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devilsskettle · 2 years

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Whiplash is pro-abuse propaganda, it sets out to explicitly condone masculine dominance violence. It tells men in positions of power over others to be "tougher" that their criminal abuse is actually helping people achieve. It tells victims to be quiet and love their abusers. It tells people who witness abuse to do nothing, that abusers are in the right. It's a disgusting, violent, abusive movie. It's a weapon aimed at vulnerable people.

i think that’s a really reductive prescriptivist reading of the movie, if you think it frames his actions in a positive light i think that’s a significant misinterpretation. i think it’s fake deep about its whole trying to achieve “greatness” theme, i think it sets up a false dichotomy between the tortured artist and the well-adjusted but unremarkable and tries to deconstruct that idea at the same time that it reinforces it, i think it has very little substance despite framing itself as profound which is pretentious as hell, i think it is extremely male and representative of toxic masculinity, it's also another extremely white movie about jazz, i think it is a red flag for a man to really like this film tbh because i think there is too much room to interpret abuse as “effective” or “helping people achieve” as you put it, and i do take issue with that but that would largely be the fault of the viewer, not the filmmaker. like when people think fuckin fight club is encouraging people to actually do fight clubs (and domestic terrorism) - completely missing the point of the criticism of toxic masculinity. representing the teacher’s views and motivations is different than condoning them, and i think it pretty clearly illustrates that his methods are detrimental to his students' personal wellbeing and their success as musicians. if you think the audience is meant to think he's in the right, i think you have real problems with media literacy and i’m not going to change my opinion of the movie because you misread it. especially since i thought it was only an okay movie! i do think it has a great ending, not because the main character is "successful" or whatever but because of its ambiguity - is he going to get sucked back into the same unhealthy cycle of abuse or is this act of defiance showing that he’ll escape it? will he attribute this performance to being “pushed” or will he realize that this achievement was in spite of that treatment (where his previous “failure” was because of it)? i think we’re meant to get the idea that he will continue to be trapped in this cycle and we’re supposed to be deeply unsettled by this, like his father is - isn't his father recognizing how harmful this is to his son the audience's way into the story, since we, like his father, watch him spiral and recognize it's an unhealthy dynamic even though the main character himself doesn't? doesn’t this film also serve as a criticism of how ineffective “holding people accountable” is when they’re able to get the same job and create the same power dynamic and continue the same patterns of abusive behavior? that's a huge issue in the film industry specifically but also in other artistic fields which has persisted for years, these ideas about commitment and growth through pain and the “tortured artist” being used to manipulate young people trying to break into the industry, and this movie speaks to that issue. i think there are a lot of other films that do this better but i would hardly say it condones this behavior. not a single person who has talked to me about this movie think this guy’s actions are justified. but like yeah, this movie is violent, it’s a movie about violence. the premise is that it’s a depiction of abuse and manipulation. i’m not sure what genre it’s considered officially but it’s essentially a psychological thriller. it’s hardly meant to be taken as a model for good behavior. also you say the film tells people to stay silent when they witness or experience abuse but i don’t see how you drew that conclusion. because the main character feels conflicted about it? because the teacher isn’t a one dimensional villain? because it's not a movie about general morality but about the experience of emotional abuse, and how abusers' tactics affect their targets? do you need them to spell it out for you in bold letters that abuse is bad and this guy's behavior is batshit? do you need movies to spoon feed you the Big Moral Lesson like a disney movie

#wondering how you feel about movies like fame and black swan and i tonya #also like. i don't really get what your point is in sending me this.#in response to a thoughtless no notes post about it?#i guess sorry if i read your message as more hostile than you intended but i do think you're wrong #i didn't realize i had thoughts about this movie until you made me re-examine it so thanks for that i guess #i guess i will choose literally any hill to die on. even if it's about a movie i thought was like a 2/5 at best #i guess it's more about the lack of nuance. can we please get some fucking nuance here #also why did i think this movie just came out when it was made in 2014 #i did delete that post though it was too cavalier #it’s like not that fucked up compared to a lot of psychological thrillers but if you consider it a straight drama then it is #and like. it’s the same thing with joker where people hype it up SO much and then you watch it and it’s barely even suspenseful #i mean you’re hyping it up right now you’re creating this unwarranted reputation that there’s something more to it #when it’s honestly just a pretty shallow boring movie #it’s not even like. uniquely bad lol #whiplash

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mariacallous · 2 years

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If your name isn't capitalized in your email signature but your job title or other stuff is, I'm gonna be less inclined to want to deal with you, and I can't explain it but I won't budge on that.

#brought to you by the academic support whatever guy at my grad school sending what are probably automated emails #letting me know that the deadline to appeal the academic and financial aid suspension is coming up #and which I am fully intending to let fly by me like most of the rest of my potential and motivation

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vikkirosko · 3 months

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Headcanons of how would Stolas, Fizzarolli, Asmodeus, Sir Pentious, Husk, and Alastor react to their crush asking "Why me?" after he confessed to them? Not because they don't like him back but they feel like he deserves someone better than them!

Headcanons Why me?

📻 Alastor x Reader 🎙

Getting a confession from Alastor was the most unexpected event in your life. Even though you had feelings for him, you would never have thought that such a thing was even possible. He continued to look at you with his usual smile, waiting for at least some kind of answer from you, and you could only ask why you

Your question made him laugh, as if you had asked something so obvious that it was even funny. He asked you directly what you meant, to which you confusedly told him that you were an unsuitable partner for such a charismatic person as Alastor. Your answer made him laugh again, which made you even more embarrassed

Alastor did not torment you with suspense for a long time and told you that it was his choice and if it were not so, you would not be having this conversation now. He was sure of what he was experiencing and was only waiting for your answer

You didn't know how to react. You weren't completely sure that it wasn't a joke or something like that. The only way to find out the truth was to take a chance and tell him how you felt about him

🃏 Husk x Reader 🥃

Husk didn't admit even to himself for a long time that he had feelings for you. He denied them, but eventually admitted to himself that he really likes you. Now he had another difficult task, namely to tell you how he felt about you. He did it quickly, abruptly, when you were alone in the bar. However, your reaction was not what he expected and it put him in a dead end

You only asked him one question. Why do you. You claimed that Husk, despite all his rudeness, was a good man and deserved a good partner, which you did not consider yourself to be. Husk was frankly surprised that you saw him in a completely different way than he perceived him. Perhaps it was because you were in love with him, but Husk was not going to go back on his words because you considered yourself unsuitable for him

Husk directly told you that he feels these feelings not for someone else, but for you, which means he was not going to give up his feelings so easily, especially if the only reason for this was that you did not consider yourself a suitable partner for him. He asked you directly if you had the same feelings for him as he had for you, and when he received an affirmative answer, he nodded with satisfaction

He understood that you were worried about him, but Husk intended to decide for himself who was the right partner for him and who was not, and you were the person he wanted to see next to him, and if you felt the same way about him, then there were no reasons why you couldn't be together

