#was treated like i was ‘high strung’ for saying so

[quirkle2]

oh nooo that's quite a bummer :( but i'm very glad that i helped brightening up your day :") tbh your writing brightens up my day too (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

AND WAIT I'VE BEEN ACTUALLY QUITE THINKING ABOUT WHETHER ZOMBIE MOB HAS FOUGHT OFF A ZOMBIE WHEN I ASKED IF HE HAS EVER BITTEN SOMEONE and since you brought it up, well, would be okay to ask about the details of how it went 👁️👁️ (also him fighting off a fellow zombie to protect tome got me sobbing)

- 🪻

aww im glad my silly little words brighten ur day!! ur so sweet :]

and yes, it went horribly <3! tome prolly wasn't paying attention as closely as she should've been and got herself surrounded by a crowd. to be clear, that's not Always dangerous, since zombies arent like,, after ur brains in this constantly. but these zombies did look quite hungry, and human or not, she looked like a good meal,,

she had wandered off a bit from mob n ritsu, but mob heard the commotion first. tome has a big fucking baseball bat in this au that she likes to swing around, but a baseball bat can only get u so far in terms of self defense. she thins the horde but there's simply too many of them

mob lets exactly One zombie grab her and yank her toward them before he goes ballistic

watching zombies fight is a lot closer to watching wild animals fight than anything else, and it gets quite horrid sometimes. since their bites aren't rly "dangerous" to each other beyond the typical Oh No a Chunk of Flesh is Gone (not even painful for them, since their nerves r.. less than functional), the fight is a lot more close up and gruesome than a fight against a zombie and a human would be. humans usually back away from zombies immediately and try not to touch them at all in fear of getting bitten; zombies don't need to care abt that

most of the horde realizes that this meal isn't going to be easy and they wander off, but a few more hungry, more desperate ones try to rip into mob's throat at the first sign of defiance. it's not exactly a fair fight; it's like 1 against 4, so he's sorta bound to lose

thankfully ritsu shows up and shoots two of them down (he's Terrified of shooting mob by accident, but either way he'll probably die, so) and tome gets the last one with a good swing to the head. ritsu rushes to mob and is horrified by the amount of blood dripping from his neck and his arm; tome is equally as shocked, but she's mostly thinking, "ive Never seen a zombie defend a human before"

mob's neck is thankfully mostly just scraped up and clawed, but there Is some gruesome punctures where canines sank in and tugged. it's a lot worse along his arm that's bitten and gouged beyond belief. he loses a lot of blood here, but the whole nerves-no-longer-work thing is a blessing in disguise atm; he'd be in a lot of pain otherwise. while ritsu and tome are patching him up w shaky hands he simply glares beyond their shoulders like he thinks he's still in danger, even when they tighten the bandages. it's like he barely notices what they’re doing

his strangely alert behavior makes them think abt the possibility that maybe mob Knows he could've easily been shredded apart there, and he's a little scared and worked up abt it. the only reason he managed to fight as long as he did without dying is prolly bc the other zombies weren't as well-fed as mob—they were kinda weak and shaky from days of no food, but mob has humans taking care of him and keeping him fed 24/7

they're all shaken up by it pretty good.. tome is still reeling from the fact that mob defended her so valiantly, and ritsu is quietly horrified by the idea of another zombie killing mob instead of a human. he doesn't know which is worse

[ghelgheli]

In contrast with professional drag queens, who were only playing at being women onstage, [Esther] Newton learned that the very bottom of the gay social hierarchy was the province of street queens. In almost total contrast to professional queens, street queens were "the underclass of the gay world." Although they embraced effeminacy, too, they did so in the wrong place and for the wrong reason: in public and outside of professional work. As a result, Newton explained, the street queens "are never off stage. Their way of life is collective, illegal, and immediate." Because they didn't get paid to be feminine and were locked out of even the most menial of nightlife jobs, Newton observed that their lives were perceived to revolve around "confrontation, prostitution, and drug 'highs'." Even in a gay underworld where everyone was marked as deviant, it was the sincere street queens who tried to live as women who were punished most for what was celebrated-and paid-as an act onstage. When stage queens lost their jobs, they were often socially excluded like trans women. Newton explained that when she returned to Kansas City one night during her fieldwork, she learned that two poor queens she had met had recently lost their jobs as impersonators. Since then, they had become "indistinguishable from street fairies," growing out their hair long and wearing makeup in public-even "passing" as girls in certain situations," in addition to earning a reputation for taking pills. They were now treated harshly by everyone in the local scene. Most people wouldn't even speak to them in public. Professional drag queens who didn't live as women still had to avoid being seen as too "transy" in their style and demeanor. One professional queen that Newton interviewed explained why: it was dangerous to be transy because it reinforced the stigma of effeminacy without the safety of being onstage. "I think what you do in your bed is your business," he told Newton, echoing a middle-class understanding of gay privacy, "[but] what you do on the street is everybody's business."

The first street queen who appears in Mother Camp is named Lola, a young Black trans girl who is "becoming a woman,' as they say'." Newton met Lola at her dingy Kansas City apartment, where she lived with Tiger, a young gay man, and Godiva, a somewhat more respectable queen. What made Godiva more respectable than Lola wasn't just a lack of hormonal transition. It was that Godiva could work as a female impersonator because she wasn't trying to sincerely live as a woman. Lola, on the other hand, was permanently out of work because being Black and trans made her unhireable, including in female impersonation. When Newton entered their apartment, which had virtually no furniture, she found Lola lying on "a rumpled-up mattress on the floor" and entertaining three "very rough-looking young men." These kinds of apartments, wrote Newton, "are not 'homes.' They are places to come in off the street." The extremely poor trans women who lived as street queens, like Lola, "literally live outside the law," Newton explained. Violence and assault were their everyday experiences, drugs were omnipresent, and sex work was about the only work they could do. Even if they didn't have "homes," street queens "do live in the police system."

As a result of being policed and ostracized by their own gay peers, Newton felt that street queens were "dedicated to "staying out of it" as a way of life. "From their perspective, all of respectable society seems square, distant, and hypocritical. From their 'place' at the very bottom of the moral and status structure, they are in a strategic position to experience the numerous discrepancies between the ideals of American culture and the realities." Yet, however withdrawn or strung out they were perceived to be, the street queens were hardly afraid to act. On the contrary, they were regarded by many as the bravest and most combative in the gay world. In the summer of 1966, street queens in San Francisco fought back at Compton's Cafeteria, an all-night venue popular with sex workers and other poor gay people. After management had called the police on a table that was hanging out for hours ordering nothing but coffee, an officer grabbed the arm of one street queen. As the historian Susan Stryker recounts, that queen threw her coffee in the police officer's face, "and a melee erupted." As the queens led the patrons in throwing everything on their tables at the cops-who called for backup-a full-blown riot erupted onto the street. The queens beat the police with their purses "and kicked them with their high-heeled shoes." A similar incident was documented in 1959, when drag queens fought back against the police at Cooper's Donuts in Los Angeles by throwing donuts-and punches. How many more, unrecorded, times street queens fought back is anyone's guess. The most famous event came in 1969, when street queens led the Stonewall rebellion in New York City. Newton shares in Mother Camp that she wasn't surprised to learn it was the street queens who carried Stonewall. "Street fairies," she wrote, "have nothing to lose."

Jules Gill-Peterson, A Short History of Trans Misogyny

[earthtooz]

when i was your man | oliver aiku x reader, shidou ryusei x reader

in which: an unlikely candidate comes to replace oliver.

cw: gn!reader who gets fucked over, oliver is an asshole, shidou is WILD and a pathetic loser who wants you badly, toxic relationships, one suggestive line from shidou but who is surprised, description doesn't really capture it all

it was your fault for believing you could change oliver aiku.

when he came blazing into your life with his scruffy appearance, baritone voice, and the smell of leather clinging to him, all of your expectations and assumptions were subverted the moment he flashed you a boyish grin. a budding feeling bloomed in your heart that day, blossoming into something more the more you saw him. 

with every chair he held out for you, every door he opened for you, every coffee date, every conversation that made you felt heard and listened to, every time he asked to see you again, every time he texted you after a date to let you know how much fun he had- it felt like the possibilities were endless with oliver. he had taken your affections and nurtured it into something beautiful, a garden of roses as he tended to each one so delicately. he treated you so delicately. 

so delicately, that you refused to see the first signs of corruption.

your relationship suffered a slow decline, with small things occurring like him no longer planning for dates or booking reservations, telling you to come over instead because he ‘prefers it’ when it’s just the two of you. doesn’t really invite you to his games anymore, doesn’t ask for you to wait near the change rooms so he can see you immediately, doesn’t really want to show you off or let you say anything to his teammates.

the second was blaring in your face, and you should have ran the second you knew about oliver’s extensive dating background. instead, you stupidly did not think too much of it, diving into his honeyed words blind. he reassured you that you were the only one for him right now, and that his eye was on you and you alone, and that was enough. however, whenever you had your back toward him, his ‘loyal gaze’ would wander. 

typically, run-ins with exes never go pleasantly, and when oliver ran into his past relationship with you next to him, you heard something snap. her radiance, her attitude, her smile and grace when she turned to you to introduce herself, a part of what oliver had built within you crumbled.

she was, in the essence of the word; flawless, and you couldn’t help but doubt yourself because of it.

something in him changed the day you met her. he became… distant. not enough that it was obvious for you to cut him off and say your goodbyes, but just enough that it strung you along

you wonder what you did wrong for him to treat you like this. still, hope was abloom in your chest, assuming that it was just the stress of his busy lifestyle that was sinking him under, and because you’re his partner, you should be helping him bear that brunt too, right?

yeah, this was just you bearing his brunt.

and like domino pieces, you went falling down with him. the garden became overgrown, weeds grew through the cracks of your weakening confidence, something sour and vindictive settling in- was it directed towards you, or him? you don’t know, the line began blurring when you heard his friends talking about you behind your back, in the comfort of your own home, and oliver did nothing to ever stop them when you felt too small to defend yourself. 

the last piece crumbled when you were, unsurprisingly, alone under the blankets of your shared bed. you were scrolling through social media, trying to avoid the hollow feeling in your chest when something made you stop.

a video of a woman rearranging the flowers her partner got her, and that’s when it dawns on you. 

he’s never gotten you flowers. not even once.

***

the adrenaline in the change rooms was at an all-time high, filled with sweaty athletes who were all cackling over a sweet victory, celebrating and congratulating each other with resounding slaps on the backs. there’s the sound of clothes rustling, cleats hitting the floor, and showers running as the winners of the match get ready to go out and celebrate their successful season.

oliver, slinging his bag over his shoulder, leaves the change room first so he can meet up with a new chick he’s started talking to, farewelling his teammates who he will see at the bar in an hour.

he was not, however, expecting to see you waiting outside, he had to do a double take to make sure it was actually you and not someone who looked perfectly alike. your hair was down, you were busy on your phone, and there was a jersey in your arms, matching the design of his team’s. 

wow. you broke up with him months ago, and here you are, waiting outside for him, dressed and looking all cute? shit, the thought makes him so prideful, he almost wants to laugh. he doesn’t even need to call out your name because you’re already looking up from your phone, eyes widening when you recognise him. 

“aiku,” you murmur, clinging the jersey tighter to your chest as you hold his gaze. you’re strong, steadfast, confident, exactly like the version of you when you first met, the version he found endearing and charming. “you played well today.”

“thanks. it’s nice seeing you again, what are you waiting out here for?”

you open your mouth to say something, but there’s this wicked howl coming from behind oliver, and it’s followed by a serious of very loud, very obnoxious, and very proud cackles, and you immediately sigh at the sound. 

“y/n!” the voice sings, and of course, it belongs to no one else but shidou; nightmare incarnate, and a menace of a human being.

but he saddles up to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world, looming against you with his impressive figure, leaning on the wall with one arm as he all but cages you in. it’s a terrifying sight, unnatural, in fact. shouldn’t you be slapping him away and calling for a more dignified man like oliver to help?

“hello, shidou,” you greet, expression stern and unchanging. 

oliver wonders if the world is going to end. you? and shidou? friends? or maybe something more? 

no, ‘friends’ don’t lower their faces so close to each other that their noses are centimetres away from touching, but it’s only shidou that tiptoes that line, and he’s looking down at you with something wild in his eyes.

“hey, sweet thing,” the soccer player grins, all bark and bite, but you don’t shrink away. “i see you’ve got my jersey there, did it keep ya warm during the match?”

you huff, pushing it against his chest and shidou removes his hand from the wall to catch the piece of flimsy clothing. “don’t leave your stuff with me, or i’ll burn it next time.” 

“as if you’ll do that. you’re too sweet, sugar, i know you’ll just give it right back,” for some sick reason, shidou’s grin widens when you narrow your eyes at him. “plus it gives me a reason to see your cute face again.” 

you sigh before pushing yourself off the wall. “i’m leaving.” 

“aww, c’mon, not even going to tell me i played well?”

“are you a dog or something?”

you said to oliver that he played well… what’s that supposed to mean for him?

“i love it when you insult me,” shidou shudders, “i could get off on it.”

“freak!” you exclaim before turning around and practically stumbling away, your clumsiness betraying the cool facade you tried to maintain in front of shidou, and of course, he notices this, and begins to follow, hounding after you to close the distance. “don’t leave your stuff with me next time! this is your final warning!”

“aww, sweet thing, come back! i got you flowers!” 

true to his words, in the hand of his teammate, was an expensive-looking, well-arranged bouquet of red roses, and oliver is stunned as he tries to recall what you look like when you receive flowers. happy? delighted? no, none of those, because for some reason, there’s no image that appears in his head, as if there’s a gap in the large weave of memories he shares with you. how could that be? did he not get you flowers at all during the time you were together?

a giggle echoes down the hallway, and this time, oliver knows that it doesn’t belong to shidou. instead, the sound is honeyed, sweet, even in the dreary hallways of the stadium. it’s you who laughs so vibrantly, and if he closes his eyes and thinks for a moment, he can still recall how it sounded when you were in front of him, laughing.

the scent of real, well-nurtured flowers still linger in the air. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[the-californicationist]

Brisance (1/2)

When Johnny MacTavish finds the woman of his dreams, he didn't expect her to be strapped with ten pounds of C-4... but he kinda likes it. Or: How Johnny MacTavish learned to stop worrying and love the bombmaker...

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2

Brisance

— August —

Ghost sighed, knocking his bootheel on the edge of the desk where he was perched, smoking his last cigarette, and scrolling through Reddit threads, bored to death and letting everyone know about it. 

“I can hear ye, Ghostie. I’ll jus’ be a wee bit longer,” Johnny called out over his shoulder. 

His masked lieutenant sighed audibly. He thought Soap looked ridiculous in that lighted, magnifying headset, the plastic lenses making his big blue eyes look like saucers. The sergeant had been hunched over an inert explosive device and its mechanical guts for the better part of four hours now, inspecting every inch of the thing, commenting on technical mambo jumbo that Simon hadn’t ever heard - or cared - about. Bombs were not his forte. He knew how to set one, and he knew how to avoid them, but that was about it. 

