last long.

Anywhoooo I hope you enjoy this one! Love you all and thank you for all the support!!!!!

Pleaseeeee send me more requests (I'm on a Bucky roll right now lol)! And to those who have requested don't worry I'll get to yours soon!

[eloquentlytired]

18+ NSFW. MDNI.

dreamlike — tommy miller x fem reader

warnings: slightly dark content, dark!tommy, smut, unspecified age gap but reader is over 22+, masturbation, handjob, cheating, tommy’s moral compass breaks down, unclothed grinding, surprise ending, sex outdoors, tension, maria ily this isn't personal I just rlly like ur man

notes: hi guys it's been 100 years I'm sorry ily + take this bc im ovulating 😎 tommy miller suddenly making me feel things bc of gabriel luna that's right. likes and reposts are appreciated🥹

“I don't think you've settled down quite just yet.” joel tells him one day while they're eating breakfast together. tommy glances, swallows then responds.

“I don't know what you mean.” but his eyes betray him as they return somewhere for the fifth time; at a distant specific table where you're reading some silly book again.

your food is yet to be touched while tommy’s and joel’s are nearly gone.

“tommy we're too old for this shit, you and I. you're my brother, I already know what you'll do before you even do it.” joel throws the bait and tommy bites it.

“I’m not doing anything joel except—”

“except eating Maria's food while throwing damn heart eyes at her.”

tommy hisses at joel’s truthful interruption, not so much at being interrupted but at the validation of those words.

“I’m just making sure she likes the food.” joel deadpans, tommy does the same right after because of his own words. gods, he is pathetic.

“fuck, just shoot me already.” joel shrugs at his brother's words and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's grinning. “tell your wife, I'm sure she'll be delighted.”

tommy shakes his head and keeps on eating. he stresses over his thoughts so much that, lucky for you, he misses your piercing gaze and the bite of your lips.

he spends days trying to blame it on something other than him being a terrible person. the breakout, the virus, the living circumstances, the we need to work faster from Maria or that everyone depends on him for the hard stuff.

sure, tommy had chosen this in the first place but he doesn't even know if he wants whatever this is anymore. what does he want?

“mister miller!”

the tension leaves his shoulders as he watches you walk towards him, only wearing that favourite sundress of yours and an oversized jacket.

it's the first real summer that wyoming has felt since the outbreak. tommy only appreciates it because he's too lazy to gear up for winter.

“you’re early.” he says and finds himself smiling as you flop down beside him, sitting on the green weeds.

the snow is still melting but it doesn't make things less cold — but clearly you don't feel the cold he does.

“I helped in the kitchen so they let me off early.” you explain and tommy hums. he thinks about the past months when he'd found you during patrol, covered by the snow and nearly dead. he'd never ridden back home faster, urging for the medics to help you out and thank gods they'd done a great job. now you were here, a few months later, and trusting him more than anyone else while tommy was just a straight up bastard.

he fed you more than others, brought you new clothes that you might like and most importantly showed you his spot. that well hidden spot outside the fences which was an hour's walk away... it wasn't even special but it was spacious and quiet and a little cleaner — and suddenly he was calling it our spot instead of my spot.

for months you'd come here, chat with him and draw in your worn out notebook. the pages were running out and tommy made a mental note to find you a new one. fuck.

“what’s this?” tommy murmurs while his hand points at a very specific drawing on the left page.

he seems to pale while you just feel yourself growing hot. you'd drew him back in the cafeteria when he was looking at you, when he thought you were so unaware of his eyes but you always knew.

“I just—” you try to find the right words, or better yet the right excuse, but you can't. “I just did it.”

tommy catches on your tone as if you were afraid to receive a reaction. his reply surprises you.

“do I really look at you that way?” he asks and you nod, the strap of your dress falling off your shoulder clearly to test him.

tommy has never succeeded in any tests in his entire life.

you lay on the ground, indifferent about the weeds tangling in your hair. tommy’s face hovers over yours as he kisses you, one of his hands sneaking beneath your dress to squeeze your thigh and nothing more.

“tommy.” he swallows his own name from your lips, his lips kissing you feverishly yet the rest of his body doesn't dare move. tommy just sticks to laying beside you while his elbow achingly supports his weight.

he cannot trust himself to move, to slip between your thighs and only kiss.

the hand he's placed on your thigh earlier starts to retreat but you don't let it as you use both of your hands to capture his wrist.

“sweetheart.” tommy warns, his eyes blown wide with lust while his chest heaves up and down. he’s affected by this, feeling overwhelmingly lustful like he's young again, while also fearing the consequences of this. the aftermath of it.

for the first time you don't listen to him, pushing his hand between your thighs until his fingers come in contact with your soaked panties.

you hear him cursing beneath his breath, fuck this, as he touches you after what feels like forever.

he rubs you through your panties, his massive hand feeling the material soaking further as his thumb finds your clit. your head turns and you bury it in his chest while tommy just rubs.

his breath is hitched and he's in a far worse state than you for a different type of reasons. you drool on his shirt and throb against his fingers because you're excited, you feel good. on the other hand, tommy cups and fondles your pussy possessively while stressing over the limits. he can't do more than this — he shouldn't.

“can I touch your cock?” you whisper almost too shyly and tommy wishes joel would have just shot him when he had asked the first time.

your hand unzips his trousers and takes out his cock because tommy has obviously agreed, because it's your fault for looking at him with those sparkling eyes.

your foreheads collide as tommy touches you and you touch him.

his fingers eventually sneak beneath your panties because he wants it to be fair, you're touching his bare cock so he's entitled to your pussy right?— or maybe he really is just an asshole deep down.

nothing like the tommy that maria loves, nothing like the tommy that everybody respects. no, once again he's the tommy miller that only joel knows.

your fingers circle around his cock, feeling it at first, before caressing every inch of skin you can get. your eyes are on tommy’s as your foreheads keep touching and a soft smile occupies your face while you stroke his cock.

you're smiling and touching his dick and tommy likes it too much.

“you need a new notebook, don't you?” tommy asks through gritted as your fingers squeeze around his hard cock. because it's definitely the right time for conversations.

you nod, mouth slightly agape as his fingers circle your swollen clit and then dip between your lips, feeling you dripping.

“anything else?” he asks too softly while his nose brushes against yours, offering some intimacy that isn't just sexual.

“pencils?” you don't order him or demand. you ask because you care and tommy likes that you care in that way. it's always only if it's okay with you and that's exactly how he needs it.

“notebooks.. pencils.. whatever you say, it'll happen.” he slaps your pussy, not too hard, and you whimper.

you can feel your nipples hardening beneath your dress while your pussy simply leaks for tommy miller. your legs shift and you spread them.

tommy sways his hips, fucks his cock into your tight but soft fist and curses.

the summer breeze carries your soft whimpers and tommy’s gentle grunts. your hand strokes him a little faster as your thumb purposely brushes against his sensitive slit and you don't fail to notice the way tommy’s hips twitch when you do it.

the front of his shirt is a mix of your drying drool and his sweat but it doesn't bother him. his solid focus is to fuck your small fist and, of course, to pleasure you which is his first priority.

tommy can handle you, his middle finger circling your wet entrance slowly before he pushes in, the slide smoother than he'd expected. he adds a second finger minutes later, then a third.

you stroke his cock as he thrusts his fingers inside your pussy and for a while nothing else really matters.

the squelching of your cunt is loud and tommy curls his fingers inside you, reaching a place that makes you see stars. “tommy!” you gasp in that angelic voice and he goes a little crazy, fingers digging into your sweet spot as he becomes a little desperate with his thrusts.

your lower tummy shudders with delight and your thighs flex as his fingers thrust into your tight pussy recklessly, poking at those sensitive nerves every damn time.

tommy thinks you warn him about your orgasm but he's also not sure as he's too busy watching your face and your pussy reacting simultaneously. your eyebrows furrow and your mouth forms a small ‘O’ as your walls are suddenly gripping his fingers too tight, too deep.

you cum with a shuddering moan of his name and coat his fingers generously, becoming a spectacle. you squirt for him, because of him, and he'd draw out more if it wasn't for time running away from you two.

tommy seems confused when you push his hand away but then everything happens so fast. he can't stop it, he swears.

he watches as you roll to your side, your chest brushing against his, and slip his cock between your thighs. tommy can't breath when his entire girth slides between your pussy lips, soaking through, until his tip kisses your clit.

“no sweetheart—” tommy warns weakly but you're already moving, swaying. his cock is wet with your juices as it slides against your pussy, harder than ever, and he is utterly defeated.

“please cum on my pussy.” you mumble against his lips and he kisses you otherwise he might do worse. he satiates himself with this situation, sucking your bottom lip while thrusting his hips upwards and taking half of what he wants. something he doesn't deserve.

his balls swell and then clench as he orgasms, lowering his hips a little to cum on your pussy. he fulfils his promise, painting the surface white with his cum before resting his forehead on yours again. spent.

it's quiet for a long time as his arms remain lazily wrapped around your body. you melt against him, into him, and you two do your best to catch your breath.

when he looks at you again, the sun is setting right behind you and making you look surreal. you're like a dream while tommy is just there with a stupid smile on his face and half indecent because of what you've done.

then suddenly he doesn't feel real, his body is all too light before it gets incredibly heavy.

he hears his name being called out repeatedly tommy tommy tommy and he jumps, looking around with sweat dripping down his back.

maria stands over him as he lays on the couch because he's home — not outside the fence. not with you.

“I told you to cut day drinking with joel. he's bringing back old habits.” his wife tells him, pressing a kiss on his forehead before walking away.

tommy rises and stumbles to the window. the snow is still there, white and thick, while the red calendar on the wall reads December 25 like it's a fucking joke. like he'd never met you secretly in the spot that belongs to you and him.

reality hits hard as you pass by his house, that familiar notebook resting against your chest as you hug it preciously. you look at him instinctively, as if feeling his burning gaze, and you smile.

“merry christmas, mister miller!” you yell cheerfully and tommy nods, forcing his best smile.

miracles can only go so far and in the end, tommy can be content with just dreams.

[enhazy]

You're mine

heeseung x fem!reader

𝘿𝙀𝘼𝘿 𝘿𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝘿𝙊 𝙉𝙊𝙏 𝙀𝘼𝙏

part one: you owe me.

content warnings: NONCON, unprotected sex (don't do this!), bondage, edging, fingering, overstimulation, mentions of bruises, somnophilia, dacryphilia, spit kink, slapping, asphyxiation (choking), mentions of an aphrodisiac, biting, bleeding kink(?), breeding kink, size kink, tummy bulge, a bit of cockwarming, heeseung won't stop 🫠, a bit of aftercare in the end, not proofread

Don't like? Don't read. Seriously. Nobody is forcing you to read this.

MDNI

word count: 960

likes, reblogs, and feedback would be appreciated!!

Disclaimer:

I am not responsible for the content you consume. Content warnings are listed above (I may have missed something), please read thoroughly so you know what to expect. This is very very dark and I do not condone these things to happen in real life. THIS IS A FANFICTION WHICH MEANS IT DOES NOT DEPICT HOW HEESEUNG IS IN REAL LIFE.

ฅᨐฅ notes: this is the continuation to "you owe me"! I mentioned that it was longer in my notes app but apparently people like dark content so here's the latter part as a continuation. his could be read as a standalone, or you could read the first part here ➡ you owe me.

—💐

You woke up feeling restrained, your wrists bound to the headboard with handcuffs. You could feel the familiar stretch of Heeseung's cock inside of you, moving in and out of you at a slow pace. It felt painful yet pleasurable, you could tell he's been at it for hours. Your legs were wrapped loosely around his waist so he could move freely. You squirmed a bit, the action prompting Heeseung to look up at you.

Heeseung smiled once he saw that you're awake, his fingers making quick circles on your clit. His thrusts got faster, more desperate, and you let out a choked moan once you came undone. He pulled out to avoid finishing, replacing his cock with his fingers, not letting you feel empty even once. You whined, the overstimulation feeling overwhelming.

"𝘏𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨— Heeseung 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦. Hurts s'bad, can't—" You try and talk, the man above you tuts, shoving his cock inside of you once more.

