#so I picked that one because I thought the contrast between her having a nice fancy dinner at her grandparents’ mansion

[not-with-you-but-of-you]

Rory Gilmore and Jess Mariano wearing red in The Bracebridge Dinner (x)

[ducktoo]

Who…are you?

LE SSERAFIM’s Chaewon x Reader

Note: dw…it gets weird at the end lol. It's a long ride as well so get comfortable.

And this will be my final fic of 2024! Thank you everyone for liking my stuff and happy holidays! Will be back for more in mid January!

(this is too lethal-)

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment, rattling the picture frames on the walls. You stare at it for a long moment, your jaw tight and your hands clenching into fists at your sides. Another fight. Another evening ruined.

The quiet that follows is suffocating, a stark contrast to the venomous words Chaewon had thrown at you just minutes ago. You drag yourself to the kitchen, barely registering the cold plates of food still waiting on the counter. The dinner you had spent hours making feels like a cruel joke now. You don’t have the appetite to eat it, let alone the energy to put it away.

This is how it’s been lately. Chaewon’s words, once playful and teasing, have turned into weapons. The sharp remarks and biting sarcasm that used to make you laugh now cut you to the core. She gets angry over the smallest things, and somehow, you always end up being the target.

It wasn’t always this way—or at least, it didn’t feel like it.

You think back to a week ago, when Chaewon had been in one of her moods. You had been trying to fix the kitchen faucet, fumbling with the wrench and getting water sprayed in your face. Chaewon had walked in, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature smirk on her face.

“Wow,” she had said, crossing her arms. “Didn’t know I was dating a plumber-in-training. Or are you auditioning for a clown role with that water trick?”

You’d forced a laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Very funny, Chae. Want to help?”

She had scoffed, walking over and peering down at the mess you’d made. “Help? Why would I do that when watching you flounder is so much more entertaining?”

You had shot her a look, and she had just grinned, flicking water at you before sauntering off.

Then there was the time she’d decided to pick on your cooking.

You’d spent hours trying to make her favourite spicy rice cakes from scratch, wanting to surprise her after a long day. She had walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air dramatically.

“What’s that smell?” she had asked, wrinkling her nose. “Did something die in here?”

You’d frowned, gesturing to the pot. “It’s tteokbokki. I thought you’d like it.”

She’d leaned over the pot, taking a cautious sniff before pulling back like it had personally offended her. “Are you sure? Because it looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”

You’d tried to laugh it off, but the sting of her words had lingered long after she’d gone back to scrolling on her phone.

The teasing wasn’t just verbal, either. Chaewon had a knack for finding your weak spots and exploiting them with surgical precision. Like the time you’d tripped over the rug in the living room and spilled coffee all over your work papers.

“Nice one, Y/N,” she had said from the couch, barely looking up. “Maybe next time, try walking like a normal human instead of whatever that was.”

“I could use some help cleaning this up,” you’d said, your voice strained as you crouched to pick up the soggy papers.

She had glanced at you over the rim of her coffee mug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Or you could just not trip next time. Problem solved.”

Despite all of it, you stayed. You told yourself it was just her personality—that she didn’t mean to hurt you. You convinced yourself that the moments of warmth, rare as they were, made up for the constant jabs. Like when she’d fallen asleep on your shoulder during a movie, her hand unconsciously clutching yours. Or the one time she’d hugged you after you’d had a particularly bad day, whispering, “I’m here,” so softly it almost didn’t feel real.

But those moments were becoming fewer and farther between, buried under the weight of her sharp words and cold demeanour.

The hours tick by as you sit at the dining table, staring at nothing. You don’t even hear the buzz of your phone at first. When it vibrates again, more insistent this time, you snap out of your daze and pick it up. The caller ID shows Kazuha’s name.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks, still hoarse from the argument.

“Y/N,” Kazuha’s voice is urgent, tinged with panic. “You need to come to the hospital. It’s Chaewon.”

Your heart stops. “What happened?”

“She got into an accident. Just… get here as fast as you can.”

-

The hospital is a blur of sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell fills your nostrils as you rush through the corridors, searching for the right room. Your chest feels tight, your breaths shallow. Kazuha meets you outside, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

“She’s stable,” Kazuha says quickly, trying to reassure you. “But she hit her head pretty hard. The doctors are saying she might have some memory loss.”

“Memory…loss?” The words barely register as you push past her and into the room.

Chaewon lies on the bed, her face pale and peaceful in a way that feels wrong. A bandage is wrapped around her head, a stark white contrast against her dark hair. You approach her slowly, your steps hesitant.

“Chae?” you whisper, sitting down beside her. Her lashes flutter, and she stirs slightly before her eyes open. Relief floods through you as you lean closer.

“You’re awake,” you say, your voice trembling. “Thank god. You’re okay.”

Her eyes blink slowly, focusing on you. For a moment, it feels like everything will be fine. But then her brow furrows, and she tilts her head slightly.

“Who… are you?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with confusion.

You blink, frozen in place. Her words echo in your mind: Who… are you?

Kazuha places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Y/N, let’s step outside for a moment. The doctor wants to talk to you.”

Your gaze lingers on Chaewon’s confused expression, and you force a shaky smile. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

She nods faintly, though you can tell she’s unsure why you’re even here. Her eyes flicker to Kazuha for a brief moment before she leans back against the pillows, exhaustion taking over.

Once you’re out in the hallway, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The doctor approaches, a clipboard in hand and a calm but professional demeanour.

“You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Dr. Park. I’ve been handling Ms. Kim's case.”

"Ah yea, evening Doc." You nod, gripping the hem of your shirt nervously. “What’s… what’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s stable,” he reassures you, glancing at his notes. “But as you might have guessed, the head trauma has caused some memory loss. From our initial tests, it appears she’s unable to recall the past two years.”

“T-two years?” You repeat, your voice trembling. You glance through the small window into her room, watching as Chaewon lies there, her face serene and unaware.

Dr. Park nods. “This type of retrograde amnesia isn’t uncommon in cases like hers. The memories she’s lost may come back over time, or they might not. For now, it’s best not to push her to remember. Stress could make her condition worse.”

“Does she know… does she know anything about me?” you ask hesitantly.

The doctor hesitates. “She remembers people and events prior to the memory gap clearly. But anyone she’s met in the last two years, including you… I’m afraid you’ll be a stranger to her.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, but you nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. “So, what should I do? How do I… help her?”

“Take things slow,” he advises. “Reintroduce yourself as someone here to support her. Let her regain her sense of normalcy first. The rest will come with time, if it’s meant to.”

You thank him quietly, your mind racing. A strange mix of relief and uncertainty bubbles within you. She doesn’t remember the fights, the sharp words, the constant tension—but she also doesn’t remember the good moments, the times when you thought there was still hope.

A part of you feels like this is a reset button, a rare chance to start over. But another part can’t shake the hollow ache of being erased from her life so completely.

You take a steadying breath before walking back into the room. Chaewon’s eyes flit to you as you enter, her expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling a chair closer to her bedside.

She tilts her head, studying you carefully. “You… You’re Kazuha’s friend, right?”

You glance at Kazuha, who gives you a subtle nod of encouragement from the doorway. Turning back to Chaewon, you force a small smile. “Yeah. I’m just… here to help however I can.”

Chaewon seems to accept this, though the skepticism in her eyes remains. “Thanks, I guess,” she mutters, her voice laced with tiredness.

As she closes her eyes to rest, you lean back in the chair, letting out a slow breath. A small part of you feels lighter than you have in months. No arguments, no cutting remarks—just quiet. Peaceful, even.

But as you watch her, the weight of her blank stare still lingers in your chest. The person you love doesn’t know who you are. And yet, you can’t help but think: maybe this is a chance to show her a version of yourself she could love all over again.

For now, you let the hope settle, hidden behind the mask of quiet sadness you wear for her sake.

-

The week passes in a blur. Chaewon’s recovery is faster than anyone expected. Physically, she’s almost back to normal, but the gap in her memory remains. You watch her adjust to this new reality, navigating her day-to-day life with a mix of determination and frustration.

True to the doctor’s advice, you’ve been patient, reintroducing yourself as a supportive figure in her life without overwhelming her. She accepts your presence without question—polite, a little guarded, but far removed from the sharp-tongued firecracker you’ve known for so long.

Her management team decided it would be best for Chaewon to ease back into her idol activities gradually. You accompany her, not as her partner, but as someone who can help with her day-to-day needs. Kazuha and Sakura are visibly relieved to have you there, knowing how well you understand Chaewon’s habits.

On set, Chaewon is a model of professionalism. She’s diligent, respectful, and surprisingly soft-spoken. When she doesn’t understand something—a choreography move, a filming cue—she asks politely instead of figuring it out on her own like she used to.

“It’s weird,” she admits to you one evening, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I don’t remember the last two years, but I still know all the lyrics and choreography. It’s like muscle memory, I guess.”

You smile faintly from where you’re sitting across the room. “That’s a good thing, right? At least it’s one less thing to stress about.”

She nods, her brows furrowing. “I guess. But it feels like I’m walking into someone else’s life. Like, who was I? Was I…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Was I any good at it?”

You hesitate, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. She was more than good—she was extraordinary. But her fiery ambition often bled into her personal life, creating the tension that had defined your relationship. Now, all you see is a softer, more vulnerable Chaewon.

“You were great,” you say finally. “Still are.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for once, there’s no sharp remark to follow it.

You’re there in the background, watching as she joined with her members, laughs softly at their jokes, and engages with fans with genuine warmth. It’s such a far cry from the Chaewon who used to tease you mercilessly or snap when she was stressed.

-

At first, it’s disorienting.

One afternoon, as you help her organize a stack of photo cards at a fan sign event, she flashes you a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, her tone devoid of the usual edge you once expected.

You nearly drop the cards. “No problem,” you manage, your voice awkward.

She doesn’t seem to notice, already turning back to greet the next fan with her signature smile.

Another day at their practice room, you accompany her under the pretence of helping her settle back in. The truth is, you just want to see this new side of her in action.

Chaewon seems… different. Lighter. She laughs with her members more, her usual sharp edge replaced by something softer. You watch from the corner of the practice room as she playfully ruffles Eunchae’s hair, earning a squeal of protest from the younger girl.

“Unnie, stop!” Eunchae whines, swatting Chaewon’s hand away.

Chaewon grins, her eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “What? I’m just making sure our maknae looks her best.”

The rest of the group chuckles, and you find yourself smiling too. It’s a scene you’d rarely witnessed before, where Chaewon seems completely at ease with herself and those around her.

During their lunch break, Kazuha sits beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her a lot.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Have I…?”

Kazuha smirks. “Yeah. You look like you’re seeing a whole new Chaewon.”

You glance at Chaewon, who’s currently chatting animatedly with Sakura and Yunjin. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly.

Kazuha’s expression softens. “It’s good, right? This version of her?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s… it’s really good.”

-

By the end of the week, you’re starting to notice the cracks in your own resolve.

You don’t miss the fights—not the arguments or the hurtful words or the way she could turn a perfectly fine evening into a battlefield. What you do miss is the spark.

Chaewon’s teasing, for all its rough edges, had always carried a certain energy. There was a wit to her remarks, a confidence that made everything she said hit just the right spot between infuriating and endearing. You used to catch her smirking at you when she thought you weren’t looking, as if she enjoyed seeing how far she could push your buttons.

Now, she’s… gentle. Easy to be around. And yet, you find yourself yearning for the banter, the fire that kept you on your toes.

It’s a strange contradiction. You enjoy this new version of her, free from the biting remarks and the heavy tension that used to hang between you. But in quiet moments, when she’s busy scrolling through her phone or practicing her vocals, you find yourself wondering if she’d ever smirk at you again.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, you’re both sitting in her apartment. Chaewon is sprawled out on the couch, her hair still damp from a quick shower. You’re at the kitchen counter, making tea.

“Y/N,” she calls out suddenly, her voice soft but clear.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always help me?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

You pause, gripping the handle of the kettle. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sitting up. “You don’t owe me anything. But you’re always here, even when I forget things or need help with stupid stuff. It’s… nice, but I don’t get it.”

Her words catch you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“I just… care,” you say finally, avoiding her gaze. “I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. When you glance at her, she’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity mixed with something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Thanks,” she says again, quieter this time.

You nod, busying yourself with the tea to hide the lump forming in your throat.

Later that night, as you lie awake on the couch, you can’t help but reflect on how far things have come—and how much has changed.

This new Chaewon is someone you could fall for all over again. She’s kinder, gentler, more open in ways you never expected. But there’s a part of you that aches for the old Chaewon too—the one who used to challenge you, frustrate you, and make you laugh in ways no one else could.

It’s a bittersweet thought, knowing you may never get her back the way she was. But as you close your eyes, you remind yourself that this is a new beginning, a chance to love her for who she is now, not who she used to be.

And as you began to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace will last.

-

The days slip by in a strange rhythm, where you’re never quite sure who you’ll see when you look at Chaewon.

At times, it’s like she’s still the same—sweet, easy-going, even a little shy around you. But other times, the fire you remember from before flares up unexpectedly, like a switch flipping.

You’ve gotten used to the gentle, more compliant Chaewon, the one who asks you for help with every little thing. But when her old personality slips through—when she’s sharp, playful, and downright teasing—it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under you.

One morning, you’re getting ready to leave the apartment. Chaewon is sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone. You make your way toward the door, your keys in hand.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and almost playful.

You stop and turn, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Her eyes glint mischievously as she leans back on the couch, crossing her arms. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered.”

Your stomach does a nervous flip. “What are you talking about?” You laugh awkwardly, glancing away.

She smirks, the old Chaewon you’ve missed suddenly making an appearance. “The way you get all nervous around me when I say things like that. It’s cute. I think I might start teasing you more.”

Your heart races, half amused and half unsettled. “Chae…” You try to act annoyed, but your tone betrays you. “You don’t even remember me. What do you mean by that?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with something you can’t quite read. “Maybe I don’t remember all the details, but I remember you. The guy who’s always around, always hovering, always trying to help. How could I forget you?”

Your breath catches, a flutter of hope igniting in your chest. But before you can respond, she bursts out laughing. “Just kidding, Y/N. But seriously, don’t you get it? You’re like an open book. So easy to tease.”

It feels like an old routine—one you know well. You grin despite yourself, but the warmth in your chest quickly fades into the familiar uncertainty. Was this just a moment of her old self slipping through, or was it something more?

She gets up, not waiting for an answer, her usual carefree confidence taking over once again. “You should get going. I don’t want you to be late.”

And just like that, the teasing fades, and she’s back to the softer version of herself. You stand there, still feeling the aftershock of the teasing and the warmth from that brief return to the Chaewon you used to know.

-

Later that week, you’re both at a recording studio for LE SSERAFIM’s comeback preparations.

Chaewon is focused on the choreography, her movements deliberate but careful. You’re sitting in the corner of the room, watching her with a quiet sense of pride, when she suddenly stumbles over a step, losing her balance for a moment.

You instinctively stand up, ready to rush over, but she waves you off with a dismissive hand. “I’m fine,” she mutters, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t act like you’re my manager or something.”

Your jaw tightens, the familiar spark of annoyance bubbling up inside you. “Chae, I’m just trying to help.”

She glances up at you, her expression sharp, almost a little… cruel. “Stop acting like I need you to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own.”

You freeze. This is the Chaewon you remember—the one who never asked for help, the one who got irritated when anyone tried to make things easier for her.

For a moment, you forget that she doesn’t remember everything, and your heart sinks. You had hoped this version of her was gone, that the softer, gentler Chaewon would be the one to stay. But here she is, slipping back into her old self, the one who pushed you away when you tried to get close.

“Okay,” you say quietly, masking the hurt in your voice. “I’ll stay out of your way then.”

You sit back down, your hands resting in your lap as the silence stretches between you. Chaewon doesn’t say anything more, but there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

-

Over the next few days, these shifts continue. Sometimes, she’s the easy-going Chaewon you’ve gotten used to—polite, soft-spoken, even a little shy in her interactions with you. Other times, she snaps, teasing you with a bite in her words that leaves you reeling, or she’ll shut down, acting distant and cold.

You can’t predict when the old Chaewon will emerge, and it’s disorienting. It’s like she’s two people, and you’re not sure which one you’re going to face each day.

But then, one evening, she surprises you again.

You’re sitting on the couch together, both too tired to say much after a long day of practice. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy.

Chaewon’s smile widens, but it’s different this time—not as teasing or sharp. It’s softer, almost tender, like she’s rediscovering something she once knew. She leans back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, her thoughts seemingly miles away.

“I think I’m starting to remember more,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

You freeze, a flutter of hope stirring in your chest. “Remember more?”

She looks at you, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. “Yeah. The old me. The one who used to—” Her words trail off, as if she’s still piecing things together in her mind. “Maybe I was a little too much sometimes… difficult. But I think I’m figuring out who I really am now.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. There’s something almost melancholic in the way she speaks, a quiet acknowledgment of her past, yet also a sense of self-awareness in the present.

You stay silent, watching her closely. There’s no sharp retort, no teasing grin to follow. For a moment, you just exist in this space, caught between who Chaewon was and who she’s becoming.

For a while, neither of you speaks. But you know—no matter which version of her you get, the part of her that’s still here, right now, is still the Chaewon you care about. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe it never will be, but that doesn’t make it any less real. And for now, that’s enough.

-

It starts innocently enough—a rare free day where you and Chaewon decide to hang out in your apartment. She’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while you’re in the kitchen attempting to make lunch. Everything is blissfully normal until you hear her gasp dramatically.

“YAAAA!” she shouts, the intensity of her voice startling you so much that you nearly drop the spatula.

“What? What happened?” you ask, rushing into the living room, half-expecting to see something catastrophic.

Chaewon’s eyes narrow as she points accusingly at you with her phone. “How could you?”

You blink, utterly confused. “How could I… what?”

Her face twists in mock devastation as she waves her phone like it’s evidence in a court case. “I was looking through old photos, and you were smiling way too much in the pictures we took during my memory loss phase.”

You stare at her, waiting for the punchline, but she looks genuinely offended. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” she says, sitting up and glaring at you, “that you clearly liked her more than me. Admit it!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Chae, you are her. It’s literally still you.”

“But it’s not me!” she insists, crossing her arms and pouting. “That version of me was sweet and soft and totally not me. You liked her better because she wasn’t mean to you, didn’t she?”

“I—what?” you stammer, completely thrown off. “No! I mean, she was nice, sure, but I didn’t like her better! It’s the same person, Chae!”

“Liar!” she exclaims, standing up and stomping over to you. “You probably enjoyed having her dote on you, didn’t you? Bet you didn’t even miss the real me at all!”

