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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Breaking and Entering

(John Price x F! Reader)

(Call of Duty Masterlist)

Rating: M Wordcount: 4.2k Tags: Girl Dad Price, Wife Reader, Angst, Fluff, Feral John Price, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, TF141, (Unrealistic interpretations of UK gun laws) Warnings: Home invasions, Deadly use of firearms A/N: AKA the home invasion fic nobody asked for

When your number lights up his phone, Price knows it by heart.

There’s just one problem.

You aren’t supposed to call this one.

He’s in the middle of a briefing when it happens, discussing relevant intel ahead of a mission happening in the imminent future. Arms folded, beside the projector screen, voice taking on his gruff, clipped tone used only to convey orders, information, commands. It’s a late workday, but the intelligence that has just come in is valuable, extremely relevant to the team’s next hunt. As much as Price would like to be home, he can’t be. Duty comes first, and you’ve learned to accept that in him.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he catches Gaz’s face just in time to see the expression of ‘Really, Cap?’ Before he excuses himself, looks at the screen.

It’s you.

Normally he’d have his phone on silent for briefings, but now he’s glad he’s forgotten. He’s told you explicitly that this number is for emergencies, and emergencies only. Short of life or death scenarios, this number is exclusively off limits.

Which means when he sees the number, his heart sinks below his stomach.

He’s answering and moving before your voice even comes through, wordlessly striding from the briefing room and ignoring the questioning calls from his team after him. There’s no preamble to your conversation, and he tries to remove the anger, the fear from his voice when he speaks.

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” You whisper back urgently, and he can hear the tremble in your voice, can practically feel you shaking through the phone. There’s a pause on the other end of the line as he shoves open the doors to the command center towards the direction of the parking lot.

“John.” You whisper again, voice very small, hushed and quiet. “John, there’s someone in the house.”

Price doesn’t freeze despite the cold wash of dread in his veins. There’s only motion under his feet, heart pumping full of adrenaline in his chest, where something fearful, furious, brutal coils in a low growl.

Before he can respond, however, there’s the sudden crash of something on the other line and you whimper.

“Where are the girls?” He demands as he waves off an officer who salutes him as he walks by, swinging his hand so hard the other man flinches.

“In the bathroom. I locked them in, they’re being quiet like their mummy told them.” You reply, and he can hear the growing sob in your throat. You’re terrified, beside yourself, but you don’t say it, don’t tell him how worried you are, how you want him to come home. You know he’s already on his way, you know to be brave, and for a moment Price’s heart swells with the tender affection of pride before it quells when there’s another clatter in the background.

“Hang up and call the police.” He tells you on no uncertain terms, pulling his keys from his jacket and all but racing towards his car.

“I already did. Told them where we are but-”

You pause then, release a low, shuddering exhale that crackles through the phone.

“John, I just wanted to say I love you.”

“Don’t.” He snaps before he can stop himself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. “You are going to be fine, you understand me? You and the girls. I’m on my way, the police will get there before I do.”

And if they don’t, there will be hell to pay. He adds silently.

He can hear you suck in a breath to say something next, only to pause.

The stairs creak in the background.

Price floors the gas.

“Get the gun.” Price tells you gravely, flashing his credentials at the gate operator without looking at him. “Can you get to the safe?”

It had become necessary due to the nature of his work to ensure you had a certain level of self-defense for your safety when he wasn’t home. Price had more enemies than he could count, and while he had made every precaution to ensure nobody, not even his team, knew of your existence, he had placed a certain level of insurance with you just in case. The paperwork had been a nightmare to get through, but with the mention of his specific job description, the powers that be had allowed an exception to the laws on weapons, leaving you with a short revolver hidden in a safe in the bedroom.

You don’t answer his query, but Price can hear a rustle, the sound of you moving across the room to the top of the dresser.