The cycle continued, Heeseung's eyes never once leave your cunt. It was fucked red and raw, you could barely feel anything anymore. At this point, every time he thrusted, you'd cum. Your walls fluttered around his thick girth, he pulls out when he's close, fucks you with his fingers, then shoves his cock is inside you again.

Heeseung glanced at your face after a few minutes, a smile creeped up on his. Your cheeks were flushed from the slapping and overstimulation, dried tears clung to your cheeks while new ones kept running down your face. You were drooling, too. Heeseung loved the sight, and he loved the fact that he was the one that got you looking like it.

His eyes wandered down your body, admiring the purple bruises he left earlier. Your body was a blank canvas only 𝘩𝘦 could taint. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. The whimpers you let out turned him on even more and he fucked harder into you. He'd edge himself for hours as long as he got to keep fucking you.

Heeseung leaned down, his breath fanning your ear. "Took an aphrodisiac just to keep fucking you, baby." He whispered while his hand squeezed your cheeks together, causing your lips to pout. He slapped you, 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, once. Then twice. Then a few more times just to get you sobbing again. Heeseung only laughed.

"Open." He commanded and you opened your mouth. He spat into it then kissed you, sucking your tongue into his mouth like he needed to get the last of the flavor out of you. Heeseung groaned, spitting into your mouth one more time before biting your bottom lip as he pulled away.

The room was filled with wet sounds of skin slapping on skin, your cunt incredibly wet and spent that Heeseung could freely slide in and out. He'd pull out sometimes just to watch your empty hole gape and convulse around nothing, as if needing to be filled to feel whole again.

You regained a bit of your strength, tugging at the cuffs on your wrists while desperately trying to pull your body away from Heeseung. At the sight of you trying to twist your body away from Heeseung's cock, his eyes darkened. He grabbed your hips, pulling you down to him your arms stretched painfully. His grip grew tighter when you yelped in pain, his thrusts got rougher— it was too much for you to handle.

"𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘱." You begged weakly, your teary eyes blinked up at the crazed look on Heeseung's face. "Heeseung, stop 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦." You tried again, unwrapping one of your legs from his waist and using it to try and kick him away. That pissed him off.

"Wrong move, baby." Heeseung shook his head disapprovingly and you knew you messed up. He let one of his hands wrap around your neck and he squeezed hard, cutting off your air supply. You tugged at the cuffs once again, body shaking at the sense of being fucked into oblivion while choked at the same time. The man above you licked his lips, his thrusts slowed but rougher, your body bouncing upwards once his pelvis was pressed against yours.

He could see how the lack of oxygen was affecting you, you blinked slower, choked sounds coming out of you. But Heeseung didn't stop, he couldn't. He 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵. He bent down, his nose brushed against yours. He licked your cheek before he bit, sharp teeth piercing your skin, drawing blood that he happily licked it away.

You're already unconscious at this point, Heeseung finally letting go of your neck. But his thrusts don't stop. The look of you all soft and pliant made Heeseung fall for you even more.

"I'm going to breed you full, baby." Heeseung spoke breathlessly, admiring the outline of his cock in your abdomen. He loved that you seemed so small compared to him. "You're going to lay there and take it, suck my fucking cock in until my cum takes and you're all swollen with my baby, yeah?" He added, caressing your cheek with his thumb. He thrusted one last time, pushing in to the hilt while he released spurts of cum inside you.

"Good fucking girl." Heeseung stayed inside of you, he didn't want to pull away just yet. He softly brushed your hair away from your sweaty forehead, pressing a chaste kiss there before pulling out. He undid the cuffs, gently rubbing the skin of your wrists seeing how they started to bruise.

Heeseung wiped your body down with a wet towel he kept nearby, carrying you bridal style to another room. He carefully laid you down on the bed, climbing behind you and pulling you to his chest protectively.

"I'm never letting you leave, you hear me?" Heeseung whispered, kissing your cheek one last time before falling asleep himself.

—💐

ฅᨐฅ notes: the ending sucked wtf. this is purely out of my deepest dark fantasies. im sorry? I planned more dark shit for this one, but let's save that for my future works 👀

[watermelonshine]

TOUCH

sevika x reader nsfw mdni.

based on this request.

cw : bondage, sensory deprivation, blind fold, oral, fingering, overstimulation, dacryphilia, it's just filth okay.

Your hands and legs were tied up to the bed posts.

You were blindfolded.

You had a ball gag in your mouth.

You don't know why you wanted to do it, you don't why you convinced Sevika to do this. But she agreed and then there you were.

"Look at you, all at my mercy."

You were squirming. You didn't know what to expect but your expected something. For her to touch you, tease your clit, your nipples, anything. But none of it came. And it drove you crazy. The cold air hit your bare body and sent shivers down your spin and so did the anticipation of her.

Then you felt it. It was soft and barely noticeable. A tingle, from your stomach up to your chest. Then you felt it again, running across your sides. It was deliberately slow, Sevika made sure you felt each strand of the feather against you. It tickled and you started squirming more, tugging at your restraints.

"Shhh, you wanted this remember? So be a good girl and relax."

The feather went over your arms, your neck, yours tits, your nipples, your stomach and it had you drooling with the the ball gag. It was lot and at the same time, nothing at all.

That fucking tease.

But it didn't stop there. It went lower, lower down to your pussy. Sevika smirked when you jumped at the feeling of the feather teasing your clit. You wanted wrap your legs around her, you wanted to ask for more, you wanted to moan, you want to grab her hair and rut on her face.

But instead your pleas and moans came out as incoherent cries and the rope around wrists and ankles kept you in one place. You've never felt so pathetic and so turned on before, the frustration causing you to cry and dampen the blindfold. Once she noticed it, Sevika immediately hovered over you and took it off and-

You've never looked more beautiful before. Your eyes puffy from crying and your face glistening with your tears, you were drooling from the corners of your mouth and speaking out god knows what.

You were like this already and she barely even touched you.

"What a pretty baby I got here mhm? Such a cry baby."

Sevika pressed a finger against your wet slit, causing you to lift your hips to rub youself on her fingers. You gagged around the ball gag as you tried to moan at the touch and more tears fall. You were a completely filthy mess. She kept playing with your pussy and your clit while you gagged out incoherent words. When her fingers separated your pussy lips and dug deep inside you, you couldn't hold back.

Sevika paused when she felt you cum around her fingers, with your back arched and your eyes rolling back.

Fuck she can't take it anymore.

She removed the ball gag and smashed her lips on yours, while you whimpered against her, rubbing yourself on her thighs. Her hands roamed around your body while she kissed you on your lips and went down to your jaw, your neck, your chest, your tits, your stomach, your clit.

You were a moaning mess when she ate you out like she was starving. You were sensitive enough from her teasing and your previous high but by stars were you greedy. Your loud moans and the bed posts rattling from your attempts of tugging at them made Sevika go faster with her tongue.

"Sev- sev too much-"

"Just take it, you know you can."

When you came crashing down around her tongue, you were babbling out thank yous. While you were catching your breathe, you heard Sevika getting up and removing the bounds around your wrists and legs. Just when you finally thought it was over, Sevika pulled you back on the bed. When you were about to ask what she was doing, you felt it. Her strap.

"What, you thought it was over?"

notes : hope I did justice (⁠ꏿ⁠﹏⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ CAUGHT RED HANDED PART 3

જ⁀➴ The LADS guys catch you masturbating.

ﾉ including: Rafayel

ﾉ cw: afab!reader, no pronouns, masturbation, phone sex if you will, hinted to more happening

ﾉ wordcount: 0.9k

ﾉ info: I need that fishstick badly someone swaddle me in a blanket please ﾉ Requests are open!

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT IN COMMENTS & REBLOGS!

-> Xavier | -> Zayne | -> Sylus (coming soon)

✶࿐ Rafayel

♡ You planned on going to Rafayel’s place later that day since he said he'd be busy until the afternoon doing who knows what.

♡ Your day on the other hand looked kind of bland, nothing in your calendar except going to Rafayel - a nice and lazy day off in other words.

♡ After cleaning your apartment and taking a shower the boredom started to hit you and your hands wandered faster than your mind.

♡ You bit your lip when your hand started sneaking beneath the fabric of your shirt, gently pinching and rolling your nipples until they were stiff and sensitive to touch.

♡ The dampness in your panties was evident long before you hooked your fingers into the waistband of them to tug them down your legs.

♡ Today was calm, nothing on your schedule and you decided to treat yourself nice and slow, gentle and teasing touches to get you wet and desperate for release.

♡ When your touches weren't enough anymore, you reached into the drawer of your bedside table, getting your favorite vibe out to help you find release

♡ The soft buzzing against your clit left you a moaning mess, whines, gasps and messy moans of his name

♡ Rafayel... little did you know that your phone picked up his name one too many times, his name showing up on your screen but you didn't see - couldn't see with the way your eyes screwed shut in pleasure

♡ Rafayel almost dropped his phone into the water of his mid day bath, getting a small heart attack from the sudden call

♡ "Can't you text me first? What if I fell and broke my ankle... again?" He exaggerated dramatically once he picked up but in reality he was glad you were thinking about him

♡ When he didn't hear anything back from you he started to get worried

♡ "Helloo? Did you forget that you need to speak when you call someone?" He asked and huffed out some air when he suddenly heard your sweet moan.

♡ The breath got knocked out of his lungs and his phone did fall into the tub this time, simply slipping from his grip. His concern wasn't the phone - it was waterproof anyways.

♡ His concern was missing another moan of his name followed by the low buzzing of what he assumed to be a vibrator.

♡ If anyone would see him right now, he would blame the blush on his cheeks on the hot water but the way you sounded while touching yourself really took him off guard.

♡ He knew he should hang up, knowing you didn't call him on purpose and he was breaching your privacy right now... but was he really? He was all what you were thinking about after all.

♡ His cock was rock hard from your sounds and he could picture how you must lay on your bed right now, clothes discarded and how pretty you must look right now with your skin glowing so beautifully.

♡ "fuck..." he grunted softly when his hand wrapped around his shaft to give it a few tentative tugs before settling for a slow speed to match your moans.

♡ Rafayel was completely enthralled in your moans, his own whines and moaned words mixing with yours and painting pictures in his head.

♡ Just as you came with a cry of his name, the buzzing getting stronger almost had him losing his mind entirely.

♡ "yes! Just like that... ngh... don't stop, cutie" he moaned, his voice cracking at his nickname for you, so so close to his own release as your last moan echoed in his head.

♡ "RafaYEL??" You almost squeaked out when you heard his voice muffled through your phone, followed by soft moans.

♡ Rafayels eyes widened when he heard his name like this but it was too late - his orgasm washing over him and he couldn't even hold the moan inside.

♡ You should have hung up but his moan sounded so desperate for you, a slight whimper following and you wished that a sound could get engraved inside your brain to play it over and over again.

♡ Once Rafayel caught himself from the pleasure and the shock that followed he wanted to hang up, pretend like it never happened but he knew that you'd come over later that day. And there's no way that he could keep his hands from you now that he knew that you were thinking about him too.

♡ "You called... it would have been rude to ignore your call... you could have been in danger," he mused and you saw the blush on his cheeks through the phone, that pretty shade of red you've grown to love.

♡ "I think you should come over sooner," he added eventually when he was met with silence on your end.

♡ The vibrator was still buzzing somewhere in the sheets but you paid it no mind once the bold words entered your ears.

♡ "weren't you busy all day?" You asked as you sat up against the headboard, slowly realizing that Rafayel got off to you touching yourself.

♡ "Well I am! Taking a bath and all that..." he tried to protest but heard your soft laugh at the other end

♡ "Think your bathtub is big enough for two?"

[pineconepie]

NCould you write a short sequel if a reader who has recently been turned into a vampire tries to escape from Octavian?

TW: Blood-drinking (vampires), escape attempt, forced age regression/infantilization, injuries, restraints (mittens), platonic/parental yandere

...

Ever since you've been turned, Octavian treats you even more like a child.

Well, his baby, to be exact.