Soap let out a low whistle of admiration, and Ghost rolled his eyes, knowing some brainy quip was coming next about the “detonation velocity” or the “elastomer bonding” or whatever demolitionist jargon he was moved to speak on. 

“Innit tha’ the bonniest thing there ever was, mate?” Johnny crooned, sounding like a proud father. 

“Does this one kill us real special-like?” Ghost snarled, tired of Soap’s preening exploration of this device.

“You dinnae understand, LT. This is… well, it’s the bloody Mona Lisa of IEDs.”

“Come off it.”

“No, I’m serious. Come see,” Johnny moved his chair over to show off the open, black box where the device’s innards were housed, pointing to a series of tightly-strung wires and cables, “Ye ken how the last one cut through three layers of concrete at the Kadurin silos?”

“Aye,” Simon sauntered over, peering into the mess of wires, trying to divine what his sergeant was seeing.

“See this block here? It would take ten times the RDX to get a high enough brisance to pound through all three layers at once,” Soap sounded like a kid at Christmas, “But, look at how this bastard staggered his fuse layers. He used a visco fuse, cut it like a flying fish, and only had to send one electric match to charge it! Bloody fuckin’ brilliant.”

“English, MacTavish,” Ghost groaned, “Please…”

“This wee box survived because it contains the initial housing, but the bomb itself was in the fuckin’ room, not the detonation package.”

The lieutenant furrowed his brow, taking one last drag of his cigarette, and begging Johnny to clarify,

“So, you’re sayin’ that the bomber was in the cafe before the device was planted?”

“Aye,” Johnny’s eyes got even wider, comical when set behind his magnified lenses, “And tha’s not it. They made this box to last. Someone is sendin’ us a message.”

“What does it say?” Ghost looked back into the wires, expecting them to spell out H-E-L-L-O or F-U-C-K-O-F-F. 

“I dinnae ken. Not yet. But, I think he left me a clue.”

“A clue? The fuck…”

“See this? This is a visco fuse alright, but it’s Cordtex, and its got traces of collodion.”

Johnny was waiting on the edge of his seat, buzzing with anticipation, praying for Ghost to have the same, nearly-orgasmic eureka moment that he was. And yet, bored dark eyes glared down at him, waiting for the punchline. So, Soap gave it to him,

“He’s makin’ these from scratch. And,” Soap ripped off the headset and stared down into the box in amazement, “I think he’s a Brit. He could’ve just used any old visco fuse, but he didn’t. He went bloody far out of his way to make these, and I wonder…”

The headset slid back on and Johnny returned to the device, picking around the mechanisms like a dog hunting for a treat, sniffing his way around for anything to chew on. 

“British,” Simon hummed, “Hm, I’ll tell Cap. Maybe he can get Laswell to send it off for testing.”

Soap didn’t respond. As Ghost left the room, he called back over his shoulder, 

“Don’t stay up all night, Johnny. Got PT at 0430.”

“Mm-hm…” Soap replied, not bothering to look up when Ghost finally made his exit, too busy making eyes at his one true love: a beautifully crafted bomb. 

— October — 

The ticking was the worst part, but as he stared down into the blackness of a rigged, plastic tote, Johnny almost wished he would have something to keep him company, even some of that infernal ticking sound that should be happening. But, it wasn’t. The room was silent like the grave, and if Johnny made one wrong move, it would become his own. 

A voice crackled through his headset,

“Five minutes, thirty seconds.”

Gaz was keeping count for him, checking in at regular intervals, his voice trembling from the stress. Johnny wished he wouldn’t worry. This was a timebomb, yes, but it needed input. Someone was waiting for something, and if he could figure out what, maybe he could stop it.

“Aye, any movement from overwatch?”

A short pause and then his lieutenant’s voice came through, 

“Negative.”

This bomb was truly a piece of work. There was no indicator, and in fact, no traceable fuse. All of the ignition was internal to the RDX modules, and there were eight of them altogether, each with its own unique housing. Johnny had disarmed five of the eight, and he was working on number six as quickly as he could. 

The bombmaker had a great deal of skill, but so did Soap, and it was less of a race than it was a fluid, complicated, one-sided conversation. With every choice in material and fuse design and chemical agent, the bombmaker was telling Johnny all about himself. 

The Semex block and guncotton in housing three, wrapped in flash paper and copper-coated fuse links? This bloke had access to high-quality chemicals. The wooden housing and saltpeter dusting in number five? When he didn’t have access to those high-quality chemicals, he was resourceful enough to know how to make do without them. The way the fuse line lay independent from the center of each housing, and yet initiated from different grafting points? Making bombs was more than just a hobby. The bastard was designing these devices like challenges, giving Johnny puzzle after puzzle, testing his abilities. 

Soap should have been angry, but he wasn’t. In fact, this particular model of IED hadn’t taken a single life. The bombed buildings were strategically placed against Makarov’s forces, almost as if this terrorist was on a mission of rebellious freedom. The Russian oligarch’s people were fighting back against their own leader, rejecting his authority. This was the work of a highly intelligent man out for justice, not a simple murderer. 

Johnny had spent the last two months discovering more and more about this particular insurgent, and now that he could see the pattern of his behavior, Soap was more likely to label him as a true freedom fighter. Laswell didn’t seem to care about labels, but Johnny felt like he almost had the captain convinced. 

“This might be someone we could pull to our side, Cap’n,” Johnny had suggested.

“Just make sure you end the day with all your fingers still fuckin’ attached, lad. How about that?” Price had sniped, but it was toothless. Johnny knew he was starting to see the pattern, too.

Staring down at his hands, all ten fingers still hard at work, he marveled at the commitment to craft in everything from the fuses to the housing shells. The sergeant cut through blocks of C-4 in cubes six and seven before Gaz had given him a seven-minute warning. As he inspected housing number eight, Johnny almost felt disappointed that he and the maker of these bombs would never meet. The things he could learn from an artist like this… 

A green laser trembled and danced in front of his face, pointing directly to the bottom of the eighth block. Johnny’s eyes shot up, finding the source right away. Through the window, a cloaked figure crouched on the roof, dressed all in black, tucked behind an air vent, their eyes pinned to him as he gaped in disbelief. 

It was him. The bombmaker was here. 

“Overwatch, target at eleven o’clock, south rooftop, copy,” Johnny’s voice gave away their position, and as soon as he heard the confirmation from Ghost, his ears also picked up on a soft, almost delicate ticking sound. Gunshots popped wildly outside, and the bombmaker disappeared, his body lithe and quick, avoiding danger and leaving Johnny to die at the hands of his creation. 

As quick as he could, Johnny cut through the eighth housing, searching for the fuse. But, he came up empty. Then, he remembered where the laser had been pointing. He turned the dark layer over and saw a hole in the RDX material. On nothing but instinct, he cut down into it and hit something solid. The housing broke open to reveal a wristwatch. 

There was no fuse. And all of the other housings had been rendered inert, so there was no danger. 

Why would the bombmaker start the timer without anything to blow? Johnny’s mind swam with possibilities, and then he turned the watch over to inspect the back. Written in big, bold pen, Soap saw the letters JFM on the dull metal. His initials. John Fergus MacTavish. Not even Ghost knew his middle name.

Suddenly, Johnny heard more ticking. It sounded like a collection of clocks had just come to life. He dug around in the box, finding it empty, but he discovered the final clue too late. A small lip on the edge of the crate hinted at another layer of explosive material, hidden from plain sight.

“Shite! Fall back!” He shouted.

There was a false bottom, and when Johnny pulled it up, he discovered ten more tightly-packed Semex blocks that were fused up together with that same Cordtex line, ready to explode. All over the plasticine blocks, the letters JFM were cut into the material, recurring like an endless pattern. As he looked down at his initials littering the bomb he was trying to diffuse, his head swam with confusion. But, there was no time for that.

Johnny slammed the lid shut and bolted, running for cover. His legs burned as they hauled him out of the stone building, his feet sinking into the dirt and sand outside of the door. Soap could see the cover wall, and he dug in, using every bit of strength he had to reach it and scale it before he was just a stain on the dirt. He barely made it, and as he tumbled behind the sturdy wall, he could feel the searing heat of the blast on his back and legs. It felt like needles were stinging his skin; it was so hot. 

A few moments went by, and although the world was quiet for Johnny, he knew that was just the hearing loss. In fact, he understood that the reality was quite the opposite. As he looked up, he saw Price stomping over to him. The captain was yelling something, but his voice couldn’t reach his ears. All he could see was the bearded man hollering and carrying on with a wrathful look on his face. Then, bits and pieces came through. 

“... could’ve… killed… fuck.. thinkin’... Johnny?!”

Price tried again, pulling his sergeant up from the floor by his gear vest, 

“Do you hear me? What the fuck was that? Almost lost you, boy. Jesus Christ!” Captain Price sounded like he was underwater, but at least the words were coming through. 

“Sorry, sir. But, I needed to find the last clue,” Johnny held up the watch as if it was his well-deserved trophy.

“You were almost the last clue, you bloody idiot,” Price ran his hand through his hair and knocked his boonie hat onto his shoulders, totally exasperated. 

Soap knew he should feel guilty, or at least a little fearful, but everything was different, now. After the realization that the bombs were designed specifically for him, Johnny found himself actually looking forward to the next one. 

— November — 

The mission had gone sideways right from the start. Their comms had been nothing but staticky garbage while they were clearing out the Kotovo Blocs, trying their best to evacuate civilians while simultaneously managing Makarov’s squadrons. It was a crapshoot every time they opened another door. Half the time, a mother and her children rushed out screaming, and the other half, they were greeted by bullets. 

Even worse, they’d been separated by a particularly nasty collection of smoke-filled pipe bombs. It was nothing nasty, but it was enough of a hindrance that they’d lost formation. The plan was to regroup at an abandoned fueling station one klick southeast of their current position, and that’s where Johnny was heading. He tried to connect on comms again, but all he got was soft static. 

“Ghost, Gaz come in! Bravo-seven to Bravo-actual. Do you copy?”

No one replied. He was flying solo. His senses were on high alert, and all of his movements were carefully calculated, measured, and aligned to his new mission: survive.

Luckily, Makarov’s men had been retreating, and there was enough gunfire to scare off most of the civilians, but it was still a long way to the fuel station. 

Suddenly, in his ears, he heard a voice loud and clear.

“Bravo-seven, huh? I think we both know that’s not your name, soldier.”

Johnny’s mind reeled. It was a woman’s voice. She had a sort of blended accent, something he’d heard all of Laswell’s spies use so that no one would be able to tell where they were from. 

“Who is this?” He asked, checking his six and making sure to stay tucked below the window ledge. It would make moving through the bloc much slower, but if someone was in a sniper position, he couldn’t take any chances. 

“Mm,” she whined, “You wound me, Mr. MacTavish. I thought you’d know me by now, especially after I left you that little gift basket in Levin.”

Soap stopped in his tracks, whispering even though he was very much alone,

“It’s you…”

Her voice turned sinister,

“Vladimir is mine. Stay out of Kotovo. You’re too handsome to be in more than one piece.”

The noise in his headset went dead and he knew that she was gone. When he saw movement out of the corner of his eye – a flash of a black cloak, tattered and torn like a destitute comic book hero – Soap looked to the rooftop to find her. 

The moment his eyes met her face, she pulled back her hood to reveal her eyes, piercing and furious, and a full, pouting mouth. When she caught him gaping at her, crouching far out of cover and in a state of pure shock, her lips turned up into a slight smile before she jumped down the opposite side of the bloc building, disappearing into the pelting snow.

“... –vish! Co– … John– where ar– … Johnny!”

“LT?” Johnny tried to listen in to his comms, ducking back under the window and rushing out of the building, “I found her. In pursuit west north west to the docks.”

“What? Soap, we need to RV at the fueling st–”

“There’s no time! I cannae let her get away.”

“Wha’dya mean her?” Gaz asked, interrupting their back and forth, “The terrorist is a fuckin’ bird?”

“Aye,” Johnny panted, running flat out through the thick snowfall, chasing her across the parking lot of the bloc complex, “Bonnie as fuck, too.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, MacTavish?! Get the fuck back to RV. Tha’s a bloody order!” The captain demanded. 

“Aye, sir. Be there in two shakes.”

Johnny muted his mic and ignored the protests from the other end of the comm line. They were coming for him, predictably, so if things did go south, he knew he’d have some backup. 

Suddenly, just as his wee birdie was making her way down the main road to the docks, gunfire popped across her path. On instinct Johnny raised his weapon and returned fire, getting her attention. She peered over her shoulder at him, surprised that he was not shooting at her instead, and pulled her handgun to help him take down the small group of Makarov’s men who were advancing on their position. 

Enemy squads were in direct pursuit, and it was hard to tell if Soap or the bombmaker was their main target. It didn’t matter, in the end. Johnny took out the first squad in a matter of moments, barely reducing his speed to return fire, but there were two stragglers from the second squad, hidden behind a small electrical shed, popping off stray shots in her direction. 

He altered his course, but she stopped him in his tracks. She’d shot at the ground right in front of him, keeping him away from the shed. Soap slowed, but he changed back to his original path, not understanding her motive. It wasn’t until he saw a blinding, golden blaze of fire erupt out of the electrical housing and felt the shockwave of her bomb rattle around in his chest that he understood why she had stopped him. 

“Holy fuck…” he breathed.

Her teasing voice cut through his comms, silencing the chatter from the 141,

“Did ya like that, baby?”

Soap peeled his gaze away from the fiery explosion and found her perched behind a shipping container about fifty meters ahead of him. She was breathing hard, and her body was tense, but she was looking straight at him, a clever smile pasted across her mouth. 

He smiled back,

“Tha’ was bloody beautiful, lass.”

Then, her eyes left him, turning back to her path towards the boat slips, and her tone became resigned,

“You can’t come with me, soldier.”

The line went dark. She had cut his entire communication. He couldn’t even hear Price barking orders anymore. Soap peeled the buds out of his ears and let them hang down by his throat mic. Still, he pursued her. He wasn’t going to give up that easy. 

He was also gaining on her. She was trying her best to weave between shipping crates and huge piles of knotted ropes, but it was no use. He was faster, stronger, and by the time he was ten paces away, she knew she was caught. Suddenly, she ducked into a rundown storage building and disappeared into the room. 

Johnny followed right behind, ignoring his training to stop, assess, and plan his ingress. 

He came into a large, nearly empty room. At the far end, the ceiling was missing from the roof and it cast pale sunshine down into the open area. It illuminated two large wooden crates where his fiery little bird was sitting, waiting for him. The floor was covered in sand and snow, and he couldn’t see the boards beneath his boots. It was like there was no floor at all. The outside was inside, and the destroyed roof let in the wilderness where there should have been cold, clean civilization. 

Johnny stopped in his tracks, holding his gun at the ready position, staring up at her like she was the winged Nike, shaken by her power and amazed by her beauty. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Her lips were pillowy and expressive, her eyes full of her sharp intellect, her body soft with curves yet heavy with muscle… to mix her stunning appearance with her phenomenal talent with demolition engineering seemed almost blasphemous. No one woman could be so perfect, and yet…

“You shouldn’t have come here.” Her voice was soft like rain, and it hit his skin in the same way, leaving little drops of its effect behind to remind him of it. 