Moments tick by, and Price doesn’t speak in the silence, not wanting to offer a single sound that may alert the intruder to where you are. You remain just as quiet, but Price can hear the low, slow click of the safe’s lock as you twist the code into place.

April 22nd. Your eldest’s birthday.

“I’ve got it.” You whisper, barely audible through the phone.

Price sighs in relief, the smoky breath of him curling across the dashboard as he weaves through traffic, speeding tickets be damned.

“Good girl.” He rumbles, trying to keep his voice low, even, reassuring. “Is the door locked?”

“...Yes. Yes.” You reply back, and he swears he can hear the sound of the gun shaking in your hand as you hold it.

“Loaded?” He asks again. There’s a click that is too loud when you open the chamber to check.

“Six bullets.” You murmur, voice a little more even, more level now in a way that makes his heart ease, makes the commanding, logical instinct of his military training activate.

“I want you by the door.” He orders you as if you’re one of his own. “Both hands on the gun, just as I showed you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” You answer, and that alone, the wry humor you give him nearly has him smile, chuff with affectionate laughter. Yet whatever humor he possesses is terrifyingly absent in this scenario, the one that could very well end with both you and his daughters dead by the time he gets home.

Bloody fucking hell. Where are the bloody cops?

“John…” You whisper then, just a touch louder so he hears you better over the thrum of the engine. “I can’t hear him. I think he’s gone.”

Price allows his eyes to flutter shut for all of a moment, clamping down on the premature relief that rises in his chest.

“Are you sure?” He asks, softer, trying to ease your frayed, tender nerves.

He can hear you swallow over the line, trying to wet your dry throat. “I…I think so.” You tell him at last. “I don’t-”

BANG-!

The sound of the bedroom door being kicked in.

He can hear you scream from the other end of the line, voice rising sharply in panic and terror as another, deeper voice echoes in the background, rising even louder with words he can’t hear. The sound is garbled, unintelligible as your phone drops to the floor. Price can barely hear the sound of his own voice when he shouts for you, words cracking in his throat. The road around him blurs, and he looks to the display on the dashboard to gauge the time until his arrival.

Two minutes.

Two minutes for you to die, for his two beautiful daughters to be killed as they scream for you, two minutes for the undeserved happiness of his life to be stolen from him.

Price yells again, voice desperate, calling your name. There’s the sound of struggle in the background, and you curse at your attacker- feral, untamed, terrified. Like a wild, injured mother animal defending her young from a predator.

Yet before Price can call out for you again, there’s a crunch, another, and the line goes dead.

The world drops out from under him.

The tires of Price’s car screech as he takes the turn into the neighborhood far too quickly, leaning with the inertia of the vehicle as he races down the street towards the house where his whole life is falling apart.

The car lurches to a stop in the middle of the street, Price not bothering to park properly as he tumbles out of the driver’s side door and towards the front step of the townhouse.

BANG-!!

A gunshot.

Price sees the image of your smiling face in a beautiful white dress flash behind his eyes.

The house goes silent.

Price used to be a religious man. His father would drag him to church on Sundays, would insist on his boys dressing proper and maintaining the appearance of good, devout, obedient children. He tried very hard to make himself believe through his adulthood, but in the years spent toiling in the dusty, blood-soaked underbelly of the world, Price has long since convinced himself there is no God left for ruined men like him.

Even so, in this moment, he prays.

The front door is locked, latched tight. The burglar must have come through the back door into the garden. Price calls for you, and it’s a stupid move on his part, alerting the enemy to his position, perhaps startling them enough to give them an opportunity to escape. Yet the silence that greets him has his blood thrumming, deafening in his ears and he kicks, once, twice at the center of the door before the latch buckles and the thing swings open on its hinges.

There’s crying from the bedroom.

There’s no gun on him, too frantic to grab a side-arm before he sped off base. So instead Price reaches for a knife hidden in his pocket, holding it ready in front of him as he slowly ascends the stairs. The crying is louder now, and he can tell it’s younger voices. Whimpers, tearful whispers from his two beautiful girls still locked in the bathroom. Yet the bedroom where you are remains silent, and as Price reaches the top of the stairs he tries to remember whatever saint offers the blessing of protection, safety.