It's annoying, because it does seem like you're going through childhood again, because of your recent changes. Your canines fell out and began coming back in as pointed fangs, plus your nails grew much faster, sharper, and stronger than before.

And it hurt.

Constant headaches and random crying fits from growing pains made you needy. Octavian was always more than willing to pick you up, shushing you gently and rocking you as if you were a baby having a tantrum.

Even now, he cradles you on his hip in the middle of dinner.

Octavian keeps taking breaks to cut up your meat, wiping at your mouth, and occasionally spoon-feeding you despite the fact you insisted you can handle eating yourself.

The amount of doting attention he gives you is overwhelming, and you're only more irritated with the throbbing pain coursing through you.

Noticing your discomfort, he puts down the silverware and wipes away tears with a tender touch.

"Don't cry, my sweet," he coos. "Papa knows. Teething is hard. It'll be over soon." Octavian kisses your forehead before lifting you fully onto his lap, placing you sideways on top of him.

One gloved hand smooths back strands of sweaty hair as you bury your face into his crisp white dress shirt.

Not because you want to, but because you need the comfort. Even though your pride wants you to fight back, the rest of your mind needs this too much to care.

Gnawing lightly on his cravat, you sigh contentedly when he continues threading his fingers through your scalp in slow circles.

"Now, say, 'ahhhh.'" He holds a bloody piece of meat to your lips with a fork.

"I'm not eating that," you tell him. Frankly, you can't eat with the pain, even if you wanted to. The idea of swallowing anything right now makes you feel like hurling.

Octavian frowns. "Don't be fussy." His other hand comes up to cup your cheek. "You have to finish all of your food. I know you're going through a lot of pain, but it'll be so much worse if you don't eat. Would you like a tummy ache on top of the growing pains?"

For a moment, you plan to blindly agree, but then you realize something. He won't hurt you. He sees you as a child. Children sometimes refuse to listen.

What's going to happen if you deny his demand?

"No," you assert. "It hurts too much."

Octavian goes silent. His face falls before contorting into a mask of barely-restrained frustration.

He closes his eyes and exhales heavily through his nose. "(Y/n)..." He sets the fork down again and grips your shoulders with both hands. Opening them, he levels you with a stern glare. "You are going to eat your dinner, and you aren't getting up until every bite is finished. I will wait here all night if need be. Do you understand?"

"Fine! Then we'll be waiting here forever!" you snap.

He stares at you intensely, seeming more upset than angry. "Fine. You know what? Then go upstairs, and when you're ready to stop acting out, come find me."

You huff and storm upstairs, slamming the door to his bedroom behind you.

It's been long enough that Octavian has your room decorated more... childishly. It still has the same Victorian-vibe about it, but there's toys scattered around the place, and a shelf full of storybooks that he's read to you hundreds of times during your stay so far.

He also got you plenty of new stuffed animals, filling up an entire wicker basket to the brim with them.

There's a mirror in the bathroom, and you briefly glance at it while passing by. Since turning into a vampire, you stopped having a reflection. Now looking at your image just shows the furniture behind where you stand.

You can't take this anymore. For so long, you've been putting off escaping, but no longer.

The window is locked and barred shut, but with your new strength, you should be able to pry them open without needing a key, especially with your newfound strength from turning.

There's some resistance as you first start yanking apart the iron rods.

With a grunt, you pull as hard as possible, gritting your teeth and snarling as they finally bend and pop from the wall, breaking the hinges on each side until falling backward. Panting from the excursion, you drop the pieces to the ground before pushing the window open.

It's sunny out, but you don't think twice about burning when stepping out the window, now on the rooftop.

From what you can see, you're on the second or third floor.

If you climb to the ground below, you should be free to escape.

There's a trellis next to the ledge of the building, thankfully. The vines wrapped around it don't provide much stability as you hold onto them, so you mostly rely on the wooden slats to make your way to the ground safely.

Once your feet hit soft grass, you book it to the forest, running faster than ever - quite literally, perhaps being a vampire has its strengths.

For a moment, you hesitate.

Where would you even go, now that you're a vampire? You were already considered odd before, but now? Even more so than ever. Now the people who called you a monster were technically correct, even if not at the time.

No. There's no going back now, not even as the sun feels like its sizzling your skin. You'd rather take your chances alone in this forest than spend one more second living with that man and his insanity.

...

"Sweetling, may I come in?" Octavian knocks gently.

No response.

"I understand you're frustrated with me, and I'm sorry." He speaks louder this time, just in case your voice can't be heard through the wood separating you both. "I know you're going through a lot of pain and discomfort lately, and I know that's why you've been moody. I'm not angry with you."

Still, no response.

He sighs. "I'm coming in." Turning the knob, Octavian pushes open the door and scans the room for you. At first he thinks maybe you're hiding somewhere. "My love, please come out. Papa said he isn't angry."

Something doesn't feel right.

That's when he notices the broken lock on the window, bent into an odd shape and laying on the floor uselessly. The bars previously bolted across are torn off their hinges and thrown aside. The glass panes are wide open.

Horror and dread instantly fill him to the brim.

You ran away.

"No!" Octavian sprints outside and scales the side of the building before gracefully jumping down onto the soil below.

Inhuman speed allows him to race across the grounds until reaching the end of the property, stopping once he reaches the iron fence encasing the area.

Beyond it, he can see faint imprints in the earth - footprints.

There's only one way you could've gone: the forest.

...

You can't believe you voluntarily put yourself in the same spot you were before meeting Octavian. Cautiously trekking through the thicket, you hold your arms in front of your face to block any branches that get in the way.

The wind howls eerily around you, echoing in your ears as you try not to trip over any rocks or roots in your path.

Just earlier that day you thought you couldn't be in any more pain or discomfort than you were. But now? Your insides feel like they're on fire. The heat radiating off your skin is unbearable.

If it weren't for adrenaline pumping through your veins, you'd collapse already.

How did you survive this when you were human? The sun was harsh, but nothing like this. You'd do anything for winter to return.

You can't take this any longer, and almost collapse into a nearby bush, its thorns biting into your skin, but you no longer care. Taking in shaky breaths, you curl up, shivering despite the burns scorching every inch of your body.

Whimpers tear out of your raw throat, your body begging to just give out already.

Something moves to your left.

The noise startles you out of your misery, causing you to freeze immediately upon hearing it.

Rustling from the foliage. Crashing from leaves being crushed underfoot. Hushed breathing.

Then suddenly—

"(Y/N)! OH GOD–"

Arms snake around your waist and hoist you upwards into someone's arms. Octavian clutches you tightly against himself, his coldness being such a drastic relief to the flames searing your flesh.

"No," you weakly protest, too tired to fight him off.

You can feel his tears soaking into the top of your head. "What were you thinking?!" he cries. "This could've killed you!" Looking down, you see blisters forming along your exposed skin. With those sharp nails, Octavian quickly slashes his wrist, bringing it up to your lips. "Drink. Now."

If you didn't feel like death, you'd refuse, but your instincts kick in, driving you to latch onto the dripping wound and guzzle down his blood.

You feel less horrible physically, even if none of your injuries go away. He winces in pain, but looks more worried for you.

Octavian adjusts your weight in his grip and rushes back the way he came, faster than the human eye could process. You cling onto him and bury your face into the fabric of his clothing.

It feels good not having to deal with direct exposure to the light anymore.

In record time, he brings you inside, closing the door behind himself and hurrying upstairs.

The moment Octavian enters the master bath, he undresses you and puts you in the bathtub. You watch him frantically grab washcloths and bandages from the medicine cabinet.

His long brown hair frames his face, loose strands flying wildly thanks to him dashing through the wilderness earlier.

He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and gets to work cleaning your wounds with shaking hands.

"Why didn't you get hurt from the sun?" you quietly blurt.

Octavian sighs. "It affects all vampires differently. Some don't burn from it. Some only get moderately sun burnt, like me. And you..." His eyes narrow. "It could've killed you! Do you understand how dangerous this was? What if you were taken away from me?! I'd die!"

You avoid his gaze.

Octavian doesn't respond, simply continuing to wipe away bits of dried blood and dirt. After several minutes of silence, he finishes his work, wrapping your wounds, dressing you in pajamas and setting you down in bed.

As he tucks you in, you can see how absolutely heartbroken he seems. You wish you didn't feel guilty. You wish you hated him.

"I'm sorry," you grumble.

"I forgive you, but never do that again." He pulls something out of your wardrobe before sitting down on the edge of the mattress beside you. "Hold out your hands."

You hesitate, but obey.

Octavian gingerly loops the ribbons attached to mittens around your wrists, tying them securely shut so you won't be able to use your hands properly. The thick wool protects your fingers from being used, making it harder to pick things up and grip objects.

"These are staying on until I can fix that window and trust you again," he tells you matter-of-factly.

"Octavian..."

"You know that isn't how you address me, sweetheart."

"Papa," you murmur. Tears sting at the corner of your vision. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The bed creaks as he moves around to sit by your side.

He pulls you close, resting his chin atop your head. "I lost too much the first time. I refuse to let it happen again. Do you know how terrified I was at the idea of losing you?" A pause. "Never again. You're staying here with me. Safe. Always."

His hand takes hold of your palm within its mitten, squeezing affectionately.

"Now get some sleep, my precious. I'm not going anywhere."

[mocchii-writes]

can you do a thanos x reader (with slight dae Ho x reader) where they used to date before he became a rapper and did drugs and she’s the only person he ever truly loved. They break up because of the person he becomes and cut contact, seeing each other for the first time at the games. Thanos is keeping up his cool guy persona and flirting in a dickhead way, but then he sees her getting along with dae Ho (who likes her too) that cause thanos to actually be vulnerable with the reader in private, acting like he once was. up to you if you want to make it an angsty or fluffy ending

Well, all the stars would shine a bloody red

Paring: Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x fem!reader, slight Kang Dae-ho x reader

Summary: Seeing Thanos in the games after he changed for the worse, but he sees you too.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Brief mentions of prayer, mentions of drugs, swearing, death, squid game stuff

A/n: grr I'm not good with angst, I'm sorry if this sucks lol. Also, it came out way longer than I expected, so sorry for that ♡

~🍡🍡

The world seems blurry around Thanos. The leaves on the ground are nothing more than a distraction from your face. His heart beats faster as you smile at him, telling him some story he can't remember. The park is nice, a cool breeze ruffling your hair slightly.

His hearing is the first to go, and your voice becomes incomprehensible murmurs as the world slowly darkens and shifts. He can't see you anymore, either, and his vision soon blackens like an exposed film. Soon, the darkness is replaced by blaring lights as he opens his eyes.

Oh.

He sits up, his loose shirt clinging to his damp cold sweat. Why had he dreamt about you? It was so long ago, but he knew he'd never recover. His mattress always feels empty, now. No matter what girl is in it, it's always empty. You were so perfect, how could he have lost you?

It doesn't matter anymore, and he knows it. His life is better now. He just needs to keep saying that until he can wake up and feel like an entire person. But for now, he's just a husk, and he knows it. He'd never admit it, though. He can hardly admit it to himself. He knows he's changed. He wishes he could say for the better, but fame does something to a person. He still remembers that day.

He was high all the time, at clubs or concerts, hardly home, and hardly himself. You had spoken to him a week or two ago, telling him you were worried.

"Please, Su-bong." You had whispered. It was the first time you had gotten to speak to him in a while. "Why are you doing this? Why are you changing so quickly? So harshly?" He thought you were going to cry. So did you. Your hand rests on his arm. But he, for some fucked up reason, brushed you off.

"Chill, man. I'm not changing, I'm living my life. Why can't you just let me? Be happy for me?" He shoves your hand away. "I have a signing soon, see you later," he dismissed you.

That night, though. He should've been able to tell you were different. Your demeanor was cold and dry. But he couldn't even recognize himself, so you expected nothing more. You were sitting on the couch, arms crossed, zoning out into the ceiling. He stumbled in, clearly high off his mind. He had hickeys. You don't care, at this point. You can't remember the last time he even hugged you, but you stopped trying a while ago.