You take a cautious step back, holding your hands up defensively. “I did miss you! And I didn’t cheat on you with... you! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Chaewon huffs, her jealousy reaching peak absurdity. “Oh, it makes perfect sense. I leave for a few weeks mentally, and you’re out here having the time of your life with some soft, clingy version of me. Unbelievable!”

She pokes your chest, her expression a mix of irritation and… something else. “Admit it! You liked how she was all shy and asked for help, didn’t you? Bet you enjoyed being the big, helpful boyfriend for once instead of dealing with me!”

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. The whole situation is so ridiculous you can’t take it seriously anymore.

“Chaewon, do you hear yourself right now? You’re jealous of yourself.”

Her cheeks flush, and she smacks your arm. “Don’t laugh! This is serious! I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here.”

“Heartfelt?” you repeat between laughs. “You’re accusing me of emotionally cheating on you with another version of you. That’s not heartfelt—that’s a sitcom plot!”

Chaewon’s pout deepens, but there’s a hint of a smile threatening to break through her faux anger. “Well… maybe I’m a little jealous, okay? You didn’t seem to miss me as much as I thought you would.”

You sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “Chaewon, I missed you every single day. The real you.”

Her glare falters, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she crosses her arms and looks away, pouting. “You’re just saying that to get out of trouble.”

You take a cautious step closer, tilting your head to catch her eye. “Trouble for what? Loving my girlfriend, no matter which version of her I get?”

She glances at you, her pout softening slightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters under her breath.

Just as you’re about to breathe a sigh of relief, she surprises you by grabbing your shirt and pulling you down to her level. Her lips crash against yours in a kiss so sudden and intense that your brain short-circuits.

When she finally pulls away, she’s still glaring, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “That’s so you don’t forget who you really belong to.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you again, her hands tangling in your hair as if staking her claim. “Chae—”

“Shut up,” she murmurs against your lips. “I’m still mad.”

You can’t help but laugh, your hands settling on her waist. “You don’t seem that mad to me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warns, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

By the time she lets you go, you’re both out of breath, and the tension has melted away entirely. She steps back, her arms still crossed, but there’s a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “are we good now? Or should I prepare for another interrogation about cheating on you with… you?”

She rolls her eyes but leans into your chest, her head resting against you. “We’re good. But if I ever catch you looking at ‘soft Chaewon’ like that again, we’re going to have words.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. “Noted. But for the record, I love you—sharp edges and all.”

She looks up at you, her smile softening. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, no matter which version of me shows up.”

Maybe you’ve been accused of cheating, maybe it’s all completely ridiculous, but in that moment, you can’t help but love her even more—especially when she’s acting like her old, impossible self.

You could probably get used to this Chaewon too.

[nisuna]

I am currently losing my mind over some fanart of MEN. Big beefy, rough looking men with scars and stubbly faces BIG beefy Arms and huge caloused hands with thick fingers. Face scars, body scars, let me gobble you up. Be nice to me, be mean, pick me up, throw me around, whatever just manhandle me and fold me in half however you like, haha. Give me arms thicker than my head and pecks bigger than my tits. Rough looking face, mean stares, sharp eyes, fuck me like you hate me upps- So manly and strong, mean and indifferent to everyone but protecting me and treating me like a pricess? Let's gooo. So stoic and emotionless, but I'll make you feel things don't you worry. ....black cat boyfriend??....

First person that comes to mind is Choso, so here's some pent-up Choso thoughts:

TW: smut and fluff, size kink, oral (f. receiving), period sex and oral, manhandling, breeding kink

Choso x f!reader

<3masterlist<3

!!MDNI!!

Choso, who looks so intimidating at first, but let's you do his hair in cute styles when you're alone with him.

Choso who looks just as pretty with his hair down as with any other hairstyle. 

Choso who sometimes doesn't understand how strong he actually is when he picks you up with ease or bends you into any position he likes.

Choso who could crush you to death with those huge arms and big hands, but still tries to be gentle and loving.

His calloused fingers swiping over your skin feel like heaven, especially when they have your tits between them while he's pounding into you.

Choso developing an obvious size kink when he first saw you. Oh, and how it solidified when he first held your soft body against his toned and hard one. After comparing his hands to yours and seeing just how much bigger he was than you in general, he was hooked. His body was a stark contrast to yours, it was rough and firm. He had a few scars running over his skin, which you thought were so beautiful and hot. You couldn't stop your fingers from running along the lines at every chance you got. His sheer mass made your mouth water and knees weak.

He was indifferent about a lot of things, but definitely not you. Choso who's always laid back and nonchalant, but steps up if someone dares to even just look at you in an unpleasant way. And he will always be there to protect his precious girl from all harm this world might throw at her.

It took a lot of convincing to get him to be meaner and rougher, because he's afraid he might actually hurt you (jokes on him, you're into that). Soon getting the hang of it and losing all restraints after seeing how you turn to putty in his hands. Seeing you react and moan at his every move made him crave more. Seeing how much wetter you got whenever he was nasty with you made him go crazy. Adjusting to your every need and kink felt like second nature. Positions? Any and every. I'm telling ya he will try every single one out with you. Just say the word and he's yours. He loved seeing you on all fours with your plump ass hitting against his hips. He loved feeling your soft tummy jiggle against his touch whenever he fucked you while you were spooning. And he loved seeing your face contort in pleasure when he hit the right spot when your legs were slung over his broad shoulders. In short, he loved every detail, because it was you. He was so eager to please you.

Breeding you at every chance he got quickly became one of his favourite activities. Seeing his cum drip out of your every hole ignited something carnal in him. And the thought of seeing you plump up with his child almost made him lose his mind.

Choso, who's not afraid of blood, gobbling and filling you up real good even if you're on your period. Always looking forward to your period and getting lost in your scent and taste when he finally gets between your legs. Your plush thighs feel heavenly around his head as they twitch and squeeze him tighter whenever he makes you cum with just his mouth.

You were blown away when he first went down on you. His tongue and fingers were working you open just right, skillfully sucking and licking you through your highs.

"Fuck. How are you so good at this?", you huffed, hair sticking to your forehead. He was a man of few words so he just smiled and made you cum again and again.

Speaking of smile, you swore your heart started to melt when you first made him smile at you. His smiles were so pretty and reserved for your eyes only. And when you heard him laugh oh so genuinely, you knew you were in love.

He was sooo cute whenever he played along your shenanigans. Duality of a man, one moment he's bending you over, fucking you like he hates you and the next he's hugging and kissing you through giggles like he wouldn't hurt a fly.

------

Haaaaa, don't mind me. I'm just chilling in my horny puddle. 🫠 Late night Choso thoughts *sigh* I definitely want to write more for him, so if you have any suggestions, hit me up!!

[palmtreesx3]

Deeper for You

Summary: (5.1 k) It's your annual beach trip with the crew from Hawkins, something you've all been doing together your whole adult life after life forced everyone to part ways. You're all close, but this year, an accidental encounter in the outdoor shower makes you get a little closer with one person in particular.

This is self indulgence at its finest. Fresh off my last week at the beach this summer, I needed a little Beach Steve in my life to tide me over.

Steve x Reader, NSFW 18+ Accidental exposure, friends to lovers, breast play, female oral, fingering, dirty talk encouraged, a little orgasm denial, maybe a spank and unprotected intercourse in the shower.

Crystal water. Crystal skies. Beach chairs circled around umbrellas and coolers. Crisp beers slipped in aging koozies and passed around like old times. You and your friends have been doing this for years. Ever since goals and lives and even some wives have taken the group here and there, Nancy started organizing this annual beach trip for the group from Hawkins. Years and miles have nothing on deep seeded trauma, she said once, in a too cheerful voice despite it's truth.

The heat of the sand between your toes and the smell of suntan lotion have become a comfort to you, just knowing you're back there with your closest friends. As you all creep closer to thirty than you'd like, this week never fails to make you feel nostalgic, youthful and forget all of your problems because it never feels like an ounce of time has passed with any of these people.

This year Nancy had to upgrade the rental - more rooms for yet another married couple in the mix, Eddie adding a wife - a little too sweet but just enough sass for him - into the fold. It was your first time meeting her, really meeting her, because no bride has the time for new friendship on their wedding weekend, and you've had such a nice week spending time with her. Chairs in the sand by the waterline together with a book most afternoons, leaving the raucous energy that comes after some morning beers as background noise to your fantasies.

"What are you two ladies reading over here anyway" Steve pokes at your shoulder on his way down to the water to cool off.

"They're fantasy novels, Steve. Naughty books, if you must know." You tease back, Eddies wife blushing beside you at your brazen honestly.

"Naughty books? Like love stories where they kiss and share a bed?"

"No Steve, like '... And then she felt the tips of his finger circle her clit before toying with her folds and the wetness pooling between her thighs. Edging her, pulling her closer but never giving her cunt what she really wants'" you read in an exaggerated and breathy voice direct from your page, picking up right where you left off. "That, Steve, is Naughty Books. "

"Shit. Okay. Well I'll leave you two to it, then. What the fuck." and he trots off into the waves. Sunkissed skin a perfect contrast to the white, foaming waves he's now floating in.

"So, that… you guys have a thing before or something?" Eddie's wife asks softly. So sweet, you can't even be mad at her for it.

"Steve?" You laugh, "No-no no. Just go way back "

"Oh I'm so sorry" she squeaks out, "I just thought… I mean you guys. Nevermind."

"Don't worry about it. We're all a little too close for comfort sometimes. I get it. We just have always gave each other shit as long as I've known him, that's all."

Later that night, the whole group gathers in the back of the house around a huge built in fire pit, all taking turns sharing, giving updates about life and work and families.

Late nights have been happening all week around this pit, but tonight is cool, and the Sangria Robin and Max mixed up is keeping you chilled.

"Hey, honey. You finally quit or do you want to join us over here?" Steve calls over to you, beckoning to the group of smokers over on the bench seat to the left of the fire.

"Every time I try… someone like you offers me a smoke and here I am again." You shrug as you lean over to snag the pack of cigarettes from Steve's outstretched hand before taking a seat. You slide out a slim cigarette and pull the lighter from it's spot in the back, lighting up and passing it back, kicking your feet out on the coffee table in front.

"Someone like Steve, what's that supposed to mean? You hurling insults again?" Johnathan teases.

"No, no. Byers, shut the fuck up. Lemme enjoy this sweet nicotine with my friends in peace, okay?" You roll your eyes, not actually knowing what you meant either, before shooting a look at Max sitting with the group. "Since when did you sit on the smokers bench? Huh?"

"Don't start with me mom. You've tried to quit four times a year for the past 10 years, so I don't even wanna hear it from you." The redhead sasses back.

Such a beautiful, self assured young women she's grown into, despite having such poor eyesight from…everything that happened…you have always had a soft spot for Max, and she for you. The glasses she wears are thick, despite years of corrective surgeries, but they don't take an ounce away from how lovely she's grown to be.

"Yeah yeah, just shut up and enjoy it. I bet Lucas hates it. Doesn't he? Goodie two shoes." You quip back and Max giggles in agreement, both of you taking a long drag as a follow up.

"You two man-eaters are trouble." Steve jabs.

"Excuse me, man-eaters? The one who has been dating the same guy since middle school and me, who goes on what, maybe 4 dates all year? Yeah total man-eaters, Steve."

After finishing your smokes, you all rejoin the group, playing dollar games of cards and dice, laughing the night away at bad luck and bad jokes. El has been banished to watching over participating and when Eddie's wife asks why, the mutters and mumbling of a wide variety of excuses poured out.

"It's uh - against her religion!" straight from Dustin's mouth won out, mostly because it was the loudest. So now you're all pretending El is Muslim, and that's definitely not going to last the rest of the week.

It's nearing two am as you pad up the stairs, pockets 10 dollars deeper, sand still clinging to your feet just barely and Steve's button up on your shoulders from when he passed it to you to quell your chill. Just like every other night of the trip, you sleep like a baby, tucked in a soft mattress with softer sheets and the blanket of a decent buzz still coursing through your bloodstream.

The next day is the last on the shore and after a late start and breakfast cooked up by Nancy and Johnathan to sop up the hangovers the day goes on much like the rest before it. Relaxing in beach chairs and blankets, music softly humming from a boom box in the shade of the umbrella, balls being tossed in a friendly game of touch football in the loose sand by the dunes.

The tide was rough today and swept you and Eddie's girl away on your chairs once before you slipped your books back in your beach bag and decided if you can't beat it, join it. Frolicking in the waves together, the rest of the group is shortly behind you joining in.

It's not five minutes until Eddie is tackling his wife into the crashing waves, rolling her dramatically in the lapping waves and sand. Max and El are jumping through crashing waves, hand in hand trying to make it past the crest and to where it is calm. Some of the boys are sitting in the sand watching and enjoying the cool breeze you catch when you're closer to the sea.

You, well, you were enjoying yourself wholeheartedly. That is until you're making your way back to shore and a huge wave creeps up behind you and slams you to the ground. Water currents tossing you around a bit like a ragdoll, it's a moment before strong arms pull you up and out, wiping your hair out of your face and brushing the wet globs of sand off you as you regroup. It's Steve who's got you and brings you back to shore, where you flop down on the sand together and burst out in laughter after you're both sure that you're alright, making it even harder to catch your breath.

The day at the beach was way more sandy than usual because of it all, sitting in the sand, being thrown around by gritty waves and soupy sand finding it's way intermingling with your bathing suit. You just can't wait till the end of the day to shower and hose off, so you dip away to hop in the rinse shower along the side of the property. Door swung shut, you run the water cold so it's as refreshing as it is a welcome rinse to your body where the sand is sticking and scratches.

Hair slicked back by the cool droplets, you're realizing quickly that a simple rinse won't rid your swimsuit of all of the caked in sand. Maneuvering your emerald green one piece to shake free the grit of the ocean, you're making progress as you drop your wide set straps off your shoulders and start working out the sand from your upper half.

It's just then that Steve must have had the same idea, and he's traipsing through the door of the shower himself, only to find you, strap down, left breast fully exposed, tan lines of your right crisp and leaving nothing to the imagination the way the suit is bunching down, and your hands coaxing the water over them from the low pressure showerhead to work off the sand.

"Holy fuck!" You both yell at the same time.

Yours an exclamation. A "Holy FUCK!" A barked out reaction to the surprise. The admonishment of your friend who doesn't seem to pay a goddamn mind to anything going on around him or he would have heard the shower tap on and running when he approached.

But his… Well, his was a statement. A "Holy. Fuck." Drawn out. A deep and gravely comment made to acknowledge the surprise he's found. More of an interest than an intrusion.

So when you reached to cover yourself and hide from embarrassment as a knee jerk reaction, he didn't make quite as quick a move to leave you be. He lingered, just enough for you to notice and under his breath whispered out again "Holy fuck."

Adequately covered, or at least enough that you can feel functional at this point, you look at him to quip "Are you just gonna stare or what?" And you expect him to snap out of his titty haze and leave you be to shake out the rest of your sand trap, but he doesn't.

Instead he asks, "Well, is that an invitation?"

Your eyes narrow at him, and he shrugs in reaction. "You can't be serious, Steve. Get outta here."

"I save you, and this is the thanks I get?" He teases, and you can't help but see how his eyes, blown out and black, don't move from your body when he says it.

"Steve." You say, quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I can thank you later." comes out just above a whisper.

"I think I'd rather you thanked me now."

When you don't argue back, or say anything for that matter, he takes that as enough of an answer as he needs. He knows you, and he knows that you have no problem telling someone to take a hike, so if you're not yelling at him like he's a small boy who got his hand caught in the cookie jar, he knows you're inviting him to take a bite.

So he's inside the shower quicker than your mind can even catch up to what's happening. He's crowding your space and reaching backwards to do the one thing you forgot to do yourself, hook the damn lock. You're pretty sure this man hasn't moved his eyes from you since the moment the door opened and at this point, you're meeting his gaze.

A sweeping hand, under your ear and landing on the nape of your neck is what shakes you out of your daze and before you know it his lips are on yours. It's a bruising thing, the way he presses them into yours, pulling you closer still by where his hand is cupping your head with his broad hand. You come up for air just a second before he backs off and you find yourself, open mouthed and smiling into his lips, still pressing into you. "Fuck. Honey. I- you okay? With this? I don't wanna… "

"I know I tell you this all the time, but this is different. Steve, you fuckin talk too much. Shut. Up." You say, emphasizing your words with two little tugs to his own hair where your hands have snaked around, too.

And he takes this welcome advance as an opportunity to wrap his other hand around you, up and under your arm, resting at the center of your back. Pressing together, you're so close. Impossibly so, and every little tick of the hip or twitch of the lips can be felt by the other instantaneously. He's testing you out but getting bolder by the second when he experimentally rolls his hips just a bit before coaxing your legs a bit wider to slot his knee in between. You gasp out at the feeling of him against you and involuntarily find yourself rolling your cunt against his thigh.

"Ah-oh fuck. Shit. Steve." You squeak out, as you look down to see that he's tucked up his swim shorts high enough that your grinding on his exposed thigh. Bristly hair on his legs commingling with the scratch of the sand and sea salt on your own thighs.

"C'mon, honey. You came in here to get clean. Me too. Lemme help you, yeah? '

Nodding your permission, he gently slips his fingers under the still loose straps of your suit, coaxing them down further, fingers ghosting over your arms as he works them down.

You've been doing this trip for years, and you swear the last thing you ever thought would happen was having Steve fucking Harrington peeling off your wet swimsuit in the shower. "You sandy all over, huh? Me too. Gotta rinse you off." he says, as he's reaching up for the shower head, detaching it from its base and bringing it down in between the two of your chests. Holding it there for a moment, he seems to consider this whole thing for the first time. "You-your good, right? I mean, I trust you. Do you trust me? "

"Yeah Steve, I do." You say, pressing your forehead to his and blinking away droplets gathering on your eyelashes.

He pulls the rest of your swimsuit away from where it's suctioned on your tummy and works it down your body, dropping heavy and wet on the shower floor. Once it's out of his way, he's back on your lips, sucking in your bottom lip just as you feel the cool water hitting your clit. Steve moves the shower head gently but purposely around your whole cunt, paying attention to your sensitive bud between passes through your folds. "Gotta get you cleaned up, huh? Need you clean for me. For what I'm gonna do next." He teases and you moan at his words.

Not exactly sure what he has planned just yet, you let him keep working your pussy clean and with every second of the pulsing jets of water hitting your clit rhythmically. "Yeah, baby I think you're all set." He states, replacing the shower head where it belongs and reaching his free hand down to rub through your folds, checking to be sure you're comfortable and free of that pesky sand.