🐍Sir Pentious x Reader 🎩

Pentious took a long time to tell you about his feelings. His feelings for you were strong and he sincerely wanted to tell you about them, and his subordinates often supported him in this, so he was able to muster the courage to tell you everything. But when he confessed to you, he saw how quickly the emotions changed on your face. You were surprised, confused and excited

You asked him why you. You stopped talking, so he asked what you meant. To his question, you took a deep breath and spoke. You said he was smart, brilliant, funny and sweet. In your eyes, he was wonderful, despite the cute oddities in your opinion, and he deserved the best partner, which you were not, at least that's what you said yourself

When you looked up at him, you saw tears in his eyes. He was ready to cry. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said such words to him, especially the person he really liked. Pentious asked you if you had mutual feelings for him, and after receiving your affirmative nod, he hugged you tightly

He was happy that you reciprocated and now you could be together. Pentious was as happy as ever, rejoicing that he was able to confess his feelings to you. He was sure that no matter how gloomy his day was, it became brighter next to you

🦉 Stolas x Reader 🎩

Stolas had few opportunities to experience real feelings. That's why when he realized his feelings for you, he decided not to delay the confession. He knew he could have missed his chance, so he decided to take a chance, but your reaction surprised him

You were very confused and started talking fast. You told him that you weren't the right partner for him, even though you felt the same way about him, and it wasn't about social status. You thought he was wonderful. He was handsome, smart, kind. He deserved the best partner. Better than his almost ex-wife and better than you, at least that's what you claimed

Stolas listened to your monologue with surprise, after which he smiled gently and took your hand in his. He told you bluntly that there weren't many pleasant moments in his life, but after meeting you, his life became brighter and he hoped that there would be even more of these moments

He felt warm in his soul when he saw your embarrassed expression. Stolas was glad that his feelings were mutual, because you said it yourself, but he was even more pleased that you sincerely wished him happiness. He hoped that together you could become happy

🐓 Asmodeus x Reader 💕

Asmodeus has been planning to confess his feelings to you for a long time. He wanted everything to go beautifully, because you deserved the best, which is why he prepared a romantic dinner for the two of you, cooking the food himself. Ozzie behaved gallantly and politely when you came, sincerely hoping that you liked everything, and when dinner came to an end, he honestly told you about his feelings for you, but your reaction surprised him

You asked him why you. Asmodeus didn't have time to answer you when you started talking. You thought he was wonderful. He was smart, handsome, talented and more, and he deserved someone better than you, much better than you, at least that's what you said yourself

When you finished your monologue, Asmodeus couldn't help but laugh, after which he hugged you. He was glad that you had such an opinion of him, but he knew that he loved you and in his eyes you were the best and he wanted to see you next to him and not someone else whom you considered better than yourself

Ozzie hoped that you would be able to believe in yourself and not continue to deny his feelings. He saw that his feelings were mutual and it made him happy. Asmodeus was sure that you would be really happy together

🎪 Fizzarolli x Reader 💟

You and Fizzarolli have been friends for a long time and he knew that he was in love with you. Fizz didn't know how to tell you that he liked you, and so he was silent for a long time, but he realized that he couldn't keep silent anymore, so he decided to confess to you about all his feelings that he felt for you

When he stopped talking, he saw how red your face was. You were confused by his confession and clearly started to worry, but instead of responding to his feelings, you asked why you. You were talking fast, embarrassed, obviously nervous, but you kept talking. You told him that he was a wonderful man, he was funny, handsome, talented and deserved the best partner, much better than you

When you finished speaking, you saw that Fizzarolli was as confused as you were. He was embarrassed that you thought he was so wonderful, because he didn't think he was as wonderful as you said. He gently took your hands in his and shyly said that his feelings for you were sincere and that you were the most wonderful person he had ever met

Fizz was genuinely glad that his feelings were mutual. He wanted you to be happy, especially after you expressed your uncertainty about his choice. He wanted to do as much for you as possible, at least as much as his powers allowed him

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Husk #Husk x Reader #Sir Pentious #Sir Pentious x Reader #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss x Reader #Stolas #Stolas x Reader #Fizzarolli #Fizzarolli x Reader #Asmodeus #Asmodeus x Reader #Helluva Boss headcanons

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susiephone · 1 year

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wtf is dracula daily?

i’ve seen a couple people ask this question on my posts about it, so i thought i’d go ahead and clear it up here!

ok so, the classic horror novel “dracula” is an epistolary novel - that means it’s told via letters, diary entries, ship logs, and news articles. (technically the term “epistolary novel” refers to works told solely through letters or emails, but many have expanded it to mean any work that is told via in-universe documents, hence why diaries and logs often get included as well. “frankenstein” is another classic example; the whole framing device is robert walton is recounting the story he heard from victor to his sister via letter. a modern example would be “several people are typing,” which is told via slack messages, or “the perks of being a wallflower,” which is told via letters from charlie to his anonymous pen pal, which is functionally more like you’re reading his diary.)

because of the nature of the narrative, we actually know the exact day nearly everything in dracula happens - the letters, news articles, diary entries, etc. are all dated.

“dracula daily” is a substack project where the novel is broken up into parts, with people who are subscribed to the project getting emails every day something in dracula happens - for example, the novel opens with jonathan harker’s journal entry on may 3, so on may 3, subscribers are emailed that entry. the action of dracula takes place from may 3 - november 6, plus an epilogue set some years later. the project started in 2021 (i think), but fucking BLEW UP in 2022, and they’re doing it again this year! lots of us are very excited - especially people like me who fell behind last time.

why not just read the book?

valid! due to some parts of dracula being told out of chronological order, dracula daily does reorder some things. for example, the first section of dracula is told entirely from jonathan harker’s pov, then the second section switches the pov to mina murray. their sections have some overlap in the timeline, so dracula daily jumps back and forth between their perspectives.

if you want to read the book as bram stoker intended, dracula daily may not be for you. but for a lot of people (myself included!), it breaks up a very long text into easily digestible chunks (....mostly. there is one entry that is 10k words), and the fact that it’s a big project means there are a lot of people reading along with you.

i think there’s also something valuable about experience the slow revelation of wtf is going on along with the characters. the book which you might otherwise get through in a few days is stretched out into months of suspense and agony as you wait for the other shoe to drop, and it’s great.

plus, the whiplash between “jonathan harker’s neverending horror” vs “lucy is basically on the bachelorette” that you get in dracula daily is very very funny.

how do i sign up?

right here! and if you sign up and fall behind in the emails, no worries - the dracula daily website posts past entries so you can catch up.

what if i prefer audiobooks?

have i got great news for you!

like i mentioned before, i couldn’t keep up with the emails last year. part of it is that it is much easier for me to focus on an audiobook or keep up with a podcast than it is for me to sit down and read, especially with longer entries.

this year, there is going to be a podcast titled “re: dracula” that was inspired by dracula daily. every episode will be a dracula daily entry, with a full voice cast! (seriously, if you listen to british podcasts, you will recognize some of these names. the magnus archives and wooden overcoats girlies are WINNING.) you can find that here.

there is also a podcast called “cryptic canticles” that has an already-completed audiodrama of dracula that i’m told is also extremely good, and was also broken up by date. you can find that here.

why do i keep hearing about paprika/the boyfriend squad/lizard fashion/cowboys?

you’ll see.

oh god am i gonna hear about this nerd shit for the rest of the year

yes. sorry.