"Hey, Baby," he muttered, taking off his jacket. He walked over and sat next to you, turning on the TV.

"Do you know what day it is?" You calmly asked. You were prepared for this. You already knew what he would say, he didn't even deserve the benefit of the doubt, but you still asked him anyway.

"Happy anniversary." He'd said, dismissively, switching the channel. You scoffed, focusing your eyes on him. You stood, and he looked at you, almost annoyed.

"You're not yourself." You say, biting your lip, trying not to break.

"What? Flower, I thought we were past this." He groaned. You didn't say anything. You just grabbed your phone and walked to the door.

"Talk to me when you can remember my birthday." You said, slamming the door. He didn't comprehend it at the time, passing out after a while.

But he does now.

He can't take it. He lost all his money, unable to blind himself anymore. He rarely dreams of you, but it hurts more each time he does. He was stupid. He is stupid. He's never felt for someone like you since then. He stands, defeated, and heads outside.

He's not proud of what he plans to do, but he is confused when a man in a suit approaches him.

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

You have to squint your eyes to get used to the bright florescent lights in the strange room you find yourself in. You panic, but only briefly, before remembering the Ddakji, the small card, and the ominous car you entered.

You take a moment to assess your situation but don't get very far. There are many different kinds of people around you, seemingly in the same situation. You wear identical tracksuits with different numbers and are surrounded by strategically stacked metal bed frames. You then notice the violin music playing from seemingly nowhere and everywhere, and you finally stand up.

Many people join you as the crowd looks confused. Until a buzzing sound is heard, cutting off the peaceful music, as large doors at the front of the room open, and people in bright pink uniforms walk out. One starts talking about games, money, and lots of things that would normally interest you (or any other sane person), but your attention has drifted elsewhere, your world stopping in its tracks.

It's not like he's difficult to notice. His hair is still that stupid purple, and he still seems to carry himself with a sense of arrogance, but you almost wish you hadn't seen him, as memories come flooding in of the life you still sometimes mourn.

You barely begin to think of him in a positive light before your thoughts are interrupted by his voice, proving your hopes wrong. "What's with these shoes?" You roll your eyes as you watch the back of his head. "My shoes are limited fucking edition, they're hard to find." He whines. "You going to replace them if they get ruined?" Nice to know his priorities haven't changed. Your dread doesn't fade when other people begin asking questions. You almost get on your knees and pray, right there, that he doesn't see you. Instead, you decide to focus on more important matters and listen to the guards' answers.

One particularly whiny guy pushes a little too hard, and his name and number are soon ominously announced by the guard speaking, followed by his debt, age, and history. You refrain from smiling as a video is played on a large screen of him playing Ddakji and presumably losing. More videos are played, thankfully none of you, but there is one of Thanos, sadly without him getting slapped. The pink guard then continues speaking, offering a chance at a better life, or so he says. It's not like you have very many options, though.

The lights turn off as you watch a clear piggy bank lower, grabbing your interest. Even more when a prize of 45.6 billion won is announced. It's not like you have many options. So, when lines are formed, you sign the paper.

Eyes naturally trailing to Thanos, you notice him fussing with the whiner from earlier. You can't hear what they're saying, but you resist the urge to scoff at his immature behavior. He's nothing if not consistent, at least. It is kind of funny, though, watching him be pulled off of the guy.

You get your picture taken, ignoring a flight of fans to Thanos and an embarrassing moment to witness, and are led to an open, sandy area. You see an ominous-looking doll, but your thoughts are interrupted. "The first game is Red Light, Green Light."

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

shit shit shit

What is this psychotic prison? You thought that 456 guy was crazy, high, or something other than honest! You know you don't have much time left. You glance up at the clock as it ticks down.

00:52

Well, fuck. You're going to end up like those people at the start of the game. Just another failure with no money or life dragged away before anyone could remember your name.

You can't distract yourself with that now, though. There are only a few people left (considering there are like 400 in total), and your position at this moment isn't the best. To make things worse, as soon as you hear that devilish singing, you're pushed. Hard.

Your body crashes to the ground, and you feel your leg bruising immediately. You struggle to stand up. You know you can't run anymore. The doll spins its head back around as your mind races.

00:28

You're going to die. You know you are. You can't make it that far whilst limping. You glance around, praying for something to happen in your favor when you make eye contact with someone at the end, already finished.

He looks kind, at least kinder than most people here. He sees you, he sees your situation, and he nods at you. You're unsure what that means until he runs to help you when the music plays again. When he reaches you, he freezes once he has an arm under you.

00:20

The doll looks away, and he pulls you up with ease. You wince, but you know you have bigger issues. He smiles apologetically as you both move as fast as your body lets you until the singing stops again.

00:14

You feel bad for this boy. He's just trying to help you, but you've now taken down another sweet person with you. He senses your tiresome energy and covers his mouth before the doll moves to look around.

"Don't give up. We're so close." He says, staring daggers into your eyes. You squeeze them shut and bite your lip. "You can do this," He whispers. The singing begins again.

00:07

You sigh and push yourself up again, both of you continue moving as you feel people's eyes on you.

00:02

He pushes you forward as you fall over the line, him soon after as the clock stops.

00:00

You instinctively cover your eyes as you hear the shots that echo through the room, as the remaining players lose their lives to this wretched game.

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

The boy walks with you back to the sleeping quarters. You're both shaken, but you manage to speak. "Thank you," you whisper, but you know he hears you. "I thought I wasn't going to make it."

He looks at you and nods. "Of course." He says softly, "I'm Dae-ho." You smile at him and introduce yourself. You both make your way to a corner and sit on his bed as the guards enter the room again.

Some people cry, some people start begging, and you kick your legs and watch it play out, frightened, but curious. Eventually, the familiar piggy bank dramatically stoops down again, this time filling with money, climactic music playing. The mood is soon killed, though. 24 million is the share each player would get, and you squint at the guard. Your mood isn't much better when you hear another voice.

"24 million?" Thanos asks, "You said 45.6 billion!" he says, an accusatory tone in his voice as the guard re-explains the situation. You aren't listening very closely anymore, though. Your heart and mind ache with thoughts of your past. You miss his kindness, the gentle Su-bong, who always closely cared for you. Now, all that's left is a harsh concrete wall between you two and the sting on your shins from the fall you took.

Before you know it, it's time to cast votes on whether to stay or leave this fever dream of a place. Your number is pretty low, so you get to see a lot of people's votes. Unsurprising to you, Thanos wants to stay. After a scene is caused by 456, you cast your vote and return to Dae-ho. He starts talking, breaking the silence between you.

Neither of you are quite sure what there is to say, but he talks anyway. He talks about his sisters, how they raised him, and his father, who never really knew him. He talks about his time in the military and what his life was like. You listen, nodding, laughing when he says something funny, and understanding. You both get food. It's not the best, but it's food, nonetheless. You begin to tell him about your life, but you're soon both distracted by 456, sharing his knowledge on the next game. Curious when you find out it's Dalgona, Dae-ho confirms your suspicions and verifies what the game is. Once the crowd dies down, he energetically offers you and himself to join the group, and they don't decline.

You're soon distracted, though. That empty aching feeling returns as you watch Thanos and his friend harass someone again. The same guy from earlier, 333. No matter how much you think you miss him, it's always drowned out by a hatred for who he is. You're soon brought to reality again as the sound of Thanos hitting the ground drives your attention back to the situation. The boy is soon held back and punched. Your stomach tightens as you watch the boy you once knew to be funny and kind, be so aggressive and violent. You know he'll never change, so you simply turn to focus on something less depressing, only to find Dae-ho slipping his egg onto your plate. You smile at him, distracting yourself successfully until even he looks over, noticing a man from your group kicking Thanos's ass.

You have to refrain from laughing, but Dae-ho doesn't try to hide the grin on his face. You could hardly admit to yourself that it slightly ached your soul to see your sweet boy be hurt like that, but the thought diminished quickly, replaced with an anxious realization that you're not just looking at Thanos, but his eyes.

He sees you.

Oh, fuck.

This was probably worse than watching that stupid timer tick away. His eyebrows soften from angry to shocked to bittersweet. He doesn't smile at you, but you can almost see his apology in his eyes if it weren't for his dilated pupils. His eyes look next to you, but your attention is soon changed as you hear Dae-ho. "Are you alright?" He asks, looking at you. It's only now you realize you're shaking, and you suddenly feel it all settling in. Your situation. The people, the place, the danger, it's a little too much. You bite your lip and nod, heading to the bathroom to clear your head.

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

You honestly should've expected it, but you didn't. You're standing over the sink, washing blood off of your face when the door opens. You look and immediately look away. How did he even get in here? You let out a shaky sigh as you grip the sink, distracting yourself yet again.

"Hey," Thanos says, his tone a little lighter than what you've heard so far.

"I can't believe they even let you in here." You scoff, trying, and failing, to hide the crack in your voice as you look at your reflection. You're a mess. Your hair is damp with sweat, water, and probably blood. Your face is tired, your lip is quivering. You honestly look worse than him, and he just got the shit beaten out of him. "What do you want from me?" You say, not looking at him. You honestly don't expect him to be gentle with you, he never was before you broke up, but you're proven wrong.

"I don't want to upset you, Baby." He whispers, walking closer slowly.

"Don't call me that." You say, closing your eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be an asshole like he always was. Then you could tell him off and leave him in the dust again, but now you have no plan. He's not being Thanos, he's being Su-bong. You haven't heard from Su-bong in a painfully long time.

He's still coming closer. You don't move, though. You're not sure what you want him to do, but you don't think he knows either. He leans down a little bit to look at you from the side, and you open your eyes and look at him, finally. He's so pretty. You feel your eyes getting glassy as you look at him, the pain of your burnt love story refreshing in your mind. His eyes aren't as dilated, but still a bit. You hope it's just because he's looking at you, but you aren't going to think about it.

He seems to notice your glossy eyes and furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly and looking at you sympathetically. It felt unwelcome but familiar. He lifts a hand slightly, appearing to try to touch you, but doesn't move it from its place in the space between you. You don't pull your eyes from his until the stinging is too much, and you close your eyes. You tilt your head downwards to hide the trickle against your cheek.

You feel his hand hold your face gently as he sighs lightly. "I'm so sorry," is all he whispers. You want to lean into his touch and accept his offer of love and forgiveness, but you're scared. He knows you are. But you don't move. You don't want him to stay, but you don't want him to leave.

"I know." You say, defeated. You bring your arms away from the sink to play with your hands, your body naturally turning to him. "You always said you were." You whisper, sniffing. You see his eyes close and he looks frustrated with himself, but you feel his other hand on yours, gently rubbing his thumb over your hands.

"I was so stupid, angel. I couldn't see what I was igniting until our love was already burnt." He says, never taking his eyes off you. You laugh lightly, and he smiles, confused. "What?"

"Kinda sappy, but I'd expect nothing less from you." You tease, as he scoffs. You sniff once more before dragging your eyes to meet his. You're met with nothing but care in his eyes. You look at him and are reminded of your perfect boy, who always made you smile.

"Please forgive me." He whispers. "I still dream about you. I've never loved someone like I love you." He admits, so quiet he was scared you might not hear, but you did. Your heart beats a little faster as you move closer, leaning your forehead to his. he closes his eyes, and you copy. You had certainly missed this.

"It will be difficult," you say, he nods, "Don't hurt me again, please." He bites his lip, and both his hands find your jaw, moving back to look at you.

You inch closer to each other, painfully slow. Your breath is shallow, you can feel your brain screaming to stop. He's so soft, though. Nothing is stopping you. You can feel his breath fanning onto your nose as his thumb glides over your cheek. Your hands have the urge to hold him, to let him love you and cherish you. You want to lay your face on his neck and fall asleep in his arms.

You want to question yourself, too. You want to stop, run away, and ignore every call. That is until your hands find his shirt, and you realize you can't stop if you try. This is what you need. This is why you want to cry. This is what you're aching for, and the heart wants what it wants.