When he's met with yet another whimper he's immediately dropping to his knees on the wet planks of the shower floor "Can I please, please taste you. Please."

"I didn't take you as one to beg, Harrington." You whisper out the tease.

"I will for this - for you. God, would you just answer me?"

You look down at him and nod but he wants your words instead, commanding you to speak up. And so you do, you gasp out confirmation just as his lips latch on to your already sensitive clit. He suckles there a little bit, before moving to make his tongue wide and flat coaxing noises from you that he doesn't want to forget the sound of.

He throws your thigh over his shoulder, giving him deeper, more angled access to your cunt, working you, moving it in and left to right. You cry out as his nose nudges at your clit while he slips a finger in up to his second knuckle and the cry turns silent as he keeps up his ministrations. Droplets of water are tickling down your chest and stomach, soaking his hair and face where he stays tucked in between your thighs. He shakes his head back and forth tapping at your clit with his movement and making you see stars.

Adding in another finger, he keeps lapping at your pussy, taking breaks to nip at the place where your thighs meet your sex and back again. He licks off a trail of water along the seam of your leg before making his way back to your center. Scissoring his fingers, he groans right into you and the vibration of it all drives you wild. "God, you fuckin taste like heaven. So good." And he dives back in, running his wide tongue along your entrance, drawing it front and upward toward your clit.

This time he pauses and presses his tongue up into the base of your clit, holding it there just as he presses both long fingers up and into your spongy spot, freeing the most wanton sound yet from deep within your throat. It spurs him on to keep going, pulsing that tongue and stroking that spot within. You're tensing and shaking under his strong grip and soft tongue, leg still hiked high over him, water cascading around the both of you. You're tumbling over the edge quickly after that.

In a bit of a daze and with wobbly knees, you swing your leg back down off his shoulder and bring him up towards you by his ears, wanting to taste yourself on his tongue in ways you never have before, and he looks beautiful like that. Eyes wide and wanton, hair dripping wet down his hair spattered chest, jaw slack in his own lust and pleasure, lips a deep pink and swollen from working you up down there. You bring him up fully to meet your lips and groan into his mouth, your taste heady and salty and beachy.

"I think you're clean" he laughs out as he pulls back just slightly and you can't help but bark out a laugh back. He takes the opportunity to latch on to your neck and bites at the skin under your ear.

In that moment you decide you're not done with him.

Tugging at the ties of his swim trunks, Steve pulls back to look at you. "N-no, we don't have to."

You hear his words but you also feel the hardness underneath those trunks, "Steve, it's - it's no big deal. You started this. Let me… let's finish, yeah?" You eye him teasingly, eyebrows raised, "Something tells me you want to."

"You're a menace, you know that right? Always have been."

"Yeah, but you're into it, apparently." you stand on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear.

"Fuck. Fuck. Yeah." He gets out as you lick the water droplets up "Seeing you here every year. Highlight of my trip. Swear to God."

And as his soaked trunks hit the floor, the pair of you are both fully exposed standing under the running water together. Running your hand along his chest, playing with the tufts of hair there, you hook your finger though the thin chain hanging from his neck and pull him closer. "Steve." You whisper into his mouth.

"Yeah, whaddya need, honey?"

"You. God just, please fuck me. Okay?"

Clutching you close by the waist, he hikes your leg up and around his hip, reaching down along your ass to rub at your pussy from behind, working you up again. Almost teasing. The rock hard length of him is pressed up between your two tummies, begging to be paid attention to, so you break your bodies apart for just a second to angle him down, slipping if wetly between your lower lips - a mix of water and your hot dripping slick letting him slip through your folds.

A whimper slips out of your lips as his head catches your clit and he takes the opportunity to press into you, sounds something like a growl falling from his own lips at the feeling. Your mind is going blank, but the one thing you're sure of is that Steve Harrington's dick is huge. "Ohmigod, you're, bi- oh" you moan as he adds another few inches, moving slowly for you. "Fuck, you're huge. Jesus, Steve."

"Yeah? Biggest you ever had? God, tell me it's the biggest you've ever took."

"Shit" you hiss, as he bottoms out inside you, yelping out as you both finally meet at the base. "Yeah, shit. No one's ever been that fuckin deep, Steve. Holy shit."

"Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna move now, okay? You're good, right?" And you nod, enthusiastically. Almost too enthusiastically.

You've known Steve almost your whole life. You've played on playground swing sets growing up, rolled your eyes at his antics at your friends' parties in high school, cheered him on at basketball games and worked alongside him as lifeguards at the country club pool. You give him shit, he gives it back to you. You share comfortable silences and close friends. He's had your back in the face of monsters and raging fires… But right now, all that's on your mind is how he's pounding into your pussy in this shower and why this has never ever happened before in all these years. Because Jesus Christ, it's feeling euphoric.

The slapping of skin echoes loudly in the wooden and metal enclosure of the shower, bodies slick with water , hands gliding along your back and along your ass, keeping that knee hiked high for him, yours clutching the front of his shoulders and digging crescent moons into his skin. He's making noises, has he thrusts up into you at a bruising pace, hitting your cervix and making you cry out…but he's holding back all the same and all you want is him to let go a little more.

"Fuck, wait. Holy shit. Lemme just… " you drop your leg down and hear his small whine as he slips out of you, but you're quick to flip your body around, leaning forward and bracing yourself on the beams of the wooden door frame, shaking your ass at him in an invitation to get close to you again. "Wait. Wait… " you gasp out as you feel his tip nudge against your entrance from behind.

"What's wrong? Are you .. are you okay? I can stop." He gets out through heaving breaths.

"No. I'm good… but if you wanna finish me off, you gotta do one thing for me." Looking over your shoulder, giving him a playful but serious look.

"What'dya need. Honey. Anything. What do you want?" He holds his cock, pulsing and screaming to be let back inside your warm and velvety walls, dots of precome rinsed off by the droplets of water as fast as they emerge.

"Don't hold back. Just… .let me hear you. I wanna hear you. Talk to me. Don't shut up. And fuck - fuck me harder" you hiccup out.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'll … I'll - fuck" he pushes in fully in one slide, no resistance from you in the least. "You wanna hear how good you make me feel huh? Always so cocky. Jesus."

His fingers are pressing into the tops of your thighs, purple mottled marks already blooming there under his fingertips as he pulls you backwards, spearing you on his cock, meeting him thrust for thrust. His other hand is wrapped around your waist, reaching for the soft of your belly, snaking up your chest until he finds your tits, nipples peaked with the chill of the air now that you're not directly under the stream of water. He runs his thumb along your nipples, giving them a playful flick back and forth before massaging them and pulling you up to meet him, back to chest.

In this position, you can drop yourself down as you meet his upward thrusts, bouncing on his cock and you feel his tip nudging a particular spot inside you that makes your walls constrict. "Oh honey, yeah? That's it. That's the spot isn't it?" And you can tell that has Steve's mind going off the deep end, making good on his promises to let you hear him, he's babbling, water splashing and raining down on you both, his grunts getting louder, and your name slipping off his lips in a whisper, like it belongs there.

Reaching back and around his neck, you turn so that you can see him and tilt his down to meet your gaze. Mouths both open, panting into one another, lips touching but never connecting because you can't quite sync up with the way you're both grinding on each other. "Jesus Christ, hnng fuck, I'm gonna… honey. Where do you want me? C'mon. Tell me."

You hear his sharp intake of a breath and feel his lips latch on to your throat, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking a bruise into it that you know you'll have to explain to your friends later. "Nnn-no. No. Not yet. I told you, lemme hear you. You're holding back I can tell."

"Oh-okay yeah. Gimme a sec. " He breathes through his nose taking in the scent of whatever vanilla soap you were using before he barreled in, maybe a little coconut still left over from your sunscreen, too. He exhales as his hand drifts down your front, settling over your mound and expertly finding your clit once again. He's rubbing figure eights, before sliding it between his two fingers, giving it pressure and pull from the sides as he continues to thrust into you from behind, bouncing you with very little effort because of how wet and slick you are from the shower.

"You're a fuckin' piece of work, you know that. Shit - taking me like this… fuck. " He growls out as he bends you forward fully now, holding you up by your chest as he rams into you. Leaning over just enough to get close to your ear he whispers in "Ya gonna let me come now? Fuck - ya gonna let me put it on your back? Huh? Your tits? Where do you wanna have it, honey?" He hisses as you grind your hips backwards and clench down hard on his shaft, squeezing on him and making his thrusts slow down, become more meticulous, more purposeful.

You're gasping in air and squeaking out noises of all kinds in time with his thrusts, telling him just how good he's making you feel between breaths. Just how deep he is hitting you. Just how much you wanna hear him when he comes. He's huffing out breaths and promising you things like next time as he's incoherently babbling praises at you as you ride back on his dick.

"You like when I talk about coming for you? You wanna have it, yeah?"

"Y-yeah I wanna. Inside. Do it inside, fuck!" You shout out, water from the showerhead beating on your back as his thrusts are jolting you forward where you're braced against the door. The janky little rusted metal latch holding on for dear life as he continues his pace, chasing his high and praying to God you let go with him.

He's feeling bold now that his brain is only chasing your orgasms. He groans the loudest moan you've heard from him this whole time as you feel him tense behind you, keeping up his movements but, just barely. His hips are stuttering and his hand falls down on your ass in a loud smack. "Ohhh shit. Honey. Yeah. That's what I'm talking about."

Your walls give him one last squeeze and you grip him tight, legs shaking under you as your orgasms rushes over your whole body. He has to hold you up as it rolls through your body, flashes going off behind your eyes as you cry out with pleasure. The pain from the smack to your ass being washed away with the cool of the water trickling over you.

It takes him only three firm thrusts more to fill you up, stuttering sounds falling from his lips. Incoherent blabbers and praises and gasps of your name spurting out along with his come.

You're both absolutely breathless, heaving chests and deep sighs filling the air while still connected to one another. Steve pulls you up slowly as he slips out of you, and spins you around. Still cradling your body and wrapping you into him, he pulls you both under the water to rinse off and come back down from wherever you both are floating off to right now. As you stand there swaying under the cascade, he brings his lips to your temple with a kiss as he mutters "I did mean it. I love seeing you here every year."

You hum along with him, because you do love seeing him too. You just never thought about it like this before. And now that you have, you're pretty sure it's the only way you can from here on out.

"We should probably get back down to the beach. I'm sure at least one of those nosey dipshits have noticed were both missing by now." Steve says against your skin.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But you are the one explaining these marks you left on me. I'm not saying a peep."

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart. You had a lot to say when I was in-"

"Stop that right now. If you wanna even think about doing this again, you're gonna stop right now." You roll your eyes at him while wrapping yourself with a towel and unlatching the door. As you back out and start up towards the house to grab a new swimsuit, he sees the grin on your face.

"Yeah, okay honey. Shutting my mouth now...so I'll definitely see ya later, then." He says with a wink, just as the door shuts and your left naked, wrapped up in Steve Harrington's towel with all your friends gathered round the grill out back making lunch watching you as you make your way around the path.

Eddie snarls a wide grin at you as he brings both thumbs up, his wife slapping his chest when she notices. "Hey Nance!" He yells out. "I think Harrington's got himself a new roommate for next trip!"

[alotofpockets]

Out of reach | Mary Earps

Pairing: Mary Earps x Reader

Request: Mary x taller R where they have to keep helping her reach for things

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

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You were browsing your local supermarket for dinner inspiration after a long work day. The day had been filled with important meetings, and you were still dressed for the part. You ended up in the pasta aisle where you saw a woman trying to reach for a jar that was slightly pushed back on the top shelf. Without a second thought you walked towards here, “Let me get that for you.” You say and reach for it. 

The moment you hand the woman the can, is the first time you see her face. You were mesmerised by her beauty. “Thank you, it was just out of my reach.” The woman said with a beaming smile. Her words snapped you out of staring, “Of course, no problem.” The woman in front of you looks between the two of you and starts laughing. “Look at us, full suit versus full tracksuit.” You hadn’t realised the stark contrast in your outfits until she pointed it out but laughed with her once she explained. “Your outfit seems a lot more comfortable, and I definitely switch to something similar when I get home once I figure out what to eat tonight.”

You weren’t usually one to talk to strangers in a supermarket but something about the woman in front of you made it feel like you weren’t strangers at all. She was easy to talk to, and you felt yourself not wanting the conversation to end. “Well, I was going to make some spaghetti bolognese, would you like to join me?” You were intrigued by her offer but also didn’t want to impose. She seemed to notice your hesitation in answering, “Please, let me thank you for helping me.” She managed to get you to set your doubts aside. “Okay, let’s do it then. I’m y/n by the way.” The woman holds out her hand for you to shake it. “It’s nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Mary.” 

“Great, I just need to get something for dessert.” She hadn’t let go of your hand, so she used it to guide you towards the dessert section. “Since I chose dinner, you can choose dessert.” You head to the front of the store once you’ve picked out desserts, and after Mary made sure you didn’t need to get anything else at the store. With a bag full of groceries, you walk out of the store together. “I live like two blocks away from here, my friend dropped me off at the store, so I was planning on walking home. Are you okay with walking there?” You nod over to your car a few parking spots over, “Or we can take my car?” Mary smiles, “Perfect.” 

You get into your car and look down at your outfit, “Do you mind if we stop by my house? I would love to get out of this suit.” Mary buckles up, “Or I can lend you some trackies and we have a cosy date.” Her eyes widened, “Wait, sorry, I never clarified it as such.” You shake your head and laugh, “A cosy date sounds lovely.”

After setting down the groceries in Mary’s kitchen, she leads you upstairs to get you a comfy outfit. She opens her closet, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen that many sports clothes together outside of a store. You notice the Manchester United, and the England crest on many of them. “You’re a big football fan then?” You let your eyes go over the many jerseys. 

Mary smiled at your comment, it was a nice feeling that the stranger at the grocery store liked her for her and not because she was a fan. “You can say that.” She says with a laugh. You turn to face her with a furrowed brow. “They’re my jerseys. Mine as in I wear them when I play for United and for England.” She pulls out one of the jerseys showing the back. “Earps, that’s me.” She says proudly. “Wow, I had no idea. That’s really cool. So you get to wear comfy stuff for work every day then, maybe I should consider a career switch.” You both laugh.

Your first date with Mary was a big success, she was easy to talk to, and while your careers differed immensely, you had a lot in common with her. She walked you back to your car, where you shared your first kiss. Mary was standing on her tippy toes, with her arms around your shoulders. The kiss was short and sweet, with a promise to more since you had already planned your second date.

After a few dates, Mary had asked you to be her girlfriend, which you had happily said yes too. 

One month into your relationship you found yourself amongst the crowd at Leigh Sports Village, where you watched Mary play for the first time. She had explained the basic rules of football to you while watching a match on the tv together one night. Now that she wasn’t by your side to explain what was happening, it was harder for you to follow but that was okay. Whenever you didn’t understand what was going on, your eyes went to her in the goal. 

Mary met you in the family and friends lounge when she was done, she introduced you to a couple of her teammates before taking you back to your place. Since your first date was an at home dinner that you prepared together, you wanted to create the tradition to do the same for your anniversaries. So, starting off with your first month anniversary today, you went to the store you had met each other in to pick out the ingredients. 

Ever since you started dating, you would get everything from the top shelves for Mary, but now you turn around from the pans on the stove to find Mary climbing on top of the counter. “Baby, what are you doing?” You laugh. “I’m just getting some wine glasses.” She said innocently. You take the glasses from her, before you help her down from the counter, and spin her around a couple of times. “You know I couldn’t easily grab those, right?” She pecks your lips. “Yeah, just a habit I still need to break.” 

-----

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1maryearps: Creating traditions.

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fan1: Omg mearps is dating someone??

ellatoone: Cuties

fan2: they are so cute!

fan3: who is she with?

alessiarusso: Finally someone else that can cook a proper meal

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[tsuwabuki]

what if kobeni had a contract with famine?

1. she's the first one to mention starving in the infinity devil trap.

2. you could hide some foreshadowing under innocuous comments that anyone could make. it's not odd for a poor 20 year old girl to take comfort and enjoyment in tasty food. mentioning the hobby right after 'my devil is a secret' could be nothing, but....

3. someone on reddit mentioned a possible 'final girl' devil with kobeni which I love but I felt the kitchen knife mention would match better with famine. after all, we see falling devil act as a chef preparing a meal for famine. could expand that to kobeni.

4. after famine reveals her name at the aquarium, a kobeni bro makes his debut. also if the infinity devil was used by famine here, was it also used by famine the first time we see it?

5. what we know of famines motivations and context as a horseman translates well to a theory on kobenis abilities. they seem quite powerful when activated so you would need a powerful demon.

5a. ok so my theory. when kobeni is starved of enough good things (family, luck, companionship, safety, bravery, etc), to the point she is fully starved from her humanity, she becomes hyper competent.

you see her fail to reach this state in the hotel due to her clinging to humanity (feels bad about wanting denji dead, for stabbing aki, etc). I think she succeeds in reaching hypercompetence during the rhythm game bit due to being terrified and isolated, it just so happens that the hypercompetence went into playing the rhythm game.

the only other moment where kobenis devil contract ability(ies?) come into play is after her partner gets killed protecting her and she finds out her whole team has been wiped out.

5b. ok so how does this hyper competence after 'starvation' relate to famine as a devil? well the horsemen act as as symbols and metaphors for humanity/life to triumph over.

we see that supported by both conquest and famine taking the role of nurturing humans to become stronger. you could even make that claim for all devils but this isn't about that.

starving is supposed to trigger humanity's instinct to survive by Doing Whatever It Takes. this fits nicely to how I think kobenis contract functions and why she would accept a nerf on her life like that (and how it plays into mental health, childhood abuse, and how someone could choose permanent(?) self destruction at such a young point of their life).

the fact that we see her devil contract trigger (rhythm game) after she's already left public safety means she's stuck with that contract probably the rest of her life. she wanted to go to college but her neglectful parents forced her to pick between sex work and the equivalent of demon fodder.

and because we don't know anything about her contract, we don't know how much she gave up to have this power 😭 being starved of good luck sounds like a really bad longterm debuff even if you theoretically get really good luck at your most terrified moments.

i lost my train of thought here but I'll add one more tangential thing. fujimoto is showing multiple examples of what childhood abuse and/or lack of a stable life can do to someone and how those systems help, hurt, and trap them. kobeni is an example of something more grounded despite her being comedic relief and I love that contrast with her.

she was forced to join the military due to family pressure and economic situation, could not handle the mental strain and quit with a potential life long disability that could get worse over time. she gets a job at a fast food restaurant and has spent her life so far hopping from one toxic 'family' to another.

anyways. throwing kobeni famine contract into the theory pile

[withlove-xixi]

HIII can i request a confession scenario for chilchuck… something where a normally bubbly flirty reader avoids him for a bit after leaving the dungeon - he finds out it’s because they love him, but don’t want to get between him and his wife (who he doesn’t actually want to remarry!)