“Why?” He asked, standing very still as if any movement might scare her off again. 

“I’m going to a place where no one ever comes back from. Alone. Vladimir Makarov killed my sister, and he has to pay for that. I will make him pay.” 

As she finished her explanation, she smiled in a sorrowful, resigned way, understanding that she was on a suicide mission but unwilling to change her course. 

“He will, bonnie. We willnae let him get away this time. You have my word,” Johnny promised her, earnestly. 

“My hero,” she teased. Then, after a short pause, she asked, “Do you have a sister, Mr. MacTavish?”

“Aye. Three wildlings, in fact,” he had taken no truth serum and yet it came pouring out of him anyway. 

“Bridgette, Maggie, and Jenny…” She reported back, “All older than you, right?”

Johnny’s heart stopped in his chest, 

“How’d you –”

“When a handsome, young, black ops soldier comes in and defuses a sixteen stage daisycutter that I designed myself, I make sure to learn a thing or two about him. And,” she unzipped her jacket and began to pull it off of her shoulders, “I also know that a man like that, a man with sisters… is not the kind of man who just gives up.”

“No, lass. I willnae give up. Let me help you. If we… oh, Christ,” Johnny watched in horror as she pulled the jacket the rest of the way off to reveal an intricately woven vest packed with explosives with perfectly laid Cordtex wires winding in and out of each of the housings, live and ready to blow. 

“Hands up!” Price’s voice echoed through the empty room as he, Gaz, and Ghost filled in the space behind their sergeant, guns pointed right at her, their red laser sights dancing on her chest like fireflies. 

Johnny held out his hand with the signal to halt, and everyone froze. She, however, slid off of the crate and walked over to him, little white flecks of snow sticking to her hair and cheeks, taking each step slowly and deliberately. As she got closer and closer, Soap could smell her sweat, heady and musky, and he could hear her breaths, hanging on each of her exhales like it was some heavenly edict, memorizing the pace of them like it would unlock all of the world’s many secrets, a passcode to the truth. 

She whispered, inches from his open mouth, 

“You can help me,” she put her hands on his neck, using her thumbs to rub against the scruff of his five o’clock shadow, letting the stiff hairs burn under her touch, “By staying the fuck out of my way.”

Despite the warning timbre of her voice, she was open and pliant for him, letting her lips hang open slightly, like she was expecting his kiss. Johnny leaned toward her, his mouth slotting across hers, tasting her on his tongue and moving his body into her space. He ignored the danger, well aware of the fact that she was strapped with enough Semtex to blow a city block into a dirty crater, and he kissed her deeply, as if they had been lovers for years, as if this was not their first touch. 

She stepped back, pulling away from him, and he took a step forward to follow. 

Click.

Time stopped. Johnny’s skin flashed hot and then cold, all of the adrenaline he had left flooding his system. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” She chided him, backing away while he remained frozen in place, “Sit… stay…” Then, that same sad smile, “Good boy.” 

She climbed up on the crate and escaped through the hole in the roof before any of them could react to what had just happened. 

Captain Price gave an order to Gaz,

“Go after her!”

“No!” Johnny protested, “All of you, get the fuck out of this room. I stepped on a wee mine, and if I know her, this whole dock will be at the bottom of the bloody ocean the moment I lift my boot.”

Ghost came up behind him, shifting his feet carefully through the sand, searching for secondary devices. Then, he used his pneumatic tool to blow the snow away from Johnny’s left foot to reveal the device. 

“Well, she got you fair and square, didn’t she, Johnny? I’ll tell your mum you died a hero’s death,” there was a joking tone in Ghost’s voice that made Soap peer down at the toe of his boot. 

He had stepped on an empty soda can. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Johnny sighed, feeling the tingle of relief skitter through his limbs. 

Then, panic again as Price’s voice growled darkly behind him,

“I should send you on the first flight back to Glasgow with your papers in your fuckin’ hand, boy. What the hell are you doin’, MacTavish? You’ve got one fuckin’ chance to explain yourself before I replace you with a damn bomb robot. At least then I won’t have to write a letter home when he gets blown to bits.”

“I put a tag in her pocket, Cap’n. Should be able to watch her on the SAT-NAV now. She already mapped where Makarov’ll be next. I think we should help her.”

“What’s your deal with her? Are you…” Gaz asked, bewildered by his friend’s unusually careless behavior.

“I dinnae ken how to explain it, but I need to see this through.”

Price’s exhausted sigh was the only response he received, but Johnny knew that the silence was a form of assent. They would help him, and he would help her, if only he could get to her before she did anything too permanent.

Chapter 2

AO3 Link

[marsdql]

Winter Melody

Childhood best friend!Heeseung x reader

You were just taking a casual walk, when all of sudden, you spot someone you were the least expecting to see.

Genre: fluff, kissing, aloootttt of fluff, fluff hi, did I say fluff?, little suggestive at the end, oh and also fluff ;3 | wc: 2.2k

The first snow of the season had come early, blanketing the city in a soft, untouched white. You tugged your scarf tighter around your neck, pulling your hands into your coat pockets as the gentle crunch of snow beneath your boots became the only sound in the quiet park. Holiday lights strung across bare branches sparkled with a warm glow, casting a magical light over everything.

This walk was meant to clear your mind, a brief escape before winter exams and family holiday plans took over. You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t notice the figure standing under a streetlight up ahead, leaning against a tree with hands in his pockets. Something about the way he stood looked familiar.

Then it hit you.

“Heeseung?” you called out, voice breathy from surprise.

He looked up, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. “Y/n? I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You took a few steps forward, hardly believing your eyes. Heeseung Lee, your childhood friend who’d moved away years ago, was standing right in front of you. He looked older, his face sharper, but his smile held the same warmth you remembered.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, still half-convinced this was some winter dream.

“Visiting for the holidays,” he said, shrugging. “My parents missed the quiet life here. And, I guess I missed it too.”

You both laughed, an unspoken nostalgia in the air. There had been so many moments like this when you were younger, wandering the neighborhood together or building snowmen in your backyards. It felt surreal to see him here again, like you’d stepped back in time.

After a beat of silence, Heeseung spoke. “Hey, how about some hot chocolate? There’s a café just down the street. Let’s catch up.”

You agreed, and soon you were sitting across from each other in a cozy corner of a small café. The two of you fell into easy conversation, sharing stories about high school, family, and all the things you hadn’t told each other since he’d moved away. Heeseung told you about his life in the city—his school, new friends, and everything he’d missed about this place.

Hours slipped by as you talked. The café’s warmth, the comforting hum of soft music, and the flickering candle on the table made everything feel just right. You laughed and reminisced, falling back into that old familiarity, yet something felt different now, too. There was a tension between you, something you couldn’t quite name.

He looked at you, his gaze lingering. “You know, I thought about calling you so many times, but…I didn’t want to be just a voice from the past.”

You looked down, heart racing. “I thought about you too, Heeseung. I guess I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

He chuckled softly. “How could I forget? You were always there for me.”

The days flew by, and meeting Heeseung became part of your routine. You explored the town’s winter markets, tried seasonal treats, and found yourselves wandering through snowy paths and taking in the holiday lights together. Each moment felt like a gift, like you were getting to know each other all over again.

One afternoon, you decided to go ice skating at an outdoor rink. Heeseung laughed as you stumbled onto the ice, gripping the railing tightly. He skated over to you, holding out his hand with a playful smile.

“Need some help?”

You nodded, feeling your face heat up as you took his hand. He guided you around the rink, his laughter filling the air whenever you wobbled. Eventually, you managed to skate without holding on, the both of you gliding side by side, snowflakes catching in his dark hair. You stole a glance at him, heart fluttering. He seemed so at ease, so genuinely happy.

As the sky turned a soft pink with sunset, you both left the rink and wandered back to the park. Heeseung stopped, looking up at the holiday lights hanging from the trees.

“This place really hasn’t changed much,” he said, his voice soft.

“Neither have you,” you replied, feeling a mix of nostalgia and something more. “It’s like you’re the same Heeseung, but…also not. In a good way.”

He looked at you, and for a moment, the air between you felt charged. “I’m glad we met again, Y/N. I didn’t realize how much I missed this.”

He took a small step closer, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the cold. You both lingered there, inches apart, your breath visible in the night air. Just when you thought he might say something more, he smiled softly, stepping back.

“I should get you home. It’s getting late.”

In the days that followed, you both grew closer. Heeseung became a comforting presence in your life, someone who understood you in a way that felt deeper than before. But the feeling growing in your chest, a warmth that stirred every time he looked at you, made you wonder if this friendship had changed.

One night, you couldn’t keep it to yourself any longer. You invited Heeseung to the park and met him near the same streetlight where you’d first run into each other. Snow fell gently around you, blanketing the world in a peaceful quiet.

Heeseung walked up, his breath fogging the air. “You sounded serious on the phone. Is everything okay?”

You nodded, gathering your courage. “I just… I wanted to tell you something.”

He looked at you expectantly, his dark eyes full of warmth.

“These last few weeks have been amazing,” you began, your voice soft. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you. And I thought maybe…” You took a shaky breath. “Maybe this isn’t just friendship for me anymore.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, without a word, Heeseung took a step forward, closing the distance between you. He reached out, his hands gently framing your face, his gaze searching yours.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he whispered.

And before you could respond, his lips met yours. It was a gentle, warm kiss, one that felt like the answer to every question you hadn’t dared to ask. Snowflakes fell around you, the world fading into a quiet, beautiful blur as you melted into his embrace.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his face.

“I came back for the holidays, but…I think I might stay a little longer,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. “I’d like that.”

As you stood there together, snow drifting around you and holiday lights twinkling in the background, you knew this was only the beginning.

The days after that kiss were a blur of laughter, stolen glances, and small moments that felt bigger than they were. The holidays were in full swing, and with every shared coffee, every walk under the twinkling lights, you found yourself falling deeper into Heeseung’s presence.

One evening, the two of you found yourselves sitting by a window at a café, the soft glow of the lights outside casting shadows over the table. You had just finished a light dinner, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave. The snow continued to fall gently outside, the world muffled in white silence.

You took a sip of your hot chocolate, your fingers lingering on the rim of the cup. Your eyes met Heeseung’s across the table, his gaze warm, unwavering. There was something in his eyes, something more than the playful teasing that had marked your earlier conversations.

He smiled, but there was a softness to it now, an intimacy that hung between the two of you, unspoken but understood.

“I’m really glad we found each other again,” Heeseung said, his voice low and steady. “I didn’t realize how much I missed having you in my life until we started talking again.”

You placed your cup down, suddenly feeling the gravity of his words. The world outside seemed to pause as you sat in that moment, your heart racing as you stared back at him. There was a connection here, something undeniable that you didn’t want to ignore anymore.

“I’ve missed you too,” you said, your voice a little softer than you intended.

The silence that followed was comfortable, full of quiet understanding. Heeseung leaned forward slightly, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours. You didn’t pull away.

The warmth of his hand so close to yours sent a spark of electricity through your chest. The air between you felt charged, and for a moment, it felt as though everything else had disappeared. Your pulse quickened as you instinctively moved your hand closer to his.

Heeseung gently brushed his fingers against yours, the light touch enough to send a flutter through your stomach. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he said, his lips close to your ear, “but I want to make sure you know how much I care about you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. His words were everything you’d been hoping for, yet still felt surreal, like something out of a dream.

Slowly, you turned your hand over, offering it to him. Heeseung’s fingers entwined with yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way it felt so right.

He moved closer, his face just inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and his gaze flickered down to your lips. You could feel the tension building, the sweet anticipation that hung in the air.

“You’re everything I’ve been looking for,” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he closed the small gap between you, his lips pressing gently against yours. It was soft at first, tender, almost like he was testing the waters, unsure but hopeful. And when you kissed him back, it was like everything clicked into place. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken words, the confessions you’d both been holding onto for far too long.

His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss just slightly, his lips moving with yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The world outside the café ceased to exist. All that mattered was the closeness, the warmth between you, the way his lips felt against yours, the way your heart fluttered at each touch.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, Heeseung rested his forehead against yours. The soft, quiet sound of his laughter filled the space between you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted, his voice a bit breathless, his hands still holding yours.

“I think I have an idea,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips.

“I’m serious,” Heeseung continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve wanted this for so long, but I didn’t want to rush it. I didn’t want to mess things up with you.”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “You could never mess things up with me, Heeseung.”

There was a long, peaceful silence between you, the two of you simply holding hands across the table, the warmth of each other’s touch enough to silence the rest of the world.

Heeseung’s thumb traced small, comforting circles on the back of your hand, and his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “I’m glad it’s you.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like everything was falling into place. The season of change, of rediscovery, had brought you both together—and nothing else seemed more perfect than this moment, with him by your side.

Okkehyyyh ANYWAYYYYSSSS THAYS ALL I rushed this because I was bored in tech class… :$

I’m debating wether to make this a series or not

💌 Reblogs and comments are appreciated! 💌

[thesassypadawan]

Nurse Stephen, Mr. Glass (Stephen x FemReader)

Summary:  You’ve been begging your boyfriend for a boo basket for Halloween this year and he certainly didn’t disappoint…

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Switch, sub/dom nerd, adorable nurse, handy, fun from behind, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes: Happy Kinktober all you, lovelies! 🖤🧡

- Slowly you shed your clothes.  Wicked smile spreading across your face.  Eyes hungrily looking him up and down, taking in the ghoulishly delightful sight before you…   

- Dozens of flickering candles and pumpkin lights, placed and strung throughout the room.  All your favorite candies lay scattered on the bed, along with… 

- Your sweet boy…sat patiently waiting on his knees… faint dusting of pink on his cheeks…dressed up in the skimpiest, most darling nurse costume…cute, chubby cock peeking out and leaking from underneath the skirt…big bow tied and knotted at its base…  “You…you've been BO-BOO'd."

- “Awe, baby,” you coo, coming to kneel before Stephen.  Your hands resting on his firm chest; giving each pec a gentle squeeze through the thin, sheer fabric.  Length bobbing in response, a soft whimper falling from his plump lips.  “I love it…the perfect little treat.”

- “Real…really?”  He stammers, watching your fingers intently as they descend.  Fiddling with the red laces, the top of his thigh-high.  Snapping the lacey band, drawing out a small squeak.  “You d-do?”

- Leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his nose.  “Yeah, such a thoughtful gift…”  Loosely you wrap them, slide your thumb over the prominent veins that lace around his girth.  Stroking slowly, pausing at his flushed, pretty pink tip.  To spread, coat it in the glistening beads; adding a glob of your own spit for extra measure.  “…such a good boyfriend.”

- “I t-try.”  The words come out more like a groan; adam’s apple bobbing deliciously, tantalizing.  From the sensation of you picking up the pace, grip tightening.  Slick sound of saliva and pre against your palm filling the air, while it drips down…splatters on the sheets and assorted confectionaries below…along with your own juices.  “Just want t-to make you hap-happy.”

- “Doing a great job,” you praise.  Reveling in the way his head tilts to the side.  Brow knits in pleasure, covered in a light sheen of sweat.  Mouth hanging agape, the most darling pants coming from him.  “Always.”

