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kenntolog · 26 days

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need to know how does cool boyfriend sukuna met loser!gf reader…. and how did sukuna likes her djbekwbsks

𝝑𝝔 an: this is so corny but i hope u like it!! more about cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader here! cw: a lil blood and a minor injury.

i think before meeting loser reader properly, sukuna was like angrier and more intimidating to his surroundings; a constantly irritated expression on his face and ready to curse everyone and everything. these characteristics didn’t seize with the start of your relationship, but they have died down significantly ever since.

so of course, sukuna getting angry about losing a game(yes, him meeting loser reader on the game he lost lol) and the ball in his hand turns into a weapon as he throws it away blindly, not turning around to see what happened even after registering the sound of a loud thud and a round of gasps.

it’s only when uraume, the team’s manager, calls out to him that sukuna’s angry face turns irritated and he rolls his eyes, cursing under his breath, before looking over in their direction.

the view is so unexpected sukuna can barely keep his laughter intact, eyes lazily scanning through the small crowd of people to find you on the previously squeaky clean floor of the court — the victim of his angry fit — with blood gushing out of your nose and face red from crying. it’s such a pitiful sight(he is such a menace) that he just lifts his arms behind his head, locking them in a relaxed manner, and continues staring.

uraume gives him a cold glare, “take her to the nurse’s office.”

the commanding tone of their voice makes him roll his eyes, “tsk. take her yourself.”

“sukuna.”

coach yaga’s voice contains more warning and sukuna groans, holding his hand out for you to take from the fear of being suspended from trainings, which has happened before because of his anger issues.

you look up at him with surprise and gently place your hand in his, not expecting him to tug you up roughly. the walk to the nurse’s is silent, with you occasionally sending shy glances his way while you’re holding a cloth to your nose.

“where the fuck is the nurse?” he asks impatiently, sitting down on the stool while you settle on the examination table.

he doesn’t really care for the answer, but he still hears your meek voice mumbling, “it’s her break time.”

sukuna is too restless to just sit there and wait for the nurse to come back. he shoots up from his spot, looking around for something before he steps closer to the table you’re seated on. the way your eyes widen, body instinctively moving back to avoid his space makes the corners of his lips curl upwards in a satisfied smirk. he makes a point of standing between your knees.

he tugs the bloody cloth out of your hands, ignoring your little ‘hey!’, and cups your jaw a little too roughly, angling your head a bit higher to inspect your nose.

for a totally bleak loser you have a pretty face, he notes in his head, a sight for sore eyes. eyes looking up at his like he’s from the outer world, a little scared and maybe even mesmerised, lips parted slightly with one side covered in dried blood, hair disheveled and eyes still a bit watery. his interest was piqued maybe a just a little.

sukuna tilts your head forward and pinches the soft part of your nose between his thumb and index finger. you hiss in pain, hands flying up to grip his wrist, which makes him roll his eyes.

“tsk, what a crybaby.”

you pout at him, a small whimper escaping you as he continues scanning your face intensely. you mutter something under your breath, looking away from him.

“… didn’t hit me with a ball—”

“what did you say?”

“nothing!”

his grip on your nose tightens and you whine.

“oww~” you pull away from him, hiding your nose from him with a wary look before you quietly confess, “i said if you didn’t hit me with your ball then i wouldn’t be crying, y’know.”

“i didn’t hit you with my ball.”

“eh? you totally did though…”

“i threw my ball and you just fell under it. your fault, loser.”

you stare at him in bewilderment and sukuna doesn’t hide his great amusement. he steps away, lazily looking through cabins; he finds wet wipes and a pack of bandaids. throwing them at you without looking he once again stands in front of you, watching the way you messily wipe the blood from your face.

but he hates when things aren’t neat so he takes the pack of wet wipes from your lap, pulling out one, and cleans the blood where you missed, his free hand on top of your head. he throws it somewhere behind himself and takes the pack of bandaids, picking out the ugliest one in his opinion to plaster it over the little bruise on the side of your nose.

you say ‘thank you’ with a small bow and stumble out of the nurse’s office, tripping over your own feet, while he just stares at you indifferently.

you bake him little cupcakes, as a sign of your gratitude, not knowing that he isn’t that fond of sweet treats. sukuna still eats them, begrudgingly enjoying their taste.

though he can’t deny that he is amused by you. and that’s how it started, you know, sukuna just being amused with the way you get flustered when making eye contact in the hallways and lecture halls, the way you still always shyly wave at him in greeting, eyes shining a bit brighter when he gives you a little smirk or a nod.

you’re such a loser, sukuna thinks, always so shy around him but also ready to do anything he says. so at first, of course, he thinks of using that obedience for his own benefit, but soon those thoughts leave his mind when sukuna realise how sincere and interesting you are once you really get into the conversation.

what first starts as little jabs(i would say bullying) from him and you getting frustrated with every teasing and insulting word he throws in your address, soon enough transforms into something more; sukuna’s interest only rising along with the adoration that builds up inside his usually unresponsive heart.

#— miya writes!#sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader

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elodieunderglass · 1 year

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I have to say, I just started casually watching ofmd after basically watching it through you guys. I am already spoiled. I thought there would be no surprises. I am already aware of the best jokes, the foot touch, the plot beats. You can become an expert on any show simply by scrolling past gifs of it for months.

However, NONE of you prepared me for this little guy here:

It is profoundly obvious visually, through dash osmosis and general visible evidence, that this is a little man with a lot wrong with him. but what you cannot grasp from gifs is his voice. His voice is amazing: I did NOT expect it: I cannot describe it: the actor chews on his lines like a menacing guinea pig. It is like hearing Kermit the Frog trying to strangle his own puppeteer. Like someone has trapped a vengeful spirit in a balloon and is allowing it to speak prophecy, but only in short, squeaky bursts. No, I can’t describe it at all. I was expecting the character to be “scrungly” and was aware that many of you wish to place him in a jar and shake him vigorously, but I didn’t know he sounded like something that would cause all greyhounds in hearing distance to instantly go cross-eyed and launch themselves into outer space. He! Is! Scrofulous!!!!

If you watched the show on its first principles you probably wouldn’t have noticed this because you would have accepted it as part of the full sensory experience of the character, but if you have only encountered it as gifs for the best part of a year, the sound of this chap is one HELL of a shock . Definitely adds to the flavor. Enhances the sensory experience. Sign on today.

#ofmd #scrofulous!!! scrofulous man!!! evokes prey drive in beasts!#watching ofmd with the sound on is like adding MSG to a dish

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eilidh-eternal · 6 months

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Between @peachesofteal, @ceilidho and @charliemwrites I have been plagued with mind rotting thoughts of manipulative!Johnny and I wrote this in a feverish haze

So uhhhh yeah, here’s 1.8k words of Johnny being an overbearing and possessive menace to reader

This will be part of a larger collection of works The Wild Hunt Masterlist

This is a dark fic, 18+ MDNI, descriptions of kidnapping, coercion and mentions of death below the cut

Snow falls beyond the frosted window panes, flickering like static in shafts of warm-hued lamplight and collecting in powdery, white drifts. The picturesque cityscape and the dissonant overlapping of conversation coming from the gathering of family and friends in a quaint town house decorated for the upcoming holidays feels like something plucked out of a cliché holiday romcom. Except this isn’t a yuletide gathering, and the congregation of familiar faces is one less tonight.

This is a wake. And an odd one at that.

You didn’t believe in the myth that deaths are more frequent around the holidays, and you certainly didn’t believe in a black cat that eats the souls of the recently deceased if you don’t throw a proper party with games and drinking, and enough food to feed a small army, at the wake. But this is Scotland, and the country is teeming with myths and superstitions.

So, here you sit. Curled into the corner of a sofa with a glass of… something. You’ve been told it’s like eggnog, done the Scottish way.

Great aunts, uncles, cousins several times removed and friends of the deceased distant relative all nurse their own glasses of the festive drink, and various recounts of fond memories are shared amongst the group gathered in the living room. There’s one voice that stands out among the others, and you watch with reserved interest as the mohawked man it belongs to tells his story. It’s a little louder, with more bravado than the rest, narrating his memory with a jubilance that belies great fondness.

You’d never met the man everyone was reminiscing about, only came tonight because a cousin on your fathers side—the Scottish side—had cajoled you into going with her to the wake so she’d have someone to talk to besides her mother. You didn’t understand why she’d begged and pleaded as you sat in your corner alone while she flits about here and there, talking to just about everyone there about anything and everything. A trait you had not inherited from your Scottish patronage. You’re so deep in your own thoughts in fact that you don’t immediately register the added weight on the sofa beside you, the way it dips and bows beneath it, until that lilting bravado is crooning in your ear, close enough to feel the whisper of warm air from his breath on the outer shell.

“How’d ya know Captain MacMillan?”

You blink, realize you’d been so entrenched in your own thoughts that you hadn’t even seen the man you’d been watching stand from his seat and take up the empty space next to you, and a flush of embarrassment blooms across your cheeks when you realize he must have seen you staring. When the rest of your body catches up with your brain you turn to face him, finding his face mere inches from yours.

He smells like the earth after it rains, like petrichor, and it mingles with something tangier—something sharp—like the honed edge of a blade. His smile is just as striking, all teeth and curling lips. Feline.

And his eyes—bluer than Loch Lomond on a clear, sunny day, and glittering in the same way the sunlight catches on the cresting ripples at the water's surface. They feel just as deep and endless too, the way his pupils flare and swallow that brilliant blue as he studies your face with a startling intensity, devouring every detail. Something rattles and trills in your mind at the way his gaze seems to drag you down, down, down, where it’s hard to breathe beneath the waves, and you can’t tell if the sound is sweet music or a frantic warning.

The realization that you haven’t yet given him an answer dawns on you and you suck in a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I uh… I didn’t know him. I knew of him though—a distant relative,” you explain and your fingers curl tighter around the glass in your hands.

He doesn’t lean away, remains firmly inside your little bubble and cocks his head in a manner that reminds you of a cat watching a bird outside a window. Hunting. He’s so close you can see the shadow of a beard, freshly shaved but with new growth already pushing its way to the surface to darken the sharp line of his jaw.

He hums. A low rumbling sound that emanates from deep within his chest. “Didnae ken the Captain comes from such a bonnie family,” he says in that swaggering bravado, and it almost sounds like a purr. “What’s yer name, hen?”

You give him your name, along with an outstretched hand which he takes in his large one, palm and pads of his fingers rough and callous against your own, and his pupils flare wider, causing his eyes to darken a sinful shade. “I’m Johnny MacTavish. Or Soap, if ye like,” he says, and holds onto your hand for just a few seconds longer than he should, the warmth of it branding your skin before he lets go.

“Soap?” you question and quickly pull your hand back into what remains of the personal space he seems intent on crowding, feeling like you’ve reached for a hot pan without a mitt.

“It’s muh callsign,” he says and drapes an arm over the back of the couch behind you, caging you into your little corner.

More bells.

“I’m military. SAS, like the Captain.”