- bard anon

— FROM THE START: chilchuck x reader

ᥫ cw: alcohol ᥫ wc: 1983 ★ OH I LOVE THIS IDEA SO MUCH! tysm for requesting bard anon hehehe this is my first ever request actually ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )‧º·˚ im sorry it took so long to finish! cross posted on ao3

— CHILCHUCK KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FROM THE START.

[♡]: there was always something up with you, something he could always notice but couldn’t really tell what. was it your bubbly personality completely contrasted his stoic one? was it how easily you were able to befriend him despite his caution? was it the way you’d look at him by the firelight during sleepless nights in the dungeon? chilchuck really couldn’t tell, but there was something about you he noticed. like it was always on the corner of his eye. and tonight whatever it was had left his peripheral.

THEY SAY SILENCE SPEAKS A THOUSAND WORDS, the same thousand Chilchuck sees running through your head as you sit across him at the bar. It was a small get together of old friends, a way of catching up after your time together in the dungeon, and really, at first things were normal. You were your usual sunshiny self, an easy smile on your face and a flirtatious quip ready to leave your lips. But things felt off — well, off for Chilchuck. There was some restraint when you spoke, when you smiled. He sensed it, picked it up immediately as soon as he entered the bar. From the doorway he saw it, just a glimpse of your smile, a fraction of your laugh amidst the noise of the pub. But then your eyes locked with his and shakily and subtly, there was tension on your face, a twitch in your muscles when you turned at him to give him a small wave before turning your attention back to Senshi. When the half-foot had taken his seat in front of you, he could tell you were completely avoiding him as much as you could, only ever giving passing remarks when he addressed you directly, other than that, you didn’t initiate anything. It was far from your usual, when you would’ve quickly attached yourself to Chilchuck’s side, never leaving it until the end of the night, not even when he had walked you all the way back to your home.

There was a certain caution around you, like there was fog that surrounded you and made you all misty to the eyes. It was like you were the setting sun, halfway dipped into the horizon, close and bright enough to see, but far too distant to touch. Above anything else, it pissed Chilchuck off.

It felt so foreign, so strange. He hated not knowing what was going on. On one hand, you seemed fine, chatting away with Marcille and giggling about some complaint she’s had about her workload. On the other, he’d catch these fleeting, stolen glances from you, and each time, he could see a spec of something that wasn’t usually there; sadness. It was evident with the way you toyed with your drink, swirling the content around the tankard whenever you found yourself out of the conversation, it was evident with the way you consistently ran your hand through your hair, pushing the tresses away from your forehead, it was evident in the way you simply wouldn’t look at Chilchuck.

It really did frustrate him. Here Chilchuck thought he was getting a nice evening surrounded by good friends and good ale, a nice simple get-together to distract him from the quickly piling work he found handed to him. And while he’d never admit it (perhaps not even to himself), he was looking forward to you, even in the dungeon, he had looked forward to you. Chilchuck probably didn’t even realize how close you two have gotten, and how much he began to miss your company. In the dungeon, you’d stay up with him during his watch, even just a bit, to give him some company or lend an ear to his endless complaints and worries. In the dungeon, you’d walk next to him, purposefully bumping your hip against him and acting as if nothing happened, pestering him with questions on his personal life (really, sometimes you were no better than Marcille!). In the dungeon, he always had the assurance of your company and friendship, after all, there were only so many people in the party, most of which he couldn’t really form strong bonds with. 

But you were different, you always were.

You had that air of ease to you, one that Chilchuck saw the moment you had joined Laios’ party. As much as you liked to prod at the limits of Chilchuck’s patience, you were never pushy too, you valued your privacy and respected his. You always backed off before things got out of hand, and when they did you were always first to come and apologize or make amends. You were dependable, smart and resourceful, above all, you were a good person. You had almost radiated your own brand of sunlight. It made all the passing flirty remarks all bearable. It happened too often, too much for someone Chilchuck’s age too. Though it wasn’t necessarily that you had solely targeted Chilchuck with your antics — you had come around to tease Marcille or to flirt with Laios from time to time, but Chilchuck had definitely become your favorite victim. Hell, if Chilchuck closes his eyes right now, his memory could perfectly replay that stupid wink you’d give him when you’d allow your touch to linger a bit longer or when you’d flash him a smirk after flirting with him.

Though now, it was as if Chilchuck was left with only those memories of a bubbly adventurer, because looking at you now, you seem miserable. And Chilchuck could tell he might’ve been the only person to pick up on it (well, mostly because he guesses it all might be directly only to him). He needs to talk to you because as frustrating as it is to be ignored and not know why, he’s more worried about you than anything. He was always worried about you, whether he himself realized it or not was a different story.

Throughout the night, Chilchuck tried his best to get your attention. He quickly learned small talk didn’t work, you were quick to give him a dismissive comment or a half-hearted response, whereas you’d normally tease him for taking the initiative to talk to you (something like “aw, Chilchuck, are you really that curious about me? Or are you looking for an excuse to hear my voice?” he’s sure).

Next he tried offering you something to drink, grabbing a new bottle of liquor and making a big show of opening it and kindly offering it to you. But again, you were quick to dismiss him, saying you preferred mead over wine, whereas you’d normally find a way to flirt with him before dramatically taking a sip (something like looking at him in the eye while you wiped away the sticky residue of alcohol from the corners of your lips with your thumb he supposed).

Then Chilchuck quickly realized he was out of ideas. When you’d go and reply to the others, he’d quickly try to chime in, hoping to catch you off guard and get a normal response from you. But really you didn’t pay him much attention at all. (Though normally you’d be giggling at his antics, commenting about he “seems so desperate for your attention” or something like that.)

Despite it all, Chilchuck refused to be dissuaded as much as he was getting more and more frustrated by your lack of interest and his failure at prying at your disinterest. If only he could be a bit more like you, a bit more easy going and bubbly, maybe he could have an easier time dealing with all this.

Chilchuck sighs and frowns before taking a swig of his ale. He's just about to look down dejectedly at his tankard, heavily considering that if he can't enjoy some good company tonight, he at least won't let the ale go to waste, when he feels a tug on his sleeve. With furrowed brows he turns behind him, but his face quickly relaxes when he realizes it's you.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off. "Can I tell you something?" Your voice is soft, maybe even a bit shaky. It was as if you were scared he might reject you.

But Chilchuck sets that thought aside because if anything, he's relieved. At least now you were talking to him, and really what's the worst you can say. He was your friend, whatever it was you had to tell him, he wasn't going to shame you for it.

So he nods, lets you lead him outside of the tavern into the cold, dark night. The wind instantly bites at his skin, causing the half-foot to shiver, but the sight of you before him makes him feel even colder. Your gaze is so solemn, almost melancholic the way your face feels so devoid of your usual energy. It makes Chilchuck's mouth dry.

"What'd you wanna tell me?" He asks, crossing his arms. He keeps his tone level, trying his best to mask how nervous he's beginning to feel.

You only stare at him for a bit more, then you look away, turning to the dimly lit town around you.

He hears you sigh, then he hears you open your mouth then shut it, then open and shut it again.

Cautiously, he takes a step forward. "You okay? You're…" he hesitates a bit. "You're quieter than usual…"

He watches the muscles of your back tense up at the mention of your silence. You pull your shoulders together, like you were trying to squeeze yourself smaller.

"It's… I-" You start, softly. "Chilchuck, I'm sorry."

The half-foot blinks. "For what—"

"I-I know you've got your own life— Like, personal life and all. I don't want to impose on that." You say, somewhat shakily. "You have daughters and… and a wife, and all. I- You know… I can't just—" your hands splay out in front of you "—ruin that."

"Ruin…? I'm sorry? I don't follow—"

"I like you, Chilchuck. I-I like you a lot…" You confess, turning to him with your eyes squeezed shut and your cheeks tinted red.

Chilchuck looks at you, stunned. Pieces of the puzzle slowly began falling into place. Before he could speak, you're rambling.

"A-and I know it's wrong to! You've got a wife and kids and all… And I know your relationship with them might not be the best right now— N-not to act as if I know so much! R-really, what do I know? —But the point still stands! I didn't want to tell you to make things awkward— I'm sure they're awkward now… —B-but Marcille said— Well, she said a lot of things, really. I-I… Well, honestly I didn't listen much—"

His hands grip your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Hey, hey. Easy." Chilchuck says with a small smile and it instantly shuts you up. "You like me?"

Your mouth hangs slightly agape, the beginning of a stutter leaves your lips before you promptly shut it. You nod and avert your gaze from him, finding your face feel a bit hotter.

"You like me." Chilchuck repeats, the half end of it melting into a small laugh. "You like me!"

"Okay, you don't have to keep saying it."

Chilchuck laughs again, a bit louder now. He leans his head against you and a relieved sigh leaves his lips. "Thought you were mad at me." He admits.

"Mad at you…? A-Are you not mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Why would I be—"

"Your wife—"

"And I aren't getting back together." He looks up at you with an easy smile, smoothing his thumbs over your arms. "You've got nothing to worry about."

You pout when you finally meet his eyes. “But…”

He chuckles. Chilchuck is beyond relieved, if anything he’s fucking thrilled. He thought something terrible had happened to you, like maybe he had done something to upset you or something. That must’ve been it, that something he had sensed from you the moment you began trying to befriend him, that twinkle of curiosity and admiration, that tinge of love. 

“H-hey! Quit laughing, will you? It-It isn’t funny!” You scold as Chilchuck lifts his head to meet your reddened face. That loving glint in your eyes is back, come out from hiding behind the tearful mist of anxiety; it makes him laugh again, laugh louder. You yell out another complaint with a pout.

If Chilchuck had been your favorite, then you were certainly his.

[peachyteabuck]

let it happen (it's gonna feel so good)

↪ summary: now that you're officially kate's again, she puts you to good use.

sequel to the plum tree blossoms even in winter

a commission for someone who wishes to remain anonymous

↪ pairing: kate bishop x reader, yelena belova x reader

↪ words: 10,043

↪ trigger warnings: heavy pet play, implied kidnapping, dehumanization, blowjobs using strap-ons, face-sitting, vaginal fingering, strap-on PIV sex, manipulation, mob au, dark au, mentioned free use, mentioned primal play, use of 'daddy'

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

News of your return travels fast. Gossip does that in this business - all people have is the word of mouth and their reputation. The second one utters a juicy bit of conversation over a line or while on guard, a clique of power-hungry goons are picking it up and spreading it around as far as they can. Kate’s one of the most powerful mobsters in the Northern Hemisphere, visible in ways leaders hadn’t been in the past. Women, certainly not pretty ones, are ever as influential as she’s been.

So, you’re not surprised when every bodyguard, goon, runner, rat, dealer, and saleswoman who walks through the doors of her home or office looks at you with a mix of pity and smugness. The former because they knew what happened to those that betrayed the all-powerful Kate Bishop. The latter because people had been placing bets on how long you’d make it out in the real world, and you’d learned from Carol that very, very few had actually thought you’d last the year.

Honestly, the fact people were gambling on your ability to survive hits you less than you think it should. In truth, you wouldn’t have bet on yourself either. There are no underdogs here; only winners, losers, and those throwing money between them.

You try and remember the positives of being back in Kate’s care. Warm beds, always. Food that tastes good and doesn’t come from a bag. Her large bathtub with massaging jets. Her personal chef. Her caves of heated blankets you can hide in during traditional New York blizzards. Her chilled pool during hot summers. Fleeting memories of your time on the street bring your gratefulness into perspective, choosing to ignore your feelings of inadequacy as people you’ve known for years gawk at you like a newly revealed zoo animal.

It’s not as if all of them are mean – Kate would never allow them to throw things at you, touch you, or even come within a few feet of you without her express and explicit permission. But their heavy gazes, their snickering…it all makes you curl even deeper into yourself as you curl against the large dog bed. Kate has bought a new one, the deep gray contrasted by “Kate’s puppy” embroidered off to one side. Your skin occasionally brushes against it when you’re sleeping, yet another sensory reminder of your place.

Natasha is the first one to really meet with Kate after your newfound arrival, the two of them chatting over drinks and dinner. You get occasional bites of the lobster rolls (one of Natasha’s favorites), but as the meeting leeches deep into the night, you’re too tired to do anything else but keep your form.

She looks you up and down as you remain in position in the corner, your thick collar keeping your head up and face forward. It’s a strain, but one that’s familiar enough to feel…nice. You choose not to lean into the comfort, just letting it warm you from the inside out.  

“The pet’s back, huh?” she asks as she shakes her head and turns back to watch Kate sign checks. Money laundering is a complicated business that requires careful precision and planning. These include cutting real, legitimate checks for fake, bloated amounts. Kate could have one of her assistants do this, but she likes to double-check the numbers – she refuses to be on the other end of such a heinous crime. “She’s prettier than I remembered.”

Kate grunts out a laugh. She’s known Natasha since the two of them were mixing coke with pre-workout…the redhead is allowed to make comments that would get other people shot. Still, Kate doesn’t need Natasha getting too big for her britches…even if those britches are currently skin-tight leggings that flatter her ass tremendously.

“Yeah,” your owner says, not bothering to look back at you. She’s still shaky in her belief you’re back for good this time, and doesn’t want to jinx it by going soft. “They just can’t seem to stay away.”

“Has it really been a year?” Nat careens her own neck to rake her eyes up your form once more. She’s not as into such discipline as Kate is - preferring a little more push and pull with the ones she decides to fuck. Even so, she can’t deny the scene in front of her is hot. Your form is perfect, with your back arrow straight and your gaze unflinching. Not to mention your nipples are hard as diamonds as they’re exposed to the chilled office air, and you shiver every so often when the air conditioning sputters to life.

Kate hmms after a minute or so, shoving the stack of checks into an envelope before pushing them aside. “And about a week. Time flies so fast, doesn’t it?”

It's Natasha’s turn to murmur a response, the both of them watching you now. It takes all your might not to look at them, keeping your eyes trained on one of Kate’s small vintage horse statues she got into collecting a few years back. Most of them were tossed when she moved into her new office after her old club was mysteriously burned to the ground after an undercover cop was found flirting with an escort Kate hires every so often. The insurance money was quite a lot, enough to build her a new office, and buy a whole lot of new decorations.

But that horse statue, somehow, remained unscathed. Depicting a wild stallion running through a river – its eyes wide, mouth open, teeth barred as fish flip uselessly around it, hair tossed from imaginary wind, and light brown coat speckled with dirt – you wonder if she had kept it for any particular reason. The statue, though dynamic, was neither large nor immediately thought-provoking. You also wondered why it was so low on the set of black matte shelves, given its old place had been higher and on an adjacent wall.

“You know what they say,” Kate leans over to graze her knuckles over your cheek. You don’t flinch, instead leaning into her touch. She rewards you with a smile. “Pets always find their way back to what they know.”

Natasha doesn’t disagree but does turn the conversation away from you. She’s not a prude, but watching you get eye-fucked by a mafia boss is not her idea of a fun evening (at least, not now. You’re always more interesting when there’s an audience). She’s certainly not against voyeurism, but in a world where she can touch…she’d always rather be at the center of the action.

“When are you meeting with the Russian?”

Kate takes a sip of her drink. The bourbon is just how she likes it, neat, and she hums in appreciation. She may be a very complicated woman, but she prefers a very simple drink. “Tonight. Said she’d come later into the evening when the club was busiest.”

If this were anyone else, Natasha would say something sarcastic, mocking the person for hiding in the sea of hot, sweaty bodies (not that it would work, Kate’s team of bodyguards are exceptionally well-trained in the art of track and trace.). But they’re not talking about just anyone, and although Natasha isn’t afraid of her…it’s just best not to invite the devil to your dinner table. “Makes sense. You know how they are.”

“Speaking of which,” Kate leans over and unhooks your collar, a sign you can lay down and rest for a little bit. “Don’t want her all worn out before our special guest arrives.”

Natasha says nothing. She’s pushed her luck enough.

“But yes, I’m intimately familiar. When they shave your head after kidnapping you and do it poorly, you tend to remember their cruelty.”

She wrinkles her nose at the memory – including the number of wigs she had to buy once she was safely returned. She was young when it happened, and her hair had long grown out since then, but her skin still remembers the itch of the growing stubble atop her head.

“Anyway, you know what I need from you,” Kate shakes her head to push the experience back deep into the recesses of her mind. “Everyone is hands-on, everyone tracks her. I don’t want a single person entering or exiting this club without us knowing any affiliations.”

It’s not as if Natasha knows the protocol – she was the one who developed it after an unfortunate incident with a Bratva a few years back – but she nods along as if it’s the first time she’s heard it. It’s easier that way.

As she goes to leave, Kate stops her – a wave of emotion cracking through her harsh façade for just a moment, before her steeled brow resets itself into its regular position. “Keep her safe. I can’t lose her again.”

The redhead just nods once, silently, before going back to the security wing with the rest of the team. Even underground, she can faintly hear the deep bass of a particularly rancid EDM remix, but mostly the only noises are the sounds of tactical gear clacking against itself. Loopholes in a military overstock program meant police departments were willing to exchange gear for cash with nonsequential serial numbers, and Natasha was always the first in line when silent auctions went live. It’s what she liked, it’s what she was good at: protecting, watching, strategizing.

She liked Kate trusted her enough to give her as much freedom as she does. That’s where she saw other mobsters fall—egos too big it couldn’t fit inside of them, imploding the whole organization from the inside out in a single generation. Natasha didn’t want to a freelancer anymore—the money was good, but stability had become more important in recent years. Maybe she’d gone soft, maybe she’d just gotten older. Either way, looking at the vast away of screens that covered every inch of the club and its perimeter…she felt truly at home.

Back in Kate’s office, you lay in your dog bed while your owner smokes a cigarette. It’s not something she does frequently—she’s a busy woman, she doesn’t have time to press pause every hour to hunch outside. Plus, she hates smoking with other people. She quit for the reason most people refuse to: the social aspect proved a worse taste in her mouth than the nicotine. Even the e-cigarette people didn’t find themselves outside, instead blowing fruit-smelling air into whatever closed space they felt entitled to.

Whatever, she sighs, putting it out in an ashtray that looks suspiciously similar to your pussy. I’ve got more important things to think about anyway.   