So, you lean forward, accepting the wave of warmth that washes over you when he softly kisses you. You get chills up your body, one of your hands moving to his neck, then to his hair, slowly pressing a little harder, feeling him loosen in your grasp. You want to keep it this way forever, to stay in his presence and be showered with gentle love and appreciation until you're suffocated. But still, you lean back. You can't deny you're glad to see his smile when you open your eyes, and he can't say he's upset to see yours shining back.

[mikuhriii]

mein schmutziges mädchen

m. kaiser x fem!reader

⚠︎ nsfw (mdni!) / explicit content / fingering / overstimulation / hair pulling / choking /swearing / mention of sex toys / kaiser is kaiser

based on this request

masterlist

once. twice.

or was it the third time?

no. maybe the fourth.

you don't even know; your mind is in a haze, and you can't think properly anymore. you’ve already lost count.

no, scratch that; you gave up counting moments ago.

you expected this. you, in such a vulnerable and obscene position—body sweaty and bare, tear-stained cheeks, leaning on his warm body, legs shamelessly spread wide open— all vulnerable and barely conscious to think.

you knew all of this would happen when he lured you in for a “little talk” about that bratty behavior of yours, with his alluring and subtle manner. he got you hypnotized— like a moth drawn to a flame—you fall right to his trap. you let him get to you, and now that he got you wrapped around his fingers, he swore to take his time with you.

agreeing alone with michael kaiser was like having a contract with the devil–no turning back. it was never a good idea in the first place, and yet, you still manage to fall right where he wanted you.

it was always like this. you get under his skin and you'll find yourself in a complete mess, sprawled on his silk ivory sheets.

bare.

begging.

submissive.

all for him to use. all for him to ruin.

“m-micha!” you gasped at the torturous pace of his unbelievably long fingers buried inside your sopping hole, hands desperately clawing at his toned arms for support.

it was ecstatic.

it was too much.

too much for you to handle; you're afraid you'll break any moment. but you hated it–you hate that you loved every bit of what was happening, you hate how your body still begs for more; for him to just fuck the hell out of you until you can't think of anything but his name, his face, just him alone.

the room was filled with nothing but obscenities; the buzzing sound of the device on your puffy clitoris, uneven breaths, and curses hung in the air. the intoxicating smell of sex only added to the lewd atmosphere.

“oh shit! i’m gonna cum— micha, i can't– ‘s too much—” you moan, biting the plump flesh of your lip so hard, it left an iron taste on your tongue.

“shh. fucking take it like the good girl you are, okay, liebe? you can do it. and don't fucking come until i say so, hm?” he whispered on your ears as he teasingly bite your neck with his infamous smirk plastered on his face.

kaiser on the other hand was enjoying all of it.

every. bit. of it.

the way your drooling mouth pathetically opens and closes, trying to form proper words; the way you catch your breath; the way your face contorts in discomfort and pleasure as he quickened the pace; everything. god it's driving him crazy.

“gonna cum, i’m–gonna cum. please let me cum, micha— please, please, please..” you were a blabbering mess— voice hoarse and desperate— it sent a shiver down his spine.

fuck

grabbing a fistful of your hair, he tugged your head back with a low chuckle. “you wanna cum on my fingers so bad, schatz? does my fingers make you feel so fucking good, hm?” his voice was low, laced with malice; dangerous like a predator.

you nod, and nod, and nod.

frantically.

no shame.

you don't care anymore.

and with every nod, his slick fingers moved faster and faster, in and out of your dripping womanhood.

in and out.

in and out.

in and out.

faster.

deeper.

your eyes rolled back. god you swear you're seeing stars from the overstimulation.

“yes—yes please, micha, micha, please let me cum…” with your quivering lips, you manage to chant his name like a mantra. you’re a whimpering mess, and fuck, kaiser love this view everytime he fucks you dumb with just his fingers.

kaiser felt your walls tighten and with a moan of his name escaping out from your mouth, you came on his fingers with a blissful sigh. it felt too damn good; your eyes shut close from the blissful sensation. your whole body convulsed, and your legs, once wide open, are now shut tight as you ride out your high. you stay still, leaning on him, breathing heavily, unaware of his snaking hands making their way to your neck.

he gripped it with enough force to make you look up at him.

you groaned.

unintentionally.

like it was some sort of reflex.

the thought of him choking you made your cunt pool once again.

god, what had he done to you?

“baaad fucking girl. did i tell you to come, hm? no?” his voice— low and lethal—tinges of venom. he taps your tear-stained cheeks, as if trying to wake you up on your fucked out state. you’d lie if you said that didn't turn you on.

you shake your head slowly like an obedient slave, resulting a smirk to form on his stupidly handsome face.

fuck you're gonna drive him nuts if you keep up like that.

“das ist richtig, mein schmutziges mädchen. so, we're gonna do this again right from the beginning until you follow everything i say, ja?”

oh you swear you never nodded so quickly your entire life after he said those. after all, you're his.

his alone to mess up.

his alone to use.

his alone to ruin.

a/n: i’m srsly gkms rn raaahhh i love love love this req sooo much. i need kaiser speaking german to my ears (kidding), help me he's sooo hoOoot gslwgwhwksvwj btw i’m not quite sure if it's accurate (i used google translate for that tehee) i'm sorry i got carried away aaannnd *clears throat*

anyway, idk if this turned out just like what was requested TT, and i didn't include ness here btw, my eyes were barely open and hurting while writing this (*cough* 3 am moments again) sorry anon:(. but i’ll upload one for him if i can think of a suitable plot. nevertheless, i hope you like it. likes and reblogs are much appreciated! don't forget to follow me also, for more updates. thanks a bunch!

© 2025 mikuhriii | all rights reserved.

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Three (of four)

masterpost

“Why would I ever need help from Victor?” Danny scrunched up his brow and puzzled aloud after his passenger got out. He didn't mean to be rude but he was genuinely confused. Vic seemed nice enough, but he was kinda delicate, wasn't he? He was scared of Batman. What for? He was just some guy who was so risk-averse that he wore a motorcycle helmet out in public. He probably held the world's record for diagnosed anxiety disorders or something. 

‘I’m lucky he's so reactive,’ Danny chided himself not to be ungrateful. ‘If he wasn't, like, hyper-vigilant I might have had to talk to Batman. Horrific.’

He shuddered at the thought. He had planned to work a little more, but Danny decided to go back home and rest for a bit. His nerves were a little shot after the excitement of the morning. 

Oh, right. He hadn't checked what his tip was yet. Danny unfolded the bills and his eyes bugged out. “This is fifty dollars,” he said incredulously. “He paid me fifty dollars to take him like 10 blocks, with a 50 block detour.” 

Was Victor, like, okay? Danny cast a dubious look back in his rearview mirror and caught the barest glance of Victor's ridiculously jacked form disappearing into one of the murder warehouses. What a guy. Why'd he do-

“He was hitting on me?” Danny's voice reached a whistle pitch. Ah! Ah!!! Holy shit. What the hell? His face burnt red and he floored it back to his apartment complex, trying to get his heart rate under control. 

It was so obvious in retrospect! The weird awkward pauses in conversation! The huge tips! Asking for his number! 

Danny pulled to a stop at a yellow light rather than run it explicitly so that he could bang his head against the steering wheel. 

“I don't even know if he's hot,” Danny wailed. Instantly he knew it was a lie. He didn't know what Victor’s face looked like. He didn't remember what the photo had looked like anymore and the information was long gone. But he knew that Victor was tall, fit as fuck, and had really nice hands. 

Danny bit his lip and howled sadly. It helped, a little. He stole a glance at the receipt with Victor's phone number on it. He couldn't help but memorize the number. 

“I'm not going to call,” Danny told himself. Even if it was flattering. Victor might be a sketchy guy! Only sketchy people were out at the hours Danny worked. Danny couldn't afford association with anyone like that because he needed the authorities to never ever look at him. 

Also, and probably more importantly: you can't go to medical school if you have any kind of criminal record. If Danny was going to be Doctor Fenton the fourth and be able to provide his and Ellie's medical care, he needed to be a model citizen. He couldn’t trust that Vic would keep him out of whatever weird shit he was involved in.

Well. It wasn't like he was complicit in anything. Danny parked his beloved shitty car in the garage and took the stairs up to his apartment. He opened the door, saw Batman in his kitchen, and closed the door.

“Fuck.” 

Danny turned intangible and dropped like a rock through the floors. He was back in the driver's seat in less than 5 seconds. He turned it on and called Victor with one hand, because he'd just gotten the guy's number and he didn't exactly know a lot of Gothamites. “Hey, what do I do if Batman is in my apartment?” He said as soon as it connected. He turned the car on and peeled out onto the street.

“Wha- move, I guess. Is he there for fucking real?” Victor's electronic voice somehow managed to come across incredulous. “You probably shouldn't go back there. You're in your car?” A horn honked in the background. “You're faster,” Victor said. His confidence gave Danny a little. “I'll send you my gps point. Come to me and we can strategize how to get him off your tail.”

Danny swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, and violently repressed the part of him asking why this nervous ass Gothamite would know any better than he did. At least Victor was a local. His phone pinged and he opened up the address. “Got it.”

“See you soon.” Victor hung up. 

Danny burnt rubber out of there, heart all the way up in his throat. Why was Batman after him? What did he know? He gasped for air, feeling like he was choking. He needed to be normal. He needed to- to get his degree and get his career and never ever have a whole fucking militaristic brancho of the government after him. He was one guy. When he was 14 he'd thought it was a funny game and the GIW were a bunch of chumps. But they were a bunch of chumps with money, weapons, and numbers. He couldn't afford to fuck with them. The fact that his parents gritted their teeth through associating with the GIW was the only thing that kept suspicion off of Danny.

He cycled through a panic attack and then into anger. What the hell, dude? Danny got that Batman had a bee up his ass about metahumans “in his city” (like he fucking owned it??) but Danny wasn't causing crime or fighting it. He was going to classes and trying to survive. Batman had no right to get involved in his business. 

He was steaming mad by the time he pulled up to where Victor was waiting for him. Victor hauled open an old style garage door and ushered him in quickly. Danny parked inside and sighed over the steering wheel. It took a few moments to center himself and then he got out. “Hey.” He lifted a hand in greeting and then shoved it in his pocket, feeling unimaginably weary. It wasn't even 5 am, jeeze. What was his life? “Thanks for answering.” He cleared his throat and bumped his butt against the hood of his car. “Helluva morning,” he complained dryly.

“It's no problem.” Victor seemed a little stiff and uncomfortable, standing in the middle of the other parking space. Either that or he was posing. “It's not your fault.”

Danny let out a snort. “It's not, but what does that matter?” He shrugged. And then he realized- “Wait, do you know what I am- scratch that.” He made a hand gesture to wave that away. Victor had known what Amity Park was offhand and he'd had a chance to see Danny phase the car through solid matter. “I guess what matters more is why Batman is on my ass. D’you think he knows?” 

Victor looked at him for a long time. “No…” 

“No, what?” Danny narrowed his eyes up at the taller man. 

“I don't think Batman knows that you're…” Victor made a gesture at Danny that explained nothing. “Whatever you are. I think he wants to ask you what you know about me.”

Danny stared blankly at him. “About you,” he echoed. He gave Victor a dubious look. “Why would he care about you?” 

Victor lifted a gloved finger and pointed at his helmet as if that was supposed to mean something. Danny tilted his head to the side like a bird and raised one eyebrow. “Because I'm the Red Hood?” Victor said dubiously. “You know that, right?” 

“You're Victor,” Danny said. He furrowed his brows. “Is - is The Red Hood like, your drag persona or something? Cool for you but it's not really relevant -” 

Victor tore off the helmet to reveal a face that was a lot younger than Danny had anticipated. “It's not a drag persona,” he snapped. “It's- I'm the Red goddamn Hood! You have to have seen me on the news!” 

Danny mutely shook his head. He thought about saying that he didn’t watch the news, but he sort of felt bad for the guy. It was probably safer not to comment.

“It's been non-stop,” Victor said, and Danny could really tell how incredulous he felt without that goofy voice filter effect removing the pout from his voice. “I dropped 13 human heads off at the police station yesterday. Come on!” 