SAS.

Suddenly you’re seeing all of the things that had drawn your interest to him earlier in a new light.

He’s built. Broad shouldered and bulky in the arms and thighs that have been creeping closer ever since he sat down. The scar on his chin that pulls taught when he smiles with all his teeth. The metallic tang that lingers on his skin. How silently he had suddenly appeared on the couch beside you.

Danger.

He places his broad hand on your thigh and your eyes jerk to his. There’s a menacious glint flickering in the dark pools that reels you in and pulls you under, like the kelpies young children are warned about.

Don’t get too close to the water or you’ll drown. Don’t get too close to him.

His hand feels more like a paw, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your leg like a cat sinking its claws into fresh meat.

“They’re choosin’ teams fer quarters,” he says with a nod in the direction of the coffee table where guests have begun to gather around an arrangement of disposable cups, bottles of scotch and a collection of coins, splitting into two groups. “Think ye should be on my team,” he says a shade darker, fingers digging harder into your thigh and lips curling back to reveal his feline grin once more.

You pull your leg away from him, tugging it closer to your chest, and your heart thumps insistently against your ribs, pulse quickening in the way prey that recognizes the hunt does. You feel like a mouse caught between the claws of a kellas cat, half-wild things that roam the highlands.

“I-I actually have to go,” you blurt and shoot to your feet before he can sink his claws in further, discarding your half-empty glass on the end table. “I don’t hold my liquor well, and I have an early morning tomorrow.” It’s a lie, but how would he know? You snatch your sweater from the arm of the sofa and shove trembling arms through the sleeves. “It was… nice meeting you though.”

Was it?

“A-and I’m sorry for your loss.” The words come tumbling out like you can’t say them fast enough, tripping over your own tongue as you hurry to extricate yourself from his grasp. You don’t wait for him to return the sentiment, turning on your heel and making a beeline for your cousin.

You tell her you’re tired and heading home, offering a brief hug for her and your aunt before you have to walk back through the living room, right past Johnny, to get to the door. You don’t know if it’s relief or dread that flutters in your stomach when you see Johnny no longer occupies his spot on the couch as you cross the room. Isn’t anywhere in sight.

With your down coat bundled tightly around you, you step out into the cold night, immediately hit with icy wind and stinging particles of snow against your cheeks. Your car is parked just around the corner, less than a minute's walk. And you take hurried steps away from the town house towards the pavement.

You should have been more careful.

One moment you’re turning the corner towards your car and the next your feet are sliding out from under you on ice-slick pavement, sending you to the ground in a bone-shuddering fall.

Your skull cracks off the pavement and it echoes between your ears. You lay stunned on the ground, unable to do more than groan at the pain radiating from the base of your skull down your spine.

And then there’s hands on your shoulders. Large, warm hands that glide up your neck and prod at the tender flesh at the back of your head. You groan at the painful press of calloused fingers and a familiar voice coos to you.

“Took quite a tumble, wee rabbit. Ye really shouldnae have been walkin’ so quick through all this snow,” he says as he retracts his fingers from your head and they settle on your shoulders again.

You groan, trying to open your eyes and see through the flakes of snow that blur your vision as you try and fail to lift your head.

“Dinnae move too much, ye’ll hurt yerself more.” His hands move from your shoulders to snake beneath your knees and under your back to lift you from the ground.

You moan as the motion jostles your head and sends a blinding jolt of pain through your skull, exploding behind your eyes and sending stars dancing wildly across your remaining vision.

“Shhh wee thing, yer awright. I’ll make sure that pretty little heid of yours is tended to.”

You’re being carried, cradled to a broad chest by burly arms. Smells like rain-

No…. No, no, nonono-

You try to force your eyes open, fighting desperately against the tunneling of your vision to see through the hazy edges and blurry focus.

You’re shifted against him and you cry out as pain flares bright behind your eyes again, and he coos, telling you he’s got you now. He’ll take care of you.

Broken whimpers bubble up in your throat as you’re laid down on something soft, and you wince against the rumble of an engine as it purrs to life. Everything sounds like it’s underwater, and somehow amplified to rattle your brain in your skull. You feel heavy, arms and legs turned to lead.

“Was here fer the captain, but when I saw ye, so pretty curled up on that sofa… knew then I was leavin’ with ye instead.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your fading consciousness suddenly gives way to complete and total darkness.

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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weirdmarioenemies · 7 months

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Name: Dubior

Debut: Kirby's Return to Dream Land

Kirby's Return to Dream Land is very realistic, because it accurately depicts the phenomenon that, when you go to space, you will encounter funny robots flying about! What is their purpose? We don't know! There is, however, a sort of controversy or misunderstanding revolving Dubior.

You see, Dubior grants the Spark ability. Because it is a robot that runs on electricity, and uses all sorts of electric attacks! However, many people do not like this, and think it should instead give the UFO ability.

Perhaps I am in the minority here, but I disagree! Dubior may be a flying machine in space, but at least to me, it does not seem all that much like a UFO! It is just a funny robot. The UFOs in this series have all had a very distinct design trend, which Dubior does not follow. Besides...

What is a UFO? An Unidentified Flying Object. Dubior is not unidentified. It's Dubior! It says it right there on its health bar! Objectively, Dubior is not a UFO. It is just a FO. And nobody says FO.

What Dubior HAS always reminded me of is those little handheld vibrating massagers! You know, the ones with a central round part and three or four orbs that vibrate and you rub it on your back? It is a fun thing to be reminded of!

Anyway, Dubior is a mid-boss, and a very special one! As Kirby and friends journey across Popstar, they will encounter various mid-bosses as usual, culminating in a classic Mid-Boss Tower Level in which they are fought one after another, each fight taking place higher in the tower.

This tower is so high that it pierces the atmosphere, and Dubior is fought last, on nearly the top floor! It is no coincidence that the most alien of foes is only on the closest point of this planet to outer space. This foreshadows that it will reappear, and more often, on the distant planet Halcandra! This seems to be where it was created, but for what reason? We don't know!

What we do know is that in Planet Robobot, the Haltmann Works Company uses Dubiors as part of their invasion! I assume they reprogrammed or recreated ones they found on Halcandra, since we know they have been there. It is the only of their returning mid-boss arsenal to not be mechanized, which is amusing. How are you going to mechanize a robot? You're not!

Geez. I can't believe I've said so much about Dubior and I have not even gotten to its wonderful antenna thing! It's clear by now I find Dubior delightful, but to me, the antenna is its best feature. When it first appears and sees Kirby, the three weird floating rectangles seem to freak out, growing and flashing red and white, as if it would be saying INTRUDER ALERT INTRUDER ALERT.

Dubior is also a parent! Happy birthday to Dubior Jr.! I love love looove when things are named like that. This is a machine! You would think it would be named something like Dubior Lite or Dubior Micro, but no! This was Born, and Named, after its proud robot parent. As were its many siblings, because many Dubior Jr.s can be spawned! Mollusc Fans may notice that Dubior Jr. looks quite like a nautilus, with a body like a curved shell, and a brim above its eyes like the leathery "hood" of a nautilus! It is a strange decision, since Dubior's design does not appear to draw from any real creature, but of course I am very happy about it. I'm Mollusc Fans!

Finally, we have Dubior EX, who I do not have much to say about, but am including because it would be wrong not to. This one is pink, and with only one eye, positioned to appear slightly menacing as opposed to regular Dubior's wide-eyed innocence! I prefer regular Dubior, but EX is very cool on its own merits, too.

If after all this you still consider Dubior to be UFO-like, I'm not upset with you.

#dubior #dubior jr #dubior ex #kirby #kirby's return to dream land #kirby enemies #not mario #funky friday #mod chikako

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star-whores-a-new-hoe · 20 days

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The Comfort of Strangers //Padawan! Obi-Wan X Fem! Reader

A/N: Well...Hi! I haven't written in two years! I'll post a little update soon but I was INCREDIBLY horny inspired after seeing the Phantom Menace in theaters! Hope you enjoy this lil smutty Padawn Obi fic!

Summary: You and all of Queen Amidala's handmaidens are stuck on Tatooine waiting for Qui Gon to get the hyperdrive parts you need. With all the stress and anxiety of escaping Naboo, the good-looking Palawan stuck on the ship with you looks like a good distraction.

Warnings VERY IMPORTANT: I know Padme and her handmaidens are pretty young, but for the purposes of this story READER IS OVER 18!!!!! That being said, this fic contains, smut, kinda a hookup, using sex with a stranger as comfort, risk of being caught, P in V action, unprotected sex, pull-out method, handy, some finger-banging action, dirty talk, some implied Qui Gon x Reader x Obi-Wan action for a minute there oop, and probably some spelling and grammar mistakes!

Word Count: 2.8 K

With the whirlwind of events that was the invasion of Naboo, one would think that boredom would bring some welcome relief. They would be sorely mistaken.

The rush of adrenaline that had flooded your veins as you and the other handmaidens frantically dressed sabé, hands, and hearts a flurry, before chasing you up the ramp of the starfighter with gunfire at your back had finally subsided. Now, with the monotonous heat of Tatooine creeping into the ship, there was nothing but dull numbness left.

Padme had left over a day ago to experience this strange outer-rim world you all had landed on. That left the rest of you with nothing to do but worry. Senator Vancil regularly sent updates urging Queen Amidala to contact him. Each of his messages was more dire than the last. News of your people in camps, starving, dying, surrounded by those damned battle droids, those disgusting Numoidions watching gleefully from the high walls of the Theed palace.

You could practically feel all of the handmaidens' hearts sink in tandem with each new update. That young Jedi, Obi-Wan, simply reminded the Queen, (or who he figured to be the queen) to send no reply. Had he no empathy?! Obviously, none of you were dumb enough to risk the safety of your mission, the safety of your people, in transmitting any kind of message but could he not for a moment let down his Jedi knight persona and give you all some grace?

Jedi learner actually, I suppose. You thought to yourself. Curled up in an out-of-the-way nook, the hood of your orange handmaiden dress hung limply down your back. Normally you were grateful for the thick velvet robes in space, but even with the ship's cooling systems still online it seemed that they were no match for Tatooine. The oppressive heat sat thickly in the stale air, leaving everyone on board anxious and irritable.

You couldn't lie to yourself. Between your fear and anxiety, the sight of that young padawan was a welcome distraction. You were positive you weren't the only one who thought so, you had definitely caught your fellow handmaiden's eyes flick over him from under their hoods. There was just something about him. Maybe it was the cocky banter he had shared with his master, even in the flurry of battle, or maybe it was the way the collar of his Jedi robes opened just enough for you to want to see more. Or perhaps it was the way you could imagine tugging on that padawan braid as-

“Oh, apologies, I didn't realize there was anyone back here.”

You start, ripped from your thoughts by the man himself. He stood, palm braced against the doorway to your little hideaway. He’d discarded his Jedi cloak, leaving him the tan robes.

“Sorry,” You say sheepishly. “Just…taking a breather.” Truth be told, in a ship this size there wasn't much space for ‘breathers.’ There's a beat of awkward silence before he clears his throat.