He rounds the corner, and instantly his toes bump against a limp, dead body sprawled on the floor of the bedroom. Price doesn’t look down immediately, trying to steady himself, preparing himself for the sight of his beautiful wife dead at his feet.

A dark hoodie. A surgical mask. A pool of red soaking into the carpet.

It isn’t you.

“John.”

Price looks up, and in the darkness of the bedroom he finds you with your back against the dresser, several drawers half open and spilling their contents onto the floor. You sit, holding the revolver, legs askew on the floor, hands trembling fiercely, shoulders shaking-

Alive.

Price collapses to his knees in front of you, and you whimper into him as he hauls you into his arms. You nearly push at him, still caught the shock of being ambushed, attacked, touched by a man that wasn’t him. When you squirm, Price merely holds you fast against his chest, murmuring low, raspy reassurances until you still.

“Shh, it’s me. It’s me, love. You’re safe. It’s over.”

With one hand, he tucks his blade into his jacket, with the other he slowly removes the weapon from your grip, clicks the safety on, and tucks it to the side, well out of the way. No doubt the presence of the weapon will be a nightmare to deal with when the police arrive, but that’s not his concern right now.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, turning you face up to him in his palms, and he can feel the wetness on your cheeks, can see the liquid stare of you in the darkness of the bedroom. You shake your head, lip trembling but trying not to cry, and it aches at him like nothing else. The hurt is only soothed by the taste of your lips, a desperate kiss, wet with the taste of your tears as you instinctively part for him, allowing a shuddering little gasp to break through. You whimper again, something that sounds like ‘John’, grasp at him a little harder until he tucks you back into his chest.

“T-the girls-” You try, voice cracking, and Price hushes you, rocking just a touch as you try to calm down.

“They’re in the bathroom.” He tells you quietly. “They’re safe.”

You hiccup at that, finally allowing a sob to break free as you cling to him, bury your face into his chest so his shirt stains with tears.

“I-I was so afraid.” You confess, and Price merely tucks you closer to him, hauls you into his arms with the promise of safety.

“I know, love. I know.” He tells you. “You’re safe. You’re alright. You did well, my brave girl.”

You cry a little harder at that, and at last Price hears the sound of sirens at the edge of the neighborhood, racing far too late to where the two of you sit in the darkened bedroom.

He hauls you up into his arms when they arrive, helps you down the stairs and presses you into the arms of a kindly police woman before returning into the house. An officer in a yellow jacket urges him to stay put, but Price snarls in his face, startles him so badly the man takes a step back and pales.

It’s easy to climb the stairs now, to come to the locked bathroom door that shelters his children from the horror they did not witness. As soon as he opens the door they spill into his arms, his two beautiful daughters, weeping against him in wordless blubbers of terror and relief. Yet the first question they ask isn’t about where he was, what has happened, why the police are there. Instead his eldest, at the age of six, her gorgeous eyes the same color as her mother's, stares tearfully up at him and asks: “Where’s mummy?”

“Outside.” He tells her with a gentleness he had forgotten he possessed, hauling her younger sister up into his embrace as she sniffles into his shoulder. “Let’s go see her.”

Yet before he steps back into the bedroom, he kneels down and stares at his brave, eldest girl and tells her: “We’re going downstairs. Don’t open your eyes until you’re outside, understand?”

She does, of course she does. He’s never given her a reason to doubt him, so the both of them squeeze their eyes shut, don’t open them even as Price lifts them over the dead man still laying oozing on the floor.

When they get outside they rush towards you, fresh bouts of tears in their eyes, asking about the blood splattered on your nightgown, staining it crimson. He can see you panic, nearly explaining the truth, before you shakily smile, hold them both in your arms and tell them: “It’s strawberry jam, my loves. Mummy is very silly and spilled jam all over herself.”