Kate sees the suit first – a muted orange with fantastical patterns woven into the fabric, reminiscent of tapestries she remembers from a museum visit from a job farther down the East Coast. The thread glimmers in the light, a subtle way to signal her importance. Heeled boots thump against the tile as she walks, her loose, bouncy blonde hair framing her face. Unlike most of the people in the club tonight, she’s perfectly relaxed. It’s as if she’s sitting down at a family restaurant she’s been to a million times before, confidence in her step you’re not used to seeing.

“Yelena,” she says, gesturing to the seat where – just last night – Kate fingered you until you squirted all over the floor. She made you clean it, but your face still heats at the thought of her sitting there. “Come, sit. I will have my assistant pour us a drink, if you’d like.”

Assistant. Its double meaning hanging in the air like a dark, ominous cloud.

Yelena looks you up and down, eyes raking over your form as if you were a painting she was attempting to commit to memory. Her eyes seem to see not through you, but all of you – flesh and bone and sinew. You’re not sure what to make of her heavy gaze, the way she stops every few inches for just a moment before continuing. People watch you, stare at you, all the time – some shocked, some less so. She doesn’t look at you the way they do, like a starved animal seeing its keeper dangle fresh carnage outside of its cage. Rather, she’s a fully fed bear, fat and happy as it revels in its hunting ability. She knows she doesn’t need to kill, doesn’t need the destruction or chaos or unspeakable violence; but she can. She very easily can. And that’s all that matters to her, and her prey.

You’re wearing a gag – that part isn’t new (she’s not some sniveling virgin) – but what surprises Yelena ever so slightly is that it’s shaped like a dog bone. Drool pools at the side of your mouth, dripping down your chest and covering you in your own spit. All you can do, though, is look up at her with wide, empty eyes.

That is, until you remember your manners and turn your gaze downward.

“I don’t intend to stay long,” she says. It’s not meant to be sarcastic or clipping. It is what it is. Still, as she looks you over once more, a small smile curls at her lips. “Bishop-“

“Kate, please,” the brunette insists. “We have enough history to be past that formality, don’t we?”

Yelena doesn’t correct herself, continuing to stare at you. Her gaze is so intense you can feel it without looking back, small fires igniting down your spine under it. “I see you found a way to occupy your time since we last spoke.”

You wish you could see her, but all you can do is stare at the floor while the tension in the room builds in the way one expects the crash of a tsunami. Kate keeps much of her time in the Eastern Bloc a secret lost to time, but you’re not that much of an idiot to understand what silence means in these spaces.

Kate gives a tense smile, stepping to give Yelena some space. You’re not sure if the guest is asking for it, or if Kate needs it to cool down. “Sit, please. We’ve got much to discuss.”

It’s hard to track the movements of their feet through sound, but the slight scrape of the chair legs against the hardwood floor is too distinctive to ignore.

Kate tries to ease them back to the intended conversation, the experienced gears in her mind turning as fast as they can. “As I told Melina, your ports would be an incredibly valuable asset to us, and-“

“What are you offering me?” Her accent is thick, her tone straightforward. It’s one of the things Kate likes most about working with Russians – they don’t dance around the issue, they don’t fuck around, they don’t ask her to read between the lines. They say what they want to say without preamble or metaphor. Life is easier when you know what kind of target you’re shooting at. “You want access to several multibillion-dollar ports for what, the shithole Jersey has to offer?”

Kate narrows her eyes. “Underestimating your enemies seems to be a thing with your people, isn’t it?”

Yelena just laughs. It’s a dry, husky sound, and you do poorly at dampening the flutter in your chest. “Governments are very temporary where I’m from. No sense in vesting yourself in something that can’t touch you in a country so big.”

Both women pause. In the distance (or maybe right next to you), you hear waves crashing ashore—the sound of car alarms and windows breaking and people screaming. It’s here. It’s here and you are stuck in the middle of it.

“What do you want?” Kate remains outwardly calm, combing through her knowledge of the other woman to try and find some middle ground. It’s true – dock access benefits her much more than her Eastern counterpart. But she’s made people agree to a lot more for a lot less.

The woman across from her hmms, but stays silent otherwise. It’s that heavy, weighted silence; the kind that begs for another party to ask a question, lower their offer, barter for less. It’s an anvil that hangs over the both of them, swinging as they work against each other to determine where it will fall.

“Sign this deal, give me access to the ports, and if all goes well I’ll let you stay a week with my puppy over here,” Kate says plainly. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen when you realize what she’s saying, that she’s offering you up as bait for this deal. The bait part isn’t so surprising, you’ve been used as a carrot much more than you’ve been used as a stick. What causes your heart to stop is how sincere she sounds. Kate’s poker face is akin to a brick wall (maybe concrete – a brick wall has too many imperfections to be compared to your owner), but you’ve known her long enough to know how her tone wavers just a little when she’s lying. You hear nothing, no notes skipped or rests added. Just a sincere, long melody that rings throughout the room in a minor key.

It’s not as though Yelena isn’t gorgeous – with her plush lips, soft face, and eyes lined with dusty eyeshadow. She has this relaxed air about her that screams “I know exactly what I’m capable of, and you do, too.” And if your relationship with Kate is any indicator, you’re very attracted to that energy. Still, a pretty unknown is still an unknown…and you’re worried your recently lost seniority with Kate could have devastating consequences.

“I can give you money, drugs, equipment, girls,” Kate tells her. “But you said you willing to come and talk, so I’m assuming you didn’t come here just to-“

“No,” Yelena cuts her off. Fucking bold ass Russians, Kate thinks. You’d think they’d at least let you finish “I want to take the puppy out on a nice dinner, a little…what is it you Americans call it?” She smiles, laughing to herself just a little. “Dine and wine?”

Kate doesn’t correct her.

“Whatever it’s called, I want to do it to the pet. One night, including dinner. That’s what I want in exchange for giving you dock access.”

Kate clenches her jaw just a little. You don’t notice, head perking up at all the attention on you. It’s nice to not be a little toy on a shelf sometimes, everyone staring at you but no one touching. Having merely the focus of one person is a nice change, especially in a restaurant as fancy as you presume Yelena frequents. Perfectly literate in poverty, you can tell this woman and Kate fall in the same tax bracket (if they paid their taxes accurately).

They work out the details on their own, details far above what you’re able to hold in your own brain. All you care about now is what happens next, your body thrumming with excitement. If you’ve gotten the attention of this woman, you’re curious of what others would do for you.

Kate cuts up pieces of the food to feed to you from her own fork, pausing every so often to take a bite of her own. It’s awkward, sitting there just out of view but so exposed, hands bound in front of you as you’re denied the chance to feed yourself.

Sharon blinks, face blank. “Must we do this now, boss?”

Kate just smiles, watching as you eagerly swallow the spoonful of mashed potatoes. Ever since your return, she’d had her chef prepare comfort food she knew you’d missed while you were on the run – macaroni and cheese, pot pie, chicken noodle soup, decadent desserts. Watching pleasure wash over your face with every bite was worth denying you all those months. It’s something Kate’s had to learn intimately; how torturous waiting is. Still, she knows she—and you—are better off with abundance of patience.

“This is the only time I have available to speak on this matter,” she doesn’t look away from you as she speaks, her tone light while her words pointed. “We can either discuss this now, or you can wait in three days when the subject in question is back in position.”

The blonde’s jaw sets, her hands balling into fists under the lip of Kate’s massive oak desk. It’s not like she’s some prude, like that one guard who lasted twenty-four hours before begging to be moved to another post. She just knows that, less than four feet away, you’re clad in only soft panties and a large t-shirt that shows off your hardened nipples, collar jingling with each movement and your hands kept inert. If she had her way, she’d be bending you over and filling your holes with her fingers, laughing as you wept from the pleasure.

She’s not a prude, she’s just really fucking horny and wants to go home so she can watch the most intense porn she can find. Alone. With her vibrator and thruster and noise-canceling headphones and maybe an expensive bottle of Scotch. Or an edible. She doesn’t know, yet – part of the joy for her is sitting with the process and going with whatever sings to her heart the most.

So, Sharon shoves down the memory of your moans, of past promises of letting you loose in Kate’s mansion while Kate’s most trusted within the organization hunt you down like prey. She digs her nails into her palm as a distraction, but all it does is think of them digging into your hips.

“Are you really going to let her do that?”

Kate doesn’t move a muscle, and, for a split second, her blonde counterpart thinks she’s going to crack. Sharon knows what you mean to her, what your return symbolizes. When you decided to leave, Sharon remembers how angry she was, how often Kate came home with bloody knuckles or a split lip from forcing Nat to spar with her. To have you back and then immediately do something she’s never done before with you—letting someone outside their tight-knit group lay any sort of claim on you…it worries her.

But she’s Kate fucking Bishop, she has no flaws, admits no wrong, displays no weaknesses.

“We need several billion dollars, and all we have to do is let our little pet out into the world for the night,” Kate says with a shrug, looking at you with the same critical eye of an art collector. “Seems like a good deal to me.”

“Plus,” she pets the top of your head as you nuzzle into her knee. “Yelena’s not an idiot. She knows we’ll be watching and if anything happens to my prized pet that she’ll meet the end she was promised by the Red Room.”

Sharon nods just a little, trying to imagine how much a nightmare tracking you, the Russian, and the Russian’s own security will be awhile keeping Kate in the loop. She and her team can get it done (not as if they have a choice), but it'll be the definition of a logistical nightmare.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Kate coos to you. You keen under her words, pressing your face into the side of her knee and rubbing your face against the fabric of her jeans. “Daddy will always keep you safe.”

“Kate,” Sharon can’t tamper down the bile that rises in her throat as she imagines a Kate without you once more. “You’re sure?”

She ignores her, instead forcefully grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to face Sharon. You let out a small yelp, which Kate simply ignores.

"Do you want to be a good girl for me?"

You nod, desperately trying to push the fear to the back of your brain. Needless to say, it doesn’t work – you can feel it oozing down your spinal cord and settling into your stomach. You’ll be good – you’ll do anything to be good…but you worry your clammy hands and shaky breath might give you away.

Kate pulls you back so that you’re facing her, forcing a whimper from your throat.

“Then don’t leave that Russian’s side for a single fucking second, you understand?”

You nod as much as you can, eyes wide with fear. You truly have no plans to run again—you’d spent enough time on the streets to know that even if you somehow got away (which, in and of itself, is about as likely as you jumping off a building and flying), there’s nowhere for you to go. You have nothing to your name, nothing to barter or trade for on the streets. Kate is, in all ways, the devil you know. Better her than what waits beyond her scope.

The woman holding you face smiles—not the kind that comforts you, but the kind that has you bracing for what comes next. “Perfect.” She pushes you away as she lets go, patting your cheek hard enough that you’re sure it qualifies as a slap. “I knew you could do it. Now, Sharon, walk me through the security protocols, please.”

Kate’s bedroom in her mansion is technically categorized as a “master bedroom,” but feels close to its own apartment within the house. It’s bigger—much bigger—than the home you grew up in, certainly larger than anywhere you found to sleep while away from her. She’s got a large vintage wardrobe that’s been fitted with the favorites of her toy collection, a huge bathroom with a tub large enough for three people, and a small kitchenette.

You have your own walk-in closet, too, not that you really use it. On occasion, you’re arm candy to a fancy dinner or meeting, or you need to catch the eye of a target to leave them vulnerable. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of clothes hang, sadly, mostly unused, as you clap (yes, clap, Kate is not one to spare any expense, especially when it comes to you) the lights on.

You wish you had been given some sort of dress code; you’re not really used to dressing yourself. Truthfully, you’re not used to making any decision on your own, and now that everything rests on you… you’re terrified of messing it up.

It takes what feels like hours, but soon you’ve got three options. A vintage satin wrap dress that hugs your figure but gives you room to breathe, a strappy emerald green floor-length gown with a visible slit that parts every time you walk, and a plush pink sun dress that barely hits your knees but whose sleeves and straight neckline give the illusion of modesty.

In the end, paired with black stilettos and diamond jewelry you’re nearly completely sure was stolen from the Met, you choose the wrap dress. You’re not sure what Russian mobsters like, but you think it’s a safe bet that they enjoy plunging necklines, a high, hidden slit, and perfectly winged eyeliner.

(Or, at least you hope so.)

The car Yelena said would come at eight comes right as the clock ticks into the hour, one of Kate’s servants alerting you to its presence as it pulls into the winding driveway. It’s empty, save the driver, who attempts to neither greet you nor converse with you. He opens the door for you and helps you over the curb, certainly, but the car ride there is completely silent.

Wherever you go, someone seems to be right at your side. The driver escorts you into the restaurant, and the hostess walks you to the far back, where Yelena is already sitting at a perfectly set table in a private room.

“Sit,” she says, pouring champagne into shiny fancy glasses. “We have much to discuss.”

You do as you’re told, taking a champagne flute from her. Initially, you’d hope the alcohol would calm your nerves. Now, you’re settling for it warming your skin.

“It’s nice to have you alone, маленький щенок. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your face heats—you know your existence is the elephant in the room in many meetings with Kate, but having people know you when you don’t know them has never gotten less strange. Still, your lightweight nature begins to mask itself as bravery as you down the rest of the bubbly liquid. “Anything in particular?”

Apparently, the champagne, while calming your nerves, also dulled your inhibitions.

Yelena, to her credit, just laughs. Like her voice, it’s deep and raspy and goes straight to your center.

“Just that you are a very, very good girl who would do anything for her beloved owner.”

Her energy is electric, enigmatic. This must be what Eve felt like in the garden, with the snake swirling around her in its impossible size. Truthfully, you’d bite into anything Yelena asked you to, if she did it in the same way she asked the waiter for a booth in the corner or how she requested a more “balanced” selection of wine from the sommelier. She even lets you order for yourself, something Kate has never let you do.

It’s interesting to see the differences between the two of them.

As you watch Yelena cut a thin bite of bloodied steak, though, you realize how similar they really are. Yelena, like a knife with an intricately carved handle, and Kate, like a baseball bat with blood in its grooves, may not be mirror images of each other. It is easy to imagine, though, the both of them, side by side, waiting for their turn to torture someone who had wronged them in some way. Danger, regardless of its form, settles its heated self into your lower abdomen.

The conversation is light, flirty. It reminds you of a first date, the kind you went on before Kate domesticated you. You feel…warm, the light of her gaze. It’s hazy, too, the way a fire is in the wee hours of the morning. You feel that same sort of flush, that sort of vulnerability that only reveals itself in the hours before the birds start to sing. It feels both like decades and like seconds before you’re splitting a cherry crème brule and Yelena is sliding the waiter her black card. She holds you close to her with her arm around your waist, her thumb drawing small circles even as the directs you into a black car with the same driver as before. The ride is a daze, her hands dancing over your skin in complete silence.

She guides you into your destination—a hotel—in the same manner, the doorman pointedly making an effort to keep you from his eyeline.

The name of the place doesn’t register until you’re stepping into the lobby, a hand on your waist guiding you to an elevator hidden off to the side. Of course – this is the expensive hotel Kate gets rooms in sometimes to house guests she wants to keep an eye on. Yelena booked her own accommodation, and you doubt Kate needs as much retcon on Yelena as she does for a normal client, but what really causes your breath to hitch in your throat is the cost. A week here is more than most people make in a year, and you know she’s staying for two.

“You’ve been here before?” she asks as she hits on the buttons closer to the top row. The penthouses, you recognize.

“A few times,” you answer honestly. “But never for more than a night or two.”

The room Yelena’s staying in looks exactly like yours did all those years back—modern, tastefully decorated, almost too neat. You don’t have much time to look around, though, before Yelena’s got you pushed against one of the walls while presses her lips to yours. She doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to—simply bunches your dress in her hands to pull it off you.

It falls to the floor in the same way you think Marie Antoinette’s head did – smoothly, and with silent, eager onlookers watching as it finds its place on the ground.

You expect, or at least hope, there was more fanfare, more witnesses to her destruction. All this dress is getting, as you step out of it and deep into Yelena’s arms, is one woman’s lust. It’s easy to see, though, how anything the Russian does would overpower a crowd of thousands; in the same way her silence screams louder than an army, the way she tugs her bottom lip between her bright teeth says more than anything anyone else could tell you about her.

Her hand rests over your clothed pussy, skimming over the soft skin there. “What a good girl you are.”

You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks and over your chest. You wonder if this is what being burned alive would be like—the light tinging the border of your vision and painful heat quickly turning into pleasure.

“I like them well trained,” she murmurs into your skin. All you can do is grab at her shoulders, holding her close. If Kate said it was okay…

“I’m a busy, busy woman, little puppy,” Yelena peppers small kisses across the base of your throat, her soft, plush lips sending shockwaves through your body. “I don’t have the time to break the brats my…colleagues seem to enjoy so much. But you…you’d do whatever I’d ask you to, wouldn’t you?”

If the room was on fire, you’re sure you wouldn’t be able to tell until the roof caved in. Heat licks at your abdomen, sparks flying across your center as you cross your legs in an attempt to dampen the flames. It, needless to say, doesn’t work at all.

“Oh, puppy,” Yelena grins as the hand begins to ghost over your tummy. “No, don’t do that. Don’t hide from pleasure, my darling.”

Your mouth feels drier than a desert as you meet her heavy gaze, her eyes lined with artfully smudged black shadow. She’s stunning, there’s no way around that (not that you want to avoid it); but, truthfully, you’re also not so sure what she sees in you. It’s easy to forget your insecurities, though, when one hand is suddenly moving south and pushing your carefully curated panties to the side.

Her hands remind you of the rest of her—rough, skilled, no-nonsense. She teases you for a moment, ghosting her fingertips over your desperate cunt. You want her, you want her more than a man dying of dehydration craves an endless freshwater ocean. She knows it, too, watches through dark lashes as you pant and chase her lips when she pulls back.

It's only when you begin to whine that she slides her fingers into your dripping pussy, a moan passing her own lips the same as yours. “Oh щенок, you’re wet after just a little kissing, huh? You like it when I touch you there?”

You swallow the frog in your throat, trying to find a way to defend yourself. The choosing you, the conversation in the restaurant, the touches in the car…but your protests die in your chest as her other hand moves to your throat.

“Gotta hold you in place, щенок,” she murmurs. “Can’t have you running away, can I?”

She finds that special spot inside of you easily, like a scent hound to the hideout of a family of foxes. You can hear the beats of horses’ hooves in just under your ribcage, their owners hollering at the chance to hunt properly.