- Warm breath ghosts over his neck, lips and tongue trails across his salty skin.  Nipping, sucking in those sensitive spots that have him gasping…hips bucking, seeming to seek out more friction.  “I…I…”

- Hearing the strain in his voice, feeling him twitch in your hand.  It’s easy to tell that he’s close, about to go crashing over the edge.  And he’s been so well behaved, so generous.  You decide to…

- Fingers tug at the bow, trying to free his dick…  “That’s it, cum for mommy.  You deserve it after being such a good boy.”  But just as it was about to come undone…

- He snaps…

- Hooking his arms under your legs, he tosses you onto the bed.  Squeak of surprise escaping you while he manhandles, turns you around so that you lay on your stomach.  Roughly yanks up your hips, holds them even…flush with his. Fat tip prodding, poking at your soaked core.  “Baby, what are you-”

- “Shut up, I say when we’re done,” he growls low.  One hand slapping your ass hard; making it bounce and ripple.  The other winding, squeezing the back of your neck…cutting off your air supply slightly.  “And we’re far from it.”

- Slamming into you, Stephen doesn’t give you a moment to adjust.  Thrusting fast and punishing.  So deeply that you he seems impossibly larger…like he’s splitting you open on his cock.

- Desperately, you suck in every breath you can.  Only managing a constant stream of broken mewls and cries instead.  Practically punching them from your lungs as he pounds mercilessly, hits that small bundle of nerves over and over.  The heat in your stomach pooling, rising up…the coil growing incredibly tight.  “I…I…”

- “That’s it, cum for daddy…”  He mocks, pressing your face more firmly against the mattress.  Stray pieces of chocolate melting underneath, sticking to your cheek.  “You deserve it after being such a good girl…”

- A strangled moan flies from your throat, walls clench and clamp down on him.  As waves of blinding pleasure come crashing over you…as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.  Speed increasing, drives become more brutal.

- Weakly, you whimper.  Fisting the stained sheets, body trembling.  Second release quickly approaching.  “Dad-daddy, I…I…”

- Gripping your neck harder, stars start to fill your vison.  “Love your perfect little treat?  I know…”  Head swims, tears prick at the corners of your eyes.  “You’re going to keep loving it all night long, until you’re sore…numb.  Until Mr. Glass is through with you…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @fuckmyskywalker, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite

[stars-in-a-jam-jar]

I'm seeing a notable handful of posts in the Amazing Digital Circus tag disagreeing on Gangle's character and I think the big thing about the difference in perspective is really just: How seriously are thou as an audience member taking the 'minimum wage job for a day' premise? (I will singlehandedly re-introduce 'thou' into the english lexicon you watch me, it's so much better than the general-you)

In a world where this is meant to be treated like a shitty little game, Gangle's behaviour in response to Jax misbehaving is really kind of unacceptable. Ragatha's more fucked up by the Stupid Sauce that Caine somehow decided was a good idea to include than she is by the dump in the deep fryer, Gangle did not need to threaten Jax with "horrible punishment" from the most powerful thing in their lives over what amounts to general disrespect and a minor inconvenience. Mr. Orbzman is an NPC and not a person, Jax shouldn't have to hold his tongue about it like he would at a real job where the customers are real people with real feelings. Pomni's feelings over and attachment to Gummigoo are more important than being a good little cashier and playing the game properly. Gangle putting Jax on cleaning duty for the bathrooms when they 'look like a biohazard' is absurd and demeaning because it's a long established fact that this is a digital world where bio-anything is completely meaningless, and she's just making him do unpleasant shit for no reason other than she wants it done and she wants him doing it. And her responding to his continued refusal to play along by locking him in an isolated room, strapping him to a chair, and Doing A Brainwashing To Him is Fucking Horrifying and borderline irredeemable.

Also: "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean." Is frankly an evil thing to say.

But in a world where this is a situation with real stakes, where failure or success in this endeavor Means Something, where Jax dumping Ragatha in the fryer is something that is hurtful and disruptive and unnecessarily cruel, where Jax refusing to keep his mouth shut until he's on break and out of earshot of the customers makes the day of the person he's badmouthing worse and might result in penalties from people above their heads, where Pomni leaving her post to try and talk to Gummigoo is both actively letting down her coworkers who are relying on her to do the job she's been assigned and an imposition on Gummigoo because They Are Strangers Now and there is no taking him back to the circus with her, where Gangle has been trusted with a position of responsibility and authority which has knock on effects for everyone beneath her and Jax won't even clean out the stupid bathrooms when they need cleaning— in that situation, Gangle's very manic and high strung about it and perhaps crosses a line with the whole 'summarily breaking Jax's spirit complete with a horror movie reference' thing, but She's Still Right.

Jax needed an attitude adjustment and nothing was working, so she goes a little nuclear on him. Pomni shouldn't be piling all this emotional baggage on someone who, right now, is a random customer. Gangle's very gentle with Ragatha when she's clearly out of it because she understands something is causing Ragatha to behave loopy and out of character, and in response, Ragatha says the colorful thoughtful gift that's been keeping Gangle together and allowing her to independently function at a level she's usually not capable of makes her annoying!!!

That's somehow so much worse than Jax saying he likes her better sad??? Because at least with Jax, he's expressing his displeasure at being ordered around by someone he previously called "submissive and agreeable" and not having any control over this situation. Ragatha's just saying something mean after telling Gangle she doesn't need help (she does) and thinks she could do a better job as shift manager (she has no proof of this).

And regardless of how seriously thou as the audience member are taking it and why, Gangle is taking it Incredibly Seriously. She is on 'If you die in the game, you die in real life' levels of emotional investment, this is all So Real to her, and anytime the others treat it like it's dumb and useless and hollow, it kicks up So Much Distress within her for reasons I'm gonna trust you guys to think on. And thou might think that is a detriment to her character in and of itself, or thou might be more endeared to her by it, but that is what's happening. So basically the reason some of y'all are coming out of this episode liking Gangle less and some are coming out adoring her is mostly dependent on if you personally are predisposed to take her side by taking the Hard Day's Work At Spudsy's Family Diner seriously.

[diodellet]

stress (jamil viper x gn!reader)

where: jamil sort of interrupts your self-care session, but makes up for it with fervent participation. all for mutual stress relief. content warnings: -bottom!reader -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect ++confidants-to-bedmates(? lovers? there's hints of mutual pining if you squint), swearing, masturbation, fingering, foreplay galore, sex toys, so so much banter, reader is unserious, there is no plot here. assume everything here is safe, sane, and consensual. word count: 2.6k words minors do not interact

Alone time is sacred. Especially when your weekly agenda consists of you running to-and-fro across a magical campus, constantly being buried under tasks tedious and menial, and keeping egotistical mages from ripping out each others’ throats over affairs concerning the student body.

Well, a “thank you” made you feel less shitty at the end of the day.

Sure, a good nap could revitalize you.

Being treated to an actual meal instead of Mystery Shop brand-instant food was great. But, your alone time, you’d kill if anyone desecrated that.

A sigh leaves you. You click on a higher setting, angle the vibrator against a spot that has your thighs trembling. Your free hand plays with one of your nipples. You’re past fantasizing about phantom sensations and honeyed words.

For a brief moment, you think of firm and callused hands holding you down. Long silky hair brushing against your heated skin. Perceptive gray eyes drinking in your every reaction and the way you arched yourself for more stimulation. They are the last coherent thoughts that flicker through your synapses before your mind is overrun by the singular desire to rut until you come your brains out.

Sadly, the universe does not believe in the sanctity of your alone time.

The vibrations abruptly cut off.

This can’t be happening.

Not even left teetering on the delicious cusp of release, you’re dropped back into your body. Nerves hyperaware of each silicon inch of the toy as you pull it out of you. You click the button multiple times, confirming the worst—

“Stupid batteries. Fucking useless…” Similar curses strung together fall from your lips. You slip on a graphic tee and head to the bathroom, carrying the toy in one hand. 

Your phone powers on as you sit on the toilet, the device buzzes with the simultaneous arrival of message notifications. The sound is a mockery of your interrupted alone time.

Maybe you could rub one out in the shower… That thought will probably become more appealing in about fifteen minutes.

Your eyes catch the first line of a text preview that makes a cold pit open up in your stomach.

J. Viper: I am going to lose my mind. I’ve had it with…

Reading the full text doesn’t ease your worries. There isn’t any more of that dulled neediness tugging at the back of your mind. Your hands move automatically, dumping your cleaned toy and unused towel on your bed’s mattress. While slipping on the first set of bottoms you could reach for, you fire off a reply—Hey don’t say that and other similar placating messages—then pick up your discarded blazer off the floor before finally leaving your room.

[...]

“You’ve been making that face for a while now.”

“What face?” You ask, feigning obliviousness as you keep your attention focused on the electric kettle.

Maybe there was one exception to your need for alone time. Fitting, that it would be one of the few confidants you made in this place.

Never mind about the last thirty minutes before this moment. Like a switch, you’re back to being a dutiful errand-runner, a sympathetic listening ear.

(Once, Jamil called you one of the few other sensible people on Sages’ Island and you have yet to stop riding the high of that moment.)

“Like my being here is making you uncomfortable.”

No shit, Sherlock. Feeling his sharp gaze on top of the sensation of your clothes chafing against your oversensitive skin was uncomfy as fuck. “Look man, I could give you a mug of tea or we can open a new can of worms. I suggest you take the tea.” You lean back against the counter top and tug the end of your blazer a bit more protectively around you.

His lips press together in a thin line. “I can see myself out. Thank you for the offer, though.”

The sound of boiling water reaches its apex. In that split-second, you backtrack. “Wait—I’m sorry, I’m just, I was busy.” Your hand readjusts the pair of pajama pants you hastily threw on, index finger dipping just a fraction of an inch beneath the waistband. Your eyes don’t miss the way his gaze follows the movement of your wrist before it returns to rest itself atop the counter. “I’m not…uncomfy because you’re here. I was just nervous and—and I thought I could serve you tea instead of bothering you with my…current predicament.”

“Oh.” Very eloquent, you’d say the same thing if the positions were reversed.

“So, could we focus on you first? Over a cup of tea, as friends?”

The kettle finally calms down, announcing the newly-boiled water with a loud Clack! of its switch.

Jamil doesn’t immediately respond, scrutinizing you with an emotion you can’t parse. Until it settles onto one of faint interest. “We can have tea later.” He stands up and walks over to you, placing a hand on your waist. “Right now, I think we can both use some stress relief. If…you’ll have me, that is.”

“Really? I hear it’s better to talk things out though. Not that I wouldn’t be open to that second thing….” Your hand lays itself atop his.

“Oh, I’m sure this will be better for the both of—” He pauses, runs his fingertips along the expanse of your lower navel a second time to confirm. “—no underwear?”

Your cheeks warm. “Yes, shut up. I actually got worried for you—ah ah ah! No touching yet!” You slip out of his hold. “Give me five minutes to clean up or something, my room’s a mess.”

Jamil doesn’t let you escape so easily, arms coiling around your middle, your back against his chest. Close enough for him to mutter against your ear in a low voice. “There’s no point to that if we’re going to make a mess in the end.”

(And it’s unfair how the implication—the invitation hidden underneath that—stokes the fire in your gut anew, almost makes you ruin the set of bottoms you threw on.)

Any restraint either of you carried snaps once the lock to your room twists shut. Jamil tugs you close to him, pulling you into a fervent kiss. Once you shrug off your blazer, his hands slip under the hem of your t-shirt, teasing at the sensitive skin of your waist, hiking higher and higher—damn.

“Bed first,” you demand once you pull yourself free. You aren’t panting—you try to convince yourself—though one of your hands is fisted in the front of his hoodie. When he sits on your mattress, you get pulled straight into his lap. His fingers hook against the waistband of your pants, sliding them down to bare your thighs.

Basically, confirming what he already knew. Felt, rather. Your hips buck against his palm as he cups your groin.

“How long were you at it?” There’s a sly smirk pulling at his lip, like he’s pleased to have you and your need for pleasure resting in his hand. All for him to control.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you huff. “I was already—ngh—washing up when you messaged.”

His smile doesn’t abate. A finger slips into your entrance. “And you couldn’t find the time to properly dress yourself? I’m flattered.”

You’re about to fire off another retort, but the digit curls infuriatingly into a come-hither gesture, slowly rubbing against your inner walls. What leaves your throat instead is a soft, needy noise. “Come on, you’re gonna make me come too fast…”

“So?” And he keeps that irritatingly steady pace. Letting the pleasure in your lower stomach build and build, until you’re shaking from exertion. “Go ahead, then.”

“Mmgh, I want—”

“More? How greedy of you.” Another finger joins the first one, a delicious stretch against your insides combined with each thrust of his wrist.

“No, fuck….wait, I mean—” Words longer than two syllables were suddenly harder to manage. “—you, what about you…?”

“...Me?” 

Maybe, just maybe, your insistence on having mutual reciprocation was biting you in the ass, you’re right on the edge of sweet release. Just one more stroke against that bundle of nerves inside of you, or maybe if you just clenched down hard enough—

“...You’re too considerate, really. To someone like me.”

His words are soft, barely heard over your mounting need. Your insides throb in time with the beat of your heart. But your voice can only manage a dismayed whine when Jamil’s fingers pull out of you.

(That you’re still on the cusp of an orgasm is another thing, but it helps to have your head clearing up a bit.)

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chides you, palms caressing the sides of your thighs. But the smile on his features tells you that he’s drinking in your hazy gaze, simply endeared at how you were reduced to neediness just from his touch. “You wouldn’t want this to end too quickly, would you?”

…he has a point. Your tongue wets your lower lip. “Lose the hoodie then, so—so we can continue.” One of your hands reaches for the hem of his top.

It’s no secret that you find Jamil Viper attractive. Hell, the way he carries himself suggests that even he knows it himself. At least sneaking a few glances gave you some plausible deniability. But in baring just a sliver of his midriff, you might as well have broadcasted the very thought.

Better to get that sorted out before getting him inside of you, right?

Your eyes trace the toned lines of his stomach, the lithe muscles of his arms, the way his loose ponytail hung artfully against his shoulder. Off his hoodie goes, joining your discarded pajama pants and blazer. 

“Easy, there.” The way he drawls your name has your stomach flipping somersaults. 

“I guess you look fine.” You could burn a hole through him with how hard you were staring.

“Mhm, sure.” A warm palm cups the back of your neck, guiding you into an open-mouthed kiss. Tongue swiping against your bottom lip, pulling a surprised moan from you.

What else can you do but melt into it?

Even though the two of you were urged on by fervent need, there’s an undercurrent of tenderness—something more delicate than your mutual pent-upness—with each graze of your skin against his. You could barely hold a candle to Jamil’s seemingly-innate grace and sensuality, yet he meets each of your tentative touches without pulling away, as if insistent to keep your hands on him too. To keep at least some point of contact on you as much as possible. Your hand dips beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, to palm at his hardening dick.

You’re rewarded with a languid roll of his hips. The painful yet pleasurable scrape of his canine against your lip. That needy sound bubbling up from his throat, only to be swallowed up with another feverish kiss.

You could live in this moment forever.

Until you fall back against the mattress and feel the shaft of your forgotten vibrator digging painfully into the small of your back.