#dracula #dracula daily #re: dracula #cryptic canticles

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alexias-putellas · 1 month

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red card // o.batlle x reader x barça femení

o.batlle x reader x barça femení

slightly inspired by the ref in that one city vs chelsea game iykyk also in this a red card doesn’t automatically mean a match suspension bc i said so

warnings: swearing, description of injuries but nothing graphic, mentions of past bullying

when you played for man united, your absolute favourite games to play were the manchester derbys. the atmosphere, the fans, everything about them was euphoric and you thrived on the jeers of the rival fans.

so when you transferred to barcelona, you were delighted to find out that el clàsico matches made you feel the same way.

the only thing you didn’t like about it was olga carmona. the defender never left you alone, granted that was her job, but god she pissed you off.

and this el clàsico was no different.

from the moment the ref blew the whistle to start the game, olga was on you like a rash. she was grabbing at your shirt, pushing at you during set pieces, and somehow getting away with tackling you every two minutes.

you were famously known for being quick-tempered and acting impulsively on the pitch, more often than not ending up being booked.

since you and ona had been dating since you both played for man united, she could easily spot the rising anger in you from across the pitch and after another particularly rough tackle, she raced over and tugged you away from the madrid player before you could do anything.

“breathe.” ona whispered to you, patting your waist before gently pushing you in the direction you needed to go.

alexia, mapi, and frido, all three of them like older sisters to you, could only watch from the sidelines as all of them were injured. glances were shared everytime you were poked and prodded by a real madrid player.

“she is losing it.” mapi muttered to no one in particular, her good knee bouncing as she watched it become ingrid’s turn drag you away from olga before you could do anything.

you used your growing anger to your advantage channelled it in your strikes and barcelona were 3-0 up at halftime courtesy of you. but you were not happy.

the lockeroom didn’t seem like the best place for you to be so instead, you turned a corner and leaned against a wall, resting your hands on your knees and breathing deeply. being targeted during games wasn’t new to you, it was something you often prepared yourself for but you had a bad feeling about this game in particular. something was going to happen.

“hey,” you heard alexia say and looked up at her. “are you okay?”

you motioned to your grass-stained body and flustered appearance. “what the hell do you think?”

almost immediately, an apology flew from your mouth. alexia didn’t tolerate disrespect. she wouldn’t give you a pass because you were pissed off and you knew that. you closed your eyes and waited for her to scold you. but it never came.

instead, she placed her hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “you are doing a good job, cariño.”

you gave her a weak smile in return because it didn’t feel like it. being pulled away by your teammates was only reason you hadn’t retaliated on the pitch. if ingrid had gotten to you a few seconds later, you’re certain you would’ve laid into olga.

you walked off then without another word, finally joining the rest of the team but sitting quietly in your cubby until it was time to head back out for the second half.

it didn’t take long for you to completely lose it.

you had been running down the wing, fully intending to curl the ball over to caro, when olga crashed into you, her elbow hitting your cheek harshly before she swiped your ankles from under you, hitting the floor herself.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shouted, ignoring the way your face throbbed and shoving her back down when she tried to stand up. “just leave me alone for fucks sake!”

you could hear the roar of the real madrid players and supporters and then your own teammates pleading, begging. you turned to be met with the referee and then a red card.

you had been carded. you. the first card of the game had been given to you and it was a straight red. at that point you were certain that the ref had some sort of vendetta against you.

tears burned in your eyes. ona quickly wrapped her arm around your shoulders but you shrugged her off. you had never been booked with a straight red before so you were utterly devastated.

keira and aitana were still pleading with the referee, explaining that you’d been targeted the entire game and that it wasn’t fair for you to be punished for something everyone else had gotten away with.

the decision wasn’t reversed but even if it was, you wouldn’t have been on the pitch to see it, storming to the back fairly quickly. you didn’t look back at ona and you most certainly didn’t look up, not wanting to see those particular three faces staring at you in disappointment.

before the match you had promised them that you wouldn’t do anything stupid, that you wouldn’t let any of the real madrid players, especially olga, get under your skin. but you allowed it to happen. they pushed and pushed until you shoved.

you had ruined el clàsico and let your teammates down in quick succession so it was safe to say that you were feeling terrible.

as soon as you reached the lockeroom, you were in the shower, letting the warm water wash over your body. when you were done, you made your way over to ona’s cubby and dug through her bag for the spare hoodie she always packed in case you wanted it.

slipping it on, you dropped to the bench and used your phone to keep up with the game. upon noticing there was only a few minutes left, you swiped ona’s car keys and headed out of the stadium, not fancying facing any of the girls or the fans.

you waited patiently in the passengers side, silently handing the keys to ona when she finally joined you.

“estás bien?” the spaniard asked quietly and you nodded, staring out of the window.

“fine.”

ona knew you weren’t fine but she also knew that pushing you any more was a terrible idea. so she settled for taking your hand and when you didn’t immediately push her away, she knew she was doing something right by you.

you had a habit of completely shutting down when you were upset. so much so that even ona couldn’t through to you sometimes.

she was hoping that this wouldn’t be one of those times.

the drive to ona’s apartment was quiet. even when you got inside, you didn’t say a word, just dropped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh.

when your girlfriend approached, you mistook her look of concern as one of annoyance and as she reached out to touch your cheek, you inadvertently flinched back.

“amor,” ona whispered. “i would never hurt you.”

“i know. i know, oni, i know,” your eyes were wide, horrified that the look on ona’s face had been put there by you. you quickly grabbed her hand and placed it on your cheek, ignoring the throbbing that followed. “i know you wouldn’t, i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.”

your murmured apologies were quickly replaced by sobs and ona wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into her chest.

her grip didn’t relent until you were letting out shaky, uneasy breaths but even then she was reluctant to let you sit up. you noticed that her eyes were trained on your cheek and instinctively reached up to touch it.

“is it bad?” you asked quietly, feeling the swell under your fingers.

“no,” ona shook her head. “but i think it will bruise.”

“oh, great,” you muttered. “just what i need. a semi-permanent reminder of an awful game to haunt me for weeks.”

as you pushed yourself up, you hoped that ona wouldn’t see the way you winced but of course, she did.

“you are hurt,” she frowned. “where?”

“everywhere,” you whispered. “i don’t think my face is the only thing that’s bruised either.”

you leaned over and pulled your socks down to reveal your ankles, both painted exactly like you expected. more bruises were flickered across your thighs and even more on your upper body.

“i look like i went five rounds with mike tyson, not played a game of bloody football.” you huffed.

“they are just bruises, mi amor, they will fade.”

the outside bruises might fade but you weren’t sure that the ones you had on the inside would. the red card would follow you forever, you were certain of it.

there was no doubt in your mind that your actions had gone viral, solidifying people’s opinions of you. being described as a violent thug had never really bothered you before but it suddenly left a bad taste in your mouth, paired with what you did, were they really wrong? you decided it was probably best to stay away from the internet for a bit.

the thoughts left you unconsciously leaning back into ona, not realising she’d wrapped her arms around you again until there was a kiss planted on the side of your neck and you were brought back to earth.