It takes the better part of an hour to explain to the police what has happened, to have you checked over by a paramedic, one who offers peppermints to your two girls as they balance at the back of the ambulance. Price entrusts you to them, discussing the situation in low, grave tones with the officers over why they were not as quick to respond as he had hoped. The officer from earlier is defensive at first, tries to puff his chest and explain to Price the logistics of the response, and Price levels him with a mere look of stony, violent anger that instead has the man fumbling for an apology.

It’s that alone that has the man dismiss any possible charges for you, takes one glance at the weapons permit and tips his hat at the captain with a small ‘Sir.’

At long last, after the crime scene tape has been rolled out and the house cordoned off, does Price return to you and the girls, who have calmed down considerably and now doze drowsily on either side of you, still dressed in their pajamas. You lean up into the tender kiss he bestows upon your forehead, murmurs another reassurance there before tilting you into his palms.

“We can’t stay here tonight.” He tells you gently, and you sag in relief.

“A hotel?” You ask, and Price only shakes his head at you, watching your brow wrinkle in confusion.

“I’m taking you to base.” He replies softly, firmly. “No place safer in the world than with me.”

You know it’s true, he can see it in your smile as you gaze up at him, adoring, with a trust he still struggles to tell himself he’s earned.

So you’re bundled into his car alongside your two young girls, the three of you in the backseat as he retraces his path back in the direction of the base. It’s only once you also begin to doze off in the back seat that he hazards a glance at his phone.

Five missed calls, three from Gaz alone, one from Soap, and one from Laswell that’s followed with a text saying “Call me. ASAP.”

He has a lot of explaining to do.

Somehow he manages to talk his way past the gate guard, who looks puzzled at the woman and two girls sleeping in his backseat. Yet he waves Price through, and eventually the four of you arrive at the officer’s quarters. Price manages to hold both of his daughters, one in each arm, with you clinging to his side, hiding your face in his sleeve as you pass the soldiers who pause with long, drawn out stares at the sight before them. It’s an unusual circumstance to say at best, and Price knows he’ll have to corner more than one man tomorrow to ensure their silence on the whole affair. All that matters right now is getting you and the girls to safety, to somewhere the three of you can bunk down and sleep this dreaded evening off.

What Price doesn’t expect to find, however, is three younger SAS agents awaiting him in front of his bunk, leaning against the wall and talking quietly amongst themselves. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost startle at the sight of their captain holding two young girls in their nighties, and a woman at his side with blood not entirely scrubbed from her nightgown.

“...Sir?” Gaz manages tightly after Price silently brushes him aside with little regard, unlocking his door. Yet when Gaz tries to assist the captain shoots him a look. The expression that flits across his sergeant’s face has him regretting it almost instantly, but apologies will have to wait as he ushers you inside. It takes a moment for Price to carefully deposit his sleeping daughters into the neatly made military cot, and when he does he catches your eyes just as you nod to the three men still hovering in the doorway.

It’s with a sigh that Price rubs the back of his neck and turns towards his concerned and puzzled team, clicking the door shut behind him so the conversation does not disturb his family.

“Introductions will have to wait until the morning.” He announces quietly, hearing the fatigue in his own voice. “They’ve had quite the night.”

“You never said you were married.” Soaps blurts out before he can stop himself, and at the look Price gives him in regards to his volume he mildly tacks on a little “...Sir.”

Price allows himself a moment to knead the bridge of his nose, huffing a suffering sigh as he decides what to say next.

“There’s a reason I haven’t told you boys.” He explains at last, looking up. “You know our work. You know the enemies we’ve made, myself more than the rest of you. You know they will exploit every opportunity of ours that they can.”

He levels his team with a severe, grim stare. “I will never allow my family to become one of those opportunities. Understood?”

The silent, unspoken words there ring loudly in the silence that follows.