“Ow!”

Jamil’s palm soothes against the pained area. “Are you alright?” 

(You could’ve sworn you felt his clothed erection twitch at the sound you made.)

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you grunt, fumbling blindly for the culprit. Guess you forgot to put it back in your nightstand’s drawer.

Well, you were in a hurry.

Jamil eyes the discarded toy in your hand. “That shade of purple is…a choice.” Yet he accepts it when you pass it to him, telling him to compare it to his own.

Which earns you a flustered huff, no trace of genuine malice in the look he gives you.

“It matches the school colors, doesn’t it? Go, Night Ravens, go…or something…?”

“That is not how the cheer goes.” Your grin widens at the scowl sent in your direction, though his eyes are soft with fond exasperation. “Hand me that.”

 “The lube?” And that too.

Oh, forget your room, you were the mess all along.

(You sneak just a glance at his groin, he’s still sporting a half-erection, so hooray..? There may yet be hope for getting dicked down? Maybe you should have asked him to remove those first…)

“What else?” And he pours a copious amount onto the toy. Drawing your gaze to the way he curls his fingers around the shaft of the thing, how he gives it a slow and obscene pump to coat it with lube, sending a rush of heat through your frame.

“The batteries died, it’s useless.” Still, you spread your legs as he presses the slicked-up tip against your entrance.

Jamil keeps a hand on your knee, eases the vibrator in slowly—even though you’ve been more than sufficiently stretched out with his fingers. “Don’t need it to vibrate to fuck you.” 

Well, there wasn’t much arguing against that logic. “Then, please…please…!”

He adjusts his grip on the base of the toy, accidentally clicks the button as his pace quickens.

What you don’t expect is the sudden pulse of vibrations against your core, you’d snap your legs shut from surprise if Jamil wasn’t keeping you lightly pinned down.

“Mm, that was a nice sound…” The smile on his face is evil. 

“Oh, motherfucker, don’t tell me you’ve got—” Your words taper off into an embarrassingly loud whimper as he presses the vibrator against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

Who’d have thought the thing kept one final spurt of energy, if not to spite you?

“Would you look at that? It still works.” The pressure doesn’t let up, in fact, he’s meeting each desperate buck of your hips, making sure that each thrust brings you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been aching for. 

Your own coherence, on the other hand, is nowhere to be found. A choked sob falls from you, and your abdomen clenches, and—

“That’s right, just let go,” Jamil croons.

In those few moments, the batteries of your vibrator truly and finally breathe their last. It doesn’t stop Jamil from prolonging your release with gentle thrusts. You’re lost in the waves of your orgasm, each motion pulling a high-pitched keen from your throat when it tips into overstimulation. Vaguely, you’re aware of the sparks of pleasure radiating up your frame, the feeling of his free hand interlacing your fingers together.

You didn’t know the touch of another person could also feel so grounding.

“Mmgh…don’t pull it out yet.”

“I wasn’t going to. You’re holding onto it really tightly.” Jamil gives the vibrator a little tap which makes you squirm away from him.

You’re past embarrassment though, letting the sorely-craved happy hormones flow through you. Your nerves have calmed down just enough to pull out the used toy. This time, eliciting a pleased sigh from you.

This time you make sure to set it aside properly.

“...you’re quite the treasure, do you know that?”

There he goes with another of those quiet remarks, making your cheeks burn. “If you said that a while ago, I was too busy coming to hear it.”

“I said, you’re hopeless.” 

“Nooo, say it one more time, at least!”

“Don’t be insufferable.” Even as he says that, Jamil lets you clamber into his lap to cuddle against his chest.

“So…”

“Hm?”

You trail a suggestive palm against his inner thigh. “...would you want me to use my mouth or…”

Surprise flickers over Jamil’s expression, eyes widening for a fraction of a second. “Ready to go again this quickly?” But there was no denying the amusement coloring his voice.

It takes a bit of maneuvering for you to remove your t-shirt. “Well, you haven’t had your fill of stress relief yet.” Jamil’s palms steady themselves on your waist as you properly straddle him.

Were you basically propositioning him to use you as he saw fit? Maybe.

“I’m afraid I’m quite the insatiable type,” Jamil utters, leaning close to you, breath fanning across your lips. Maybe he means it as a warning, you know this reflex. You were guilty of it too, sometimes.

But if he could still look at you with such warmth and tenderness, sentiments you could easily reflect back onto him, then—

“That makes two of us.”

a/n: icb jamil just dodged the impending heart-to-heart talk and just wanted the spicy smuttenings 😤 like that'll stop me from writing more angst and hurt/comfort scenarios. anyways i hope this was an enjoyable read! thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this with your (slightly less) sleep deprived eyes, your assistance makes editing so much less stressful. to all my readers, thanks for enjoying my silly writing, i hope to bring more this coming 2025!

tagging: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @bakedgrape @mama-m1na

@cataclyysmiic (hehe i think ull also enjoy this) @sillystr1ngs @scint1llat3

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies!)

[majinbangus]

Gonna sound weird but can you do something where after soap gets shot him and the reader meet up again during that and the reader sees his arm wound and licks at the blood. She doesn’t have to be a vampire but she just happens to be a little weird.

doesn't sound weird, nonnie, i like this a lot! i actually had a similar thought here (our brains must be on the same wavelength ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)) and another one where soap licked up reader's blood here

》 18+

He's not a medic, but he's pretty sure—given common sense and his basic first aid training—that wounds are typically cleaned with an antiseptic of some kind. So to say he is a little caught off guard to your unique approach is an understatement. In all his experiences with wounds and getting them treated, never has he experienced a more unorthodox method of cleaning them.

"Uh, lass?" His voice is unintentionally raspy, Scottish brogue a little bit thicker, but he can't help it. Not with you doing what you're doing. Soap doesn't blink as he stares at you, swallowing thickly. The muscles in his bicep spasm, but it has nothing to due with the bullet wound he suffered from. He's barely aware of it. "What're y'doin'?"

You don't answer him right away, too focused on your task, eyes closed and cold fingers holding his warm forearm to keep him still. The caress of your tongue, wet and warm, dragging against his skin and lapping up rivulets of blood is something he never knew he needed to feel. He can't look away from the intense concentration on your face, unaffected by the taste of iron, nose not even crinkling in disgust. He feels a little twitch in his pants.

When you pull away, the look on your face doesn't help the sudden tightness pressing against his zipper. You look beautiful. Chin and lips smeared lightly with his blood, you appear almost drunk, the adorable drowsy blink doing nothing but enhancing your intoxicated appearance.

"Sorry." You swipe your thumb across your bottom lip and suck it into your mouth to lick it clean. "I know we gotta meet up with Ghost soon, but that looks like it hurts. Hope you don't mind I cleaned it a little; I know it's still kinda messy, but I don't have anything to wipe it with."

"It's okay," He croaks weakly, doing his damnedest to ignore the raging hard on in his pants. "I don't even feel it."

"You sure?" You squint at him as if you don't believe it, but it's true.

He's too high strung on the phantom feeling of your tongue on his skin. On the near blissed-out look you had after tasting him. He wonders if that's how you look when you—

Soap clears his throat and gives you a tight smile, resisting the urge to adjust himself and firmly keeps both hands planted at his side as he stares at the blood still smudged on your face, imagining a more milky white color to the fluid. "I'm sure."

[p1utofairy]

PAC: “one hit of your love addicted me. now i’m strung out on you, darlin’, can’t you see?” 🕊️🕰️✨📨

• what will your first love be like?

disclaimer ✩: take what resonates, leave what doesn't. i wanted to try something new by including edits but ofc tumblr is annoying and doesn’t let you post more than 1 video ugh. hope you all enjoy this though! love you much.

PILE ONE.

hey pile 1 🎀 right off the bat i gotta say…your person could possibly give anakin skywalker vibes visually lolololol very tall, handsome and broody. i'm also thinking of jon snow from ‘game of thrones’ hmmm i think this just ties into the fact that your person is in their bag a good 85% of the time! they analyze and process their thoughts & emotions a lot, and this won’t change especially when it comes to their love and devotion for you. they are very intense and purposeful when it comes to love — there’s no faking it or forcing it. they say what they mean, and mean what they say. they hold themselves to a very high standard so i think they’ll be in their head a lot when it comes down to approaching you/courting you. they want to make sure that they’re doing and saying the right things…they want to make sure that you’re comfortable. they will prioritize you and take the time out to really get to know you! they don’t want to do the whole cliché “wyd” texts or just take you out to the movies. no, they want to be able to take you to places you’ve never been before & treat you to beautiful experiences that will stay with you forever. that’s how highly they think of you, pile 1! they think you deserve the best of the best and they will do everything in their power to give you just that. this person has been through a lot in their life and they’ve felt so alone and misunderstood. 9x out of 10 if they just got out of a relationship, their ex didn’t understand them or couldn’t match them emotionally. your person is big on “everything happens for a reason” so when you come into their life they’re going to feel so much joy and relief, it’s like you’re their saving grace. it’s that energy of — where have you been all my life? that scene of anakin and padmé in ‘star wars: attack of the clones’ on the balcony is coming to mind…the longing in their eyes before they share their first kiss. a lot of people may talk about y'alls relationship/how y'all got together. it's nothing scandalous…i just see people being infatuated? i’m picking up a lot of outside influences/opinions so just be careful of that…don't have too many people in your business cause i’m picking up that some of these people don’t have the best intentions and are secretly jealous. it’s giving very much “fan behavior” hm they might keep tabs or ask lots of questions about you and your person’s relationship…it’s weird. i think for some of you, you’ve been single for a long time, so it’s going to be a shock to a lot of people when you pop out with this person. once your person comes into your life you may start to notice multiple people show romantic interest in you and you’ll be like??? where tf were y’all at when i was single for ____ years?! LMFAOOOOO that’s hilarious but back to your first love, it’ll be beautifully intense. i see you giggling a lot, staring at your person with big starry eyes and a lot of physical touch between you two. it may not even be in a flashy way? i can just see you coming up behind them and placing a hand on their back to make your presence known…i see a lot of moments of them holding you in their arms and resting their forehead against yours — they’re looking at you with so much intensity…deep concentration and passion etched across their face and you just break out into this bright smile and they just melt. you look so innocent compared to them like there’s this light in your eyes that’s left their own a long time ago, but they feel so safe…so free to be themselves when they’re with you. you’re their heart, pile 1. i’m hearing that scene from ‘the bear’ when carmy tells sydney “i couldn’t do it without you. i wouldn’t even want to do it without you…” AWWWWEEEEEE.

via tnqkins on tiktok

other channeled messages:

who's that girl? by eve, shravana moon/rising, doe eyes, baby pink, curly hair, strong arms, yin & yang energy, younger/age difference, vishaka scorpio moon, hypnotic gaze, 10:10, mirroring each other, distinct cologne

PILE TWO.

heyyy pile 2! you will NOT expect to fall in love with this person wow, your feelings for them will actually catch you off guard. this person is not your usual type and that's what's so intriguing about them…you’ll never know what to expect with them; they’ll keep you on your toes. i think that you keep repeating cycles or keep going back to someone who is no good for you, but once you meet this person there’s no going back. you’ll gravitate towards them like a month drawn to a flame lol you can’t fight these feelings even if you wanted to. you might meet this person through a mutual friend or meet them in a group setting, i see other people around you both as you talk and get to know each other. there’s so much warmth that this person radiates…they feel like home to you. a hug from them could fix your bad day, a kiss from them could make your heart skip a beat 🥹 and their smile?! to see them smile at you will give you an instant serotonin boost. this relationship feels divine…it feels fated. it’s giving “right person at the right time” like everything leading up to this connection will make so much sense once you’re actually together. some of you that chose this pile are quick to self-sabotage or cut off a relationship before you can get too emotionally invested. you’ve built these walls up because you’ve been through a lot of shit and you don’t want the extra baggage a relationship can sometimes bring, but it’s gonna be different with this person. you’re going to be so open to receiving their love and reciprocating it, there’s going to be such a healthy balance between you two. i’m hearing that this person is going to be a wish fulfillment, pile 2. this might be a long distance relationship at first — you might have to travel to see each other or you both will like to travel to different places together. they will value you so much! they will wine and dine you, surprise you with your favorite things and make sure you always have whatever your heart desires. they love you and they will have no problem showing that.

other channeled messages:

short king, sagittarius, bisexual, when harry met sally, opposites attract, capricorn man, matcha latte, boyfriend by big time rush, saturn dominant, west virgina, virgo/6H placements, ruby, freckles

PILE THREE.

pile 333 🦢 whoa i'm already picking up that this is a love that only grows stronger and better with time; it ages like fine wine. WOW WOW WOW. i'm ngl i feel like this person is your divine counterpart…when i say you two are a match made in heaven — i mean it. you complete each other in ways that other people will never truly understand. there’s this unspoken love and desire between you two initially; i see you both stealing a lot of glances at each other, waiting for the other to cave in and say something…anything. you both want to close that space between you but don’t know exactly how to. i don’t think either of you has ever felt this way before about anybody 😮‍💨 this love is strong AF. it’s never a dull moment between you two, there’s always that underlying passion and spark ready to consume you both. i’m picking up that either your ex or their ex is going to be very envious of this relationship. they almost feel blindsided in a sense…they thought you were going to come back to them and give them another chance, so it's going to make them feel some type of way when they see that you’ve moved on. please be cautious of this ex pile 3…they don’t have good intentions at all and i pick up an obsessive vibe from them. we are blocking that all the way out 🧿 anyways! your person’s love language is more than likely quality time…they loveeeeeee spending time with you and stepping out of their comfort zone to try things that you like. there’s a solid friendship at the root of this connection pile 3…like not only is this person your lover, but they’re also your best friend wrapped into one. you will give them the key to your heart and vice versa. any other options or third party situations will be cut off/left behind because all you both can see is each other! nothing and no one can tear this relationship down because it’s built on such a strong foundation, you can see yourself with this person years down the line from now and they feel the exact same way. you’re home to them. i know this is your first love pile 3 but i wouldn’t be surprised if they popped the question 💍 — i'm just sayinnnnnnnnnn!

other channeled messages:

feel it by jacquees ft. lloyd & rich homie quan, la perla lingerie, just left a toxic relationship, rock the boat by aaliyah, air sign placements, 26, 111, lemon drop, leo, jaded by drake

[dstryvampres]

Lab Assistant

MINORS/AGELESS BLOG DNI !

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings: smut LOL, dub con, pnv, unprotected sex, use of fear toxin on some dude, he smacks your ass like once

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: this is my first time writing just pure smut, sorry if the set up is super long.

For the past week your heater had been broken, and despite multiple calls to your landlord which always ended up with the promise that he would come over to fix it eventually, you were still freezing. Though you could escape the biting cold throughout the day by taking up a second home at your university, you always had to eventually come back to your shitty studio apartment and suffer through the night. You’re excess time spent on campus was well spent, studying in the library, napping under stairwells or in-between shelves in the library, stirring around coffee you didn’t even like but knew you have to drink to stay in the cafe, or staring longingly at your psychology professor Dr. Crane. The lack of any privacy throughout your day had started to get annoying after the first three days, not helped by the fact that because you saw Dr Crane more than you usually do, leading to you feeling more high strung. Gotham was not treating you kindly.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out quite loudly above you, forcing you out of your final exam induced coma. You gritted your teeth, knowing that you were likely overstaying your visit to the campus library, especially since you had just finished your last exam of the season, who knows how many hours ago.