“do you think ale will bench me?” you asked, running your nails along her arms as you blinked back tears.

“no, i don’t think she will.”

“…what if i asked her to?”

silence followed and you swallowed thickly. ona’s fingers ran gently through your hair as she pondered your question. “is that what you want?”

you sighed shakily. “it’s what i deserve and i think ale would agree with me.”

ᡣ𐭩

alexia did not agree with you. the only reason she said yes was because of the look of desperation on your face.

it was the first day back at training after el clàsico and you had arrived a little earlier than normal with ona so you could speak to your captain before anyone else got there. you knew that if any of the other girls overheard, they’d persuade you both to change your minds.

but you didn’t speak to alexia again, instead avoiding her like the plague. same with mapi and frido. ingrid was also on the list due to her association with the latter two.

since it was an early morning training, you were to have breakfast there. you sat at your usual table with ona and some of the other younger girls, laughing every now and again and joining the conversation when you needed to.

unbeknownst to you, you were the topic of conversation a few tables over. if you weren’t so focused on acting interested in whatever jana and esmee were talking about, you probably would’ve noticed alexia staring at you.

“–she asked to be benched.” she said, bringing all the other conversations around her to a halt.

“qué?” mapi frowned, turning to look at you as well. “she did?”

“sí, before training,” alexia nodded. “she came in early.”

“you said no,” mapi turned back around, frown deepening at her best friends silence. “ale, we need her–“

“you did not see her, maría,” alexia protested quietly with a shake of her head. “she looked like a scared little girl, i could not say no.”

“maybe it’s a good thing,” ingrid cut in, ignoring the glare mapi sent her way. “look at her, she is not in the right headspace right now and she has recognised that. would you rather her lose her temper and actually hurt someone?”

the table grew silent after ingrid’s words and it stayed that way until keira broke it. “ona said earlier that she hasn’t been on her phone in days.”

“with good reason,” lucy said, everyone turning to look at her. “come on girls, you know how much stick she gets after a normal game. it’s probably a million times worse than usual so can you really blame her for not wanting to read any of it?”

oh but you had. you’d read it all. you gave into temptation on the night of the game and with ona sleeping peacefully next to you, you grabbed your phone and looked. it became a nightly routine. wait for ona to fall asleep before crying silently as you let the comments sink in because to you, they were all right.

that was the first of many red cards, you were going to drag barcelona’s reputation down the drain, you were eventually going to put someone in the hospital, your teammates were going to hate you, if they didn’t already, and ona was eventually going to get tired of it all and break up with you.

and if the bags under your eyes, your insistence on not starting, and your unusual quietness wasn’t an indicator that something wasn’t quite right with you, your behaviour during training certainly was.

you didn’t mess around with pina and patri, you moved away from mapi when she began poking at you and you chose to pair up with aitana instead of ona whenever you could. having decided that a bit of space from you every now and again would be best for your relationship. you had suddenly become the poster-girl for good behaviour so that you could blend into the background and alexia would have no reason to call on you.

somehow you managed to keep it up until training had ended and you were the first to head to the showers, getting lost further in your thoughts the longer you stayed in there.

when you got out, you headed straight over to ona, completely bypassing your own cubby. you weren’t really sure how your girlfriend was going to react considering you’d spent half the day ignoring her but you were very relieved when she slipped her arm around your waist and tugged you closer.

“i think ale wants to talk to you.” ona whispered and you immediately shook your head.

“the only person i want to talk to is you,” you whispered back. “and i really really just want to go home.”

that look of desperation was back on your face and ona nudged you towards your cubby with a sigh. you quickly got the message and grabbed your things, following her out without another word.

and later that night as you and ona ate your favourite takeout, she could see that you seemed to be having a mental debate with yourself, glancing up at the spaniard every now and again as you pushed your food around your plate and she pretended not to notice.

but ona knew you. and she knew that pushing would only make you pull further away so instead of making you talk, she let you put on one of your favourite movies and you cuddled into her side, letting yourself relax for the first time in days.

ᡣ𐭩

“you are starting tomorrow.”

your eyebrows furrowed as alexia walked by you, shaking your head and hurrying to catch up to her. “no, ale–“

“i have benched you for three games. no more cariño. we need you.”

alexia’s tone was stern and left no room for arguing, leaving you stood still, glaring at her retreating figure. you knew that your captain hadn’t been pleased about keeping you out, your presence obviously missed on the pitch, growing frustrated with every passing game that you were sat on the sidelines as the team seemed to struggle without you.

you moved slowly towards the lockeroom, ignoring the pit in your stomach that grew with every step. pushing open the door, you were happy that it was relatively empty but as your eyes scanned the faces that were left, that happiness soon faded.

at first you figured that it must’ve been a coincidence but then you spotted your phone in ona’s hand.

your attempt to escape was pathetic really. your arm was caught as soon as you turned around and you were dragged back, someone swiftly kicking the door shut. you glared up at alexia, wrenching your arm from her grip before storming over to ona and snatching the device from her hand.

“none of it is true.”

you weren’t sure who’d said it, too busy shoving everything into your bag with your shaky hands and slapping ona’s away when she tried to help.

“are you listening to me?” it was mapi who grabbed your arms and spun you around, only tightening her grip when you tried to squirm away. “it is not true so stop punishing yourself.”

“maría.” ingrid warned, seeing how worked up you were getting.

“no. she needs to know.”

tears burned in your eyes and as soon as the first sob left your lips, her hands were in the air and she was taking a step back. you sat back into the cubby, placing your head in your hands. “it is true, it’s happening again.”

frido was the only person to pick up on the last word and she pushed herself up from her spot next to ingrid, moving to kneel in front of you. “what do you mean again?”

you froze momentarily. glancing up, you saw her looking at you with so much love and care that you crumbled.

“i was fourteen, there was a girl at the academy i was in and she was really mean. she gave everyone a hard time and she said something to me one day, i can’t remember what it was but i remember how angry it made me and–and i tackled her in training, i–i sent her to the hospital, broke her leg in three places.”

the silence you were met with was exactly what you were expecting and your lips trembled, a shaky sigh falling from them as ona grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers with hers. “amor, you did not mean to–“

“the doctors told her that she’d never play again,” you deadpanned. “and as far as i’m aware she hasn’t. the–the other girls shunned me, they hated me and they didn’t hide it. i was benched for weeks until i moved to a different academy, my new teammates somehow found out what had happened and they turned on me too. i think they were scared of me. it was horrible. i didn’t have any friends, nobody liked me. the anger i felt that day, i–i felt it again with olga. did i hurt her?”

“no,” ona shook her head. “she was fine.”

you hadn’t noticed that frido had stood up and ushered mapi and ingrid out until alexia was the one kneeling in front of you. “you should have told me.”