He blinked. 

Wait.

One.

Second.

“You had me take you to the police with contraband?” Danny roared, incandescent with fury. 

“Uh.” Victor looked a little shifty now, even with that dweeb ass mask covering from his eyebrows to his cheekbones. “Yeah, I guess-”

“I'm going to go to medical school!” Danny roared, and suplexed the bastard. Victor went down with a howl and a valiant attempt to dig out Danny's eye with his bent index and middle fingers. Danny went selectively intangible and rolled them both over to start slapping Victor on his stupid face. “I-” slap “can't” slap “have” slap “a criminal record!” He leaned so far forward that his lips were nearly touching Victor's. “Capiche?” Danny jabbed a finger into Victor's stupidly ripped chest. 

“Um.” 

“Capiche? Understand? Do you get my meaning?” Danny howled. “I am an illegal entity! My paperwork is suspect!” He dug his knees a little harder into Victor's sides, struggling to control his strength. 

“Hey man, me too,” said Victor. He seemed mildly surprised by this commonality. “That's why I can't get a driver's license.” He put his hands up by his head. The movement made his incredible biceps sort of…pulse. Bulge? 

Danny blinked, attention caught by something about what Victor had said. “How'd you get your Uber account verified without- oh my god!” He threw his hands up in disgust. “You're not even Victor, are you? Your first word to me was a lie?” 

Not-Victor laughed. Danny was surprised enough that he loosened his grip. But the other guy didn't try to get out. “You're fun,” he said. He had a nice smile, crooked and kissable. Oh, fuck.

Danny felt his whole face burn red. Shit. Abort. He scrambled up, suddenly mortified that he was sitting on the other guy. “What's your name?” he demanded, trying to sound unaffected and mean. 

“Jay.” 

“You're sure this time?” Danny managed to work up a little more indignation. 

“Hands to god, on my grave,” Jay promised. Danny sort of hated that he believed it. 

Danny relented. “Fine.” It wasn’t like he had any moral high ground to stand on about maintaining secret identities, if he was honest. He huffed and crossed his arms. “How do I get Batman off my ass? I'm guessing you don't want me to talk to him about you.”

[yourlipstogodsears]

Punish me (Jack Abbot Smut!)

Summary: Jack punishing his girlfriend after a bad call. Will he always be mean or will he give in?

(Jack being pissed off, fingering, spanking, pussy spanking, breath play, orgasm denial, mention of subdrop and subspace, traffic light safe wording, mention of tears, mention of body hair,

Jack's fingers move expertly over his girlfriend's clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. He watches the clock on his wrist, timing each orgasm down to the second. His voice is low and rough as he speaks dirty words into her ear, making sure she hears every filthy command.

she’s three deep already, the skin on her neck blush pink with marks where he nipped at her when she didn’t respond to his question quick enough.

Jack spreads his girlfriend's legs wider, spanking her pussy lightly with his free hand while his fingers work her sensitive clit. He sees the marks on her neck and grins darkly.

Jack leans in close when she whines at the spank, his breath hot against her ear as he whispers, “Shh, baby. You know you deserve that for disobeying me.” His fingers move faster, applying more pressure to her clit. He glances at his watch, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

her thighs are quaking she can barely hold her head up against the wall of the room in the hospital

Jack grabs a handful of her hair, forcing her head back against the wall as his fingers relentlessly rub her clit. He bites down hard on her neck, marking her further as he feels her orgasm building rapidly. “Cum on my fingers, now. Make it four.”

she pants, “I don’t think I can-”

Jack's voice drops to a dangerous level, “I didn't ask if you could.” He spanks her pussy again, harder this time. “I asked you to gimme one more.”

her lips move to protest…her eyes hazy, he’s close to overstimulating and subdrop. But he can’t have her subdrop on shift, They’re still on the clock.

Jack sees the haze in her eyes and the way her body is trembling too much. He knows she's close to subdrop and they can't afford that right now. He suddenly stops his fingers completely, leaving her empty and aching. “Enough. We're done here.”

she whines, her pussy clenches and flutters around his long thick fingers trying to urge him to move em again.

Jack pulls his fingers out slowly, watching as her pussy flutters around nothing. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact with her. “That's enough orgasms for now, sweetheart.”

“I thought you wanted four.. I can give you four” now her tone has changed since he stopped she’s desperate for it again. Unlike her protest.

Jack chuckles darkly at the shift in her tone. "You were ready to pass out two minutes ago. Don't try to manipulate your way into another one." He keeps his voice firm but gentle, knowing she's still in that needy subspace.

“You’re worried about a full drop..?”

Jack nods, his expression softening slightly. "Yes, I am. I can't have you dropping too hard right now when we're still on shift. You know how long it takes for you to come back from that." He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear gently. “Besides...”

she pouts, “am i atleast forgiven?”

not a chance.

He smirks at her pouting lip, knowing she's trying to change the subject from her orgasms. "Not even close, sunshine. You were a bad girl today. think you deserve anything more than what I just gave you?"

she pouts and looks at the tile of the empty exam room, “you don’t forgive me for still doing that risky procedure without your go ahead?”

His expression darkens slightly, but his voice remains soft. "especially not that. We've discussed this. Your stubbornness could've landed you in serious trouble. And don't try to distract me with those pouty lips either." He taps her bottom lip warningly.

“You’re no fun” she grumbles, which is a total bluff but she’s just pouting because she’s not being filled anymore. “I gotta go check on patients…”

Jack watches as she straightens her clothes and runs her hands through her hair, trying to look like she wasn't just almost given four orgasms against the wall. He smirks to himself. He knows she's pouting because he won't give her more orgasms.

He finishes the punishment at home where he can make her whine and cry loud. he is manhandling her, his strong hand holding her chin and throat like she’s a prize dog at a dog show while his hips pummel into her ass as he fucks her sloppy little hole. Even if he’s her boyfriend he can’t give her special treatment at their work. He doesn’t do favorites or special treatment.

Jack has her bent over the bed, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat as he pounds into her from behind. His other hand comes down hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint. "You thought you could disobey me and not face consequences, sweetheart?"

she whines and yelps at the spank, “n-no”

He squeezes her throat tighter, his hips slamming into her mercilessly. "Then why did you do it, hmm? Why did you think it was okay to go against my direct order?" He leans down, his breath hot against her ear as he growls the words.

she gasps her eyes flutter and she squeaks when his cock hits perfectly. She can barely form words but she tries, “thought you’d go easy on me”

Jack chuckles darkly, his hips never stopping their punishing rhythm. "Go easy on you? After you pulled that stupid stunt today? You really thought I'd let you get away with that?" He spanks her again, harder this time, making her yelp and clench around him.

she’s wetter by the second if it’s even possible. cum pouring from her like a continuous orgasm.

He feels her getting even wetter, her walls gripping him tightly as she whines and squeaks with each thrust and spank. His hand around her throat starts to gently squeeze and release in time with his hips, cutting off her air briefly before allowing her to gasp. "Answer me,"

“Y-yes”

His anger turns to pure dominance as he realizes how much she loves being punished. He spreads her cheeks wider, going even deeper with each thrust. "You thought I'd be gentle with my naughty girl? That I wouldn't make you pay for disobeying me?" He spanks her again and again.

she yelps, “yellow”

He immediately stops moving, his hand still wrapped around her throat but not squeezing anymore. His cock is still deep inside her, pulsing with the need to keep going. "Yellow means slow down and check in, not stop completely." His voice is firm but gentle compared to his previous tone. "Talk to me." She's panting heavily, her body shaking slightly from the overload of sensations and the brief lack of air.

tears are streaming down her face now. He’s never pushed her like this. It’s overwhelming but in a good way.

Seeing her tears, Jack softens his grip on her throat and gently strokes her cheek with his free hand. He leans down to kiss her shoulder softly, his hips still pressed against her but no longer moving. “Angel, are you okay? Do we need to stop?"

“Just yellow..”

He nods understandingly, slowing down his thrusts to a gentler pace. His hand moves from her throat to her hip, holding her steady as he continues to fuck her slowly. He kisses her neck softly, his voice gentle as he asks, "Too much too soon, princess?"

she nods, “Never been that rough before”

He pulls out slowly, making her whimper at the sudden emptiness. He turns her around to face him, cupping her face gently. "I'm sorry if I scared you or pushed too hard. You know I would never actually hurt you." He kisses her softly, "Let's slow down."

“M’Not scared… jus overstimulated”

He smiles softly, gently stroking her hair back from her face. "I know you're not scared, sweetheart. You're just feeling everything..." His hands move to her waist, pulling her closer. "Want me to continue, but slow and sweet now? No more spanking or choking?"

“If you think I deserve it.” she mumbles.

He laughs softly and kisses her forehead. "You deserve it, right now you need cuddles and slow lovemaking, not punishment." He lifts her up and lays back on the bed, pulling her on top of him. "Come here, princess."

she’s sat in riding position now, his hands rest on her hips softly, his eyes meeting hers with pure adoration. "Look at you, so beautiful." He gently adjusts himself beneath her, lining up with her entrance. "Ride me slowly, baby. Just like that." His fingertips trace her sides gently.

she gently sinks back onto his cock, she whines when her achy clit brushes the coarse hair that frame his cock. He’s trimmed down there because he personally hates a jungle down there but not completely silky smooth either. He’s gets that from his military days to trim body hair.

He notices her whine and the slight shift in her expression, understanding the sensation she's feeling. He smiles softly, knowing how sensitive she is down there. "Does that feel good, baby? The little bit of roughness against your clit?" He keeps his hips still, letting her set the pace.

she nods, “no touch” she bumbles out.

He chuckles softly, respecting her request. He keeps his hands on her hips but doesn't touch her anywhere else. He watches as she slowly rocks herself on him, the coarse hair around his cock rubbing against her sensitive clit with each movement. "Fuck, baby..." His eyes roll back slightly.

it’s not a full pump just gentle grinds of her hips. adjusting his cock head to hit her spot that makes her brain melt.

His hands flex on her hips as she finds that perfect grinding spot. He can feel her inner walls fluttering around him with each gentle movement. He bites his lip to hold back his own pleasure, focusing on her and how beautifully she's using him for her own satisfaction. "Right there..."

she nods, “can I keep going?”

"Of course, baby. Keep grinding on me just like that..." His voice is soft and husky with desire as he watches her use him perfectly. One hand moves to trace her thigh, but he stops himself, remembering she doesn't want to be touched elsewhere right now.

“You can touch there just not my button.” she hates saying clit during sex. Feels clunky.

He smiles at her permission, his hand moving to gently stroke her thigh. His thumb brushes against her inner thigh close to her center but doesn't touch her sensitive spot directly. "I won't touch your button right now..." His other hand moves to her waist to help guide her movements slightly.

“Thank you-”

He cuts her off with a soft kiss, his thumb pressing gently against her inner thigh right below where she doesn't want to be touched. He kisses her deeply as she continues to grind on him, his hand on her waist helping her move in a slow, circular motion. "Shh..."

she hums and melts in the kiss her hips jerk softly as the heat rushes through her body, she’s grips tight to his bicep “Jack” she squeaks.

He breaks the kiss to look into her eyes, his thumb pressing a little harder against her inner thigh as her hips jerk. He can feel her getting closer, her inner walls starting to squeeze him rhythmically. "That's it, baby. Keep grinding on my cock..." His voice is low and encouraging.

“Can I cum?” she’s so used to having to ask with him. even as she uses him for pleasure she’s still asking permission.

His eyes soften at her question, his thumb gently stroking her inner thigh in a soothing motion. "Yes, baby. You can cum. Use my cock to get yourself off." He keeps his voice gentle but firm, encouraging her to let go and take her pleasure from him.

[angrythingstarlight]

I can’t imagine this happening but has Bucky ever yelled at Malyshka ?

He did raise his voice once the night she gave her bodyguards the slip, they had a fight and the next morning, they were both a little on edge.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader

CW: Smut, implied arguments, dom/sub dynamics.

AN: Written on my phone and unbetad.