“I assumed you would be with your queen and fellow Handmaidens in the royal quarters.” You resist the urge to scoff. Little did he know your queen was off in the deserts of Tatooine.

“I think we’re all just processing that last message from the senator. I just needed a moment to myself I guess.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He turns to walk away and you scramble for anything to keep the conversation going.

“What’s it like being a Jedi?” You cringe at the question. He looks back over his shoulder at you.

“Well, Padawan.” He corrects, sheepishly.

“Right, yes. What’s it like to be a Padawan?” He turned to face you full-on, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway.

“It’s a life of service and peace.” He says simply. “I am devoted to the service of the Republic and the force.” You hum in response.

“What’s it like being a handmaiden?” He asks, a teasing edge in his voice. From this angle, with you still curled up on the floor, he towers over you, looking down at you with a seductive smirk that makes your stomach do cartwheels.

“It’s a life of service and peace.” You repeat. “I am devoted to my queen, my people, and my planet.”

“My, my, sounds like we have quite a few similarities.” You crack a weak smile.

“Why not take a seat?” You offer, motioning towards the cramped bit of floor in front of you. “I highly doubt you have anything better to do.” He raises an eyebrow at you before obliging. “You must live in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, right?” You ask as he squeezes into the cramped space, his knees knocking against yours.

“Indeed, Coruscant has been my home for as long as I can remember.”

“I've always wanted to see Coruscant. My family went when I was very small but I don’t remember it. I always meant to visit. I just never thought it would be under such…dire circumstances.” There's another beat of silence.

“How are you and the others fairing?” You pause, debating your response. None of you had discussed it with each other. Your grief was so profound, deep, and shared in the way only sisters know. There had been no need to speak of it. But perhaps voicing it would help.

“I think this is going to be the hardest part. At least I, we, were all doing something by escaping the planet, almost getting shot down. But this, just waiting… maker it’s eating me alive.” He nodded solemnly.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” It’s not meant to be a cruel question, but definitely a pointed one. “I thought Jedi didn't do emotions?”

“Jedi don’t do attachments. We are encouraged to feel emotions, they bring us closer to the force, closer to all the living things around us.” Maker, you wanted him closer.

A part of you hated yourself for wanting distraction, for seeing the first person in front of you, and wanting to find that special kind of escape and comfort. But a bigger part of you craved the young man in front of you, the release from this monotonous boredom and anxiety.

“And what about…entanglements?” You purposefully tap your knee against his, letting a sultry gaze flood your eyes. He straightened slightly, his quizzical gaze raking you over.

“Is that really what you want?” His question wasn't accusative or disgusted but genuinely curious, soft, and gentle. The seductive fire in your eyes dies down slightly. Your eyes flick down to the floor.

“Is that so bad?” It comes out barely louder than a whisper. A gentle hand lifts your chin till your gaze meets baby blue eyes, nearly the same shade as the lightsaber you watched him wield earlier. Oh how his hands had moved with such skill and grace, you couldn't help but imagine how those calloused, practiced hands would feel running over your body. Obi-wan smiled.

“If that's what you feel, then it’s not bad at all.” Abruptly he pulled back, the sensation of him leaving your bubble had you feeling cold even in the burning ship. “Yes, Jedi are allowed to have entanglements.”

“Oh.” you flash him a sly grin, confidence slowly seeping into you. “Good to know.”

“Indeed.” His eyes bore into yours, the tension between the two of you was electric.

“Well if you ask me,” You say, placing a hand on his knee. “We have quite some time to kill before your Master gets back with the parts we need, don’t you think?” Obi-Wan’s hand came up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I’d be inclined to agree.”

“Why don't we kill some time then? Hmm?” Obi-Wan’s face lights up in a devilish smirk as his hands glide up to your waist.

“Doesn't sound like a bad idea to me.”

You lean forward, a soft smile on your lips that matches his before the young Jedi captures your mouth with his. It’s not the quick frantic touches one would expect of a hidden tryst. It’s soft and comforting like you both know you need the solace of another, the soothing touches of a lover not the hard and fast pace of a quick fuck.

You sigh against him, melting into his touch. Your hands slide over the expanse of his broad chest up to rest on his shoulders. One of Obi-Wan’s hands slides up over your spine, sending shivers through your body before he tenderly cradles your neck. His tongue teases the seal of your lips and you gladly let him in, pulling yourself closer to him as his tongue explores your mouth.

Pulling you fully into his lap, you can feel the bulge in his pants press against you. Simply the thought of it makes you wet. You grind your hips against him testingly and he hums his encouragement. One of Obi-Wan’s hands moves to your knee. Ever so delicately he slides his hand upwards over your thigh, the hem of your dress pulled ever upwards with his movements. His hand resting on the bare skin of your upper thigh, he gently moves you to grind against him again.

As you rut against him, Obi-Wan’s lips leave yours to place open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the expanse of your neck, and over the limited bit of collarbone exposed by your dress. You expose your neck to him with a sigh, letting your head fall back into the reassuring weight of his hand cradling your head.

This was it. What you so desperately needed. The reassuring touches of another that sent electric currents through your body. The safety of being held in someone's arms. Here, in this little nook with Obi-Wan, even if it was for just a moment, was paradise.

Your hands sneak their way between the two of your bodies. Reaching for his hand that gripped the pillowy flesh of your thigh, you guide him to rest it on your breast. Taking the queue, Obi-Wan gives your tit a gentle squeeze, smoothing his thumb in little circles over the fabric right where he knows your nipple is.

You practically whine at the sensation, grinding against him even harder. Your hand comes to rest on his crotch.

“Help me take these off?” Your voice comes out much more sultry than you expected. He flashes you a smile that makes your heartache.

“Why of course.” Together, you work him out of his trousers so that his erection stands tall and proud, a tiny bit of pre cum already beading at his tip. Your mouth waters at the sight. Without another thought, you spit in your hand before reaching down to grasp the base of him. He sighs at the contact and without missing a beat you begin to slowly move your hand over the length of him.

“Is that alright?” You ask, his hands slowly wandering over your thighs, ever closer to where you crave him.

“A-a little harder if you don't mind darling.” A part of you swoons at the pet name, and a bigger part of you smirks at making such a fine, confident man stutter.

You oblige, squeezing a bit tighter as you work his length and Obi-Wan throws his head back in bliss.

“Oh yes, just like that.” Seeing an opportunity in front of you, you lean forward to kiss his exposed neck, his padawan braid tickling your nose. A small blush creeps up his neck and over his cheeks as you continue to pleasure him with your hand.

Obi-Wan’s wandering hands finally reach under the skirts of your dress, his fingers dragging along the center of you, feeling the wetness that undoubtedly stains your undergarments.

“Oh my, all this for me?” He teases.

“Just shut up and touch me please.” You groan. Obi-wan places a sweet peak to your cheek.

“How could I say no to someone as lovely as you?” If you weren't flushed before that comment certainly did it. His hands push aside your drenched undergarment, letting two of his fingers leave teasing touches across you, never once letting them brush your aching clit.

“If I’d known you'd be such a tease I would have approached that master of yours.” You tease. Obi-Wan scoffs.

“I’m not a tease, you’re just impatient.” He replies slightly breathlessly. “Besides,” He adds finally drawing little circles in your clit. He leans in close to whisper in your ear. “You must be very naive to think Qui Gon Jinn wouldn't be a merciless fuck.”

For a brief moment, the thought of both of them pleasuring you enters your mind. The older Jedi taking you from behind while he instructs his learner on how to fuck your throat. You’re pulled from your thoughts by Obi-Wan capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, rougher than the last, full of need and lust.

“Obi-Wan,” You pant breathlessly, pulling away from his kiss. “Fuck me.” He groans, taking his cock in his hand to line it up against your entrance. You shimmy forward, knees on either side of him before sinking down.

You both sigh in unison, inch after glorious inch fills you up, stretching you out perfectly. He’s barely inside of you before you start moving, grasping his shoulder to help lift yourself on and off his cock. He grasps your waist, helping you move as you work yourself open on him.

the two of you build up a steady rhythm, it’s all you can do to bite your lip and keep from your moans of delight escaping the room. Obi-Wan hits a certain spot inside of you that sends a sudden gasp from your lips. His hand quickly reaches up to cover your mouth.

“Careful now, wouldn't want the other handmaidens hearing, would we?” You whine quietly in agreement. He smirks. “Think you can handle yourself without me keeping you quiet?” You nod eagerly. “That's what we like to hear.” He practically coos, his hand leaving your mouth to work at your clit, heightening your pleasure tenfold.

Every stroke of his cock inside of you leaves you a bigger mess than the last. You grind against him desperately, hungry for every touch, every current of pleasure he sends through your body, every sensation that takes you further and further from the predicament you’re currently stuck in. Everything was building up, threatening to spill over at any second.

“M-make, I won't last muc-ch longer.” Obi-Wan sighs. His movements on your clit are frantic, his thrusts sloppy like that of a man on the edge. “Please, need you to cum for me.” He practically begs. He slots his head between your neck and shoulder, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Need to feel you come around my cock.”

He hits the perfect spot inside you as he whispers his filthy words in your ear, sending you right over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through your body, your cunt squeezing him like a vice, his ministrations on your clit never ceasing.

“Oh yes, just like that.” He works you through your orgasm, not even ceasing as you slump against him. It’s only when you push his hand away from your overstimulated pussy that he ceases. Reluctantly, you move yourself off of his cock, taking him in your hand and watching with immense satisfaction as he falls apart, spilling his seed over your thighs.

You both sigh, sweat beading both your brows and the air between you hot and heavy with a mixture of your previous actions and the stale Tatooine air.

Swallowing dryly you break the silence. “Thank you.”

“Sincerely my lady, the pleasure was all mine.” He nods to the evidence of such on your thighs which raises a chuckle from you. You produce a handkerchief from a tucked-away pocket and start cleaning his cum from your thighs.

A content quite settles over the two of you as you tidy up, helping each other straighten your clothing. As you tuck Obi-Wan’s padawan braid behind his ear, the high-pitched beep of a comlink interprets the tender moment.

“Obi-Wan, are you there?” His Master’s voice sounds through the device on Obi-Wan’s belt. He gives your hand a slight squeeze as he picks up the com with the other.

“Yes Master, any luck acquiring the part for the hyperdrive?”

“I'm afraid the situation has grown more...complicated.” Obi-Wan sighs.

“Why do I sense that we’ve picked up yet another pathetic life form?” Obi-Wan casts you an apologetic glance as his master continues. Tucking your hair back into your hood, you give him a small smile and nod for him to go. With a soft smile of his own in return, he turns toward to cockpit, the comlink in his hand updating him on the situation.

With a sigh, you turn and walk back toward the quarters where you know the others will be. The dull ache of the tragic events around you was still present, but somewhat subdued thankfully. Who knew you could find so much comfort in strangers?