“i don’t tell anyone. this is the first time i’ve spoke about it in years,” you frowned, leg bouncing. “i don’t want to hurt anyone else, i can’t go through that guilt again.”

ona reached out with her free hand and brushed her fingers along your fading bruise, leaning into her touch.

alexia’s hand was on your knee then, pushing down to keep your foot on the ground. you turned to look at her, anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

“you will start tomorrow,” she told you. your shoulders dropped and you leaned back into ona. “but if you want to be subbed off at any point, i will make sure it happens, vale?”

“vale.” you sighed.

“good,” alexia reached over and grabbed your training top, unceremoniously tugging you forward to press a kiss to your head. “now go home and get some sleep. you look awful.”

“charming.” you muttered, pulling a face at the blonde as she left the lockeroom.

“i think you look beautiful, mi vida.” ona whispered in your ear and you felt your cheeks heat up.

“you have to think that, it’s in the job description,” you rolled your eyes fondly, turning your attention to her. “can we go home though? wanna nap with you.”

“por supuesto, vamos.”

as soon as you entered the apartment, ona was tugging you towards the bedroom, your quiet giggles filling the silence. the spaniard threw herself onto the bed before pulling you on top of her, running her fingers through your hair as you nuzzled her neck. “love you, oni.”

“love you too bebé. no matter what.”

#woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle #barca femeni

598 notes · View notes

python333 · 8 months

Text

need a ride? — python333

— — — —

synopsis ur walking home from school and theres a weirdo following you, luckily the 141 are there and they help u out!! :3

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

characters cap. price, soap (for like 2 seconds, so sorry soap enjoyers), ghost, gaz.

word count 2.4k

warnings a creepy old man following [reader], [reader] intended to be in high school, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of y/n [your name].

note i have like 5 drafts and all of them are requests from people so im so sorry i havent been working on those!! i pinky prom once i get the motivation to write them--which probably sounds weird since i wrote this but trust me when i had to force myself to write this lmao--i will be posting them :3 i hope u all enjoy this fic, its all fluff and emotional hurt/comfort + protective-ish 141!!

You really wish you had listened to that first warning light.

For a whole two days, your car had been in an auto repair shop, because you decided to ignore four whole warnings signs that something was seriously wrong with your car. Suspension and alignment issues, they’d told you yesterday, The wheels need to be realigned, the damaged suspension components need to be replaced, and the whole thing would take a day or two.

Fast forward to now, it’s 3:30 in the afternoon and you’ve been walking from school to your house for about ten minutes. The sun is close to being fully set—one of the worst parts of winter—and there’s been a guy following you for about five minutes now.

He showed up once you’d exited the school premises and since then had been very determined to follow you home. You obviously did not want this to happen. But it didn’t matter if you walked faster, because he would only match your pace. If you tried to run, you assume, he’d just run after you, and seeing as he had far longer legs than you—you were pretty fucked if you decided to run.

You would try to call an Uber, but your phone had been dead since fifth period. And you would try and catch a bus or something, but there were no bus stops near where you live, and even if there were, you weren’t carrying any cash or any cards on you.

So, again, you’re pretty fucked.

You look back at the man again, and turn your head right back around to look ahead of yourself once you see him looking right back at you, closer than you remember him being. Is he walking faster? Do I have to walk faster?

You let out a shaky breath and keep walking, speeding up your walk just a bit and widening your strides, trying to think of what you should do. You didn’t want to just lead him to your house, that was just stupid. But you couldn’t just not go home—where else would you go?

You continue to walk, speeding up a bit when you start to hear the man behind you speed up, and you try to control your panicked breathing. What are you supposed to do? You mentally curse yourself out for not carrying any self defense on your person, and continue your walking.

Then suddenly, as if they were sent by God himself, you see four men come into view—one with a mohawk, one wearing some sort of skull mask-balaclava, one with sunglasses on even when the sun is almost set, and one with a boonie hat on—all walking together, all engaged in a casual conversation.

You wonder for a moment if you should try and get closer to them to see if the guy would leave you alone. You hear the guy behind you speed up as you think and you take a deep breath before walking significantly faster to get closer to the men ahead of you.

Am I really gonna trust a group that has a guy wearing a fucking skull mask in it? You hear the man behind you speed up as well and you speed up in retaliation, trying to think more about what to do, Do I just walk near them or do I straight up pretend I know them?

You think that the second option would be more likely to ward the weirdo following you away, but how would you even go about it? Do you just walk near them, or actually talk to them and join in on their conversation?

You look behind you again and see the man significantly closer to you.

Deciding to take the risk, you rush up to them, swallowing down your panic when you hear the man behind you’s footsteps speed up to try and match your own speed.

“Hey, guys!” All four of the guys turn around to look at you, their expressions all varying looks of confusion as you continue to talk, “Crazy seeing you guys here, it— it’s been so long.”

You try to get as close to them as possible while not touching them and end up standing right by who you assume is the oldest. You try to subtly gesture to the man who was just following you, and the man you’re standing next to seems even more confused for a moment.

“Uh, I don—” One of his friends cuts him off with a swat to the arm and when he turns his head to look at them in confusion, they nod over at the man whose just now catching up with you, and his mouth shapes into an ‘o’ before he looks back at you with a bit more understanding in his eyes.

“Right, yeah, it has been really long,” He corrects himself, the other two of his friends catching on and stepping closer to you, almost creating a shield around you. He looks you over for a moment, before asking, “You just get out of school?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” You nod, grateful that they caught on, hoping your gratitude is somewhat apparent, “About ten minutes ago.”

“Nobody picked you up this time?” The older man asks, tilting his head to the side a bit. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the man who’d been following you getting closer, but you force yourself to ignore him.

“Yeah, no, everyone was kind of busy, so I have to walk home,” You respond, shoving your hands into the pocket of your hoodie to hide their shakiness as the other man stopped to stare at you two’s conversation.

“Aw, well that sucks,” The other man frowns, before offering, “I was just heading back to my car, I could drive you back to your house? It’s on the way to the hotel we’re staying at, anyway.”

You hesitate, trying to see if the man who’d been following you was still there, and much to your disappointment, he was. It was like he was just waiting for you to make a decision.

Not knowing if you had any other choice, you nod affirmatively, “Yeah, sure. If that’s okay.”

The older man gives you a small smile and pats your shoulder, “Of course it’s okay. I don’t want you just walking out here by yourself.”

You almost sobbed in relief when you heard the creep that was following you scoff and finally walk back to wherever he came from after hearing that you accepted their offer of a ride. The older man takes his hand off of your shoulder and looks over, noticing the man has left as well, then looks back at you with a more concerned expression on his face.

“Sorry, I almost gave you away at the beginning there,” He sincerely apologizes.

“It’s fine, he probably didn’t even notice,” You put on a small smile and take a deep breath before adding on, “Thank you for that. I didn’t think he was ever gonna go away.”

“Yeah, no problem,” The older man smiles at you, and tacks on, “I was serious about the ride, by the way. If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You pause for a moment at that and think about if you trust them enough to have him drive you to your house and know your address and everything.

“It’s my car, by the way,” The guy with the sunglasses butts in, “I’m the one paying for it. No clue why he said it was his.”

“Because it was easier than saying it was yours,” The other guy sighs.