Looking up you were met with the face of your favourite professor, Dr Crane. Another horrible coincidence, it was embarrassing for someone so put together and professional to find you so vulnerable, especially someone who you had in mind when your hand was shoved down your pants most nights. 

“The library is closing soon, I would recommend getting your stuff and heading out,” Dr Crane says, his voice oddly empathetic. A jarring contrast to the usual mix of hostility and boredom his voice held during lectures. He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching his eyebrows together, seeming conflicted over what he wants to say next, so instead you fill the space with your own voice.

“Of course, I’m so sorry sir. I seemed to lose track of time, and was too exhausted to walk home. Again, I am so sorry. I should have set a timer or just maybe not sleep in the library, that was so-“

“You have been spending a weird amount of time on campus for the past week,” Dr Crane interjects, giving you a once over. “Is everything okay at home?”

The question was so genuine it made your brain short circuit. Why would he even care about you?

“Not really,” you laughed, the two words coming out of your mouth before you had time to think. A habit only recently picked up due to sleepless nights.

A smile crept over your professor's face, one that didn’t seem to reach the rest of his face. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of your honesty or something more sinister. He sat down in front of you, scratching his nose, letting a silence stretch out. Just long enough for pricks of discomfort to stir.

“Well, I’m running a program here at the university over the winter break. Just need an assistant to help me over at Arkham for an experiment I’m conducting. The job would include housing closer to Arkham, since it’s a little out of the city, and it pays about a dollar over the minimum wage. If you’re interested,” he slides a business card over the table, smile now dropped, “just email me in the next 48 hours.”

Taking the card eagerly between your fingers, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ under your breath before pocketing it. When you look up he’s already halfway gone. Packing up your things as fast as you can, you leave the library and hop on the train back to your shitty apartment. An email is sent to Dr Crane that night, and the following day you are confirmed as his assistant for this experiment the next day.

𝜗𝜚

The space provided for your three week stay was slightly better than your studio apartment, mostly because it had heating, but also because you shared a wall with Dr Crane. Besides the housing, the internship also came with an average pay, some work experience, and enough credits to compensate for one class. Your first week there had mostly been mundane tasks, taking notes outside of interrogation rooms while Dr Crane interviewed patients, making coffee for the two of you, making patient profiles, and making sure no one took any of Dr Crane’s “special medicine” for the experiment. Despite the easy work and the decent benefits, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister that Dr Crane wasn’t telling you about the experiment. With a thesis based around the concept of fears, you had yet to notice any great dive into the topic beside a few one-off questions.

“Before we start this week,” Dr Crane starts, sitting down in the chair opposite to you, “I want to just warn you that this is when the experiment starts to become a little more intense.”

He holds a coffee mug in his hand, as he talks the liquid sloshes around the cup. It's all information you already know, you signed an NDA, he trusts you, do what he says, and that he needs you to stay out of the room no matter what. Last week you learned just how Dr Crane enjoys his coffee, no milk and one sugar, you can’t understand how he can drink it. One sugar can’t mask the bitter taste. He drinks it quickly though, remembering the taste makes you gag.

“Before we begin today, can you prepare the variable today in syringes? I will be introducing it into the experimental group today.”

He sets down the now empty mug, a loud thump echoes through the room, startling you. Dr Crane smiles at your reaction, it’s the same one he always gives you, the one that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. You ignore the stone that has formed inside your stomach, picking up your clipboard and pen.

“I’ll meet you in room 283B,” your professor puts a hand on the small of your back, leading you both out of his office. A shock is sent through your body at the contact, once out of the room you turn to look at him, but his hand is gone and he’s headed in the opposite direction as you.

Something else that you have noticed throughout this week is just how close Dr Crane is now. He’s more touchy than you would pinpoint him as. Which isn’t saying much, but the small lingering touches he lays on you, a hand on your shoulder, maybe on the small of your back, doesn’t seem to be too professional. One… two… three millilitres of solution per syringe. The questions he asks also seem to be a little weird, especially due to the matter of the study. A common thread being his prying into your fears, and a look of hunger when he asks the questions. Soft thud of the storage container hitting the ‘chemical waste’ bin. Though you can’t really complain, this past week has given you enough content for your late nights to satisfy you for your whole university career, Masters program included. Laying out each of the syringes in a row on the tray, and counting them out. Three syringes on the top tray, six needles on the lower tray. Rolling the tray out of the room and over to the elevator to head up to the second floor.

You softly knock on the door, waiting for Dr Crane to open up the door to the observer section. The door opens in a matter of seconds, only a crack for a couple more seconds, before it is completely opened. 

“Thank you,” Dr Crane says, looking down at the tray of syringes. He takes one in his gloved hand, holds it up to the light and nods, a stamp of approval given to your handiwork. “Remember: that if anything goes wrong, do not enter the room, just call security, and take as detailed notes as possible on the patient’s behaviour and the levels on the monitor.”

You nod, taking a look at the monitor set up beside the one-way glass, all vitals seem to be steady at the moment. The door to the room holding the patient opens up and shuts quickly, Dr Crane slipping in and greeting the patient, thanking him for his time. The patient seems to be a middle aged man, scars run across his arms, roughed up from whatever he did before his time in Arkham, he’s bald and seems to be displeased with his situation. Still, when Dr Crane comes to insert the syringe into his arm he stays still and takes it. The opaque liquid disappears as Dr Crane pushes down on the syringe, removing it once all the liquid has entered into the man’s system. A ‘thank you’ is expressed by Dr Crane before he exits the room, syringe in hand. Once the door is locked, Crane disposes of the syringe in the toxic waste bin in the observer’s room.

“The solution will take about five minutes to kick in,” he says, looking at you and it’s now that you realise just how excited he seems to be. 

The heart rate on the monitor starts to speed up, taking your attention away from Crane, and noting it down.

“Are you sure you estimated the time correctly?” You ask hesitantly, not wanting to offend your professor.

“I did. No worries. Injections can do this to people.”

The next five minutes pass by slowly, Dr Crane behind your chair, his breath tickling your ear. It’s almost impossible to focus like this, you just want to do something about the growing wet spot in your pants. Screaming immediately breaks through the tension you were feeling, you look at the patient. His eyes are wide, his pupils expanded, and his heart rate reaches around 140 bpm. Alarm sets into your own heart, you didn’t expect this big of a reaction from the patient. Dr Crane nudges your shoulder, reminding you to start writing your observations.

11:06: patient’s heart rate reaches 140 bpm

11:07: patient starts uncontrollably screaming at seemingly nothing

Your continued scribbling of notes doesn’t seem to discourage Dr Crane from talking.

“I didn’t know it would be this effective. I’ve been waiting years for this to be approved and this is better than I could’ve ever expected.”

Nausea settled from the mix of pleading for mercy and screaming from the patient, and Dr Crane’s glee from his reactions. Unsure how you could continue on with doing this almost every single day for the two weeks. Writing soon became sloppy due to your own lightheadedness and nausea, every moment you begged someone to make this stop. It was too much. It stretched on for over fifteen minutes before the patient finally came back from whatever drug induced hallucination he was forced into, yet he was still crying. Wanting to distance yourself so far from this experiment, you place the clipboard down.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” Dr Crane asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Whatever response you thought you could muster was stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded. “I call it my ‘fear toxin.’”

Once his hand left your shoulder, you immediately stood up, head spinning so much that you stumbled right into Dr Crane.

“Are you okay? Did the ‘fear toxin’ effects startle you?” He asks, putting his hands on your shoulder to stabilise you, his voice bridges between mocking and actually concerned.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” You squeeze out, stumbling into the hallway and waving goodbye.

Stumbling around, unable to find the bathroom, you slide down the wall of an empty hallway. Sitting on the floor and curling up into the fetal position. Nausea slipping out of you slowly, eyes closed, just wanting to forget about the whole experience. What substance could even make a man react so horribly? Why would anyone make that in the first place? What purpose could a substance like that even serve? How will this even help-

“There you are,” a voice comes from above you, Dr Crane. You open one eye up, becoming flustered at your unprofessionalism, and enraged at the sight of your cruel professor.

He kneels to your height, offering you his soulless smile. “I’m sorry if that startled you, but I thought you would be better than them. I thought you could fully see my vision, look past the gruesome bits and understand what I’m trying to do here.”

His words both enrage you even further and make you feel even more embarrassed. He created a horrible substance, tested out on a man that, from what you know, didn’t deserve it, and essentially tortured him. On the other hand, this is a man who you have dreamed about and only want to please. For the past three years, you have sat in his class and dreamed about only him. For him to think that only you could understand his plans and dreams, is a flattery you could only dream of.

“Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well enough for this. Can I make it up to you?” Dr Crane asks, offering his hand to you. It takes a couple seconds, but you take it and he leads you upwards. 

His hand is oddly cold, his grip on your own hand is firm, but not harsh. His skin is smooth. It’s embarrassing that he has to lead you out of this room, has to coax you to continue.

“Let’s go to my office, hm?” Quirking an eyebrow, but not waiting for a response he led you down the hallway.

Everything seemed to blur together for you, the trip to the elevator, down the elevator, and into his office. He clicks the door shut, locking it, then turns to you. Stepping forward until he’s cornered you onto his desk.

“You think I don’t hear you at night. Calling my name. The walls in that place are very thin,” Dr Crane whispers into your ear, his hand slithering up your thigh.

A gasp escapes your lips, both at the hand now dangerously close to the warmth growing in your pants, and also because you didn’t think he would be able to hear your late night pleasure sessions. Soon he’s cupping your sex and you moan into his ear softly, earning a hum from him. Finger wander up from your sex to cup your chin, he brings you into a kiss. It’s bruising and hungry, he’s biting at your lower lip and you swear you can taste your own blood. His fingers make quick work unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down your legs until they drop to pool around your ankle.

“You're so wet already, how interesting,” He teases, tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Moaning in response you chase after his lips, but he pulls away. 

Your underwear is pushed over to the side, and his middle and ring finger breach your entrance. A loud ‘oh’ comes from your mouth, crane presses his lips to yours again to silence you. His fingers move slowly in and out of you, he catches each moan you let out with his mouth. His lips are soft, but the kiss is rough, his fingers speed up. They stretch you out so nicely it stings a little bit. It’s been so long since someone else has pleasured you, at all.

His fingers pulled out of your sex slowly, deliberately. A painstaking motion that left you close to pleasureless as he pulled out of your kiss. Quickly flipping you around and pressing you into his desk, the shock between his warm body behind you and the cold desk pressed against your front sent you spiralling. There was shuffling behind you, before you felt him lineup his cock with your cunt.

“Beg for it.” 

Your mouth opens and you spew out a string of ‘please’s and ‘need it’ that seem to satisfy him enough for him to push inside of you. He’s girthier than you expected, but not as long as you expected, which is fine for you. The stretch makes you ache and he won’t be bruising your cervix. Without giving you a moment to adjust he starts to move in and out of you.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” He says, before picking up his speed.

He sets up a consistent speed, hitting a spot inside of you that makes you grip the edge of the desk so intensely that your knuckles are turning white. The desk creaks as he moves in and out of your cunt, his breathing speeds up, one hand twists into your hair pulling your head back and you can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or as a reminder for you not to be too loud. Another hand comes to smack your ass, it's a swift hit, but it makes your knees buckle. 

“You're so much better than I thought you would be,” Dr Crane strains out between grunts.

He presses his front to your back, the hand in your hair softening its grip but not leaving. His breath tickles the back of your ear, the grunting coming from him makes you bite your lip to suppress your moans so hard there will be an indent left there tomorrow.

“Dr Crane, can I cum? Please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum,” you babble, the side of your face pressed into his desk making your words slur a little bit.

“Cum for me,” he says, moving the hand not tangled in your hair to your clit. Pressing small circles into your clit, he starts to speed up. 

Soon the pressure in your stomach releases and it goes black for a couple seconds. You feel Dr Crane’s hand press into your mouth to silence you as your legs buckle. Once you’re conscious again, he has already pulled out of you and you can hear him zip up his pants. You stand on your shaking legs and follow suit, trying to press your hair down into a more professional shape.

“I would recommend you get cleaned up,” Dr Crane says, giving you a smile, “Was that enough motivation to continue aiding me in my experiment?” “Uh- Yes,” you answer, not fully aware of what you were even saying, too embarrassed and lightheaded to even compute anything he was saying besides ‘getting cleaned up.’

“Perfect. After you get cleaned up, please meet me in room 256B. We can meet again here tomorrow during our lunch break if you continue to need the motivation provided,” He pats you on the shoulder, and leaves you in the room alone.

[reareaotaku]

Yandere! Sweeney Todd Headcanons

[TW: I've never watched this movie, so sorry if it's OOC or something. I tried my best]

Always scared he's going to lose you

He is very obsessive and possessive of you

He has to know what you're doing, when you're doing it, where at, with who, why that guy? and so on and on

For a violent murder, he's very soft with you

He treats you like glass. He's scared he's going to break you

He does have his moments where he loses his temper [Usually when he's jealous]

While he's not violent towards you, he will be violent towards the person who was hitting on you and boy does it get bloody

He wants to be vulnerable with you, but he's scared

He's very loving with you. Holding you in his arms, singing to you softly, combing through your hair with his fingers, caressing your face

This man is filled with so much rage and if you ever try and get one over on him, you'll see his anger

He does not know how to properly and healthy grieve and you figure that out pretty fast. Death is something he doesn't show emotions towards, unless it's someone he loves

He thinks about locking you up, in fear of you leaving him or being taken away

He has a creepy melody he hums at night and it freaks the fuck out of you

He loves brushing your hair. It calms him down, especially when he's high-strung. He'll hum while he does it [That same creepy melody he hums at night] and you get scaringly still in fear he might grab the sharp razor on the dresser and slit your throat

You've seen the things he's done to people he hates, so you try and stay on his good side. You try and keep him happy, and it makes him sad when he realizes you're scared of him. Don't you know he'll never hurt you?

You don't ever say no to him

He hates what he sees when looking in your eyes. He can see his reflection and all the emotions in your soul. He doesn't want you to fear him, he wants you to love him

But maybe it's a good thing you're scared of him because it ensures, you'll never leave or cheat on him

[mossgh0st]

As If It’s Heaven’s Gate (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Summary | Levi is caught in a dark place following the battle of heaven and earth. Believing he’s undeserving of life’s sweetness, he deprives himself until you show up on his doorstep. Inspired by and based on Too Sweet by Hozier.

Content | Angst, Fluff. Sort of slow burn? No use of y/n. Levi is a grump, reader is shorter than him. Brief mentions of off-screen sex. Italics are song lyrics that each section is inspired by.

Pairings | Levi/Reader. Mentions of Jean/Pieck.

Notes | As soon as I heard Too Sweet, I knew I needed to write about Levi. Header is from ‘kii on Pinterest. Hope you enjoy!