Taglist:@rentskenobi @mysteryofkokoro @highpriestessrebek @sarapixieelliott08 @princessxkenobi @dexthtoyounglings @book-hoardingdragon @cosmic-rich @laserbrains @hugmekenobi @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories @profkenobi

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #obi wan kenobi #obiwan #obi wan fluff #obi wan fluffy headcanons #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan star wars #obi wan x reader #smut #star wars fanfic #x reader #Star Wars x reader #Star Wars smut

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

Text

Stunned Stunt

Summary:

Warnings: Cursing, violence and mentions of blood

Author’s Note: Hope you like this !! Let me know if you have any other requests.

———

“Alright (Y/N), we need you on set,” One of the crew knocks at the door to tell you and you push yourself up from the couch to follow after them.

This was your second season working on Outer Banks and you had still not managed to get over the fact that the entire thing felt like one big vacation rather than actual work. It was a few months of working out in the sun, with a bunch of your best friends, and your boyfriend - what more could you want?

The majority of your scenes were filmed with Drew and you’d be lying if you said that wasn’t inevitably how the two of you had become so close filming together last season. By the time filming had wrapped, the two of you still spent every day together until eventually you realised you were essentially already dating. Now, you could come back to work and act out being a couple with the guy who was your boyfriend already. Though, dating Drew was a far cry from dating Rafe - the two were polar opposites in most ways.

“There she is!” Drew grins when he sees you, makeup around his eye to make it look like he’s got a bruise, “Don’t worry you should see the other guy.”

You laugh and let him wrap his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Are you excited to do some stunts?” You ask against his chest as he runs a hand up and down your back.

“You mean am I excited to watch both of us get flung across the room? Yes, I can’t wait,” He jokes, pulling away to look at you, “Time to pretend we’re toxic and probably shouldn’t be together.”

You frown at him, “Isn’t that us normally?”

Drew rolls his eyes and takes your hand in his, the two of you walking towards the waiting set.

For context, your character and Rafe had started dating at the end of last season - his first proper love interest for the show. Your character opted to forgive everything that Rafe did, becoming an apologist for him on the island, and so they’d started seeing each other. They argued and screamed and broke everything in their sight when they were in the middle of a fight. You and Drew couldn’t remember the last time you argued, and the biggest fight you’d ever had was over which film you should watch on date night.

“Alright guys we’ve got everything set up for you,” The director comes over to explain, “If you guys want to get into the places like we rehearsed, we’re going to run the argument scene first and then get you guys wired up and go straight into the explosion - we’re going to do it as one big sequence if we can.”

The two of you agree and get into your places, the two of you in a hut on the water, one that would soon go up in flames.

“Alright, quiet on set!” Someone yells but, by now, all of your attention is on Rafe in front of you, “And three, two, one, action.”

“What are you doing here Ally?” Drew drags a hand through his buzzcut hair, his face seeming to shift as soon as his Rafe side comes out, darker and more menacing than Drew could ever be.

“What do you think I’m doing here? Did you think you could just walk out and leave me there?” You wave your hands in his direction, “What do you think this is?”

“I don’t care what this is, Ally, I don’t give a shit,” He returns, his eyes burning into you, “Why can’t you get that into your head? This isn’t fucking happy families.”

He turns his back on you and drags a hand over his face, tension growing in his shoulders.

“You can’t keep doing this Rafe,” You return, injecting the character of Ally into every one of your words, “You can’t keep pushing me away and then dragging me back in when it suits you. That’s not how this works!”

“THEN THIS DOESN’T WORK, DOES IT?” The words bellow deep in the space between you, seemingly shaking the wood of the hut as you flinch back in shock.

You cower away from him slightly, tucking your arms around yourself and for just a second you see a glimpse of Drew in the regret between his eyes. But this is Rafe, and so he turns his back on you once again, a wild hand swinging towards a lantern on the table, knocking it down and shattering it over the floor.

“And cut!” The director yells and you seem to switch back to reality almost instantly, “Great job guys, we’ll get set up for the stunt now.”

“Wow, almost believed that you hated me then,” You wiggle your brows at Drew and he comes over and grabs both of your hands in his, lacing your fingers together.

“I hate doing these scenes now,” He shakes his head, “It feels so weird.”

“But you didn’t mind yelling at me before?” You joke, squeezing his hands.

“Oh, it was much easier,” Drew laughs, “I found it a lot easier to be a psychopath before you came along.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Don’t blame me babe.”

You turn around and he wraps his arms around you from behind, perching his head on your shoulder as you wait for the crew to set up the rest of the layers of the stunt. The storyline of the scene was that Rafe was about to burn down the hut, covering it in gasoline before you’d arrived, as the lantern knocks, the whole place is supposed to go up in flames - leaving you and Rafe hating each other and trapped together.

“Alright so we’re going to have you two coming out of the flames, the plan is that you’ll fly back, hit into the wall and that’s when Drew you’ll be trying to get (Y/N) out of the fire because she’ll have hit her head. Make sense?” The stunt coordinator explains, “We can have a few runs but like they said, we ideally want this as one sequence so it might take us a few tries.”

“Sure, sounds good,” You nod, “I can play dead for a while.”

“And I can pretend to care,” Drew nudges your side and you hit his arm jokingly.

“Alright, lets get into places guys,” The director calls over the speaker and you walk onto your spots as the scene is set to begin, “Three, two, one, action!”

“What the fuck have you done Rafe?” You yell, hand coming up to your face to shield you from the fake flames.

“Get out! We need to go!” Drew bellows, his voice thick with fear.

You turn and the fake explosion sets off in front of you, blocking your exit. Drew stumbles back from it, his arm up to shield his face. But, as he does, he trips and falls further back, his arm colliding with your face. Your head knocks back and you stumble slightly, hearing the director yell cut within a split second.

“Oh shit!” Drew exclaims, turning around to face you, his hand gripping your arm, “(Y/N), I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

Your hand grips at your face as you start to feel blood pool beneath your nose, “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, you just caught my nose, it’s okay.”

“Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t-“

Before he can say anything more, the on-set medics rush over and try to get between the two of you.

“(Y/N) come with us,” One of them says and you try to blink the blurry vision out of your eyes, “We need to get that looked at.”

They’re holding you from either side to guide you away from set before Drew can say anything more. But he watches you leave, dragging a hand over his head as his eyes start to blur with worry.

“Alright, let’s all take a break guys,” The director comments, “Are you okay Drew?”