“Actually—” The one with a mohawk interrupts, before immediately being cut off by the other two with a simple ‘shut up’. He rolls his eyes, and does indeed shut up.

The one with a skull mask must notice your slight confusion, because he comments, “We’re renting a car for this week. Gaz is paying for it.”

“Don’t call me Gaz in public,” Gaz grumbles, “That’s weird. Just call me Kyle.”

“That sounds weirder,” The one with the skull mask argues, before the one with the almost-bucket hat sighs exasperatedly, the sound enough to make the two others shut up.

“Uh…” All their attention is back on you as you talk, making you resist the urge to shrink back in on yourself, “I mean, if you guys are totally okay with it, then I’d be… okay with getting a ride home.”

“Great!” Gaz smiles at you before dropping the smile and turning to the one with the skull mask, “You’re getting an Uber or something. I’m not driving you after that.”

“Wh—” The one in the skull mask, despite you only being able to see his eyes, looks baffled, “I didn’t do anything, fuckin’ kick out Soap or something!”

“Me? Why me?” The one with the mohawk—Soap, you assume—squawks, watching as Gaz actually thinks about it before nodding.

“Good point. Soap, call an Uber so…” Gaz pauses before turning to you, “What’s your name, love?”

You give him your name and he nods before turning back to Soap, “So that [y/n] can take your spot in the car.”

“I—” Soap begins to argue, before sighing and rolling his eyes, reaching into his back pocket for his phone, “Fine. Whatever. Fuck all of ye.”

“Sorrows, sorrows, prayers,” Gaz says dryly before turning back to you, “The car’s just another block up.”

“Got it,” You nod, “So I should just follow you guys then, or…?”

“Yeah,” Gaz confirms, “Stay a little closer in case that guy decides to come back, or if anyone else tries to follow you, alright, love?”

You nod again and take another step closer to the man with the skull mask and follow everyone else as they continue walking down to their car. They’re silent for the rest of the walk back, the man in the skull mask and the one with the almost-dad-going-fishing-hat keeping an eye out for any creeps while Gaz leads the way to the car.

Once you’ve all reached the car, Gaz unlocks it and the man in the skull mask and the one in the almost-bass-pro-shops-hat immediately get into the back seats, letting you have shotgun. You mentally thank them for it and wordlessly get into the passenger’s seat, happy that it’s not too dirty in the car, closing the car door once you’re in.

You buckle yourself in immediately and look right out the front window whilst Gaz gets in. This definitely won’t end up in me being kidnapped, You tell yourself, Totally not. This is the best idea I’ve ever had. Getting in a car with someone who goes by Gaz, someone who wears a mask from Spirit Halloween, and someone’s dad who somehow ended up here. Fucking perfect idea. I should do this more often.

Gaz gets in and buckles himself in, putting the car key into the ignition and twisting it, starting up the engine. You continue to stare out the window wordlessly as Gaz pulls out of the parking lot he’d been in and gets onto the road.

“Could you give me the directions to get to your place?” He asks you once he’s stopped at a red light right outside of the parking lot. Silently, you nod.

“Yeah, just, uh, keep going straight then take a left on Monroe,” You instruct him quietly. He nods and presses on the gas once the light turns green, continuing straight like you’d said.

“You alright?” The bearded man in the back pipes up, making you twist your head back to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You assure him, half-lying, “Just a little tired and creeped out.”

“Reasonable,” He hums, before adding on, “I’m John, by the way, and this is Simon.”

Simon, the dude wearing the Spirit Halloween mask, perks up at the sound of his name, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

“Good to know,” You respond, wondering if you should say anything else before awkwardly turning back in your seat to continue staring out the window, watching as Gaz takes a left.

“Take the next right, then just continue straight and then take a right on Balboa,” You tell him. He nods and takes the next right just as you told him to.

It’s probably safe to assume they aren’t kidnapping you, You think, your breathing finally back to normal now that you know you’re probably not in any danger.

“So what’s with the name ‘Gaz’?” You ask Gaz without thinking, tired of the silence in the car. Based on the way Gaz groans and John huffs out a laugh, you assume it’s somewhat of a long story.

“It’s kind of a long story?” Bingo. “But in short, I just don’t talk too much, and someone decided to make a big deal out of that.”

“I never made it a big deal!” John insists, all while Simon looks at him like he knows he’s lying, “It’s just a nickname!”

You listen in on their bickering, grateful to finally have some noise in the car, and huff out a small, amused laugh at their antics.

Soon enough, Gaz is turning right on Balboa, and he drives right into your neighborhood.

“It’s the house right up there,” You point to it, and he looks at the house you pointed at and speeds up a bit to reach it faster.

Once he’s at the house he thinks you pointed at, he asks, “This one, right?” and pulls into the driveway when you nod in confirmation.

He parks the car in your driveway and turns off the engine, immediately unlocking the car and turning to you.

“Well, I hope you have a good rest of your day,” He says politely, offering you a smile.

“Thank you, you too,” You smile back, feeling a little bad for being so eager to get out of the car. Then again, you really just want to get inside of your house where it’s safe, so you quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and open the car door.

You carefully get out and close it behind you, fishing your keys out from your back pocket, walking up to the front door of your house and unlocking it, only hearing Gaz’s car pulling out of your driveway after you’ve successfully opened your front door.

You yawn as you walk in, and close the door behind you, toeing off your shoes and leaving them by the front door.

You think, in the back of your head, about how weird it is that you didn’t get kidnapped despite that being the perfect opportunity for them to do so—but you don’t think about it too hard. You’re just grateful to have gotten home safe.

943 notes · View notes

juneknight · 1 year

Text

Making Trouble

For the girlies on the Marc’s Girls discord, and specifically to whichever one of you requested this:

Possessive marc who decides to fuck reader in Jakes car to further piss of jake, praise kink, (maybe a little mirror action to make sure jake sees)

About this: Marc finally finds where Jake stashes his car when he isn’t fronting. Marc/fem!reader

—-----

“You can open your eyes now.”

Nearly breathless from the suspense, you finally open your eyes to see—a parking garage. You blink, taking in its tall, squat appearance, the teenager manning the little booth to let people in and out, her face in her phone. When Marc had said he had a surprise for you during your day out together, you had spent plenty of time considering what it might be. Knowing Marc, it was either painfully thoughtful or way too on-the-nose.

“Is it the parking garage, or is it in the parking garage,” you deadpan.

“I bought you a parking garage,” Marc deadpans back, obviously unimpressed with your deductive skills.

Mouth twitching, you ask: “You…bought a car?”

“Better,” says Marc with a grin. “I found a car.”

On the fourth level, you stand shivering amongst the dreary concrete scenery, mouth agape.

Marc holds up a key fob. The expression on his face is distinctly wicked, eyes dark and narrowed, mouth tilted in a smirk which makes him look years younger. He jingles the keys before pressing on the automatic lock. Within the car, you hear the soft sound of the doors unlocking. The taillights come to life, flashing an ominous red: warning, warning, do not fucking touch.

“We can’t,” you gasp, even as if you watch Marc open the driver’s door. Out comes a hint of Jake’s scent: leather, tobacco, cologne. How Marc and his alters can even smell different, you could never understand.