——————————————————————————

It can’t be said I’m an early bird, it’s 10 o’clock before I say a word. Baby, I can never tell, how do you sleep so well?

After the war, Levi becomes a creature of the night. His meticulous bedtime routine and eves of deep, restful slumber have become wrought with nightmares, teeming with the faces of everyone he’s ever loved having succumbed to their bitter ends. He’s forgone the tea, a relic of a previous era; he now prefers an amber liquid that stings on the way down. A balm that numbs, heavy bottomed glass filled only a quarter of the way. When he ventures beyond the confines of his home, he asks for the tippy top of the top shelf - Levi always takes his whiskey neat.

You know you don’t gotta pretend. Baby, now and then, don’t you just wanna wake up, dark as a lake, smelling like a bonfire, lost in a haze?

Some days, he’s lucky if he retires before the sunrise peeks over the hills and pulls itself up to the high point of the sky. Letters go unanswered, bookshelves less sparse as he fills the majority of his time with thick, leather-bound tomes. The newspaper has becomes the perfect kindling, headlines boasting peace negotiations melt and turn runny with the heat of the blaze. When Levi wakes each hazy afternoon, it’s with the lingering scent of bonfire strung about the atmosphere. His once grey eyes have turned deep, a color so sharpened it resembles the water on a lake just before the claps of thunder rumble and bring down swells of rain.

But while in this world, I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three.

He knows he won’t live forever. He’s not at all interested. At this point, he’s pleading for the same sweet release from the world he afforded Erwin. Levi has spent so much time dwelling in the night, the darkness is threatening to become him. Then, you show up, one damp afternoon. Modest sundress, two small bags, a green ribbon tying back your hair. The glow you emanate is too much for him. He wants to be angry, filled with a rage so intense it convinces you to leave running in the midst of the spring storm, ribbon flying behind you. The pit in his stomach solidifies when he can’t bring himself to be irate, softened by the cold flush of your cheeks and the sheepishness of your smile as you stand, delicate in his doorway.

You’re too sweet for me, you’re too sweet for me.

At first, your presence does nothing to alter his routine. You rise with the sun, the first blinks of morning are spent brewing a sweet coffee in his kitchen, silent save the chattering of the birds. The dregs of his previous evening’s fire catching in the wind and mingling with the scent of bitter coffee grounds. Levi rises long after the sun has hit it’s peak, emerging in loose slacks and a half undone shirt, the sleeves rolled. You cross paths only briefly, while he pours his glass of amber whiskey and you prepare your cup of evening tea. A silent understanding has occurred - you can stay, if you don’t intervene. So you read in the overgrown garden, take your coffee with milk and two sugars, visit the bookstore, the seamstress down the block from the town’s main square, and worry about him only when you are tipping over the ledge into sleep.

But who wants to live forever, babe? You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The first change is subtle: tea leaves are disappearing faster than you’re brewing them; you know he’s dipping into the store after you retire each evening. Then, when the usual night terrors creep up again, plaguing your mind and leaving your lungs in a vice grip, the second change occurs. Levi waking and comforting you after a string of particularly violent dreams, a different sort of understanding passes when he murmurs, “I still see them, too.” You find him in your bed then, most mornings. Your routines still separate, bodies occupying different halves of the day for weeks. Coffee, bookstore, seamstress, reading, garden. It continues on, life in your solitary bubbles, except the brief overlapping in the early morning when your breaths mingle in the same space between your sleeping forms.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong.

The paradigm shifts once more when he begins to rouse the same time as you. A brief wave of shame washes over you as you realize he’s already awake, you cannot observe his closed eyes and smoothed forehead, the lines of his face set in peace, the soft parting of his lips, or the slow rise of his chest beneath the thin blankets. That morning, you show him how to make the coffee, and he grumbles after burning the first pot, squinting in the bright light. He notices you smiling out of the corner of his eye and something rattles around in his chest. You add three sugars to your cup. He accompanies you to both the bookstore and the seamstress, his silent presence a new comfort. Levi wants to ask why you chose him, chose his home, when there are happier and more accommodating friends, current or former members of the 104th. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’d be better off with someone like Mikasa, in her quiet cottage by the sea. Even Jean and Pieck, or hell, Reiner and his family.

You're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain.

Within a few months, Levi’s world has changed. It’s brighter, fuzzy around the edges. There’s a few sundresses in the closet of his room, a growing stack of books on his dresser. A knit shawl is draped over the chair in the living room; and the guest bed hasn’t been used in several weeks. He lets her brew the coffee in the morning, his palate now well suited for the taste, and takes chrysanthemum tea in the evenings. The garden has a bench now, front row to the beds of geranium, lavender, and snapdragon. When you smile at him through the kitchen window, an understanding dawns on him, an awakening blooms inside of him. He’s seen this look before, many times; over a shared water jug during an expedition, sleepy and exhausted over a fire surrounded by their comrades, during meetings with military leadership, after the battle of heaven and earth, and on the day you were assigned to his squad. You would never go to Mikasa’s, or to Jean and Pieck, even Reiner, or anyone else. He would never let you.

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape.

The first touch of morning is chill, a breeze dancing its way through the open window, sheet gathered at his waist as Levi rouses from sleep. He hears your hums from the kitchen and swings his feet over the bed. He’s drawn to you like bees are to flowers, cloying aroma and sunlight and all things good. Forgoing the tie of his robe, he begins purposeful strides down the hall. Then, you’re there, back turned and hair down. The hem of your pale nightgown sways as you wait for the pour of coffee, glowing in the sunrise, hands over your upper arms to stave off the late summer air. You’re lost in a daydream. Levi comes to stand behind you, listening to the melody you hum quietly. The deprecating, nagging voice he contends with daily in his mind is quieted - it’s just you now; always you.

If you could sit in a barrel, maybe I’d wait.

It’s quiet when he slides an arm around your waist, body warm and flushed. It’s quiet when you turn in his hold, meeting his grey gaze with lingering surprise and pink cheeks. It’s quiet as he pulls you in closer still, hands coming up to rest on his chest. Quiet, as Levi brushes his forehead against yours, eyes closed, fingers flexing in their hold of you. Completely silent, as he tilts your chin up, up, up, and brushes his lips with yours. The taste of you nothing like he had ever dreamed, and oh, had he dreamed. When you push up onto your toes to deepen the pressure, sigh into his mouth, his black bitter heart nearly bursts through his chest.

Until that day…

And when he takes you shortly after, coffee long forgotten, limbs so tangled it’s near impossible to discern where you end and Levi begins, lips parted and dewy with sweat and each other; he can only think of the sweetness this life has afforded him in you, how the bitterness of his past has made way for this belonging.. well. There’s truly no such thing as too sweet, is there?

[ruinaimagines]

OMG I THOUGHT THIS ACC WAS DEAD GLAD TO SEE U BACK THO!!!!!

anywho could u write some outis x reader hcs pls

Project Moon is a chronic ailment to my brain so I am always here, lingering. I will be back. Can’t promise when I’ll be back but it will be eventually.

Outis x Reader Headcanons:

This is a woman who has been through a lot, done a lot too. Not all things she may see as warranting forgiveness. She is saddled with a personal sense of responsibility to see things to the end even if it takes sacrifice. 

But she is loyal, deeply so, fiercely so. And should she place trust in you then so too will she abide by your will. She has an undeniable sense of faith for those who she believes even if some of their suggestions or ideas.. Are not the ones she would find herself making.

Outis is used with working in high-caliber strictly professional settings where everything is meticulously planned out. This makes for her sociability to be a bit difficult with those she considers inept.

She aims to impress and this no doubt extends to you. High-strung in public everything must be perfect, whatever outings you have she has organized and outlined them so you can’t even fathom a moment of concern.

She wants everything to be up to par for you which often means that people aren’t free from her scrutiny. While this might work well in a work setting, it can extend outside and to times when it’s not necessary. 

What she does comes from the genuine hope of making things more enjoyable for you but it can be a bit much. It can end up making things more stressful when she is so focused on managing the menial things and holding others to absurd standards –not even for herself, but for you.

However she will listen when you tell her to stand down. Once again it isn’t malicious just misguided. 

There is an incredibly homely and domestic quality to her that comes more naturally when it is just you two. A refuge where after the long day’s work, after all is said and done, she can return to the hearth that you offer.

You’ll find that her cooking is better than what you can find at restaurants anyway. We know from the Hell’s Chicken event that she prepares food from the heart, and there is nothing as cozy as a homecooked meal. It allows her to be more relaxed and whatnot when away from the buzz of people.

Not to say that her confrontational nature is always a bad thing. If people are treating you rudely, or you are off-put or uncomfortable by something there is not a universe where she’d sit by idly. 

If you are adverse to conflict yourself it can be incredibly difficult to speak up and let people down easily. This is not even a thought that crosses her mind. Someone is heckling you? Damn right it might lead to conflict, but there is no justification in her mind for you to be treated poorly like this. People are often dissuaded or give up once they see how undeterred she is.

She doesn’t experience anxiety when she is stepping in for you because she sees it as a reasonable action. That said, you might be a bit anxious and fear escalation. If you communicate this to her, even if she doesn’t fully understand why, she will tone it down a notch.

That doesn’t mean she will do nothing, but you can rest knowing that perhaps with a derisive comment towards them sprinkled in here or there that she will acquiesce and leave with you. 

I do believe that there is little that you could do that would stop making her love you. It is unconditional because she has done many awful things, and yet you love her still. She doesn’t believe herself to be entirely worthy of the love you give, but she will vow to return it. 

I do not think Outis would be overly affectionate in the traditional sense when it comes to in public or in front of those she knows. It’s not a case of being embarrassed by it, but more of an act of safety. A woman with a history like hers means one who has been in many situations where loved ones can be held at a point of ransom. Wouldn’t be surprised if she had quite a few enemies.

The sinners would probably think you were more of a superior than her partner, funny enough. But seeing how much more relaxed you are with her, and even physically affectionate it sort of clues them in.

Might become a point of teasing for some of the more devious sinners, but they would quickly learn not to. It’s one thing to face a lecture on their inadequacy from her, it’s entirely another to bring up her personal life. There’s a sense of immediate wrongdoing and foreboding that most would rather not experience again.

There is an unmistakable tenderness in her regard to you. Every action she does is another pledge to you. For as much as she would do for you, she greatly enjoys acts of service in return. Take her coat off her shoulders, brew her some tea, maybe even draw a relaxing bath, do what work you can for her so that she doesn’t have to worry.

Outis’ time spent with you is one she can unwind in, a seldom opportunity otherwise. To say she would be appreciative when you try to support this is an understatement. 

I’m sorry I just thought about her coming home with flowers for you and a tear came to my eye. I can see it. After trudging through the day and poor weather at last she returns with a bouquet. It’s nothing super extravagant, perhaps an assortment of hydrangea or whatever your favorite flower is.

Speaking of which, on her journey, I can see her returning to you with keepsakes that remind her of you. Most of these are picked up when she’s trailing behind the others and are stored safely in her room until she sees you next.

You can not tell me this woman doesn’t have a little locket with your picture in it. She’s viewing that thing periodically and it helps remind her why she is doing what she is doing.

Anything you give her that she can smuggle onto Mephistopheles or herself she will hold tight. Not the superstitious type, but finds your gifts to bring some kind of prosperity even if it’s logically because of a shift of mindframe.

I can’t help but think her hands would be very nice to hold, they are worn and weathered, but she has a firm grip, a grounding one. 

Overall a very devoted person though her actions might be more prominent than words. You help defuse what irritation she might have from the day and instead sink into a sense of security, and she commits to giving you that same security.

[bvidzsoo]

You belong to me

◿Mobster!Hongjoong◸ 

TW: cursing, violence, death, gun, suggestive

Word count: 3,3k

A/N: How do I stop the grip Ateez has on me?? What do you mean Hongjoong posts some pictures and I get a story idea?? Ugh, anyways, this is just a short drabble because why is Kim Hongjoong so hot and what is his latest Instagram post of his??

           The strobing lights of the club were blinding for a few seconds to the newcomers, their eyes forced to quickly adjust to the dim yellowish lightning and the strong pink, purple, and red led lights. They were strung around the club, overhead, lighting up every area of the luxurious place, but they were the strongest on the stage, where dancers walked around and performed using whatever instrument they preferred as props. Some nights I enjoyed pole dancing, but most nights I liked it when I could improvise, dance freely and get lost to the feeling of the freedom music provided. Perhaps my job of choice wasn’t ideal nor well-liked by most people, especially not by my parents, but it paid well and helped me get by quite decently.

It took a little while to get used to the lack of clothing and the hungry of those watching, but in no-time I found myself enjoying the attention, the cheers, the loud howls after my performances…and perhaps the most I enjoyed was the pay check each evening, and the bills men desperate for attention and the touch of a woman would slip into my thin panties or obnoxiously short shorts. The club was in the high-end of the city, only wealthy and influential men visited, courtesy to Kim Hongjoong. A scarily rich and affluential man, well known for his crazed behavior and dangerous affairs with gangs downtown. He was the boss of the underdogs, the man everyone avoided if possible and only got involved with if only very necessary. He was the owner of the club and he took his job very seriously, treating his employees with respect and care, always checking up on them. Misbehaving wasn’t allowed inside his club, and he punished those who didn’t understand this by using creative methods. I had the misfortune of walking in on him waterboarding a man, saying something about how he didn’t respect his end of the deal, before Hongjoong’s eyes found me and I was ushered out of his office, his eyes conveying a silent warning to stay quiet about what I had seen. And I had no intention of telling anyone what I had witnessed, afraid to meet a similar fate to that man.

Kim Hongjoong was someone whom I feared, but also respected. He was diligent and worked hard, at the end of each shift checking in with his performers, making sure they weren’t forced into doing something they didn’t want, checking their bodies for any injuries. At first, I had assumed that he paid more attention to me because I was new, because he didn’t fully trust me yet, and because he was keeping an eye on me to make sure I was being ethical, but upon closer inspection, I’ve come to the realization that Kim Hongjoong didn’t follow every performers steps with watchful eyes, he didn’t buy them drinks once their shifts were over, and he most certainly didn’t arrange his personal driver to drive them home at the crack of dawn, when the streets were deserted and dangerous for a young woman, like myself, to be walking home alone. And Kim Hongjoong certainly didn’t hold his other performers lower backs as he walked them back to their dressing rooms, throwing clothes at them and demanding to cover themselves up. I had assumed there might have been some favoritism towards me as I drew in clients which were filthy rich, but Kim Hongjoong quickly ruined that thought when I overstepped a boundary and meddled with his personal business. He was quick to threaten me that he’d ruin my life if I went running to the police, making me feel small and stupid for even trying to blackmail him. I don’t know what I had been thinking when I did that, but if Hongjoong had paid attention to me up until that point, after my foolish threat he became overbearing, always two steps behind me, and eyes fixed on me during my shifts. It was scary and irritating at the beginning, but I grew used to it after a year of his unceasing behavior and learned to live with the man’s antics. There were times when we ran into each other at the most random places, places where Hongjoong looked completely out of place adorned in his crazily expensive tailored suit, and sleeked back hair. One of said places was the grocery store across from my apartment complex, completely startling me into oblivion as I had been buying some milk, his reflection appearing behind me in the glass door as I had closed it. What was even more unusual was the way he told me I had twenty minutes to get ready before we’d be going out, to where, he didn’t mention. But it turned out he took me out to dinner at a very fancy restaurant. Not many words were exchanged between the two of us during the dinner, but the food had been good nonetheless and neither one of us brought it up ever again.