But he’s following after you before he can think to respond.

~~~

They fix you up in the medics tent and assure you that it’s not broken but you’d likely be left with a healthy bruise. They tell you to leave ice on it but that they were happy you didn’t need any further attention and you take that as an ideal reason to get out of there.

As soon as you open the door to the medics’ trailer, you see a hunched over form sat on the few metal steps leading up to the entrance. He turns around as soon as the door opens.

“Oh my god are you okay?” Drew scrambles to stand up, “They told me not to go in but I-“

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” You half-laugh, “Don’t worry, they said it’s just bruised.”

“I just didn’t even realise you were stood there, I don’t know why, and then I don’t even know what I tripped on but it shouldn’t have been there and then I-“

“Drew!” You put a hand over his, your other hand still holding an ice pack over your nose, “Stop worrying! It’s fine, I’m genuinely okay.”

He furrows his brows, his lips parting and then closing again like he’s re-thought what he’s just about to say, “Let me see it.”

You pull the ice away from your face and he winces instantly, examining it like he wasn’t certain with the medic’s decision.

“(Y/N) that looks painful!” He grimaces, squeezing your hand.

“And that’s what medication is for,” You wiggle the pack of ibuprofen in his face, “I’m genuinely okay, I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

Drew furrows his brows, contemplating it before deciding to believe you, “Okay, let’s go get some lunch, come on.”

He wraps an arm around your back and guides you across towards the makeshift cafeteria.

When you both get in, the rest of the cast are already sat down but they hurry over as soon as they see you, worry plastered across all of their faces.

“(Y/N)! We heard what happened, are you okay?” Madelyn frowns, scanning your features like she’s checking you over.

“Yeah, I’m okay I’m okay,” You nod your head, “It was just an accident.”

“God Drew how did you manage that?” Chase jokes, hitting him on the chest.

Drew rolls his eyes and squeezes your waist, “I’m going to get you some food.”

Rudy frowns as he walks away, “What’s up with him?”

You shake your head, “I think he just feels guilty, but I genuinely am okay. It could’ve been worse.”

Before they can say anything else, Drew comes back over to you with a full plate of food, stacked up as if he thinks you haven’t eaten in days.

“Here, come on, let’s sit down,” He encourages, guiding you over to one of the tables.

Drew sits down beside you and puts an arm over the back of your chair, rubbing your back up and down.

You can feel his eyes watching you, focused on your face as you start to eat, like he’s worried part of you is about to break in an instant.

“Drew,” You set down your fork and turn to look at him, putting a hand on his leg, “I promise you I’m okay.”

“Wha- no, yeah, I know, I was just-“

“You’re watching me eat,” You smile a little, “I love you, but I’m fine, honest.”

He sighs and nods his head, bring up one of his hands to cup your cheek, his eyes flicking between each of yours, “I just can’t believe I hurt you.”

“Drew, you didn’t mean to. It was an accident,” You lean into his touch, “I would tell you if something was wrong, it’s just going to be a bruise.”

He nods like he’s finally agreeing with you, turning and resting his head on your shoulder, his hand moving to your thigh and resting there. One thing was for certain now that the two of you were acting together again, Drew was as far from Rafe as you could possibly get.

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ghostlythunderbird · 1 year

Text

Alpha!Ghost and how he met his mate

Authors Note: Ok so this might be a bit rushed but I didnt wanna overfill this. Thanks to @l-lend who is now my forced beta reader XD for the ideas.

My work is not to be reposted, translated or used without my permission

Warnings: Drunk men, Fighting, Very uncomfortable situations (Hints of R*pe) dont worry Simon beats them up :)

Now ghost wasn’t one to ever play a hero, being a hero meant your actions are out there for everyone to see. He was never there, not a hero but a ghost that preys on those who try to live in the dark. He preferred it that way as it was something that made him who he was. The darkness was never his enemy to begin with; it was his friend.

But somehow by some miraculous chance he just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. The streets of Manchester were lonely when the sun started to set, only those who lived the night city life were the ones out. Hopping from bar to bar every few hours, all while traveling in well ordered packs; Mixes of Alphas and Betas forming the outer ring while the Omegas were always kept in the center.

He happened to be walking right by the backside of a popular nightclub when he heard it; A faint distressed chirp that echoed through the darkened space. He could have sworn his neck had damn near broken by how fast he had turned, His Alpha snarled; begging to investigate the source of the chirp. He looked all around the streets before entering the darkness, shadows engulfing him almost instantly.

Once he caught sight of the back door light he saw the source of the noise. You were backed into a corner with an alpha leaning over you, his two beta friends had their backs to you standing guard. Ghost could smell the alcohol from where he stood that billowed around the group. As he looked at you in more depth he could tell you were scared, the telltale signs of anxiousness were all there; trembling, elevated breathing, your eyes were wide and brimming with tears.

It broke his heart and made his skin boil with hatred, how dare this Alpha corner you and make you cry, and more importantly how DARE these Betas turn their back to this. It didn’t matter if they were drunk at this point, it was the fact that a drunk person’s words were their sober thoughts. The drunk Alpha leaned into your space even more before speaking “Awe come on now sweetheart, no need to cry right now I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Just that sentence alone made the hair on the back of Ghost’s neck stand up. His Alpha was snapping under the surface of his skin, murder is starting to get better and better for these three. Stepping forward towards the group gave him away “I suggest you leave her alone mate, she doesn’t want you near her.” The words growled out as they left Ghost's chest. Four heads whipped around to look at him. You couldn’t fully within the darkness to completely see the stranger who seemed to answer to your distressed chirp only minutes ago. But what you could see was his build and the menacing glow from the crudely printed skull on his mask. This alpha was easily bigger than the three knotheads put together.

“How about you mind your fucking business then ‘Mate’, come on little omega lets go somewhere where we cant be bothered.” The drunk alpha attempted to grab you, but you had already begun moving towards the shade covered alpha. You had almost reached the alpha before the Betas blocked your path “And where do you think you're going, pretty Omega?” One had slurred out, it made a shiver crawl up your spine. You needed to get out of here. Now.

Seeing the blockade these knotheads put up to try and stop you, Simon stepped forward grabbing one beta and shoved him back. “How bout’ you two take a hint, she doesn't want to be here.”

And well, let's just say after the other beta splashed their drink on him in an attempt to drive him off, it was an all out brawl. The first one down though was the Alpha, after seeing this bastard make you cry and keep you from leaving it's easy to say he was marked. It made Simon’s inner Alpha much happier after knocking a few teeth loose.

The Betas were not much of a fight compared to someone of Simon’s size, It was easy work and it honestly made him thank whatever god that he was born an Alpha just this once. In the end all three were on the ground and Simon got in a decent workout, He was still catching his breath as he looked over to you. In order to not get caught up in the fight you had backed up into the corner he had found you in originally, Your eyes were wide and if you were asked by anyone you'd say your eyes never once left the large Alpha. How would anyone believe you that this mysterious and quite frankly attractive Alpha came to your rescue out of nowhere anyway?

You were only snapped out of your stupor as the Alpha stepped over the groaning bodies on the ground, His already massive frame only continued to grow as he got closer to you. But unlike the Alpha on the ground, this one didn't make you feel uncomfortable even with all the eye makeup and the skull mask. But it did add on to his intimidation factor, and it wasn't all just for show as you had just seen.

“Are you ok?” He finally asked once he got close enough, His deep raspy voice made your knees weak. Looking up at him you were slightly thrown off as his eyes weren't as cold as they were with the Alpha and two Betas. From the black around his eyes you could tell they were a beautiful brown, it made you wonder what they looked like in the light. Realizing you were staring you sheepishly looked away “Y-yeah, thank you for all that.”

Simon looked you over ensuring that there was no damage to your person, it wasn't until he had seen you move away slightly did he realize he might be making you uneasy. Ducking his head to get a better view of your face “Let’s get you outta ‘ere then love, not a good place for someone like you eh?” Holding his hand out, he waited patiently for you to take hold and lead you away from the alley. Looking back Simon could tell all three men were completely out either from their drunkenness or the fact he purposely hit them in the head.

The two of you walked for a bit until he finally stopped you. “Should be easy for you to get home from here.” Slowly releasing your hand from his grip as he turned to face you, It was hard to look anywhere else as your eyes kept drawing him back in. It had him wondering what compelled him to even help you in the first place, something about you just seemed to pull him in.

He couldn’t place if it was just because you were an Omega or if there was something more there but he wasn’t about to complain. “Actually…..would you be able to walk me home?” It was a small request but mostly you wanted him to say yes so you could spend a little bit more time with this mysterious man. He was quiet for a bit before leaning down “Yeah I can do that love.”

You couldn’t help but let out a thrill, the smile you gave him could have rivaled a supernova with how bright it was. It made him feel like a live wire was loose under his skin, a rumble was caught in the back of his throat as he held out his arm for you to loop yours through.

Once you were both connected you couldn’t help yourself as you leaned into him. Reveling in how muscular he was, even if you couldn’t fully see now fit he actually was. “I hope this isn’t awkward but do you have a name?” Your question was a harmless one but it made Simon question what name he should give you. “Just call me Ghost.” His response was curt. Your brows furrowed as you risked a glance at the mask he wore.

“Ghost. Huh, what kind of person are you to get a name like that?” You joked. Simon angled his head a bit, he couldn’t give you the exact reason but he settled for something close to “Guess someone who does good in the dark.”

Your eyes lit up at his response “Well then I guess I can say you're my Saving Spector then!” You giggled. With that he couldn’t help but agree.

After the walk home you definitely gave him your number, the need to learn more about this mysterious Alpha was overwhelming you even over the tipsy feeling that buzzed throughout your body. Luckily you weren’t the only one either. Simon couldn’t help but run his thumb over the ink that spelled out your name and number. While he told himself it wasn’t something he should really push for, it couldn’t hurt to try. Besides who else was supposed to be your saving Spector but the Ghost himself?

Taglist: @kelpiesummer, @grizzersmamma, @fatedeniedhope

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost simpery to the max #omegaverse #Alpha Ghost #simon riley

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basically-dead-artist · 3 months

Text

Theory:

What if that's not what the DeathDrive's names are? What if Bravern just gives them names to make them seem more evil and menacing?

Superbia? Cupiridas(most likely the actual spelling is Cupiditas)?

Those are all Latin words for the Seven Deadly sins.

So what if they all don't actually have names? Why would they name themselves Earth concepts? They never actually introduce themselves(from what I remember), and it's always Bravern saying who they are.

Instead, I propose this.

Bravern created all the DeathDrives and their towers are like giant 3D printers that specifically makes that type of DeathDrive while also making a Lulu. We know he has a 3D printer but the questions is, How did he build a 3D Printer? We see it in Bravern's room on the Aircraft carrier. But we never see him build it or anyone else.

And in the episode, we also see Bravern making things like a Model kit would be made. So what if all Deathdrives are built like giant model kits in their Towers? That's probably a Stretch but it could also be canon who knows?

And now we need to talk about the amount of towers left. They said 6 more. Why 6? Wasn't Superbia's tower destroyed? Shouldn't there be 5 if they're based on the 7 Deadly sins? That's my first thought. But then I made this theory. The last Tower Belongs to Bravern.

And where is the last Tower?

It's the Tower from Outer space! The Ship itself!

We've never touched upon what the Ship that transported those towers could be. We've been very focused on the Towers we've never talked about the source. Bravern has never touched upon the main ship itself but rather keeps saying to destroy the towers and all of Mankind will be safe. It made us forget that the ship is still up there in space.

I know there are theories for Bravern to be a DeathDrive, but what if he is the Creator of the Deathdrives? Hence why he knows them. Both personally and literally.

Thank you for reading my rambling.

#bang brave bang bravern #yuuki bakuhatsu bang bravern #bravern hella sus

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year

Text