“I-“ You gasp, trying to find purchase against the wall. When the concrete doesn’t make way for your fingers, your find yourself digging them into her suit. “I-“

"Come on, baby, be good for me,” Yelena purrs. It’s sweet, sincere…but you also can’t imagine how fake it’d have to be for you to not feel a trembling in your knees. She could be a snake oil salesman, and you a harlot hypochondriac with money burning a hole in your purse, and you’re sure you would do whatever she asked. “Give me what I want.”

And so, you do – exploding from the inside out like dynamite inside a coal mine. It’s hard for you to keep yourself upright, and you find yourself leaning on Yelena entirely. She catches you, keeps you upright enough so you can catch your breath.

“I know, baby,” Yelena purrs, rubbing her thumb against the fabric of your dress. “I know, it’s okay.”

She holds you to her, gives you a moment to find your proverbial footing as the pleasure settles into the base of your spine, your knees no longer struggling to hold your weight. You pull back, leaning on the wall as her arms cage you in.

“What a pretty girl you are,” she says quietly, as if she’s merely confirming to herself that her assumptions were correct.

Your heart—the stupid, fluttering thing—thumps against your ribs as you reach for her belt.

Yelena lets you do as you please, finding your lips as your hand finds the toy placed just for you. “Mm,” she moves to nip at your neck as you spit on her cock, your hand finding purchase on the carefully molded silicone. “So good, too. I’ve heard a lot of rumors, щенок. It’s good to know so many of them are true.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and chest. You’re not sure what to say, or do. Even if you did, all of your focus is concentrated on releasing what you want from their confines. Yelena doesn’t stop you, but doesn’t help either. All she does is push you to your knees, one hand on the top of your head while the other guides the toy to your lips. You’ve done this thousands of times with Kate, with her own strong hands at the top of your head.

This is different, though, with Yelena. Different in the way swimming in an ocean is different than swimming in a lake; in the same way sexting through text is different than through a phone call. It’s indescribable but perfect, and you can feel yourself dripping as you lick up the length of the shaft.

“Look at me, красивая девушка,” Yelena murmurs, voice low as if to not startle you. She moans as you meet her heavy gaze, the corners of your eyes watering as you slowly swallow her cock. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

You’d smile if your lips weren’t so thoroughly occupied, the praise hitting you at every angle. The warmth prods at you, urging you on, with the world shrinking until it was only the two of you and no one else. There was nothing, no one, who could break the focus of you on Yelena, and vice versa.

It's easy, with her hands on the top of your head and endless sweet nothings tumbling from her lips, to swallow her down until your nose was pressed against her pubic bone. She’s got a tuft of light brown hair on her lower tummy, a happy trail you’re eager to nuzzle into when you’re not pre-occupied with her cock.

“Gorgeous,” Yelena whispers, seemingly more to herself than to you.

Funny enough, looking up at her, you’re thinking the same thing.

She swipes her thumb over your cheek, following the outline the silicone makes in the muscle. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous, милый.”

Her praise spurs you on, pushes you to force yourself further and further down until you can feel tears forming at the corner of your eyes and your lungs fighting for air. Yelena just watches you, eyes full of awe and one hand at the back of your head, as you pull back and sputter for air before licking up the shaft once more.

“Enough of this,” she says gruffly, suddenly, grabbing you and throwing you over her shoulder before you can so much as squeak. You’re tossed on the bed much in the same fashion, her hands unzipping your dress and tossing your panties aside as Yelena kisses you. She’s rough, passionate, moving you without pretense until she’s on her back, your core hovering over her face. “Now this,” she moves her head enough to kiss as your empty, waiting cunt. “This is what I’ve been looking forward to since I saw you the first time.”

You want to question her—ask her how she knows about you, how she saw you when Kate keeps you under such close supervision. The curiosity dies as she grabs reaches under your legs to grab your hips and seats you atop her, her lips and tongue moving in tandem. It’s hard to keep yourself from rocking against her, and so you don’t. You grind against her tongue, your hands finding hers to help with her balance. You cum easily, quickly, shaking against her as she moans into your pussy. As the pleasure subsides you push yourself away ever so slightly, seating yourself against her chest. Both of you catch your breaths, the shared panting the only sound in the otherwise quiet hotel room.

When you’re finally able to look down, to see her blissed-out face covered in your juices, you’re mesmerized.

Yelena just smiles up at you, eyes half closed. “черт возьми, you’re amazing. Give me a second, and we can do it again.”

The next morning, Yelena drives you herself, waving away the driver who passes her the keys despite his concerned look. She opens the passenger door for you and closes it once you’re fully inside, getting into the driver’s seat after that. As she drives off, silence settles over the two of you. It’s hard to make small talk in your situation, and so you wait for her to say something first.

Luckily, she does.

“You could come with me, you know.”

You don’t meet her gaze, if she’s even looking at you. All you can do is stare out the car window and watch as the world passes by.

“Americans have nothing on us,” Yelena continues. You wonder if she notices your hands balling into fists. “I could keep you safe, if you wanted to run. It’d be very easy to convince my own people to love you the way Kate’s people do.”

The car stops—a red light, hopefully—and her hand caresses your cheek. “Look at me, щенок. Please.”

And so, you do. Apparently, you’re very easily persuaded.

“Not sure if Kate has told you, but you’re quite the talk of the underground.” Heat rises on your cheeks, the horrors of being known pricking at your skin like needles. “Like some kind of cat tossed out the back. Many people were following your path, щенок. Many people were following Kate’s path as well.”

“W-“ you stop for a second as her thumb rubs at your bottom lip, the lip she was nipping not-so-long ago. “What do you mean?”

 “I mean you are a trophy,” she murmurs, eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes to your heaving chest. “You deserve to be treated like one. And I’ve got a special place for you with me, if you want it.”

Yelena lets you look away from her as the light turns green, the world once again shirking its responsibility to be a quality distraction. The car goes too fast for that, and so you are stuck rolling her words over in your brain.

“I can’t,” you say when the club comes into view. “I just can’t.”

The blonde next to you sighs quiet enough that you barely hear it. She nods to the valet—some scrawny kid you’ve seen once or twice. Where your hands rest in your lap, you feel Yelena’s own sliding between your fingers and depositing a simple business card. On it is just a number, the characters a stark black against the thick eggshell paper.

“Maybe one day I’ll see you again, щенок,” she whispers into your ear. “Tell your владелец she can use the docks whenever she’d like.”

You don’t speak Russian, but it’s easy to tell who she’s talking about.

“Thank you,” is all you can say back, eyes wide and waiting. You worry there’s some catch, a bit of rope you forgot to step over that will make you hit the concrete face-first.

But you remain upright, familiar faces ushering you through. It’s still early in the day, which is something you’re grateful for. You don’t need to deal with the prying eyes of patrons on top of the pity from the workers who are mopping the floors and cleaning glasses. You pass a few of Natasha’s lower guards in the narrow, dim hallways—all of them staring at you as though you were a cow being sent to slaughter. They’ll feast on you someday (both of you know it), but you still can’t make yourself do anything but stare at the floor.

Kate shows no emotion as you step into the office, her face expertly wiped of emotion. Natasha, standing guard at the door, seems relieved. She and her guardswomen have always been a sort of Greek chorus, their reactions slipping through the cracks in their facades every so often. It makes their earlier expressions far more sinister.

“Go lay down, puppy,” Kate says without looking at you. “Daddy’s got some work to finish.”

You do as you’re told, taking your shoes off before sliding onto the dog bed. As soon as your skin hits the fabric you can tell it’s been cleaned – the blanket on top of it, too. It’s still warm from the dryer, smelling distinctly of the lavender dryer sheets she buys in bulk. The bed at the hotel was too big, uncomfortable in its never-ending borders. This feels closer to home, and you lose consciousness to the sound of Kate’s keyboard clicking and opera music playing softly from her desktop.

Hours later, you lift your head when you hear her desk light being turned off, the familiar click a moment of respite from the harrowing silence of the office.

She smiles – a small smile, but a smile nonetheless – when she sees you perk up.

Home? You ask silently, looking at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Home, she tells you through a silent nod.

You tamper your excitement enough to follow her calmly, her arm wrapped possessively around your waist as you exit. The club hums with the pre-opening anticipation, and your own eagerness mixes with the electricity in the air.

The ride home is silent, Kate looking more at her phone than you. She does, though, keep one hand on your thigh, and for that, you are ecstatic.

Once home, Kate grabs one of the collars and leash sets that hang inside a custom end table, a bowl of car keys on top hiding its true function. You drop to your knees without further prompting. It’s hard to fight the moan that bubbles at the familiar clicking sound, and so you don’t.

It makes your owner smile, and you preen under the attention. The hand not holding the leash cups your jaw as you, too, grin with her.

“Such a good puppy,” Kate purrs, looking you over for signs Yelena had failed Kate’s commands.

“If I see a single mark on her, I will kill you,” she’d simply said.

The Russian just laughed. “Going to be hard, Катя. How about just the neck?

Kate hmms, thinking about it. She certainly doesn’t need Yelena to pull out of this deal for something as simple as a few hickeys. “Fine. Anything below the collarbone is fair game.”

“Be careful what you wish for, baby.”

You do not heed her warning—you don’t need to. You’ve known Kate long enough to know exactly what you’re getting into.

“Come on, pup,” she says, standing up straighter as begins to walk towards her personal wing of her house. Just as she trained you, you stand and follow right behind her, eyes focused on the floor. You miss crawling, but know Kate likes to keep your favorites for when she’s really rewarding you. When you’ve proved you deserve it.

As you follow her, you pass a room that’s hidden from view - the door closed to warn the eyes from unwanted, unexpected visitors. Inside rests the larger pieces from Kate’s sexual collection - the full cage, the St. Andrew’s Cross, the coffee table with rivets made for rope. All custom-made to her specifications (and your body measurements).

It surprises you, just a little, when she doesn’t lead you directly to there. Kate has always preferred grand gestures to smaller ones, and that preference doesn’t end when she steps into the bedroom. Once, after receiving news a rival of hers was finally killed by another, second rival, she tied you to the bed and edged you for six hours. She set a timer and everything, telling you it was “an hour for each bullet in his skull.”

You swallow your shock, following her diligently throughout her large mansion. You like Kate’s predictability – even when it’s paired with brutality. This change…you’re almost worried, even as excited and the last thrums of your previous orgasms rush through your blood.

It all melts away, though, when you feel Kate come up behind you, kissing at your neck. She pushes you towards the bedroom—the shared bedroom—the one with the bed you’re rarely allowed to sleep in. This is her version of affection, her language of love. She would never say it, never out loud, but it still makes your heart flutter.

“Good puppy,” she moans as she pushes you against the doorframe, kissing you fiercely. “Such a good fucking puppy for Daddy.”

One of her hands snakes between you, cupping your heated mound. It’s still sore from last night, but that certainly has never stopped her before.

“You’re so beautiful, too,” she murmurs breathlessly. “My gorgeous ray of fuckin’ sunshine.”

The beating in your heart travels south, Kate’s hands roaming over your hips and ass and thighs as she kisses you breathless. It’s easy for her to push your dress up, exposing you to the cool air. Kate laughs, staring at where your very expensive panties were no longer present. “She took ‘em, huh?”

You swallow, not sure what to say. In truth, you hadn’t even thought to look for them—Kate usually makes you go without.

She just laughs, going back to caressing your ass. “Can’t even blame her, I would’ve done the same thing if I had the chance.” She moans as her fingers sink into you. They’re not too deep, but that doesn’t do much to mitigate the stretch. “Fucked a lot of good pussy when you left me, but not a single one matches up to this cunt right here.”

You yelp as she slaps your clit, moans replacing the sharp sound as she circles it slowly. It’s easy to love her when she’s the one taking the pain away, even if she’s the one who caused it in the first place.

Without panties, her fingers slide in easily – your wetness already pooling under you. Your pussy is sore, but it only adds to the pleasure that spreads in your abdomen. It’s the kind of soreness you can feel everywhere—your shoulders, your thighs, your stomach, your arms. It feels good to be a well-loved toy, you think. It feels good to be used, to be useful.

“So wet already?” Kate purrs, a humiliating laugh tinging her words. “I bet I could get my dick now and I’d be able to fuck you exactly how I want to.”

You moan—you can’t help it—biting at your bottom lip.

“You want me to fuck you, puppy?” she asks, smiling as you nod feverishly. “Good girl. Strip, then go wait for me on the bed. Hands and knees, puppy.”

You scramble to take your clothes off and find your place as soon as she lets you go, almost tripping over your own feet in your frenzied desire to follow her orders. The bed, luckily, has already been made, providing you with a wide landscape in which to stake your claim.

Kate appears behind you, it seems, seconds later. The elaborate strap she’s chosen is gorgeous—all woven leather and silver hardware. She has a plethora of harnesses at varying levels of similar and dissimilar to the one she’s wearing, certainly, but after she wore it when she made you squirt for the first time…this one had remained her favorite.

You shiver, just a little, when you feel her hands running over your hips. Kate guides you, silently, closer to her. The silicone brushes against your bare core ever so lightly, sending another wave of desire through you.

“So wet,” she murmurs, her fingers everywhere except exactly where you want them. You’re about to whine, to cry, to beg, to do something to convince how desperately you want her, but before you can even open your mouth, you can feel the head of the toy slip inside of you.

“Oh,” you moan, barely fighting the urge to collapse into the bed, to let her use you like a toy. You know, though, that she likes to be the one to choose your position—if she wanted you with your face pressed into the sheets, she’s put you there with a hand between your shoulders. “Oh, please.”

“You’ve been a good little girl,” Kate muses. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the slew of pleads desperate to spill from your lips. “And well-behaved puppies deserve rewards, I suppose.”

You don’t have time to breath before she’s slamming into you, the toy fully sheathed as Kate pins you to the bed.

“Tell me who you belong to,” she hisses, the strap stretching your cunt. Unlike Yelena’s, this one is smooth, ridgeless, with a bulbous head that ends in a cone shape. It hits that spot inside of you with the kind of delicious pain Kate is so well known for—your cries interrupting her commands. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

You can’t speak—you simply can’t. Your fingers grasp at the silk bedsheets, desperately wishing you had claws so you could hook them into the $15,000 fabric and tear them into shreds. Like a werewolf stuck in the middle of its transformation, the rabidness racing in your blood feels too much for your mortal flesh to bear.

And yet, Kate pushes.

“Say it,” she growls, barring her teeth as she thrusts into you.

“I-I,” There’s no way, no way you’ll be able to choke those words out, choke any words out – everything you want to say is lodged in your throat, stuck there like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. You thrash in the same way, knowing your fate but fighting against it anyway. What was that guy’s name? Sisyphus? He had it easy, rolling that boulder up that hill. At least he wasn’t getting his cock teased while it happened.

Or maybe he was…you couldn’t remember much of your early college English classes as a fire raged inside of you.

“It belongs- oh!,” you moan as Kate bottoms out, the leather of her harness pressing against the inside of your thighs. “It belongs to you.”

“That’s fucking right,” she moans, deep in her chest, as she fucks into you with purpose. “You’re mine, all fucking mine and no one else’s.”

Your cries punctuate her proclamations, hiccups and moans layered over her words.

“I don’t care how many other people touch you,” Kate tells you, ignoring you as your howls of pleasure. “I don’t care if every fucking night you’re at the center of some orgy. You’re mine. Not Natasha’s, or Maria’s, or even fucking Carol-“

You’re wailing now, sure the soundproof walls have disintegrated and are thin as paper—pieces of which flap against your sound waves. Kate, in her unwavering desire to ruin you for eternity, keeps going.

“And certainly not some goddamn Russian who doesn’t know when to stop fucking pushing.”

“N-no!” All you can do is wail, clutching to her so hard you’re sure there will be red marks down her back come morning. Kate won’t mind, though. She also likes a bit of pain to remind her of her own mortality.

“Good fucking puppy,” she whispers, panting into your ear. “Took a stray dog in from the street, gave it a collar. Look at it now, huh?” You can hear the smile on her lips—the kind hunters have when their prey whimpers below them. Kate could set a thousand traps, catch you a thousand times, and she’d still have that delicious grin plastered over her face. It makes you feel small, vulnerable, like a rabbit caught in a snare. You love it.

 “Such a good fucking mutt,” she moans. “Good fucking mutt who takes my cock so well.”

It’s easy to come, then, already sensitive and desperate and so deeply happy to be back with he woman you love the most.

“Yes, puppy,” she moans. “Give it to me.”

And so, you do, over and over again. Kate continues fucking you, even as you begin to shake from the overstimulation. The world shrinks to just the two of you, Kate panting in your ear and you swimming in pleasure. There is no one, there isn’t a need for anyone, to exist outside of you and her.

You’re not sure when it ends. Like an ocean in high tide, you can only wait for her to recede and grant you peace under her thick duvets. She wipes you down with warm, fluffy towels with Puppy embroidered onto them, cleaning your slick and the dried lube from your center and inner thighs. When you gasp at the feeling of the cloth against your sensitive skin, to which Kate just coos and peppers kisses against your sweaty temple.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispers. “Go to sleep. I know you’re tired.”

Always the best at following directions, you allow unconsciousness to overtake you.

You wake up hours later, the darkness outside giving you no clues to the time. Your whole body is the kind of sore you haven’t experienced in years, the kind that reminds you of when your college roommate freshman year convinced you to run a 5K with her.

Kate sits beside you on the bed, reading some hardcover book about something or other. She likes older books, the boring kind you’d expect a dad to be reading in an old armchair.

It’s easier to deal with her when she’s satiated; when a deal’s gone well, or her product sold for more than she expected. She’s got a quicker step, and holds one hand in her pants’ front pocket as she smirks.

You’re not always the first thing she concerns herself with after her days go perfectly. She wants to brag—to soak in the euphoria of hard work done well with the people who benefit the most from her dealmaking.

But now, as she pushes sweaty hair from your face and smiles softly…it feels good. It feels right.

“How are you feeling, puppy?”

You blink, trying to clear the sleep from your vision. “M good, I think.”

Kate hmms. “Need anything?”

It’s only then you realize how dry your mouth is. “Water, maybe?”

She grabs it for you without question, reaching into the mini fridge hidden inside a less garish nightstand. She waits, patiently, until you’ve downed the whole bottle, before she speaks again.

“Now,” you can hear how out of breath Kate is, as though her restraint in not asking immediately after you’d woken up had driven her to the brink of madness. “Tell me everything she told you. I want every. Last. Detail. And I’ll reward you in ways you can’t currently comprehend.”

You’re not sure what to say at first, the fear of triggering Kate’s possessiveness is always a looming threat. What does she want to know? That you sat on her face? That she likes red wine? That her Russian accent thickens when she’s fucking?