☆Mafia Masterlist☆Bumblebee Series

"Excuse me?" Your tone is soft, almost curious, it belies the glare you're leveling his way. "Tell me again what I can't do?"

Bucky grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticks. He never meant for this fight to spill over into the next morning. He had planned on apologizing until he saw you packing your bag for your bachelorette party.

A whole day early.

Jealous and an unfamiliar emotion roiling in the depths of chest had his tongue moving faster than his brain. His chance to make things right went up in flames the second his mouth opened and he told you that you couldn't have any dancers at your party.

What he really meant to say was he needed more time with you after yesterday.

Instantly all the progress he made last night was eradicated. Now he's desperately wavering between holding on to his pride and risking making things worse or begging for forgiveness.

"Malyshka—"

"Don't Malyshka me, James." You step up to him, wrapping your hand around his obsidian tie, you yank him down to your level. Taking your phone out of your pocket, you manage to call your best friend without breaking eye contact with him. She picks up on the second ring. Her greeting echoes through the quiet bedroom.

"Hey girl, listen you know how I said I wanted to keep things low key and girls only for my party?" you respond, pulling him even closer so your lips are almost touching.

You don't want him to miss a single word.

"I changed my mind. I want it all. Strippers. Lap dances—"Bucky's brows knit and his deep blue eyes take on a dangerous glint. "Matter of fact, instead of one night let's make it the whole weekend. You think you can still get us into that club?"

"Hell yeah," she exclaims, immediately rattling off all the places she's going to take you this weekend. He nods slowly, murmuring something under his breath.

"Can't wait," you say, grinning wickedly. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you bite down and watch his eyes darken. You hang up, letting him go at the same time. Abruptly spinning on your heel, you head back to the bed and open up your overnight bag. Critically eyeing everything you already packed, you toss out the sweatpants. "I won't be needing these anymore."

Bucky watches as you stroll over to the dresser and pull out a handful of lingerie. "These will look much better on me. How touchy do these lap dances get? I never gotten one before so I better get my money's worth."

"Malyshka," he chuckles, his voice deepening to a near growl, the sound sends a pulse of heat down your belly. "I thought I explained to you last night what happens when you don't listen to me."

He catches the way you shiver as the memories of last night replay in your head.

The room fills with your frantic cries of dontstopBucky and mindless pleas for more and more. Sweat rolls down your back, your hands clawing at his shoulders, trying to get a hold of something, anything as he bounces your trembling body on his cock.

He made you promise to never leave without protection, to call him first before acting brazenly, to not scare him again.

He made you promise a lot last night, half of which you don't even remember, so drunk off mind-blowing pleasure that everything became a haze after the fifth, maybe sixth, time Bucky brought you to your peak.

"Guess I forgot." You say, defiantly meeting his sharp gaze and select his favorite pair of panties, deliberately adding them to the pile you're making.

A smirk stretches across his plush lips and he casually walks to you, pinning you to the dresser with his large body. Clasping your chin in his hand, he tilts your face up as his calloused thumb sweeps across your cheek. "I'll remind you."

"Apologize first," you demand, your breath coming out on a shaky exhale. Even when you're mad at him, you still need him. But that doesn't mean you won't make him work for it.

"Do you want me to say it—" Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, keeping you in place with a firm press of his hips. He drops his hand between your bodies and gently cups your pussy. "—or get down on my knees and show you how sorry I am? You know what they say about actions meaning more than words."

It's not a difficult decision.

"I want both."

"That's my girl." His lips graze your ear, his bartione rolls across your skin, a heady pulse flaring between your thighs. "And have your little fun this weekend but I swear I'm about to fuck you so good, you're going to feel me inside you the entire time."

We'll explore the bodyguard incident and the bachelorette/bachelor parties in more detail. Do you really think Bucky will let her get that lap dance? 👀

[countcvnt]

Experiment

Chapter One: Scrambled

[Poly!TF141/Fem!Reader]

Summary: Your memory is hazy, almost nonexistent, after being plucked out of a safe house and experimented on for months. When you're finally rescued you don't remember the people closest to you. Warnings: Canon Typical Violence (not much else this chapter), me using an english to scottish translator, not beta read Word Count: 3.3k A/N: Had this silly idea and turned it into a serious/angsty fic. I hope you all will like it as much as I do! Also, Reader has a call sign! It's Ace. If you prefer, you can read it here on AO3

Your eyes are heavy, your body burns, and you can't stop shaking. You aren't even sure of where you are. Your eyes are trained ahead of you, looking at what you assume is a two way mirror. A scientist is standing to the side of you messing with some needles and medicines. Your half lidded eyes cut towards him and you see a thick blue substance in a syringe.

“What's that?” You croak, voice hoarse.

“Hm?” The scientist doesn't even look at you, “curious now, are we?” He asks, pulling the syringe up and turning to you. He doesn't answer your question though, not in a way you would like. “We are about to figure out what this is.”

‘We’. Your stomach flips. He didn't even seem to know what it was. You accept your fate. You have from the very beginning. You don't know how long you've been part of this ‘program’, and to you, it didn't matter anymore. The only thing that matters is trying to get out alive. No one seemed to be coming for you. No one has in all of the days you've been hidden away. You didn't expect anyone to save you now. So, you had decided to save yourself. Figuring out how to do that was becoming difficult though.

You know that behind that two way mirror are a bunch of guards. You know they're heavily armed. You know, no matter what they have juiced you up with, you aren't beating a bunch of armed men. So, you sit idly. Letting them poke and prod and decide you are going to wait until the perfect opportunity shows itself. You just have to hold on until it does.

A loud alarm suddenly rings throughout the building and you cover your ears, flinching. The scientist seems more agitated than anything. He doesn't seem as bothered as you are, by any means.

“Guards!” He calls out, looking towards the large mirror. “Guards?” He questions.

He puts a finger up at you, asking for you to wait a minute. As if you have any other choice. A loud bang comes from outside the room and chills run up your spine. The guard walks towards the door and he peeks out. He quickly shuts and locks the door before returning back to you. He scurries over towards the metal stand beside your seat. He grabs the syringe and picks it up.

Something clicks in you. The alarms are still blaring and the guards seem to be gone to check it out. You watch as the syringe comes towards you, headed right for your neck. You move faster than you're used to, and grab the man’s hand and push him back. A lot harder than you had meant to. He slides back and hits the wall. The syringe does not leave his hand.

You rush towards the door. You wiggle the door knob and try to rip the door open. It doesn't budge. You turn your head back and see the scientist steadying himself. Fear kicks in.

“Help!” You scream, slamming your fists into the door. “Please, help me!”

“That was really stupid,” the man behind you says. “No one can hear you, no one is coming to save you. They haven't yet, have they?”

Tears prick your eyes. You turn back around and your back hits the door.

“Y'know, I'm going to be honest.” He stalks towards you. “I know they picked you because you're so… compliant. But really? I think that big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.”

That stings. “Who?”

“Which one?”

“Both.”

“You know I can't give out classified information. But if this works, I promise, you'll know everything. As for the other guy? I'm surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. But honestly, after all the brain scrambling you've had done to you, I understand how you don't remember him…”

You lose it. Something in you snaps. You lunge forward and grab the man. The both of you tussle briefly. Until you get him pinned. Your body slams into his and you hold him down. You raise your fist and bring it down, slamming it into his jaw. Screams, pleas fall from his lips. He's begging for you to quit. But you don't. You, at that moment, decide you are going to do that to every single person who has harmed you, who caused this.

The door behind you blows open, but you don't falter. Your fists continue to slam into the scientist’s face. Until you hear someone with a Scottish accent say your name. You freeze. You turn to find a man in the doorway, his eyes wide. You furrow your brows when he whispers your name again. You move to get up, without thinking about the man below you. You don't realize he's moving. His hand comes up and the needle is pressed into your neck. Whatever the liquid was is quickly administered into your bloodstream.

You hear your name again, louder this time, but you fall to the side, eyes too heavy to hold open. Your head slams into the now bloodied white tile and you're out.

So much for escaping. _____________________________________ You wake up to beeping. A sound you had grown accustomed to recently. You feel monitors hooked up to you, and an IV in your arm. You twitch ever so slightly, every muscle in your body contracting. And then it hits.

Anger.

Your eyes snap open. Your legs swing over the side of the bed. You rip every single monitor off of you, the IV flying across the room. The monitor begins to beep loudly and as you rush towards the door, exiting the isolated room, an alarm blares. You flinch momentarily, but do not let the sound stop you. You are looking for someone, anyone to give you a hint of what's going on. Nothing around you looks familiar. But from all the ‘brain scrambling’, that's normal. You're used to not knowing as much as you figure you used to.

A man in a bucket hat turns the corner, rushing towards what can only assume is you. You let out a low growl and begin to sprint. Your body slams into his and the both of you are sent sliding across the floor. You grab his vest and lower yourself to him, all of your weight holding him down. “Where the fuck am I?”

He's looking at you with confused eyes. He doesn't make any sudden movements. He immediately presents himself as a friend, not a threat. You squint and then see someone else coming around the corner.

“Price! Oh my-” the young man freezes. He says your name and your world is instantly rocked.

You haven't heard your name in god knows how long. The Scottish man had called out for you earlier, but before that? You really can't think of a time when someone had called you something other than some experiment number. “Who are you?” You hiss.

You feel the man under you tense up. He swallows hard and he says your name this time, slow and soft. He isn't showing any signs of wanting to throw you across the room or knock the shit out of you. You take it he isn't a threat and shift.

“You don't remember me?” The man in the ball cap asks, brows furrowed. “You don't remember us?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. You push yourself off of the man below you and you stand up. You brush yourself off and watch as he stands up. He radios someone to cut off the alarm and it's promptly stopped. You are thankful for that. You stand in the hall awkwardly and watch him and the other, younger man talk to each other with facial expressions.

“You're probably hungry,” the man in the bucket hat turns towards you, “how about we go get you some food?”

You aren't stupid, you know that also entails speaking with them about everything you just went through. Despite not wanting to talk, you nod. You are hungry and haven't had an actual meal in possibly months. The man reaches out to touch your lower back, to lead you to wherever he wants to go. You flinch away from him, everything in you tensing. You can tell it's a reflex. A habit. He's used to doing that. Your eyes scan him and you're searching your brain for everything, anything about him. But there's nothing.

“Sorry.” Is all he says. He leaves it at that. “Gaz,” he looks away from you and towards the other man. “Please go grab some food and meet us back at room 2B.”

“Yes, sir.”

The tension is palpable. You want to run. Fast. You can. You know you can. But something is keeping you tethered there. You follow a couple feet behind the man who had yet to introduce himself and keep thinking about ‘Gaz’. Your mind is reeling. You keep thinking about his name, his face, everything. You close your eyes tight and inhale sharply.

“Kyle.” It's all you say. It stops you dead in your tracks. Your eyes open and your breathing is heavy. “His name is Kyle.” Your breathing is suddenly ragged. You can't catch your breath and feel like everything is crumbling in on you. You fall to your knees and try to keep yourself from wailing. “I don't even know your name!” You whisper to keep yourself from sobbing. Your voice cracks.

“Price. John Price.” He drops in front of you. He reaches for your bicep. You don't flinch away this time. “Hey,” his voice is low, “look at me.” Your eyes cut up to him. “We're gonna help you through this. I promise.” You nod. You want to trust him. You need to. You feel like you can. You inhale slowly and Price helps you up. “We're going to go to room 2B, you're going to eat some breakfast, and we're going to ask you some questions.”

You nod and start following Price again. You make it to the room in silence and Price opens the door for you. You walk in and find four beige walls, a table, and four chairs. Nothing else. Until you look in the corner of the room and find a little camera. You lock onto it and squint.

“Why?” You point at it.

“Oh,” Price walks in and closes the door behind him, “it’s protocol. Security and all.”

“Fair enough.” You sit down at the table and look at the Price. “You gonna sit?”

Price holds onto his vest and leans against the table. “Not yet.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.” Your stomach growls. You touch it through the thin white shirt you're wearing. “You think Gaz will be here soon?”