Common Grounds / Chapter 6

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, yearning, flirting, overly charming Marcus, seriously the man is a menace in this chapter, so much unresolved sexual tension

Summary: ...Is it Friday yet?

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'm so used to writing behemoth chapters that I panic and worry that anything less than 2k isn't worth posting and that I should make it longer, LOL, but I like where this ends. Next chapter they FINALLY go out to dinner <3

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter

"Shit!"

Steaming milk sloshes over the rim of the coffee cup, running down the sides and creating a pool on the counter. Sighing, you grab a replacement cup, pour the overflowing contents into the fresh one, and hand it to the customer.

"That's like the third time you've done that this morning," Sam remarks. "Are you okay?:

"I'm great," you answer quickly.

"I'm glad," Sam answers, "but you should get out of outer space and back to the coffee shop before we run out of milk. And cups."

"I ran into Derrick yesterday," you say abruptly.

Sam drops the scone they're holding, sending crumbs scattering around your feet. "Excuse me? You're just going to blurt that out?" They whirl to you, grabbing your shoulders and staring into your face. "Are you okay? What did he say? Did you punch him? Can I punch him?"

"No… no punching," you say, trying to squirm out of Sam's hold. "It's fine, he just came to rub some million dollar deal in my face."

"Hey," the customer at the counter says weakly. "Um, can I–can I have my… scone?"

"This is important," Sam announces, barely turning around to acknowledge them. "Babe, you were supposed to call me if he ever showed up."

"It's fine, Sam. Besides…" you say casually, knowing you're about to drop an even larger bomb on them. "...Marcus was there."

You grab a scone from the shelf, put it into a white pastry bag, and hand it to the befuddled customer.

"Marcus?" Sam shrieks, before schooling their face into the most ridiculous, overexaggerated customer service look you’ve ever seen. “Welcome to Common Grounds! What can I get started for you?”

"Mmhmm," you hum an affirmative to Sam as you pour the woman’s requested iced coffee.

"Excuse me," Sam begins indignantly, but you interrupt.

"Guess that's what happens when you miss a day!"

"I'll keep that in mind next time and come vomit in the cookie dough."

"Sam," you scold, laughing.

The next customer is eyeing both of you warily. "They're kidding," you tell him. "It's a bit we do. Can I interest you in a cookie? Chocolate chip."

The man grimaces and shakes his head. "Can I get one of those… lavender lattes?"

You smile and ring the man up. That reminds you–Marcus should be in any minute. You're giddy–even more so than usual. Marcus had asked you on a date, hugged you twice, kissed you on the forehead, and suggested that he'd like to do much more than just that. You're vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going on another date with the man on Friday.

"Hellooooo," Sam says in a sing-song voice. "Why was Marcus there?"

"He was um," you stammer as you pull the espresso shot, "he came back to the cafe to uh, ask me on a date?"

As Sam's jaw drops, you suddenly remember something.

"Hey! You owe me two months of opening up shop!" you exclaim, a wide grin on your face.

"First of all, I fucking told you," Sam says, bumping you with their hip. "Second of all, when is your date?"

"He took me out for ice cream yesterday," you say, "after the whole Derrick debacle and a shit morning at work–Lavender latte!–and we went for a walk and talked for like, an hour."

"Oh. My fucking. God," Sam deadpans. "I'm dead. I've passed away. Who takes someone out for an ice cream and a walk in the year of our lord two thousand twenty-two? That's a date straight out of the fifties."

"I guess Marcus does. And he's taking me to dinner on Friday, too," you tell them, just before taking another order.

"Did he kiss you?" Sam asks as you pour an americano with room for cream.

You avoid making eye contact. "On–on the forehead. Once."

"No way. I refuse to believe that," Sam says, shaking their head.

"It's true! He's very…" you trail off, searching for the correct word. Just as you decide on 'chivalrous,' Sam chooses another one for you.

"...chaste."

You shrug. "He's really sweet. Americano!"

"Oh, I cannot wait to see this," Sam says gleefully.

You turn to them, confused. "See what?"

"He's here."

Your head whips comically to the front doors, where Marcus is just entering. You're sure that your startled, hopeful expression gives everything away, but for the first time, you don't care. Marcus is looking right back at you with poorly-disguised excitement. As he approaches the counter, his smile grows so wide that his eyes crinkle.

"We're closed," Sam says.

"Perfect," Marcus replies, not missing a beat, "then you're free to come to breakfast with me."

"Ha! I wish," you say emphatically. "What's for breakfast?"

"Hmm," Marcus scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Or no–how about something savory. Eggs benedict?"

"If you're going to come in here and make me hungry, I'm going to ban you for life," you tease.

"Fine, fine," Marcus sighs. "Well, if you're open, I'll have my usual–" he winks at you, "–and a pastry of your choice. Surprise me."

"I know just the thing," you say. "Carrot date muffins. There's a whole serving of vegetables in each one, but they're so sweet that you'd never even know."

"You know I have a sweet tooth," Marcus comments, except this time he says it, there's something far more flirtatious in his tone, blatantly so. He says it while looking not at the muffin, but at you, with a little glint in his eye.

Oh, fuck. You aren't going to make it to Friday.

"Hi."

Both of you jump slightly, the tension not exactly dissipating, just… morphing into a different kind of awkwardness as Sam stands right next to you, looking between the two of you with obvious amusement.

"Hi Sam!" Marcus exclaims. "Feeling better today?"

"Yeah, guess I missed a lot yesterday," they say pointedly.

"Should I have asked for your permission first?" Marcus asks, smiling.

"Maybe you should," Sam says, crossing their arms. "I'm very protective of her, you know."

"Sam," you exclaim, embarrassed at both of their antics.

"I promise I have only the best of intentions," Marcus announces, standing up straight and taking on an overly formal tone. "I have a reservation for two at Osteria Morini on Friday and I plan on treating the lady right.”

You can’t stop giggling at Marcus’s antics. You’re in that wonderful place where everything your crush does is absolutely hilarious, no matter how dorky, and you can’t help but find his playfulness exceedingly funny and charming.

“Are you going to buy her a dessert?” Sam asks, raising one eyebrow.

“If the lady wishes,” Marcus says, syrupy sweet, with a little wink in your direction.

“Okay, I’m out,” Sam says, throwing up their hands.

“Giving up that easily?” Marcus accuses. “I could be anybody!”

You thrust his cup of coffee into his hands. “Out, you menace.”

Marcus is ready. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes the drink, and your hand is engulfed by his larger one. “Text me tonight,” he says softly. “If you want.”

“I will,” you promise.

Marcus pulls away, his fingers lingering on yours until the last possible second. Your eyes follow him out of Common Grounds until he disappears from view outside.

“That. Was. Disgusting,” Sam remarks, coming up behind you.

“Uh huh,” you breathe, not really listening.

Sam hands you an empty cup. “Hazelnut almond milk latte, one extra shot.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Dude.”

“Okay!” You grab a shot glass and press ‘dispense’ on the machine.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Wow.

– – – –

In the evening, just after eating dinner, you text Marcus.

Beep Boop. Will my texts go to some government database somewhere?

The reply comes almost immediately.

Only if you text my work number. Which you DON’T have.

Classified?

Nah, just too risky. Don’t want to mix business and… you know ;)

Lord help you, Marcus is using winky faces.

Business and… what?

Don’t make me say it.

Is the time still not right?

No, the time is not right.

Don’t tell me you’re a “only kiss after the 3rd date” kinda guy

I guess you’ll have to find out. ;)

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck—you scrub your hands down your face and groan loudly into the room. He’s going to kill you.

Maybe so, but I’d still kind of like a preview, you type out, your heart in your throat.

I’ll tell you this. You are so damn pretty that waiting until the 3rd date just to kiss you is going to be completely out of the question.

Oh really!?

Yes. Believe me, I’ve been sorely tempted more than once.

Do tell.

Before it was remotely proper.

Your eyes widen. How long has Marcus been interested in you?

Okay, tell me this. When IS the right time?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm

I’ll have to think about that.

You wait. You wait until you’re blue in the face. In reality, it’s probably only a matter of minutes, but you’re nearly vibrating out of your skin before you see the next text from Marcus.

Ideally? It’s after dinner on Friday. I’ll walk you back to your place, of course. When we get there, I’d take your hand in mine and tell you I had a really nice time. You’d agree, looking up at me. Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…

You wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. The story doesn’t continue. Eventually, you text back.

MARCUS!

Yes? ;)

It’s going to be a long couple of days if you’re going to play it like THAT.

Is that a problem?

I’m going to want to skip dinner, at this point.

Another pregnant pause as Marcus apparently deliberates his response.

That’s good to know. Although dinner might be a good idea.

You take the bait.

Why’s that?

…keep your strength up?

Jesus fucking christ.

Okay, I’ll stop.

You press your face into the pillows and groan again. When you don’t respond, Marcus texts again.

I’m sorry if I was out of line there.

You weren’t, I’m just… frustrated?

I know the feeling. I’ll leave you alone after this: I’m VERY much looking forward to Friday.

Me too.

See you soon, beautiful.

You resist the urge to throw yourself onto your stomach on your bed and kick your feet into the air. You’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone someone you haven’t even kissed. Marcus has this ability to stir up feelings you didn’t even know you had. A deep seated longing settles in your stomach, an overwhelming need rising in your core.

You scroll up and read the longest message again. ‘Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…’

Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine the scene he’d painted, shuddering as you picture Marcus’s hands on you. You remember the way his fingers had encircled your wrist the day before. They’d overlapped. He had huge hands. If one of them cupped your cheek, you imagine, his fingers could touch the nape of your neck as he pulled you in close.

You conjure up the feeling of his breath ghosting across your lips. Would he linger there for a few seconds? With the two of you mere inches apart, would Marcus stop and savor that moment just before your lips connect? Or would he be impatient, immediately capturing your mouth with his, all of the tension that had built up over the past few weeks making it unbearable to wait another instant?

Thoughts of kissing Marcus after your date on Friday lead you to another, bigger question:

If you invite him up, will he say yes?

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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thefingerfuckingfemalefury · 7 months

Text

Thirty One Days of Horror Movies! Day Fourteen :D

Killer Klowns from Outer Space!

When a space ship bearing a villainous group of aliens who have an uncanny resemblance to earth clowns arrives in a small American town, a local couple are faced with not only trying to get anyone to believe their warnings about the ridiculous but deadly space menace that's come to earth but also faced with surviving the clowns wrath as they go on a rampage that's as lethal as it is silly :D

An 80's horror comedy cult classic, Killer Klowns takes all the tropes of "Alien invasion" horror movies and turns them up to eleven in how ridiculous they are....everything from the design of the aliens, their space ship and weapons (All of which resemble carnival toys and food) to the ludicrously beligerent local cop who refuses to believe their story to the ridiculous climax

The movie has a lot of fun with its premise offering everything from deadly shadow puppetry, balloon animal tracking dogs, popcorn bazookas and a space ship that looks like a circus tent/funhouse and it all makes for a very fun time

Crucially the movie never has the characters wink at the audience...the threat of the Klowns is played straight in universe which just makes it all the funnier

I wouldn't recommend this one to anyone whose afraid of clowns but if your free of coulrophobia and in the mood for a strange and inventive horror film to watch this month, check this one out :D

#Halloween #Sfw

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faafi · 5 months

Note

do you have a favorite loonatics unleashed episode?

Yes, I do!

Of course, it's a common answer, but my personal favorite episode is The Family Business. This episode is my favorite since it explores such an interesting part of the canon (the relations within Rev's family & the relations between roadrunners and coyotes). And, of course, I love Rev! And Tech, too! But Rev needs all of the love!!!

Besides The Family Business, my two other personal favorites are The Menace of Mastermind and It Came from Outer Space. These two episodes are the strongest in terms of their pacing, and there is a lot of great interactions between most of the characters (I say most because Slam doesn't interact much; but then again, Slam barely talks with the other Loonatics in most episodes, so whatever).

It Came from Outer Space

Personally, It Came from Outer Space is one of the funniest episodes of the show. Or at the very least, it is one of the stronger episodes in terms of comedy. Each character is fun to watch. Additionally, I love the inclusion of the classic Looney Tunes reference and how this gag is tied into the plot (picture above). This joke is very tastefully done (at least in comparison to the references that were made in Loonatics on Ice).