Kate grabs your chin and forces you to meet her gaze, her eyes narrowed in determination. “Don’t think, puppy. Just tell me everything that happened in the order it happened. This sort of arrangement could change some things, could make you a much more important asset.”

You blink, still unsure. Kate’s eyes, though, don’t move from yours.

“Come on, puppy,” she leans down to kiss your forehead. “Tell Daddy what happened, and I can make you a very happy pup.”

[soft-pine]

Hey hey, I saw you said you don't get many asks. I have one! Can you do any freeform thoughts about Pastor Jim? (What he represents, his skillset, how long John's known apparently him, how John cried for him, etc? Whatever you feel like, really.)

I'm fascinated by the fact that by your timeline, it seems that the once John starting leaving the kids with others, those folks started getting picked off pretty early, perhaps inflaming John's sense of paranoia and isolation in parallel to how Azazel isolated Mary and picked off her support systems.

And I'm curious how Pastor Jim fits into this. :-)

hi Shal! that's so nice!! sorry it took me so long to reply!

i love the connection you made with the timeline and people getting "picked off" as you say! yeah i think that would have certainly fueled john's paranoia and stretched him and stressed him even more!

also i apologize in advance because i know you're maybe not a self-described john-anti. and, though i find his character complex and fascinating and sometimes even sympathetic, i do have mostly harsh criticism for him. and also sorry cause your posts are so tidy and well formatted and this is gonna be kinda a spill out. i can pull up citations for anything here if needed though!!

but okay jumping in! i'm really fascinated by the people john had connections to while he was raising sam and dean and i'm interested in the two main subcategories of that group - people he had a falling out with versus people he didn't. pastor jim falls into that second category, along with martin, travis, fred jones, deacon, jefferson (?), and caleb. (the first category includes elkins, bobby, tara, ellen, etc).

i think that part of the reason john kept his family separate from the hunting community at large is because hunters tend to tell each other that kids shouldn't be involved. at least that is the kind of hunter dean became. and i think it's possible that some of the fallings out john had with other hunters was over that issue. that certainly is a contributing factor to the strain in his relationship with bobby.

so what does that say about the hunters which john remained in community with? we don't know much about jefferson or caleb. but martin has a black and white view of monsters and isn't worried about harming civilians himself to get results. travis also is impatient and cruel in his methods. fred jones gave both dean and sam alcohol before they were 10. and deacon is a physically abusive prison guard. maybe this is me being too harsh but those actions stick with me as they overlap with john's own black and white views and in contrast to bobby or ellen for example. none of that says anything specific about jim himself i guess but the general pattern of hunters who didn't have a falling out with john is interesting to me!

unfortunately, the other reason i have a somewhat negative view of pastor jim is i was raised evangelical and ... i did not care for all that. as best as i can tell jim is some form of protestant minister... and one whose denomination has some kind of liturgical tradition. one of my early fic chapters is kinda about him actually. or i mean about the kind of person/pastor that he strikes me as and about the comradery and tension between him and john.

i tend to think of john as somewhat of an atheist. a "nothing up there's gonna save you, you gotta do it for yourself" kinda guy. so i think he kinda puts up with jim's beliefs and faith because jim has a very safe base of operations and seems very well equipped. i also imagine that jim is someone who can offer the kind of emotional support johh might need. from his brief conversation with meg at the beginning of 1.21, it seems like he's used to offering kind of talk-therapy-esque conversations. here's a little excerpt from my fic that shows that kinda?

Dad must have wrapped up his hunt cause he's back in the morning when Dean goes into the house to brush his teeth. “I just don't know how to do it,” Dad's voice is saying, low and quiet from the kitchen. He sounds like maybe he's crying. Dean crouches down low in the front hall. If he walks past the kitchen door, they're going to hear him. “I know, John,” Pastor Jim says. “I know.” “You know, I... I try to do right by those boys... not lay it all on them. But I just. I miss her so much.” Dad is crying now. “You're doing the best you can, John.” “Sam's too young to really understand all this stuff and I know Dean tries,” Dad lets out a long sigh. Dean digs the tips of his fingers into the coarse hallway rug. He doesn't want his Dad to feel like this. He hates that his Dad is sad and he hates that he hasn't done a good enough job making sure Dad knows he can talk to him if he needs to. That he'd do anything. “I've got to hold it together for them, Jim. And some days I feel like I can't.”

(rereading that chap and it's possible i put a bit too much of my own knowledge of and baggage about evangelical issues in the late 80's into it... oopsie)

i really am inclined to think john knew jim for the longest of most of his contacts. i mean in the semi-canonical john's journal, he meets him at the end of the month that mary dies! but even by the show's timeline, jim is trusted enough for john to have him as a backup safehouse for the boys as early as 1988 which suggests he's known him at least some time by that point.

from all the conversations sam and dean have with travis, martin, fred, and deacon, it doesn't seem like they or john have seen any of those people for a long time. but in s1, they're still very in touch with pastor jim. is he perhaps john's oldest and most consistent friend?

which tracks with john's deeply emotive response to jim's death. i would argue the most grief he shows in the show besides for mary. i think that tracks with the loss of a support and confidant of decades. certainly both caleb and jim's death show a devotion to john beyond a care for their own lives.

i'm sorry i don't know if i have much to say about jim's skill set! some of the specific mechanics of hunting and the supernatural are not quite in the purview of the way my spn-special-interest shows up im sorry! but i think the church as sacred ground and jim's familiarity with the concept of demons would both protect him somewhat from azazel's lower level minions and also probably endear john to him.

and what he represents!? oh gosh! i think your narrative analysis is on another level from the one im dabbling around in.

thanks for the ask!! and thanks for all your amazing analysis!

[sinning-23]

Unique(Soft/Odd AOT Headcannons)

Uhhh so i finally finished AOT and that ending absolutely wrecked me and I cant stop thinking about it sweet jesus. So, here are some nice lil headcannons to fix my soul lmao. ALSO if you have sent anything through my ask box please know it is in the works and most of them are just incomplete drafts! Thank you for your patience! Anyway,

Enjoy!

Eren

-Eren gets sick surprisingly often. It's very odd. You'd think he would be immune to shit like that but it's not very often he's not somewhat 'sick'

-Like, he always has congestion,and when it clears up its only for a week or two before its back to square one.

-He has three birthmarks on his lower back and they look like the little shocked emoticon

-He can touch his tongue tot he tip of his nose.

- When Eren gets flustered you can see it on his knuckles and the back of his neck.

-Eren is double jointed

Armin

-Armin had reading glasses he keeps in a case in his pocket at all times.

-Armins eyes look almost clear when you look at them in the right angle/amout of sunlight

-He has a very pretty singing voice, and he does it only when he's very deeply focused on something.

-He has very pretty hand writting, in fact a lot of his comrades ask for him to write things down for them because its so neat.

-He has very soft and slender hands and his fingertips get red when he's cold

-Armins hair actually has a bit of a curl to it but it flattens in the heat

-Hes very good with plants/gardening

Mikasa

-Picked up embroidering and will occasionally dabble, reminds her of her mom

-Mikasa has a very high body temperature, she is never cold and just constantly warm, she tends to have sweaty palms as well

-Very rarely will you be able to see Mikasa's pupils because her eyes are so dark and her pupils are always very dilated.

-She smells faitly sweet. Always has, can't pinpoint exactly why but it is definitely a thing she has noticed.

-Mikasa has a few grey hairs, there are about 4-5 and are spaced out in her hair but when you find one its not hard to miss because of the contrast.

-She really fucking likes bread...like a lot.

Reiner

-Has pretty poor balance. He is always mis-stepping or leaning, its like his equilibrium is off.

-Doesn't really like his facial hair but doesn't go out of his way to trim it, can never seem to find the time or motivation

-Reiners hands are very large, like very wide. There's a lot of things that look a lot smaller in his hands compared to everyone else.

-Lactose intolerant

-Reiner often gets the chills/goosebumps

-Is kinda embarassed about his big his but is...like sometimes he struggles to get his pants up and has to jump to get them on.

Bertoldt

-Will forget to duck down before he goes into a room and will his his forehead on the door frame

-He scars really easily and his knees are very dark because he would skin them a lot as a kid

-He's awar of how tall he is but he's very good at hiding in smaller spaces. If there's a sliver to a crack to slide between he can do it no problem.

-Bertold chooses to stay quiet most the timebecasuse he can be very mean in his head, and he doest like making others feel bad despite his innermost thoughts being very rude/blunt.

-Is a lot stronger than he lets on, carrying certain things is no problem for him and its a little off-putting

Annie

-She is an avid sleep talker

-Annie thinks her best feature is her hair and nose

-Her back will often lock up on her but she had trianed herself ot get used to the shooting pain. No she wont tell anyone about it

-Annie has a comfort hoodie and she gets a lot more anxious if she doesn't have it on her person in some way, shape, or form

-She bites her fingernails to nubs

-Annie has really dry skin and hates the sensation of lotion so she just, won't use any.

Connie

-fluent in pig latin

-Connie snorts when he laughs

-He gets really motion sick so he doesn't like to do any like extra tricks n shit when he's in the odm gear.

-Connie is actually pretty flexable and can fold all the way in half

-He's really good with horses and other kinds of livestock. He is so skilled in fact that he can ride most horses without a saddle

-He can dislocate his shoulder and has used to to prank Jean and Sasha many times. He thinks its hilarious.

Jean

-No one brings it up but Jean has an accent. It’s faint but it’s there, especially when he’s feeling a strong emotion.

-He was really ducking chunky as a baby. Like….he had little rolls and it was adorable.

-Jean is asthmatic

-He can draw really well, in his free time he sketches.

-He really likes cookies.

-Jean is bilugual, he only really mumbles stuff under his breath and wont tell you when he said.

Sasha

-She cries a lot. She can’t help it, a lot of stuff just makes her emotional.

-She once grew her hair past her but and did the big chop before she enlisted. Yes she misses it sometimes.

-Sasha can’t walk in heels.

-She is a bit of a klepto…and she really can’t help it, sometimes she doesn’t even know she’s doing it until she’s long gone from the place she took the item from

-Sasha still has her baby blanket in perfect condition as well.

-Sasha can’t swim.

Erwin

-He is a ya bit insecure about his eyebrows

He cracks his knuckles a lot and Levi hates it. He cannot stand the sound and will stare him down when he cracks them

-Needs glasses from time to time when reading

-Erwin had a surprising deep voice as a child.

-He has a little bit of a sweet tooth

-Keeps emergency money in his shoe( a tip from his dad that he always uses)

Levi

-Levi can hold his breathe for about a minute

-He has amazing peripheral vision. Its almost impossible to sneak up on him he is always looking and can just see things around him very clearly.

-Levi can write in cursive and has pretty handwriting like Armin. But he won’t help anyone write anything.

-Levi always makes sure his nails are neat. He can't stand dirty fingernails.

-He has grey hairs like Mikasa does

Hanji

-Hanji always smells like chemicals.

-Hanji is actually blind as a bat and needs glasses prescription updates very often

-They almost always know when someone is being dishonest. It's like a sixth sense

-Hanji has an older brother but they don’t talk or keep in contact anymore.

-Hanji had a collection of teeth. Key word had. (Levi had something to do with it)

-They can see a broader spectrum of color and no one believes them!

_________________________________________________________

Authors Note: I haven't written for AOT in forever so this was a nice little treat for myself. I literally grew up watching AOT, it is a comfort show and a staple of my childhood lol.

On another note, KINKTOBER is fast approaching so I will be mainly focusing on trying to get those fics whipped up before next month! I also turn 21 next month so I'm busy party planning and getting ready to absolutely destroy my liver lol. Anyway love you sinners! See ya next post! <3

[triumphantbass]

Dawntrail Retrospective

Okay, it's been two weeks since Dawntrail launched, a bit over a week since I've cleared it and have had time to think things over, wanted to do a big dump of my thoughts, a non-scored review of it all.

Full spoilers after the break.

So, I want to give this all a nuanced look; I know this has been a polarizing expansion; I did very much enjoy my time while still having some qualms, and I'll try to highlight both sides of that here.

Overall, while it would be low in my expansion rankings, that's not to say it's bad. Just as I probably bump Heavensward up a bit in my rankings because it did so much with so little (in terms of budget, gameplay tools available, story to build on, cast, etc.), Dawntrail takes a hit because I know what they're capable of these days.

But a 10 year saga is a tough act to follow, and I know if this was my first FFXIV experience (it might be a lot of people's one day, if the 'second saga starting point' for new players they mentioned ever gets implemented), I'd be going 'oh wow'.

Anyways, before I pick things apart, I'd like to highlight what really worked for me.

Sphene was my problematic fave. I know Artificial Intelligence tropes can be overdone, but I have a fondness for them because when done right, an AI is clearly authored by someone. Just like a biography, even an autobiography, paints the subject in a certain way, an AI really reflects the creators' biases.

Just as the soul technology was shown as a mechanical version of the aetherial sea, Sphene really felt like a sort of digital primal for Alexandria, the people's desires latched on to her, sort of a vtuber Zodiark.

I loved the development that her compassionate personality (taken from the OG Sphene) was distinctly incompatible with her unsustainable primary directive, protecting and preserving Alexandria's way of life (the directive from the people)

And I appreciated that part of the thesis statement of her character is "a Garnet who never traveled with Zidane would become a tool of Alexandria, her kindness taken advantage of as a figurehead''. Which makes it nice when Wuk Lamat breaks through during The Interphos to appeal to her.

She can feel like a bit of a rehash of Hades and Metion, but I do enjoy the contrast of her valuing life too much to Metion not valuing it enough; it's important to know how to live in spite of despair, but it's also important to accept that even memory is not forever.

Also while I'm here I have to say I absolutely respect the zone change of Living Memory from stunningly beautiful to hauntingly somber. I hope that change is not reverted in patches, as it's absolutely the starkest environment change in the game.

I like the idea of casting aside nostalgia to care for the living, and I thought this zone was a welcome surprise from the "Golden City" imagery a South and Central American expansion invokes.

(PS, massive Simulated Twilight Town vibes)

And I thought Cachuia was well done in this zone; I was a bit antsy earlier with how they made her into just a drone, but I liked the resolution between her and Erenvelle

But one thing I want to stress as I sing the praises of the last zone and change, is that neither half of this expansion works without the other, because unlike other split expansions (SB having the Gyr Albania and Yanxia halves, EW having Islabard then the Ancients), it felt clear in why it had both halves, and that was for the contrast of the same theme, Namely, the ideas of culture, tradition, and history, and how they affect the living.

When Wuk Lamat is giving her speech during her ceremony, she notes one of the societies taught her "they believe death is not the end, and we live on so long as we are remembered", which Sphene says almost verbatim of her people later, menacingly polite as that same belief is twisted.

There are some roots of this conflict in the first half too, with Koana's disinterest in culture and tradition, before realizing progress and culture weren't incompatible.

While Alexandria instead takes it to a logical, Black Mirror extreme, discarding culture and history, literally forgetting anyone who passes (while assuring themselves anyone who is lost still lives on) and living purely in the present moment; death itself removed from the public circle.

I don't think the Alexandria half, the modern, present-focused society works without first setting up a region with a rich culture and history.

In the first few regions, you see how those who walked before led those who walked after, while in Heritage Found... you see a heritage lost. On both sides of the divider there are abandoned buildings; a sidequest in the graveyard has the keeper note that memorials have fallen out of favor due to regulators, Alexandria had a perfect record of history (data, people, all stored in the cloud), but didn't use it; specifically keeping it away to prevent painful memories from affecting the present. While Yok Tural had an imperfect history (a lot in legends, retold/inconsistent oral history), but that history distinctly affected their day to day; even the painful memories, the tragedies, all played a part in shaping the present.

Even though it could make the pacing clunky at times, I did like that Wuk Lamat's basic setup of "learn about these people and understand why they make the choices they do" extended to Solution Nine and even Living Memory.

Garool Jaja was also a very good character, loved his performance, do kinda wish his solo duty where he confides the true nature of the contest was the very start of the expansion; I feel like it would have set the tone for this being the "The WoL is a mentor arc" better.

Also to wrap up the good side: every single dungeon and trial was ace. Dungeons finally hit a good level of difficulty for normal content, and were well designed and very pretty. Vanguard and Everkeep in particular were delights, as was the postgame dungeon Tender Valley.

------------------------------------------------------------------

And on to my more mixed feelings.

Wuk Lamat- I don't hate her, but I don't like her that much either. I tried to keep an open mind for the full MSQ, but ultimately she's not a character I really vibed with; I do get the shonen protag/Naruto appeal, but it's really not for me. She's been described as 'Lyse 2.0', and while I admit I have similar feelings about Lyse, I do think Wuk Lamat has a more natural progression. Lyse started Stormblood feeling like a 20 something on a mission trip, while Wuk Lamat feels like a reasonable candidate who just needs a little encouragement.

I don't mind too much our WoL taking a mentor role and taking a backseat, while downplaying their powers; but what I struggled most with was fatigue. Wuk Lamat was always there, like the memes of "Talk to Wuk Lamat" say. Like Shadowbringers was the expansion where Graha was the main character, and a lot of the time he was away doing city stuff or being mysterious. Wuk Lamat would have benefited from more time to breathe, especially in the back half of the game. She should still be there in the back half for sure, for the expansion to work she needs to be a player in all this, but I'll admit I sighed when I got to Solution Nine thinking I'd explore by myself (probably bumping into her at one of the locations) but instead needed to escort her. As I noted earlier, I don't mind the Interphos interruption (though I did appreciate the chance for the WoL to be at full strength) because Wuk Lamat appealing to Sphene's humanity fit the expansion themes well.

Succession- I'm happy this didn't go into my worst fear: a retread of the Azim Steppe where we actively interfere in another nation's politics by being their champion; but it left a bit to be desired. Notably, while I knew the Scion Civil War was a bit of a misdirect, it felt kinda pointless? Like Thancred and Urianger are here helping an alumni from their university out as he applies for the same job, but they're totally chill with you. And honestly there are no stakes to him getting the job, he's the only other qualified candidate to the point where you hire him later yourself.

I didn't want any longstanding inter-scion conflict, but for a character as frequently duplicitous as Urianger and driven as Thancred it just felt like a waste.

Also, GJJ clearly told the WoL that the keystones didn't determine the victor; he would pick a successor that was worthy- I kinda wish they just stuck to that. Having the "good' rulers and "bad" rulers paired together for the cooking challenge felt like a bit of a cop-out, , plus needing to win back a stolen keystone, etc. just felt like missed opportunities.