With that, a knock comes from the other side of the door. Two knocks, a pause, and another knock. Price opens the door and Gaz walks in. He has a tray filled with food and you are growing antsy. He sits across from you and slides the tray towards you. You try to not immediately dig in, but you can't help it. You grab a glazed donut first and begin to devour it.

“Oh,” you pause your munching, “thank you, Kyle.”

Gaz freezes. His eyes widen and he turns towards Price. It's your turn to freeze. You look up at him mid bite and blink. Gaz motions towards you and asks, “Did you tell her my name.”

“No.” Price shakes his head.

“You remembered?” Gaz seems ecstatic. “What else do you-”

“Nothing.” You snap. “I don't remember a damn thing.” You huff as you move onto the muffin on the tray. You unwrap it and begin to devour the sweet. “All I know,” You speak through bites, “is that I was locked up for God knows how long and they were experimenting on me-”

“Four months.” Gaz speaks quietly.

“Huh?” You question him. “How do you know?”

“We looked for you when you disappeared. It was four months ago when they got you. You really don’t remember anything?”

“Like I said,” You huff, “I just know they were juicing me up.” Before they can question you further, a light bulb goes off in your head. “Wait.” You squint at them, “The Scottish one. Where is he?”

They tense up. Gaz talks first, “You remember Soap?”

“Huh?” You cock your head. “Is that his name? He’s the one that found me. I assume he’s here. Or did he not…” You trail off.

“No, he’s here…” Price begins, “…We don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Oh.” You shrug. “I guess that makes sense. How am I supposed to, uh, assimilate without being overwhelmed. I mean, why don’t we just rip that band aid off?”

“Trust me,” Price locks eyes with you, “we do not need to rip that band aid off right now.”

“Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “Do you wanna ask your questions now?” _____________________________________ “This cannae be healthy,” Soap looks at Simon.

Simon shrugs, “Don’t care.” He’s watching the cameras closely.

“Thay aren't even in th' room yit! Ye'r peepin' an empty room!” Soap’s eyes move from the screen and back to Simon.

Simon’s eyes cut from the screen and to Soap, “Shut it. Price wants us to stay away from her for now. He didn’t say we couldn’t do this.”

As he says that, the door of the room opens. Price is visible first. And then, another figure walks in. You. Simon and Soap both tense. You look directly at the camera and point, asking why it’s there. You’re so clear. Soap’s heart jumps. Simon shifts.

“She remembers Gaz’s name.” Simon speaks through gritted teeth.

“A'm sure that's a targeted attack against ye, Ghost.” Soap is trying to find humor in this situation. He’s grasping for straws.

Simon is not enjoying it. “Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” Simon growls.

Soap focuses back on the screen and notices you aren’t even sure how long you’ve been gone. As Gaz gently tells you four months, Simon grumbles the amount of time at the same time.

“If Price doesn’t wanna overwhelm her, why the fuck is Gaz in there.” Simon is seething. “Why can’t we all be in there.”

Simon shuts his mouth as you say they had been juicing you up. He tenses. Soap does the same. They both need to know what it means. Simon feels like he’s going to combust. His eyes narrow once you mention Soap. Soap looks like he’s about to jump with joy, until he realizes you don’t actually remember him. Not past him saving you.

“Fuck this,” Simon pushes past Soap. “I'm going in there.”

“Hey! Price said-” Soap starts. He doesn't finish. “Fine-” he rushes out behind Simon. He guesses they're just going to bust into the room and Simon is going to make you remember. He isn't quite sure what Simon has planned really. But he decides he can't sit in the security room and just watch. He needs to see you.

So does Simon. _____________________________________ You reach for a fork for your eggs and lean back in your seat, plate in hand. You relax (as much as possible) and you look at Gaz and Price. You are studying them. Really digging into their features. You want to remember so badly. You have no reason to trust that they used to know you, a part of you is ready to attack in case they are lying. But most of you trusts them. How else would you remember Kyle’s name?

“Listen,” Price inhales sharply, “we want to help you, without overwhelming you. We need to know what you know.”

“Listen,” You mimic his tone, “I don’t know what you aren’t getting. I remember nothing, nada, zilch.”

“Okay,” Gaz interjects, “What’s your last memory?”

You're sent into deep thought. You place your hand on your chin and look off. “Well-” You begin, “I remember-”

The door of the room busts open. You tense, ready to pounce. Your palms hit the table and you stand up straight. The fork clangs against the ground. Two men walk into the room. The one who saved you and-

Words play in your head over and over again. ‘I think the big guy with the mask would have been a better choice.’ For a moment, your world is completely rocked. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know who I'm talking about.’ Your eyes lock with the large beast of a man. His eyes soften. Briefly. You swallow hard.

The entire room is silent. Until you open your mouth. “He wanted you…”

“What?” Soap is the first to question you.

“The scientist, the one doing the experiments on me-” You are tense again “-he didn’t want me.” Your head hurts. You place your hand on your forehead and groan. You are thinking too hard. Remembering too much.

“Hey,” Price motions for you to sit down, “it’s alright.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ghost,” Price looks over his shoulder, “not right now.”

Ghost stiffens. He doesn’t say anything else. You sit down and inhale slowly. Your eyes move from the floor, past Price, and they hit Ghost. You feel something stir inside you. Like your emotions know more than your brain does. You want to scream. Every single man in that room seems to think so highly of you, and you don’t even remember them.

“I think I need to sleep.” Your voice is a whisper.

You don’t know the last time you got a good rest. You figure sleeping will help you. Price begins to grab for you, before freezing. You lean into him, letting him help you up. Price moves past the men and you tag along beside him.

“I’m going to show you where your room is. If you need anything, please let one of us know. But for now, we’ll leave you alone.” You are led down the hall and towards the barracks. It’s silent between the two of you, until you reach your room. “You have this room to yourself. I had some things rearranged, if it needs to be changed, and you aren’t comfortable alone, let me know.”

You nod at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“0600 sharp.” Price begins to leave.

“Wait,” You stop him. “You don’t happen to have my phone, do you?”

Price turns back to you. “No, that was not recovered. But, we can get you a new one. I’ll work on that while you rest.”

You nod. You head into your room and close the door behind you. You look around. There are two beds. You groan at the fact you can’t remember who used to be your bunk mate. You’re scraping through your brain, really searching for just an inkling of a memory. But… Nothing. Nothing at all comes to your mind.

Nothing about the four men convinced that you know them, anyway.

You lay down in bed and cover up. It’s not the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been in, but it is the most comfortable bed you’ve laid on in the last four months. Your head hits the pillows and you close your eyes. It takes longer than you’d like to go to sleep, but not as long as you expect it to take. You only hope you don’t dream of anything at all. You can’t be that lucky. _________________________________ “Price!” Simon shouts at the captain. His face contorted with anger and pain, and he is more glad than ever that they can’t see him through his balaclava. “What the fuck was that? We need to know-”

“No,” Price stops him immediately. “We do not need to stress her out further. We will figure this out eventually, on her time.” Price reassures his team. “You did not see the look in her eyes, the way she tackled me to the floor-”

“She what…?” Soap tenses.

Simon bristles instantly. He’s seething again. “What do you mean?”

“Ghost,” Gaz starts, “I know you want to know what happened. We all do.” He’s trying to get through to him. “But something is not right. The way she easily took Captain Price down- That wasn’t the Ace we know.”

“Of course!” Simon growls, “She was gone for four months, being poked and prodded-”

“Ghost,” Price interrupts, inhaling sharply, “she pinned me down and I could not get up. They did more than poke and prod at her. They-”

It clicks. “They were making soldiers… Enhanced soldiers.” Simon whispers. His face contorts again, this time with confusion, “Why did they pick her?” He remembers what you said. ‘He wanted you.’ Simon momentarily feels a pit in his stomach. “Ace couldn’t have been the only one… There’s no way they did this experiment on one person.”

“She was the only one at the underground compound.” Soap shifts. “Maybe she was the only success?”

Simon is stuck on why they picked you. It’s not like you weren’t capable. But you were never on the field fighting for your life. You were always on the sidelines, helping them get into the places, helping them get information. How had they spotted you and decided you were the best candidate? He knows that question is going to keep him up at night.

“Come on,” Price brings Simon back to reality. “We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

[sunalee]

at the supermarket

summary: usual grocery day with your husband.

with: 141 task force.

a/n: getting more and more interest in doing a domestic series with this men. I cannot help, they scream husband material.

⊛ john price

Every errand with john resolves feels like a teamwork task, it's natural for him to be supportive and most of the times, lead; in this case though, you're the captain. He was never very familiar with shopping for the amount he's away serving the country, so to optimize time — groceries isn't something very funny to spend time on — he gladly follows your lead.

He's a high skilled observant, which he uses to find the hidden sales and promotions, and the faster line to checkout (his wallet appreciates it).

John is more subtle with touching outdoors, so you'll feel his hand gently brush your side or hold your waist as you move around the store, his nose inhaling your shampoo scent when he's behind you on the line, among other small gestures. But the eye contact is a must, especially since John enjoys making you flustered as he admires you.

what he usually says: "yes, ma'am", "found it.", "don't get shy on me now, sweet thing, can't I look at you anymore?" "you open the car, I take the bags, got it?"

⊛ kyle "gaz" garrick

It's really rare for Kyle to not join you with grocery shopping whenever he's home, even when he's feeling tired to help: he wants to be there for you, always. And he's such a good company to do that, your eye candy of a husband made his efforts to now know the best brands and products to buy. You trust him to do all by himself at this point, but you both think that it's nice to turn such a common task into a couple activity.

He's the supermarket charmer. It's really alarming the amount of times some old lady asked for his help, only to praise him to you. "He's a keeper darlin, you're a lucky girl." They say to you, which you answer with a growing smile as you turn to look at your kind man. Sometimes he even gets small gifts from them!

Kyle has a need to keep contact with you as much as he can. He takes your hand from time to time to leave a small kiss on the back of it or on your fingers; he's also very keen to caressing your hair and putting some strands behind your ear while you're talking with him. And let's not even mention the cheeky grins and winks he throws in your direction whenever you call him out.

what he usually says: "flower, how about some wine?" "you're so pretty, you know that?" "haha, sorry ma'am, but I'm happily married." "c'mon, I was just helping, don't look at me like that!"

⊛ john "soap" mactavish

johnny doesn't like grocery shopping that much, but even if you ask for his help, he's driving and helping you, end of discussion. He's like your dotting knight, assisting your needs, lifting heavy stuff and making sure you're pleased with everything you need. He can even read aloud your shopping list for the whole market, anything but his wife getting angry.

It's almost contradictory, but sometimes you caught Johnny distracted with groceries, especially when you guys approach the snacks and beers section. It's funny to watch him, out of nowhere, asking your help to choose between one or other (none of them really necessary to buy). He's also a samples hunter, proving everything that has samples just because it's food or booze, and it's free.

Soap walks with one arm wrapped around your waist while the other is driving the chart around. He's not as clingy as he is at home, only giving you some small kisses on your temple, or letting you hold his arm: but the arm wrapped around your waist is a must. He wants to let everybody know that you're his girl.

what he usually says: "oooh, samples over there!" "na ah ma'am, it's heavy." "wait, let me help sweetheart." "baby, can we buy this?"

⊛ simon "ghost" riley

Simon's the least keen to grocery shopping. First, because he doesn't like going out in public; second, because it's so boring and stressful, two combinations that explains his frustrations. But you're the one who asked his help, and anything his wife asks, goes.

Even though he's not a expert in healthy food, Simon doesn't like to spend his money with junkie food and sweets to the brim: he's cautious with what you eat, so he always add more healthy options. He also doesn't like the way people stare at him because of his balaclava, but who can blame them? He just hope they don't think he's a criminal.

He's not good with PDA, but this guy needs to have you near him every second of the time, or he'll grow paranoid with worry. To prevent that, he has a habit of guiding your body with one of his hands at the middle of your back. He also looks at you to check in, but mostly checks the area, not wanting to get caught by surprise in case something happens.

what he usually says: "tsc.. this place is a mess." "woman just stay beside me" "why do you need so many chocolate bars?" "you're gonna be the death of me, woman."

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