As a side rant, I love Rev here. This scene (shown above) is brief, but there is a lot to dissect ("Say, remember what Lexi said about feeling like Helen of Troy? Maybe we could make her really feel that way!").

For earlier context, when Melvin threatens to the Loonatics that he will blow up Acmetropolis if he can't abduct Lexi, Lexi comments that she feels like Helen of Troy. After saying this, everyone is confused, including Tech and Rev. Rev even looks behind himself and softly shakes his head side to side (shown below).

In the next few scenes, Rev is nowhere to be seen.

Later on, Rev doesn't show up until everyone is seated at the circular mission table except for Lexi.

It is revealed that Lexi went onto Melvin's ship for the sake of saving the city. Then, Tech & Ace talk about getting her back. Tech establishes that Melvin's spacecraft is impenetrable. Here, Rev proposes that they infiltrate Melvin's ship via a Trojan Horse. Sure, this scene is brief, but it really speaks a lot on Rev's character.

I am going to incorporate this idea into a later fic, but I love the premise that Rev is a huge book junkie who will read up on any subject. In my head, I think that Rev read a lot about Helen of Troy and learned about the Trojan Horse. This would explain why Rev wasn't present in that section of the episode.

This would also explain why Rev was confused when he heard Helen of Troy earlier and then proposed the Trojan Horse idea later.

As an aside, this moment is one of the few times when Tech is genuinely confused about something, and it is SO funny (picture below).

The Menace of Mastermind

This episode is a really entertaining episode overall.

The Menace of Mastermind: I loved the premise of this episode (where Mastermind infiltrates the Loonatics HQ). In terms of characterization, Mastermind is one of the best Loonatics villains.

There are a lot of one-liners here, too ("What?! Now is exactly the time to panic!", "My brilliant inventions. What has that ghastly woman done to my babies?!", etc.).

Like I said, this episode is fun to watch.

I especially like this scene when the Loonatics realize that their spare weapons were modified by Mastermind. Here (in the image below), Tech's spare weapons were altered so that they would wrap around each person's hands. And so each character has to break the ropes around their hands.

Of course, each character has their own way of getting out of their restraints (brute force, laser vision, teleportation, etc.).

In this part, Rev aims the weapon in front of himself.

HE FIRES AND USES HIS SPEED TO GO IN FRONT OF THE PROJECTILE

AND THE PROJECTILE STRIKES HIS OWN WEAPON

AND HE IS NO LONGER STUCK TO THE WEAPON

LIKE WHAT

MY CHILD IS SO SMART <3

Also, this episode has one of the most underrated TechRev moments of all time. There is an earlier scene in the episode where the Loonatics are hiding inside of the vents from Mastermind. Rev, Lexi, and Slam go to shut off the EMP.

When Lexi asks about where the EMP is located, Tech says, "It's hidden right in plain sight, and comes with simple instructions."

Later on, Rev, Lexi, and Slam find the EMP. Lexi says, "Aww, Tech said they'd come with simple instructions. Simple my lucky foot."

Then, Rev says, "I got this. Step 1: Arm primary ignition sequence using standard alphanumeric code calculations. Step 2: Insert electron overdrive..."

I LOVE this scene. It is perfect. This scene shows not only shows Rev's intelligence, but it also shows how familiar Rev is with Tech's thinking. It shows how Tech and Rev are comfortable with each other, even when they are not physically together. It's great.

I also love this shot (shown below) when Rev casually looks away from the screen while he is still talking at the same quick speed. Meanwhile, Lexi is beyond confused. It's a comical riot.

Also, this is really subtle, but I adore this detail: the next scene with Rev & Lexi shows that Rev is the person who is holding the EMP device (shown below). It's funny to think that Lexi just handed Rev the device so that he could deal with it.

Overall, my favorite episode of this show is The Family Business, but I also really enjoyed The Menace of Mastermind & It Came from Outer Space, too.

edit: updated the pictures for The Menace of Mastermind with ones that were higher quality

#loonatics unleashed #rev runner #lexi bunny #tech e coyote #ace bunny #slam tasmanian #danger duck #ask

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ultraericthered · 6 months

Text

"This Is The Thanks I Get", rewritten lyrics.

I can't help it, if mirrors love my face It's genetics! Yeah, I got these genes from outer space! My very name is magnificence! So I strive only for excellence! I'm passionate, I'm not petulant! Someone praise me for my benevolence! (Uh, just look, ha-ha) I'd give you the shirt right off my back If you really needed that I'd be the first one to volunteer If you ever got into trouble Or if your house had crumbled I'd let you live hеre with me And I won't even charge you rent I clean up all your messes alleviate all of your stresses And I'm always there when you need to vent I give and give and give and give You'd think they'd all be content So, all I really want is just a little respect! And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) Expectations I have set (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) "You're so brilliant" Ah, that's the least you could say There's more, admit it! OK! "You're cute and strong and bold and brave," thanks! See this kingdom? I built it all! And you still complain? You have the gall? You're at my door? Well, just turn the knob! I'd love to see you try and do my job! I granted fourteen wishes last year Come on, that's a high percent! And now you're questioning your king? The disrespect I just underwent! Why would you pierce me in the back when I gave you no need to fret Since the day you were born and the day that we met? And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) My kingdom is now beset! (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) I didn't wanna do this.... I swore I'd never do this...! But I'm hypnotized by how these pages flip 'Cause I refuse to have my power stripped! A potion, a spell, a summon, a curse? Anything to make that light reverse! To this book, I don't wanna be tethered, but Desperate times call for desperate measures! (Heavy breathing, menacing grunt) There's a traitor in this town And still I remain unbent Come out now, explain yourself I'm sure it's all just an accident! Well, to whoever finds them first Now, that's a wish well spent Honestly, keeping you safe should be worth every cent! And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) This is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) All I have I now bet! (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) And this is the thanks I get? (Da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da-da, da) Rrrrrgh, this is the THANKS I GET? [Echo]

youtube

#Disney #Wish #disney villains #King Magnifico #villain song #earworm #lyrics #what could have been #Youtube

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sarahowritesostucky · 1 month

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3792

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con bordering on non-con, ignoring of sexual boundaries

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the (seemingly) perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

A.N.: The embedded music is a fond suggestion from the author: it fits the mood of the chapter sooo perfectly (... and I'm a nerd for some Duran Duran)

6. Main Course

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

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Steve takes the steps downward, nervous though he’s not sure why. “James?” he says quietly, but receives no answer.

James had said the basement was a dank storage space, but it’s not.

Steve, barefoot, goes down the curved staircase, running his hand along the rough hewn rock walls. It’s reminiscent of a dungeon, only prettier, more like a spa. A spa-dungeon, Steve thinks, lips quirking. He knows he shouldn’t be in the basement, knows it’s rude to go walking around James’ house uninvited. But he’s already down here so he might as well have a look. It’s pretty clear by now that the basement is meticulously designed. The materials are dark but beautiful, the dim uplighting along the walls making it feel kind of spooky.

There’s a hallway that curves, and Steve walks, eyes flicking around. “Hello?” he says again, but receives no answer. Abruptly, he comes upon a room on the right that’s brightly lit. Steve blinks, shocked. It’s… it’s an operating room. He doesn’t know why, but something about seeing it there makes dread well in his gut. Why would James have a surgery room set up in his basement?

Why did he lie about it?

Everything looks perfectly clean and sanitized, new and shiny like it’s never been used. There’s a bare operating table and big surgical lamps shining down on it. Steve swallows as his eyes land on one of the rolling metal trays, lined with pristine rows of surgical tools that look downright menacing. He tears his eyes away, feeling uneasy.

Maybe James takes patients at home—people who want privacy away from a public hospital? Celebrities maybe? Or maybe James does facial surgeries on people in the witness protection program, he thinks wildly.

Steve knows how absurd that sounds. He really can’t think of a realistic reason why James would have an operating room set up in his basement. And he can’t make sense of why he’d lie about it. “...James?” he says again, only this time he’s whispered it, unsure if he wants to run into James down here after all.

Scared, he keeps walking down the hall, which keeps curving. There’s a metal panel on the wall that he comes to, and after a brief inspection he sees that it’s the other end of the dumbwaiter that goes up to the kitchen. Steve shuts the panel and walks further. His heart rate picks up when he sees the first of the rooms. They’re on the outer wall of the circle. They’re cells, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that much. Steve stands at the entrance to one and starts breathing rapidly as he takes in the bare room, the mattress, the prison-grade toilet-sink in the corner.

The chain and leather shackle bolted into the floor.

He backs out of the room, terrified. “What the fuck,” he exhales shakily. He starts walking down the hallway faster, eager to get out of there. He passes four more cells, identical to the first. Multiple cells in the basement. Lies. James lied to him!

It’s terrifying, but Steve’s mind is still trying to offer something up, trying to rationalize it. Maybe it’s a kink thing, he thinks desperately. Maybe people pay money for James to lock them up and dominate them. Maybe James shoots porn down here or maybe—

He comes to the last cell and, unlike the others, this one’s sliding door is closed. And there’s someone, or something, in there. “Oh my god,” he whispers, looking through the wooden slats of the door. He knows it’s horribly wrong, even before his mind makes sense of what he’s seeing. It’s a woman, Steve can see her face. She’s laying on the mattress on her back, body under a thin blanket. But something’s wrong. Steve blinks. The lump under the blanket is too small, he realizes. It should be … it should be bigger. There should be more, where her arms and legs are.

A wave of nausea overcomes him and he slaps his hand over his mouth, gasping. The woman in the cell whips her head towards Steve. The too-small lump under the blanket moves. Steve whimpers, his vision tunneling. “No,” he squeaks. “No, no.”

“Help me,” the woman says, staring right at him. “Please. Kill me.”

Steve thinks he might vomit.

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Bucky hoses the debris off his tools at the barn’s spigot, then hangs them neatly back in their places. He sighs, feeling tired. Harvesting is a workout all on its own, but he’s not going to use that as an excuse to skip his run. That’d just be lazy.

So he puts the product in a Cambro with a lid and sends it down in the barn’s dumbwaiter to freeze. He hangs up his apron and face shield, takes off the rubber coveralls and gloves and slips his sneakers back on. Outside the barn, he starts into a series of high knees and plank jacks to get his muscles warming up.

His usual path takes him around the edge of the forest that lines his property. He jogs, inhaling the wet, crisp air of the early morning. His feet pound against the grass and patches of packed earth. Running has always been relaxing for Bucky, and as he jogs he finds himself reflecting on the last two weeks; how well things have been going, both with Steve and with the business. He grins as he jogs, happier than he can remember being in a long time.

Two weeks earlier:

Bucky purchases the package of venison, then walks out of the store and chucks it in one of the parking lot trash cans. He waits in a dark corner alongside the building until he sees the guy—Steve—leave with his bag of groceries. Bucky watches fondly as he disappears from sight.

Bucky makes a mental note to text him.

Then he remembers his mission and he goes back into the store. Eileen is still on aisle six, muttering at the junk food options, trying to talk herself down from a potato chip cliff, apparently. She winds up putting three different types in the cart. Bucky rolls his eyes at her lack of self-control. Pathetic.

He follows her out to the parking lot, where she gets into her car. Bucky knows the routine by now. This is the Ex’s weekend with the kid, so Bucky knows she’ll be alone. She’ll stop at the liquor store, then drive home to her shitty walk-up in Vinegar Hill, get drunk watching The Real HouseWives of Somewhere-or-other, passing out sometime around one am.

“Good girl,” he mutters through the binoculars, when her eyes close right on schedule. Bucky watches from his spot across the street, waiting until she’s been out for a full forty minutes before he goes to get her. He stares at her where she’s slumped on the couch, mouth open as she snores, potato chip crumbs on her shirt. Slob.