Marc is already stepping into the car. He turns to look at your gasped warning, but there is no fear nor trepidation on his face. He just raises a brow and says, “Seems easy enough to me.”

He ducks his head and disappears into the driver’s seat. You glance around, conscience guilty. It’s not like there is anyone who would dispute your right to be in the car; the thing is in Marc’s goddamn name! But you can’t help but feel eyes on you, like Jake knows what you are doing. For months he had stringently refused to reveal where he stored the flashy ride, despite your best attempts—and Marc’s, and even Steven’s who couldn’t resist a good mystery. He obviously did not want any of you encroaching on this, on his territory.

The thought of his punishment has you shivering, and not with fear.

You swiftly move to the passenger side, open the door, and duck inside. It is like another world within: all dark leather, cool against your overheated skin. The tinted windows make it dim, even with the soft glow of the overhead light (which disappears once you shut the door). You sit in the seat beside Marc, breathing in the experience. Jake never lets anyone in his car—that he doesn’t plan to kill. The adrenalin has your heart racing. You turn to look at Marc in the driver’s seat with a wide, giddy grin.

“So where should we go? I feel like fucking Ferris Bueler.”

Marc snorts softly. He reaches down between the seat and the door—and he pushes his seat back as far as it will go, creating copious space between himself and the steering wheel. It doesn’t look like a very comfortable way to drive. All at once, you realize that Marc isn’t intending to drive. He has not even put the keys in the ignition.

“Marc,” you say, low and warning and scared and excited all at once.

“Come here,” says Marc, just as lowly. He pats one jean-clad thigh. “Come sit on my lap.”

It isn’t a question. But for the first time you are caught between the authority Marc has over you and the authority Jake has over everyone. The rules are simple: do not touch his car. Do not look at his car. Do not think about his car. Definitely do not go looking for the parking garage which houses his car. And if you should find it? Definitely don’t fuck in it.

“What if he gets mad?” you ask, running your fingers over the natural creases of the leather seats.

“Leave him to me. Come sit on my lap.”

You climb across the center console and into his lap. Your skirt rides up your thighs. Marc leans back in his seat looking like a god, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, one hand braced behind his head like he is relaxing and nothing more. The bulge you can already feel in his jeans says that as relaxed as he appears, at least one part of him is as eager as you are.

“Undress.”

You gasp, like this is unexpected. Like you expected him to ask you to sit in his lap and then the two of you would talk about the weather. Even though the window tints are thick—standing outside the car, you cannot even see the swirl of shadows behind the glass—your eyes are drawn towards the windows around you. Can you undress here? You would feel so exposed…but the way Marc is looking at you is exposing as well. Like he sees your thoughts and is watching them bounce between arousal and terror in the ping-pong match of the century. Like he sees your thoughts and enjoys them.

He says nothing, just sits patiently, chest rising and falling softly with his each breath.

Yeah, alright. You pull your shirt over your head, reaching back to unclasp your bra. Marc takes each article of clothing and tosses it into the backseat. There isn’t enough space to comfortably slide down your panties while on his lap, so he perches you on the center console and works the lace down your legs, testing the texture between his fingers.

He opens up the dash console and puts your panties inside.

“Marc,” you whine. “Come on, you’re going to get me in even more trouble.”

“You’re trouble,” Marc says, lifting you with ease to set you back in his lap. The denim of his jeans is rough against your bare thighs. He is so thick that you’re spread uncomfortably wide, and your cunt—hungry, leaking—can’t even grind against the bulge in his jeans. Once you’re seated, Marc palms your ass in his broad hands, spreading you apart, eyes glued to the sticky place between your legs. “How else am I going to remind Jake that you belong to me, huh?”

Marc’s possessiveness makes you shiver. Maybe it’s some unevolved part of your hindbrain that craves such a thing, something that makes you want to rub yourself all over him until his scent is your scent and no one can refute it. Whatever it may be that makes your heart pound and pussy clench tight when Marc makes such comments, it must also be the same thing that makes you want more.

“I belong to him too, you know,” you tease. “And Steven.”

“Steven knows his place,” Marc says darkly. He reaches up and threads his fingers through your hair at the back of your skull, clutches tight and close to the scalp so that he has utter control as he tugs you forward and down until you are nearly nose to nose with him. “Jake sometimes needs a reminder that you are mine, first and foremost. Maybe you need that reminder too.”

You go to shake your head, but Marc holds it firmly in place by your hair. He tightens his grip (though not to the point of pain) and makes you nod in affirmation.

“Yes?” he asks, with mock surprise. “Yes, you need reminding? You need a lesson?”

“Marc,” you breathe. There is nothing else to the sentence. There is nothing else in your brain, just Marc.

“I’ve got you,” he coos. He pulls you in for a kiss, searing and consuming and all too short. Your mouth tingles after he pulls you away, lips quirking at the way you strain against his hold, eager to kiss him again. But he just says: “Take my cock out.”

Your fingers scramble for the button against the denim. Perhaps if you weren’t tingling all over, it would be easier to unfasten them—but then you get distracted by Marc, Marc who is reaching up to the rearview mirror and adjusting it.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” says Marc. The grin he gives into the mirror is like a shark’s. Toothy, mean, hungry.

You try not to. You focus on his cock which you are finally able to work free from the denim. He is achingly hard, a familiar velvety rod of steel in your palm. So much changes about your three lovers when they are fronting: accents, expressions, mannerisms…but this is one thing that never changes. You adjust your grip, let your thumb trace over the crown of his cock. When you stroke over the slit, your thumb comes away wet with his precum.

Marc uses his grip on your hair to gently turn your face downward until you are staring at him: ruddy, deliciously thick, a length that already has your legs shaking just at the memory of the places it can stroke inside you. At the tip beads more precum, and you watch, mesmerized, as you spread it across the sensitive head turning it shiny pink and eager.

“See my cock?”

“Yes,” you laugh.

“Then why aren’t you sitting on it?”

A good question. You shift upwards. Marc helps, hands braced against your waist as he lifts and twists and turns you to his liking. By the time the thick head of his cock nudges at your entrance, he has turned you around until you face away from him, your palms on the dashboard, the steering wheel nearly brushing your breasts.

Marc slips inside you. It’s always a tight stretch, no matter how wet you are for him. You whine, rocking forward and backward as your cunt spasms, eager for him and fighting his intrusion all at once. His hands are burning hot on your hips, your ass, your waist as he rubs at the skin firmly, murmuring soft encouragement beneath his breath. At last you relax enough to take the last few inches of him, and when the head kisses your cervix, it feels like it pushes the breath from your lungs.

“Marc,” you groan.

His hands, tan and strong suddenly reach for your own where you have braced them on the dashboard. He interlaces your fingers and then pulls back—he makes you put your hands on the wheel. You know why straightaway; because beneath your grip you feel the grooves worn into the steering wheel from Jake’s touch. You shutter all over, cunt squeezing Marc’s cock.

“Hold on,” Marc says. You tighten your grip.