Zarool Ja and Bakool Jaja - I get what they were going for in the end with each of these: ZJ being the "impossible son of an impossible son, the weight of expectations causing him to shun those around him, and that loneliness twisting him", BJJ being desperate to help his people, feeling the major survivors guilt of his own life costing so many others.

but neither of their narrative arcs are smooth, and in the first half, especially during the trial, they seem to be doing comically evil Wacky Races Dick Dastardly behavior with no regards for a continuous arc. BJJ releasing Valigarmanda was the icing on the cake for me. He could have done this in a reasonable way, weakening the seal in an attempt to sabotage the trial, then feeling guilt over what he did in desperation, but no he walked up to the gate keepers like 'no I'm evil, I'm gonna destroy that now' any hints of ZJ sympathy come like, during his trial and from the Wandering Minstrel, who even notes most will see him as a one dimensional tyrant

I also think they could have distinguished both more from just being warmongers; in the same way that Wuk Lamat and Koana are somewhat aligned but have different visions, personally it would have made more sense to me if BJJ had a different brand of conservatism; putting a stronger emphasis on defense and isolationism rather than world conquest. It would fit his background better too, as someone who wanted to protect his homeland

--------------------------------------------------------------------

My most negative thoughts are really just pacing. I would like to not have so many quests just running around talking to people, not learning much of note. I know there are only so many things you can do (stand in purple cloud and kill 3 enemies isn't great either), but at this point I'd honestly just take a shorter MSQ if it meant better story pacing.

I know the first half is meant to be like an abbreviated ARR, and I don't mind it being low stakes, just wish it had a bit more polish.

I will also say I felt a lot more limited in my dialog at times? Like I don't need every box to have "I'll kill your god if I have to, maybe even if I don't", but there felt like a lot of instances where you had two ways to say the same sentiment. I like it when the game lets you have opinions, even if the opinions are objectively bad (you can straight up tell Noah the Allagans were visionaries) A lot of that pacing was more actual story content than the quests though; the first three zones could feel like extended allied society quests (solid enough ones), which wasn't bad for a 'fresh start', but Shalooni is where things felt off. I liked the vibes but frankly the quests left barely any impressions at all.

(loved the trolley dig though)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Overall, like I said, I enjoyed my time. While it may not be a favorite expansion, it sets a good baseline for another ten years, and I hope they can refine it in the patch series and beyond.

There's a lot more I could probably say, I realized I didn't have a chance to touch on Erenvelle (very glad he tagged along) and Krile; but I feel I'll have more thoughts on both of their plotlines after the patch series.

P.S. though I rolled my eyes at some of the running jokes I genuinely got a chuckle out of Wuk Evu always freaking out then snapping back to polite with "well I won't overthink it then" and similar. Felt very Chocobo Racing GP.

P.P.S. Wood-carved owl nouliths are the best idea. A+ weapon.

[violasghost]

Thoughts on The Rookie and Chenford S7xE1

I did really enjoy the old school Rookie S1-3 feel again in the S7 kickoff episode with our A team thick in the heart of action and training the newest group of Rookies. It really did feel like we were back in the swing with them training LA's finest, and we picked up right where we left off. I also really did love the transition of Nolan and Lucy as TO's now, contrasting to when they were Rookies, which brings things full circle. Sorry didn't miss Bailey at all, and loved Wesley's jealous streak. Plus the detective who had a thing for Angela was super hot. Am now really curious if Wesley is going to come across Tim's tapes? And speaking of Tim and Lucy, who were both adorable, it was lovely to see their on screen chemistry on full display. I am however a little torn on how they are handling the Chenford relationship in the season opener. I was expecting a little more distance between the two. Its interesting that they were so amicable and chummy. It feels as if there is a large purple elephant standing in the room with them that no one is mentioning.

I predict in the spoiler clip with shirtless Tim (the one that has gone around the globe a hundred times and back by now) where Lucy says "We shouldn't" that maybe something starts to happen, but then one of them retreats quickly (and my moneys on Lucy), because there is a ton of unresolved business between the two and Lucy had her heart broken. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to the delicious mess which will hopefully bring about more tension, angst, and an eventual unraveling that will cause them to permanently unite, but I feel like they still have to earn eachother's trust back. Cant just wave a magic wand and Poof! Chenford wedding! At least not right away. ;)

Anyhow, am really enjoying how things are playing out so far. Sorry to say I really don't care much about Jason or Oscar, but its nice to spend some time on our core characters for now, and getting to know the new Rookies too.

[hollowwrites]

Where has my Cardi-gone?

(Otherwise titled clothing related waffle I thought was cute)

Not a unique idea at all but who doesn’t love a trope am I right? How our precious bois react to MC in their clothes

Am I going to ruin something from one of my fics doing this? Possibly. Do I need to force myself to write something because I feel dooky? Yes.

Garreth, Ominis, Sebastian

~

Garreth

It’s pretty obviously when Maeve is wearing something of his. It’s either offensively Red (a huge contrast to the comforting Mustard of her usual Hufflepuff attire) or it’s a knitted jumper with ‘G’ on the chest. He has thousands, he doesn’t miss the few that he gave her. But most notably, she wears his Quidditch Jersey, that he gave her after he couldn’t be bothered to join the team again in sixth year. His brews we’re more important now and it just took up space in his trunk. The edges were frayed and moth bitten but it didn’t stop Maeve panicking when she added to its distressed look. He smiles dreamily when she looks up at him, worry evident on her face.

“Garr, I’m so sorry!” She says scrubbing furiously at the sleeve now covered in a failed experiment. “I can get you another one”

“Don’t worry….” He sighs contently picking up the corner of the jersey and rubbing a thumb over one of the permanent stains “…It’s like a tapestry of our time together…” he mutters without thinking

“What do you mean?” Her brows still knit together in concern.

“Look…” he tugs softly at the garment, pulling it out for them both to look at. “…Heres where we ate chocolate frogs watching the fireworks. Here’s the hole from when you cut those Dittany Stems and dropped the knife. I nearly died that day…just a casual reminder…” he chuckled “…oh and here’s the grass stain from when we-“

“Garreth!” She scolded going red in the face. He laughed and pinched her cheek

“Point is…It’s ours now. It’s nice knowing you think of me…just a little each day”

~

Ominis

It’s pretty difficult for Ominis to know if Evelyn is wearing anything of his. He doesn’t wear flashy or outrageous clothing so feeling the texture of the clothing is out of the question. And they’re both in Slytherin so no one else knows if it’s his scarf or hers. His jumper, or hers.

He does however, recognise when she wears a certain gift.

When his fingers interlock with hers, at first, he’s irritated by the feel of cool metal against him. He holds her hand up almost offended at the change to the norm.

“What is this?” His brows furrowed in annoyance, twisting the ring between his index finger and thumb

“It’s the ring you bought me. What else would it be?” She laughs and releases his hand, opting to link with his arm instead.

“Oh…you’re wearing it…” a smug smile threatens to tug at his lips.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I? I’ll wear it on my other hand from now on if it-“

“No no…” he takes her hand in his again, twisting the ring around her finger over and over. A small smile creeping up on his face. “…I’ll get used to it.”

He makes a mental note to buy her a ring with a huge, obviously noticeable stone in the centre…when he gains the courage to propose.

~

Sebastian

Sebastian has little to no patience. Whenever he’s waiting for Victoria to get ready or if they’re just hanging around in her room, he rifles through her things looking desperately for anything about her .

He wants to know…everything.

His eyes drift over to her unkempt bed where a long shirt sleeve can be seen sticking out from under the pillow. He pulls on the sleeve noticing the ink stain on the cuff.

“Hey Vic?” He calls to her holding the shirt between his hands a look of confusion across his face. This is his. He hadn’t seen this shirt in months…he thought he’d lost it. Why was it here?

“Hmm?” She replies finally walking back into the dorms, ready for their day out.

“Why do you have my shirt under your pillow?” He asked still staring down at it in confusion.

“You gave it me last term remember? We got wet walking back from Hogsmeade. And well…you never asked for it back and it smells like you so…” she shrugged and continues to pack her bag for the day. “…I sleep in it now…” she says everything absentmindedly, like it means nothing.

But Sebastian was reeling

She went to bed…every night…thinking of him.

He grinned and looped his arm around her waist, resting his head between her shoulders blades as she continues to prep for the day

“And why do you have my shirt?” He asks again, this time giddily

“I just said we got wet and-“

“No…you have my shirt because you’re mine”

Masterlist

Sorry for always writing about my MCs but my brain doesn’t do anything but what’s stuck in it. Stubborn brain no smart enough.

[qwertyprophecy]

and the Unrelenting

Character Design of The Dark Queen of Mortholme, Pt. 2

(Pt. 1)

With the story playing out from the point of view of their opponent, the Hero is characterised mainly through the mystery they present to the Queen. They're unassuming, yet determined to go further than the Queen could ever imagine. Humble in a way she might view as lowliness, yet a way they try to prove holds the key to remaining open to improvement. They might not be powerful, efficient or elegant—not next to the Queen, at any rate—but they for sure are resilient.

The first priority was for them to look tiny in comparison to the Queen; it shouldn't come as a surprise how little damage to the Queen they do per hit. Not weak, but certainly overpowered. More stocky and short, like all of their considerable willpower has been crammed into a compact package. A lot of the exaggerated proportions like the poofy trousers, big head and little hands and feet are to make them a bit cute and goofy. This is not a hardened adventurer, this is someone who's trying their best.

At the start I had some sketches with an uncovered head to contrast with the Queen's helmeted one, maybe to have a long ponytail to give the Hero's movements a nice flowy follow-through. That's before I decided to characterise them as a mystery, however, and all the subsequent designs got a hood to hide their face.

I even considered a whole cape, but it was too much. They're not actively hiding themselves; it's only the Queen who has difficulty comprehending their nature. Next to her decked head to toe in plate armour, the Hero should come off as someone comfortable being more vulnerable. Maybe they're a bit of a dumbass, maybe they're boldened by the knowledge that even if they get hurt, it won't stop them for long.

Thus, practical if rather unintimidatingly floppy-sleeved chainmail it was. They get a sword, because they're meant to evoke the most typical fantasy protagonist possible. Our interest with this character isn't in the character per se, but in the player-like will behind the avatar, so an overcomplicated design would only serve as a distraction. The only extra detail they get are the belts to suggest resourcefulness.

It's implied that between their attempts at the boss, they have whole little RPG adventures outside of the boss room that the player is locked in. The Queen doesn't get to participate in any of it, so we know nothing about this part of them. Yet we see the results as they with their new abilities, tools, perhaps dialogue hinting at their emotional attachment to some storylines that motivate them to push through. Design-wise, I thought I'd like to depict their updating toolkit not only through their animations, but through an evolution of their sprite: a shield appears in their off hand, a bow on their back, potions on their belt. (It's possible this will be cut content due to the effort of making multiple versions of every single sprite sheet, but who knows. I have poor impulse control.)

The palette, unsurprisingly, is mellow grays and warm hues to oppose the Queen's starkness and cold. Gotta use the clichés when they work! I didn't want the Hero's main colour to be too bright a red, though. It was picked (from the few potential options that would stand out from the blue-dominated background) to represent their fierce determination, but in her own way the Queen is determined, too. It's the Hero's stubbornness to improve, their malleability, which distinguishes them. So they wear a softer, earthier red.

[imsparky2002]

Barbie as the Island Princess: First Thoughts

The intro gives me Little Mermaid vibes for some reason.

Man I know this is only five years from Rapunzel, but they really improved in the cgi! The designs look really pleasant!

Ok, the dolphins look a bit plasticy but still!

I’m glad they also have enough confidence to let the tale stand on it’s own without having to establish this is Barbie telling a story to her little sister.

Is it wrong that I’m shipping the peacock and panda? They feel like a middle aged/eldery gay couple and I love it.

Aww! Weeby was right! They totally are Barbie’s gay dads!

Yeesh… I do NOT like the elephant’s design. Why can I see her realistic human teeth? And those eyes!

Overall a very pleasant opening musical number that shows off the island.

Pleasant scene of Ro comforting Tikka during a nightmare.

This goodnight song is making my brain feel weepy.

I love how this is a male love interest who is full of life and isn’t afraid to be in touch with his feminine side. Love the bow on his ponytail.

I love how Antonio’s first instinct when approached by a crocodile is to risk reaching for a branch to put in its mouth.

OMIGOD SHE KNOWS THE ALLIGATORS NAMES!

I love how they go "aww" because they're sad they can't munch on him.

Wait a minute... one of the crocodiles is called Fang. Holy crap, this is the origin story of Jagged Stone’s pet!

I love how Azul found out he’s a prince and is immediately like “fuck this island, come on Sagi, let’s take Tikka and live it up!”

I'm loving the lyrics in this song about Ro being befuddled by Antonio's tech and clothes.

Gerard is a zaddy, not gonna lie.

I’m giggling like a fool at hearing Azul ranting and raving in peacockese.

I wonder if Barbie will try speaking to any of the land’s animals.

WTF is that thing the queen is holding? Is that a monkey or a very unfortunate looking baby?

The king looks pretty young, more like his late 20s instead of 40s. Honestly though, he’s really hot.

Aww, the royal monkey has a posh accent!

Queen Ariana is honestly not that bad looking at all. If I wasn’t gay, I’d find her kinda cute.

It’s nice that the rival love interest is actually a sweet girl. A good subversion of expectations.

The vocals of the villain song reminds me of ABBA. Which is always a good sign.

Great contrast between Ariana’s powerful belting and Luciana’s quiet tone.

Omigod I am loving Ariana’s lyrics in this song, diabolical and hilarious.

LOL AND HER RATS ARE DOING BACKUP CHOREOGRAPHY

Aww, the girls dressed Tikka up!

They really captured the awkward yet respectful dialogue between enforced couples with Antonio and Luciana.

The backing score for the ballroom dance is divine.

Get yourself a man who would abdicate from the throne just to be with you.

Ah, I see Tikka hid the letter, I assume due to attachment issues.

I feel like the Cheese song is kinda unneccessary. A few lines of dialogue would have got the message across.

I do find it kinda ridiculous that nobody can pick up on Ariana’s evil vibe.

Seems that traumatic events are the key to regaining Ro’s memories.

Dolphin ex Machina has arrived.

So this new queen is obviously Ro’s mom, right?

I feel like Ariana would’ve been smarter to not attempt poisoning Antonio and his family so that she can remain in her daughter’s good graces.

Luiciana saving Ro and proving her mother’s the criminal warms my heart.

Ok, I’m happy Ro and Antonio are together, but isn’t marriage rather quick?

Huh… the sudden reveal of Rosella being a princess all along kinda ruins the message of “Love doesn’t care about status”.

Overall, a massive step up from the previous films. The first two were decent flicks, but this one takes time to flesh out each and every character. Also the score was wonderful and I found the animation to be a pleasant upgrade. The ending was a bit of an ass-pull but a enjoyable film nonetheless. @artzychic27 @msweebyness @nerd-chocolate

[sharpth1ng]

SCREAM 2 OPINIONS GO🔪🔪🔫🔫

Ok so I actually really like scream 2, I think it exists well within the spirit of what a scream movie should be in that it interacts with a horror sequel in the same way that Scream 1 interacts with slasher movies(and to be fair, other horror) generally.

Sidney is literally bored with Ghostface, and we see that in her first on screen appearance. It's a pretty simple scene but I think it does a good job of conveying some information about where Sid's at in life. Because now when she gets a call from ghostface it's nothing she hasn't dealt with before, she had caller I.D now. It's suggested that she's been getting prank calls from "ghostface" for a while now and she's over it. I like that for her. It's a nice evolution for a final girl, and the movie communicates it well in one scene.

She also has a cute little bob now so points for that. Very sapphic.

We also have the fact that the Woodsboro massacre has been commodified and is being made into a movie a mere 2 years after it happened. Gale is partly to blame for that but it still feels wild, especially because the tone of Stab isn't very serious, it's very much a blockbuster horror movie and not a crime-drama even though it's based on what is in universe a true crime case.

Director Wes Craven doesn't believe violence on film should be toned down and made comfortable for a general audience, so I kind of read the in-universe presence of the Stab franchise as Scream 2 making a comment on the way that real tragedies get re-packaged and sold as stories.

We also have Mickey and Nancy's kill list- it's a hollow replication of the murders in the first movie, and I don't mean that scream 2 does a bad job with them I mean that Mickey and Nancy kind of do. How do they pick their victims? Aside from the core group of people close to Sidney they're basically just random people with the right names.

Maureen Evans, Phil Stevens, and Casey "Cici" Cooper.

These victims have no personal connection to the killers or to Sidney for the most part, they're literally just there to be bodies. In contrast Billy and Stu had a personal, petty little kill list, all people that pissed them off or got in thier way somehow. Again, this feels like it fits in with the theme of commercialism, sequels bet on hitting the same notes as the original, but often fail to provide the same kind of motivation and backing.

(The only victim without that kind of connection in the original is Himbry and that’s explained by the fact that his death wasn’t in the original script, it was added in because executives thought the movie needed another kill since there’s so much space between the Casey and Steve murders and everything that happens at the party. So again, a product of commercialism.)

But I think the lack of connection Nancy and Mickey have with their victims is also commentary on the horror sequel, particularly with slasher movies where most of the cast died in the original. Sequels have a tendency to just throw a new cast at you without spending the same time and care developing them, they’re just designed to fit the same archetypes as the original (Mickey=Stu, Derek=Billy, Hallie=Tatum). Studios bank on the fact that you liked it the first time, so you’ll like it again if they check the same boxes.

Scream 2 doesn’t give us hollow copies though, and that’s what makes it a good movie, these replacements are designed for the most part as comments on the original. I think the best example here is Derek, who does actually fit the archetype Billy was pretending to be (popular, charismatic, outgoing) but he still doesn’t actually understand Sid or her trauma, which is where he parallels Billy the most. He just isnt trying to manipulate Sid like Billy was.

I also think the relationship between the killers works well with the theme of commercialism in sequels. The original killers are almost defined by their relationship to each other. Like, Stu does what he does purely out of his attachment to Billy. Billy and Nancy are both motivated by revenge and familial love, which is a theme through many of the other scream movies.

But Mickey isn’t motivated out of his attachment to Nancy, he has a financial motive. She’s literally bankrolling him, and he’s looking for fame. If we’re thinking cynically about horror sequels they are motivated by financial gain, relying on the success of the original to get people to buy in. Just like Mickey.

And in general the sequel just pushes so much over the top, with the first kill happening in the middle of the theater being perceived as a publicity stunt, to Randy being killed out in the open in broad daylight. It’s the classic sequel thing that all of the scream movies comment on- you need to raise the stakes.

Honestly there’s probably more I could say but I’ve already written an essay 🙃 yeah. I like scream 2. Good movie.