She’s his preferred stock—heavyset but short. Plenty of product in a compact package. And already unconscious for him as well? Talk about a sitting duck. It means she’s easy to chloroform, and not too hard to manage with the hand truck and plastic storage bin he puts her in. He takes a moment to find a few items worth pilfering: lingerie, some cheap jewelry, an old photo album—things the clients will appreciate in their care packages. After all, Bucky isn’t just some vulgar meat man. He’s a cuisinier; he sells the whole experience. The various accessories get chucked on top of Eileen in the bin. He clips the lid on securely with a giddy spring to his step, thinking of the cute guy he’d met at the grocery store. Steve. Bucky’s lips twitch as he remembers the guy’s pink rainboots. “Cute,” he murmurs, hefting the hand truck onto its wheels and pushing out the door.

Eileen’s apartment is barely furnished, let alone equipped with any sort of a security system. And the neighborhood outside is equally as rough. Last week’s reconnaissance had revealed cameras at the corner ATM, but nowhere else. Nobody bothers him as he loads the bin into his car and drives off.

It’s a long drive out to the house, and she starts making noises from the back after the first hour or so. Bucky pulls into a rest stop and grabs another drugged gauze. He opens the car’s rear door and removes the lid to the bin. Puffy, confused eyes blink up at him. “Wassit?!” she squeals, squirming around like a big fish in a little bucket.

“Comfy?” Bucky asks. Eileen frowns and cries out, and Bucky sighs. He leans over and holds the cloth over her mouth and nose until she goes limp again. “Don’t worry,” he tells her, clipping the lid back onto the bin and returning to the driver’s seat. “We’ll be there soon.”

He imagines her ex coming by for the custody swap on Sunday evening, imagines the face of Eileen’s seven year old daughter as she realizes that she won’t have to go back into that filthy apartment again, with her filthy mother and her mother’s filthy boyfriend. The thought of how happy he’s about to make that little girl makes Bucky feel like a million bucks.

Eileen, chunky monkey that she is, makes him feel like a mil point two.

💬James: Hey you. I’ve got a red eye out tonight. Doing some consulting work outta state. I might not be very reachable for a few days. But I’ll text you when I get back, maybe we can grab lunch or something.

🗨️Steve: Okay! Sounds good. Have a fun trip!

The kid’s enthusiasm makes Bucky smile. He texts back that it’s just work, but he’ll try to enjoy it where he can.

He closes out the screen and sets his phone onto the kitchen counter. He sends one lunch tray down in the dumbwaiter and carries the other himself. It’s Eileen’s sixth day, Melissa’s fifty-sixth.

Melissa’s gone kind of nuts, now, which Bucky finds vaguely amusing, vaguely sad, and probably in the poor girl’s best interest. It’s her mind protecting her from what she can’t handle. It’s merciful.

And Melissa’s a walk in the park compared to Eileen, who is progressing rather typically, and is still in the Anger stage. But Bucky expects she’ll make the transition to Bargaining soon, promising Bucky her silence, her cooperation, money, sex; anything if he’ll let her go. Bucky understands. He doesn’t judge them for it, pathetic as it is.

The first surgery tends to be the hardest for them, psychologically, no matter which part he chooses to harvest. He prefers to start with a leaner cut like the forearm, since they’re still pretty stressed out at that point and he’s found that fear seeps into and taints the fatty cuts of meat the most. Better to save those for once they’ve calmed down and accepted their fate.

“Meh-liss-aah,” he sing-songs to her as he passes her room, hearing her answering giggle. “How you doing, silly goose?”

Melissa babbles out some sort of answer, and he tells her she’s a good girl, he’ll come feed her her lunch in a bit (she’s 0 for 2 in the arms department these days). Bucky didn’t used to be so nice to her. Like all of his girls, she’d fallen into his hands because he’d found some very damning public records. Melissa used to like to do drugs, and it didn’t matter to her whether she was pregnant at the time or not. She’d given birth to multiple babies—disabled and addicted to crack or whatever other drug of choice she was on at that time.

Bucky’s relationship with her has only gotten friendly since she started talking to the walls, hearing colors and smelling shapes and all that shit. Bucky can’t bring himself to pick on an insane person.

Eileen is in the farthest of the six cells. Bucky’s never had more than four people in stock at once, but he’d been feeling very entrepreneurial when he was designing the basement. The rooms are meticulous, designed to prevent any possibility of escape or self harm. They’re spacious, plain, easy to clean. The only difference between them is that each room has a large feature wall depicting some sort of scenery. One’s a fish tank, one’s a forest. Melissa is in the sunset room and Eileen has the beach.

He finds her sitting on her mattress, leaning against the wall and staring towards the beach, but her gaze sharpens when he slides the door open. “Hi,” he says, taking a few steps into the room. He’s standing outside of her reach, having long ago memorized the radius that the restraints allow his captives. He sets the tray of food down in the safety zone and watches her look at it. “Fettucini alfredo, broccolini, side salad, tiramisu,” he says calmly. He never tries to feed them meat, that’s too much of a mindfuck, even for him. “And your pills,” he adds, seeing her eyes fixating on the little cup of capsules and tablets next to the water cup. Eileen sneers and turns her head away. “No.”

Bucky hums. “If you don’t eat and take your pills, I cut off your pain meds.” She inhales sharply and whips her head back to gape at him. Bucky nods. “You must be hurting by now. You didn’t take your afternoon dose.”

“I don’t need it,” she says.

“Liar.” Bucky toes the tray further across the carpet, into the range where Eileen can reach it, if she wants to. “Take your pills.” There are antibiotics, blood thinners and vitamins that he needs her to take. “And eat. Then I’ll give you your morphine.”

It’s rare that a captive doesn’t press the button every chance they get; like a little, addicted rat in a cage. The button triggers a dispenser to drop their pain pills down into a receptacle in the wall. Bucky’s got the system rigged to allow a customizable amount for each individual, depending on where they are in their process. Right now he’s allowing Eileen a decent dose every three to four hours—she’s only two days out from her first surgery, after all.

Bucky eyes the dressings on the stump at her left elbow. It looks clean enough, but he’ll have to change it soon. It’s just good practice. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she mutters darkly, and Bucky knows she’s imagining a multitude of ways to murder him.

Not to Bargaining quite yet, then. He sighs, watching her and thinking that he really wants to get back to New York to see Steve. He doesn’t mind his work here, enjoys it even, depending on the personalities of who he’s got in rotation. But the excitement of a new relationship is headier than he remembers it ever being before. He likes Steve, and he feels giddy whenever he thinks about the possibility of this maybe going somewhere, maybe going all the way. Steve has made him realize how lonely he’s been these past few years. Bucky thinks of maybe telling Steve, someday; of getting to share that with him. It’s Bucky’s ultimate fantasy.

His attention returns to Eileen. He looks her over critically, thinking that maybe he’ll just do a chop and freeze, make a bunch of meatballs. It’s not his preference, of course. He can usually take his time, lovingly harvesting half a limb every three weeks or so and mailing it off: expertly prepped and with gourmet recipes and serving suggestions. The clients pay almost double for fresh meat, and they like knowing that the woman they’re eating is still alive, that the woman they’re eating knows that they’re eating her. And Bucky’s a damn good surgeon. He prides himself in being able to take all the limbs, plus either the ass or the breasts, before the final harvest is required. But if he’s going to be starting a relationship—a real one, this time—then he’d prefer not to have to drive out here to the house every other day. What a pain in the butt.

He watches as Eileen gets to the tray and starts eating the pasta. She tosses back the pills and Bucky hums, pleased. “Good girl.”

“Fuck you.” She skips the veggies and starts eating the tiramisu. “You can eat shit and die,” she mutters.

Bucky’s lips quirk. He moves for the door, thinking that he might just do an accelerated slaughter, after all. Most of the meat will have to be kept frozen, and the clients won’t pay as much. But Bucky will eat the loss. He doesn’t mind meatballs.

And besides, Steve’s worth it.

Bucky doesn’t usually keep live product for long; not once the final limb is harvested. It’s cruel, he thinks, to leave a stump of a person laying on a mattress, stewing in their own misery and unable to scratch a damn itch on their nose. Often, he even gives them a choice when they’re being put under for that last thigh or upper arm: Do they want him to just finish them on the table this time? Many of them say yes please, and if Bucky’s at all pitying, he honors their wishes and they never wake up again.

Bucky’s got no such sympathy for a woman who turns a blind eye to her disgusting boyfriend raping her seven-year-old daughter. He’d discovered her special case in the public records database a few months ago. So no, he hadn’t done a quick chop and freeze on her, but he had taken all her limbs in one fell swoop. Watching the look on her face when she came to in her cell and realized what he’d done was priceless. Bucky almost regrets not taping it. He thinks that maybe Eileen’s daughter might’ve liked to see it, one day. Eileen can stew a little longer, he decides vindictively. She’s currently a legless, armless, breastless stump, dwindling away in her room until Bucky gets an order in for organ meat or short ribs.

Bucky is a very thorough person. The basement is meticulously designed to conceal everything that goes on down there, so Bucky’s not really worried at all about bringing Steve to the house for the weekend. The door will be locked and Steve and he will have a great time.

Bucky doesn’t make mistakes like leaving the door unlocked. He just doesn’t.

Until he does, and it makes everything come crumbling down.

It’s the second morning of their trip. Bucky’s already harvested Melissa, but he gets up early to take Eileen her food and meds. He finishes up with her and then heads out for the run that he told a barely-awake Steve he was going for. The dew on the grass outside soaks his sneakers, and he feels invigorated by the time he returns through the front door. He toes his sneakers off and pads into the kitchen in his socks. The tea kettle is rattling and whistling on the stovetop. He frowns, grabbing a potholder and moving it off the flame. He looks around for Steve, confused.

And then his eyes land on the basement door. It’s halfway open. No. Oh please, God, no.

His heart feels like it stops in his chest and he could almost cry, because he knows Steve is down there, and he’d really wanted to keep Steve. …He’s kind of been falling for him. “Fuck,” he hisses, wanting to punch the wall. Wanting to punch himself. “Fuck, God, fuck!”

He knows what he has to do, but it’s heartbreaking. It enrages him. He doesn’t want to lose someone else he cares about to this. How could he have left that fucking door open! He yanks angrily at his own hair, then makes up his mind. He has to fix this. He has no choice. Inhaling deeply, he goes and retrieves a syringe from his med kit. He draws up enough of a sedative and caps it. Trying to gather his courage, Bucky steps through the basement doorway, shutting and locking the door behind him. He walks down the stairs, guts crawling with regret and sorrow and dread.

It’s quiet downstairs. Bucky had just finished cycling through two chop and freezes in preparation for Steve’s visit. He’d intended to finish Eileen next week, after his and Steve’s weekend trip was over. Bucky inhales deeply, steeling himself for what he knows he’s going to find. The basement is laid out in a pattern like a conch shell: the hallway spiraling in and in until finishing at a dead end.

His footsteps are silent in his socks, and he passes the operating room, the walk-in freezer and three of the newly-sanitized cells. Steve is standing at the last cell, peering in through the wooden slats. Bucky sighs, so incredibly disappointed. “Oh, Steve,” he bemoans, and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin as he cries out and whirls around. Bucky shakes his head sadly. “Why’d you have to come down here, honey? I had such high hopes for us.”

Steve makes an animal sound, desperate and panicked, and he runs away from Bucky. He’s running in the direction of the center of the spiral, unaware that it’s a dead end he’s headed for. Bucky sighs and uncaps the syringe he’s brought. “Stevie? C’mere, baby.” He walks in the direction Steve went. He finds him at the wall, trapped and crouching down low. Bucky’s heart clenches. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he says. “I didn’t want it to go like this. I wanted to—”

Steve screams and charges him, wild and fast. He breaks past Bucky, surprising him so much that he actually laughs in disbelief. He starts off in the direction Steve ran. “Steve,” he warns calmly. “There’s no way out of here, honey. Why don’t you stop running and we can talk? I’m not going to hurt you.”

He finds him at the very top of the stairs, yanking and jiggling the doorknob in frantic desperation. Bucky hates to see him so terrified. “Steve, I’m not gonna hurt you. C’mere.”

Steve has nowhere to go, and Bucky is able to close in on him. He doesn’t let him see the needle, just pulls him in against his body and hugs him tightly. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers into his hair. Steve is whining and fighting, but it dies down quickly once Bucky jabs him with the needle. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes him, holding more and more of his slight weight as he loses lucidity.

“James?” he asks weakly, sounding so confused that it just feels like a punch to Bucky’s heart. There are tears in Steve’s eyes, and Bucky starts to cry, too. He didn’t want it to be like this. Not again.

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