Then Marc takes your hips in his hands and begins to fuck you on his cock. That’s the only way to describe it. His strength makes it easy for him to bounce your body the way he likes, as fast or as slow as he likes, as deep or as shallow as he likes. And you know that’s what he’s doing. You can tell that he’s taking you like this for his own pleasure, and the thought drives you fucking wild.

You turn your head, searching for his mouth to kiss—

—but Marc is too busy staring into the rearview mirror.

“Is he—?”

“Watching?” Marc pants. “Yes.”

“What’s he—?”

“Saying?” Marc laughs. “Cursing me. Threatening me. Telling me all the filthy things he’s going to do to you to punish you, to try and reestablish his claim.”

Marc’s teeth bury themselves into the junction between your shoulder and your neck, making you cry out and tighten around him. His tongue soothes the sting of the bite. The message is clear: stop asking questions about Jake. Right now there is only Marc. A few pointed, bruising thrusts push the remainder of your thoughts from your brain. You arch your back to soften the intensity, to let his cock stroke against that spot inside you that makes your legs shake.

Behind you, words begin to pour from Marc’s mouth, dark and sinful:

“Pussy this sweet, I can’t blame him,” Marc says through his teeth. He slows his thrusts, slows the speed with which he bounces you on his cock though the force remains the same. “The sweetest little toy for me to fuck. But this pussy belongs to me. I am the one who broke it in. Remember the first time I fucked you? You shook like a leaf in the wind just at the sight of me. ‘Will it fit?’”

Your face goes hot at the mocking way he pitches his voice. You didn’t sound like that…

“I made it fit, didn’t I baby? Didn’t I split you open? You cried like I was killing you—except you were begging me not to stop, so tight, like I had to push your guts aside just to get balls deep. I broke you in, baby. Steven and Jake just help me keep you loose, don’t they?”

Marc’s cock seems to do more than rearrange your guts. It scrambles your fucking brain. All that comes out of your mouth are broken gasps of his name, half formed pleas—and when you take a hand off the wheel to touch your clit, a warning. You’re about to cum.

Except Marc lets go of your hips to grip your arms just below the elbows. He tugs your hand away from between your thighs and twists both arms behind your back with practiced ferocity, no rougher than he needs to be as he makes your arms fold and hooks his arm through them, binding you. His hand against your upper back pushes you forward, forward until your chest meets the steering wheel, breasts against the cool material.

“You’ll cum on my cock or you won’t cum at all,” Marc warns you darkly, digging his heels into the floor so he can snap his hips up into the cradle of your thighs. He thrusts with such force that he balls tap your clit with each one, the light rhythmic pressure nothing compared to the firm rub of your fingertips, but still pushing you higher…higher…can you cum like this? With just the barest touch?

“I’m getting close,” Marc warns cruelly.

You try to say something back, some garbled plea, but it is inarticulate. Marc speaks the language, though; knows what your frantic little sounds and whines mean, well-versed in this tongue. He uses his free hand to grip one ass cheek, spreading you until he can see the stretched entrance of your pussy thanks to the arch of your back.

��Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s it, cum for me. Come on. And look in the mirror while you do it. Show me those pretty eyes.”

But when you glance up to the mirror, the dark eyes that look at you—pierce into you, flaying you open and laying you bare—do not remind you of Marc. They remind you of the real person Marc wants you to make eye contact with. The one who is watching.

It’s a good thing you can’t string syllables together, otherwise you might have shouted Jake’s name (and wasn’t that a lesson that Marc had already taught you!). Your cunt clenches down like a vice, back arching like a cat as the sensation explodes inside you, slick dripping down your thighs onto Jake’s leather seats. Your shouts and yaps and whimpers have nowhere to echo within the enclosed space, forcing you to listen to your own pleasure in high quality.

Marc groans in satisfaction, slowing his thrusts to languish in the spasms of your pussy.

“Good girl, that’s a good-fucking-girl!” Marc says, voice a little too awed and overjoyed to appropriately coo the cruel way he often does. He pulls you up from the steering wheel and makes you lay back against his chest.

“Marc, too deep,” you hiss, shifting in anxiety at the hard thrusts which must be coming.

He just hushes you, rocking his hips more than thrusting, one hand cupping your breast while the other finds your aching clit and begins teasing it, stroking your sex deeply.

Your breath catches—as if you had ever managed to catch it in the first place. Already you feel that fire within your belly swelling, Marc’s fingers and the way his cock splits you wide acting like a lit match on dry kindling. His fingers make slick sounds, so loud in the enclosed space that you would be embarrassed if there were room for it inside you. But Marc’s cock must push that out of you, too: your shame, your brain.

“Come on, baby,” Marc whispers tenderly, his other hand teasing your nipple as he rocks into you gently. “Come on, give me another. Milk my cock.”

You do. You’d do anything that Marc told you to, but it’s impossible to even consider disobeying when his fingers stroke through your folds, when you feel his cock twitch where it’s buried practically in your guts. One of your hands scrabbles at the seat, scratching the leather. The other reaches up to bury itself in Marc’s hair, mussing the slicked back curls. His breath stops, head falling back against the headrest as his cock jerks and fills you with his warm seed. The sounds of his thrusts into you grow slicker, even wetter with both of your spend. His cum seeps out around his cock with each thrust in, smearing both of your thighs.

At last he wraps an arm around your waist and pins you to him, his cock still buried within you. His heavy pants brush your neck as he catches his breath, and your fierce grip on his hair instinctually turns into a soft pet. You definitely muss the curls a little more than necessary; you can’t help how much you like them.

“He’s going to be so pissed, Marc,” you breathe. But there is laughter in your voice.

Marc snorts softly. He reaches up and pinches one of your nipples softly. “Yeah. He’ll live.”

He helps you dress, cleans your thighs and his own with a pack of tissues that he finds in the glovebox. You sit in the passenger seat, eyes on him. It is strange seeing him behind the wheel of Jake’s car.

“Ready?” Marc asks at last, glancing to you. It’s only then that he notices how much you’ve been watching him, and the fact that he can look flustered after everything he’s done and said to you today is a true feat.

“Ready.”

You face goes hot again as you step out of the car, even though there is no one around to see you. Orienting yourself, you spot the lift and begin towards it, a spring in your step. If you plan to make it home before Marc’s cum leaks out of you, you’ll have to be hasty. The last thing you want to do is ride the tube with cum dripping down your legs.

Marc lingers. He glances back into the car, eyes searching for anything the two of you might have left behind. Besides the panties in the glovebox—let Jake find those. When there is nothing, he shuts the door softly and locks it with the fob. Fucking you in Jake’s car is one thing; leaving it vulnerable to any proper London thief is another. He wants to piss Jake off, but he would never wish to hurt him.

There is a smudge on the window. Marc wipes it away with his jacketed elbow.

“Go easy on her, hermano,” Marc teases his reflection. The one that is glaring back at him.

“Marc,” you call, squinting back towards him from your spot by the lift. Your voice echoes off of the concrete. “Are you coming?”

“Didn’t I already?” Marc asks the window. He snorts at his own joke, tapping the nose of his reflection before turning and sauntering away.

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader

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