Tonight hadn’t been any usual, I had walked inside the club around eight in the evening, going to my dressing room and dressing up for the night, doing my makeup and hair. When I pushed the door open an outfit had been laid out on my couch and my eyebrows furrowed as I took in the schoolgirl outfit, slightly uncomfortable having to wear it, but when I noticed a note on top of it and signed as KH¸ I knew I didn’t have a choice but to wear it. And my shift had started out as usual, I was up on the stage and performing by ten o’clock, putting on my best performance and charming men left and right. The cheers were louder than usual and I was requested to put on a second show, surprised by the incessant attention, but not completely bothered as I knew the pay check would be higher tonight. Of course, I didn’t miss the way Kim Hongjoong watched both of my performances, leaning against the bar stool, hip resting against it, and a glass filled with whiskey gripped in his hand as his eyes trailed over my body multiple times, following every move of mine. But the night didn’t stop there, and I had gotten my first ever request for a private performance. The others who I worked with had plenty experience with that, but it had been my first time and I was feeling nervous. Yeji had been nice enough to walk me through the steps of what this meant and what was required of me, and she made sure to repeat the rules multiple times, making me repeat them after her. The private rooms were small and dimly lit, a huge sofa inside with a coffee table in front of it. There was a stereo and a pole in the corner of the room.

The man who had request for a private dance was gruffy and on the older side, but he was well dressed and looked put together as he sipped on his expensive champagne, grinning when I had walked inside. I pushed down my nerves and ignored the slight tremble of my limbs as I thanked the man for the request and stated the rules firmly, reminding him multiple times that he wasn’t allowed to touch me unless I gave him permission, before I put on the music and started dancing, using the pole as well. It felt weird performing for one man only and I found myself uncomfortable as the man watched me with hungry eyes, his grip on the glass tightening with each passing minute, making me hope that the booked time would be soon over. Half an hour wasn’t much at all, but it felt like an eternity, and I had to force myself to imagine the man I was dancing for was someone else…someone younger, someone more handsome, someone who’s smile was crazed and his cat-like eyes burned holes into your skull, gazing deeply into your soul. When the music finally stopped, I felt like I could breathe again, desperate to get out and away from the eyes of the man, who was licking his lips hungrily as I stepped away from the pole and bowed slightly, going up to the coffee table to collect my payment, but as I reached out, his warm hand grabbed my wrist tightly.

“I’ll pay twice as much for a lap dance.” I was stunned for a second as I looked at the man, softly trying to pry my wrist out of his hold.

“You paid for half an hour, sir, I’m afraid we part ways here.” I kept my voice leveled and the man didn’t seem to appreciate what he heard as he scoffed.

“Twice is not good enough for you? Fine, then I’ll pay thrice the amount I just paid right now.” And then, a nasty smirk spread on his lips, as he unexpectedly yanked on my wrist, making me fall onto his lap, “Don’t be shy, baby girl, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

I felt disgust wash over me and I gasped, trying to push myself off him, but he had sneaked an arm around my middle and squeezed me to himself. My skin tingled and my stomach flipped, bile rising up into my throat. I tried to keep the scowl off my face, but I couldn’t help it as my eyes hardened.

“I stated clearly you are not allowed to touch me, so let go of me, right now.” I demanded, trying to push myself off of him again as the man just scoffed and looked at me with an amused expression.

“Really? I think you do want me to touch you, baby girl. You’re just playing hard to get, but you don’t have to do that with me, I already want you badly.” As if to prove a point, he bucked his hips upwards and disgust coursed through my veins and showed on my face as I felt his hard-on, balling my hands up into fists, ready to pound them into his face.

“Release me, right now.” I snapped, voice harsher than ever before as I felt my hands trembling, hating the smug look on the motherfucker’s face as he went to push my hair behind my shoulders, but I quickly slapped his hand away, hard.

“Don’t be rude, I just paid you, bitch.” He hissed and I chuckled.

“And I said let go of me, you old fuck.” I hissed, squaring the man up. Before he could open his mouth to say anything back, I heard the curtain behind me separating us from the rest of the club pulled open harshly, and a familiar voice sounding eerily calm.

“Was the lady not clear enough the first time?” I could hear the sneer in Kim Hongjoong’s voice and I turned my head, taken aback by the dark look on his face, the harsh clenching of his jaw and the handgun in his left hand. I tried not to let my surprise show as I shoved at the man again, but he still didn’t let go of me. It was getting frustrating and I raised my hand and slapped him, momentarily taking him off guard as I swiftly slipped out of his loosened grip.

“You bitch!” The old man yelled and stood, but didn’t get far as Hongjoong pointed his gun at the man, an amused smirk appearing on his lips. He walked further inside the room, with his right hand in his pocket, and came to a stop next to me as I had put distance between the man and myself. He chuckled as his eyes rested on me for a few seconds, lazily looking back at the older man.

“You said you’ll pay thrice the amount? I don’t see the money—”

“And you won’t see it, fucker, I’m not paying this bitch at all.” And the man snatched the money, fallen on the couch now, up with anger written all over his face as Hongjoong chuckled, and suddenly I felt his right arm draping over my shoulders, yanking me into his side. I stumbled slightly and gasped quietly, surprised by Hongjoong��s actions.

“That’s very unfortunate,” Hongjoong sighed dramatically and I felt his fingers rubbing my shoulder, a sly grin slipping onto his lips, “I must demand you apologize to Y/N for disrespecting her and clearly not following the rules.”

The man chuckled and eyed Hongjoong as if he were crazy, “You wish, fucker. This club is a piece of shit, I’m going to ruin you and your shitty ass business.”

“For somebody your age your vocabulary is quite lacking.” The man’s face turned red at the insult, prompting Hongjoong to chuckle as I tried to hide my own amused smirk, staring the old man down. Hongjoong’s hand suddenly started slipping low, down to my middle until it stopped at my waist and suddenly he was looking at me, eyes glazed over with a crazy glint in them, lips pulled into a grin resembling that of a Chesire cat’s, “Tell me, gorgeous, what should I do with him now?”

My mind was blank as I stared into Hongjoong’s deep eyes, getting lost in them, feeling drawn to him as if he were a magnet, “Whatever you wish, Hongjoong.”

A wide, satisfied, grin appeared on his lips as he bit his lower lip, eyes glinting in the dim light, “Anything?”

I gulped and found myself breathless, his expensive cologne invading my senses and his warmth making my skin warm in the best possible way, “You are the boss.”

Hongjoong chuckled and looked satisfied as he turned his head to face the older man, clicking his tongue as he shook his head at him, “Look at you…I hope you said your goodbyes before coming here, because you won’t be doing any talking no more with that foul mouth of yours, you old pig.”

And Hongjoong raised his arm, the safety off as he pulled the trigger, the gun silent, yet still making my ears ring as I jumped in Hongjoong’s hold, squeezing my eyes shut. He had shot the man, pulled the trigger like it meant nothing, as if taking away a life meant nothing to him. I felt myself tremble as Hongjoong’s hold tightened around me and I was being moved, my back turned to the dead man as I felt hands cupping my face, “Open your eyes, gorgeous. Look at me.”

I gulped and took a shaky breath, body trembling as I forced myself to look at Hongjoong, taken aback by the cold expression on his face. He looked unphased, almost content, as he caressed my cheeks, leaning dangerously close as his eyebrows furrowed, he was no longer holding the gun, “Nobody but me is allowed to touch you, gorgeous, do you understand?”

I gulped and nodded wordlessly, trying to ignore the stench of blood which permeated the room suddenly, the hairs on my arms standing as my muscles were tense, “Use your words, Y/N.”

“I understand.” I whispered, voice shaky, as I stared into Hongjoong’s eyes, a pleased expression crossing his features. He hummed before suddenly whistling, startling me as Hongjoong released me, but grabbed the back of my head to prevent me from turning around, as if I had doing that in mind. Suddenly, four men walked inside, men I haven’t seen before, and Hongjoong glanced at them and nodded behind me wordlessly, the men springing into action. They walked past us and I realized they were here to take care of the dead man, but we didn’t stick around for longer as Hongjoong suddenly turned and started leading us out of the room and towards my dressing room, making me nervous as I tried to ignore the whirling thoughts that I was witness to my boss killing someone. What if the police come searching for the dead man? What if they question me? I knew Hongjoong wouldn’t hesitate killing me too, the thought made it a bit hard to breathe, but I just kept stiffly walking as Hongjoong’s hand slipped to my nape, veering me around effortlessly and away from the curious eyes as he pushed me inside my dressing room and closed the door with a loud slam. I jumped and detached myself from him, putting distance between our bodies as I whirled around, looking at Hongjoong with wide eyes. He was smirking as he leaned against the door, rubbing his chin as he placed his hand in his pocket. I gulped and waited for him to say something, but he just took out his pack of cigarettes and lit a cigar, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. Our eyes locked together and I gulped, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Let’s be honest with each other, Y/N.” Hongjoong spoke up after he took another drag of his cigar, “Will I have to worry about you rattling to others about what you just witnessed?”

I gulped, lacing my fingers together in front of myself, “Will you kill me if I did?”

“Of course.” Hongjoong answered without hesitation and my gut twisted, hands suddenly trembling again. I gulped and nodded, letting him know that I understood.

“Then I won’t say anything to anyone.” I found myself quietly saying, “But you have to promise to help me out when the police gets involved.”

Hongjoong chuckled, and took another long drag of his cigar as he suddenly pushed off the door, and walked towards me, “Oh, gorgeous, do not worry about the police. Even they know not to meddle with my business. This will be our little secret; can you keep it?”

He blew the smoke in my face and I gulped, trying to not cringe from the smell, “I’ll—I promise to keep this a secret.”

“Lovely.” Hongjoong whispered as he threw his cigar on the floor and stepped on it, making my eyes widen as he burned out the carpet, but he seemed uncaring of it as he placed one finger under my chin and tilted my head up, looking me in the eyes, “Private shows are off limits from now on, to everyone. Understood, gorgeous?”

“Yes.” I muttered, and my breath stilled in my lungs as Hongjoong leaned incredibly close, his lips ghosting over mine as he smirked.

“These men will be never able to offer you what I can give you.” And Hongjoong pressed his lips against mine, harsh and hungry as they slipped open while his hand slipped to my neck, wrapping around it as his body was pressed flush against mine. I gasped into the kiss as I felt his tongue pushing past my lips, exploring my mouth, groaning into it as Hongjoong devoured my lips ferociously, walking us backwards. I grabbed the sides of his suit and held onto him, blindly letting Hongjoong walk me anywhere, his sweet taste blooming in my mouth as he sucked on my tongue, my fingers tangling in his black hair, the back of my legs hitting the sofa behind me suddenly. Hongjoong quickly cut the kiss short and pushed me down by my neck, making me look up at him in confusion as he smirked, easing me down into the cushions. My heart was thundering in my chest as his eyes burned with want and passion, and suddenly he was kneeling in front of me, gripping my thighs as my skin flamed, making me gulp as my hands clenched into fists at my sides, chest heaving. He slowly peeled my legs open and yanked me lower on the sofa, biting his lower lip as his eyes followed the smooth skin of my legs, stopping just where my skirt had ridden up. He licked his lips, a hungry look in his eyes as he looked up at me, leaning closer.

“Let me show you how queens get treated, gorgeous.”

Masterlist

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

if you’re looking for stevie requests can i suggest eddie having to come to terms with steve and reader getting married/announcing theyre expecting and seeing how good he treats her compared to how eddie treated her when they were together (eddie was a fuckboy.

Request by anon.

Angst and fluff. Happy ending for reader.

Steve Harrington x Reader/Past Eddie Munson x Reader.

I'm not going to lie, I flew through writing this. It was just what I needed (to write some angst and sweet Steve content) and the story just flowed out so fast.

❤️

Eddie didn't regret many things in life but losing you was the one that would stick with him for the rest of his life.

He should have treated you like a princess, instead he treated you like shit. It took a while for him to admit it, he strung you along and made you think his feelings were deeper than what they actually were.

In reality he was a typical fuckboy and messed around with your heart.

He was arrogant and cocky, assuming that you would never leave him. He dated other women and never gave a thought to how much it would hurt you.

Eddie assumed that he could come back and forth into your life when he felt like it, indulge in some great sex and then leave.

Then one day he decided to look you up while he was in town after being away for a little while.

Sometimes he travelled with Corroded Coffin doing gigs up and down the country, so when he ended back in Hawkins he figured he'd visit you and have some fun.

You can imagine his shock when he turned up at your house and Steve fucking Harrington answered the door, he was just in a towel and was smiling like the cat had got the cream.

"Harrington? What the fuck are you doing here?" Eddie snaps and there's a sinking feeling in his chest, a sense of knowing what's happening before anything is even said.

"Visiting my girl. What are you doing here Munson? If you're here for any booty call then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed" Eddie is silent for a moment and is about to speak when he hears you calling Steve's name.

You appear at the stairs beaming at Steve, the smile slips from your face when you meet Eddie's gaze.

"Back again huh? What's it been six months since I last heard from you Munson? I don't know what you think I am but I'm not an idiot...or maybe I was but not anymore. I'm with Steve and he treats me right, much better than you ever did. I suggest you leave"

He's stunned by your admission and looks to Steve who's gazing at you with complete love in his eyes. Shit...

The thing is the same love is mirrored in your eyes as you gaze back at Steve, the sight leaves Eddie feeling vaguely sick. He backs away from the door and practically high tails it away.

When he leaves Hawkins later that week, he's sure the next time he comes back this little fling of yours with Steve would be over.

Turns out he couldn't be more wrong.

❤️

Dustin is the one who tells him that you and Steve have gotten married. Steve has proposed on your one year anniversary and the two of you had gotten married in a small ceremony with just close friends and family.

To say it was like a punch to his gut was an understatement. By that time it had been almost a year and a half since Eddie had seen you and when he went back to Hawkins for his usual visit, he expected that you and Steve would be over.

He didn't expect you would be married.

It was hard to see you around town with Steve. You looked so happy and it was finally dawning on Eddie that he had lost something special.

A little while after the wedding you announced that you were pregnant. Uncle Wayne had passed on the news and gave Eddie a look of severe disappointment. Oh Wayne was delighted for you and Steve but he was pissed at Eddie and Eddie didn't blame him.

His uncle had warned him not to mess you around, that you could be special if Eddie just gave you a chance and stopped messing around.

Boy did Eddie regret not listening to the old man. Regretted every way that he had broken your heart and stomped on it and there was no way he could fix things or even hope to win you back.

Because Steve treated you right. Treated you a princess and doted on you. He made you smile and laugh instead of making you miserable.

It was Eddie's fault that he lost you and now he had to deal with the reality of that. You had truly moved on and Eddie was left with an aching heart.

If only he had treated you like a princess instead of treating you like a fool.

It turns out that he was the biggest fool of all for losing you.