This is a secret. For the four of us. Do not ever speak of it to anyone else.

He can see them trade glances, still confused, apprehensive, but at least agreeable to Price’s explanation.

“Copy.” Gaz offers quietly at last, and both Ghost and Soap nod as well. Price manages to catch his lieutenant’s stare for a moment, and Simon darts his gaze to the door behind his captain, and then to Price meaningfully, nodding.

Of course Simon would understand the gravity of secrecy that comes with this, Price thinks, and for a moment he regrets not telling his second in command sooner.

“Good.” Price announces summarily after a beat, and the clipped tone of him has the team straighten on instinct. “We can talk more in the morning. Dismissed.”

Ghost nods, about to stride away when he catches Soap about to make further comments, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and tugging him away. Price can hear the Scot grumble in irritation, but obediently follows behind his LT. Gaz stays a little longer, shifting uneasily on his feet.

“Sargeant?” Price asks, and the tone isn’t unkind, still regretting the venom he shot the man earlier.

“Sir.” Gaz begins, eyes cast down to his feet. “...Are they alright?”

It’s that question, the soft, uncertain concern of his sergeant that makes Price’s shoulder go lax, has his breath exit him in a soft, steady sigh. His broad, calloused palm settles on Gaz’s shoulder, making the man look up with a worried, grimaced expression.

“They’ll be fine.” Price tells him, voice dipping low as it does for his own daughters. “They’ve had a bit of a shock, lad. They need to sleep it off, know that they’re safe now. You can help me with that come morning. Understand?”

Gaz brightens at that, always wanting to be useful, to prove himself to the man who has taken him under his wing.

“Of course, Sir.” He offers, reassured, and Price nods.

“Good. Get some sleep. The girls will be a handful tomorrow, I have a feeling I’ll be needing assistance.”

Gaz nods, makes finally to leave, when Price calls him once more.

“Gaz?” He asks, making the man pause. “Call Laswell. Tell her I’ve got three VIPs I’m dealing with. She’ll understand.”

Gaz’s gaze brightens, and Price inwardly cringes, recognizing the error he’s committed. No doubt Gaz and Laswell will be having an extended conversation in his absence about the things he’s failed to mention. Yet Gaz chirps an affirmative and vanishes down the hall before Price can stop him.

When Price returns to his room, the door clicking behind him softly, he admires the sight before him. His two daughters splay across the bed, clinging to your form tucked between them as you hush a lullaby to ease their dreams. Thankfully, they both have managed to fall asleep quickly, likely exhausted by earlier events. The sight of his girls soft, sleepy, blessedly safe in his quarters is nearly enough to bring him to his knees.

You look up at him as he leans on the door, beckoning him into bed. It takes a moment to divest himself of all but his shirt and pants, but eventually Price manages to scoot his way into the narrow cot, hauling his youngest atop his chest to make room. She curls there with a whining, sleepy murmur before falling still once more. A hand settles in her hair, idly stroking as Price coaxes her further into dreams.

Against his side, you scoot so your head lays against his bicep, your eldest daughter now tucked safely between you. It’s a bit awkward, the four of you trying to scrunch together on such a narrow cot, and Price doesn’t doubt that by morning he’ll be sleeping in his desk chair. Yet now, in the soft lull of evening, in the absence of gunshots and dead phone lines, he allows himself to be at peace.

“I nearly lost you.” He finds himself rasping quietly, as if he can still barely understand the thought. You make a sound of dissatisfaction at that, nudging him in disapproval.

“None of that.” You scold quietly, and Price holds his tongue about the fears he wants to say, the pleas for forgiveness he wants to ask of you for not being there when you needed him the most.

“I love you.” He says instead, and despite not being an emotional man, he finds the hollow of his heart aching, empty with regret.

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a part of him that wonders if you’ll return it, if you’ll suddenly realize how selfish he’s been in allowing himself to love you despite his duty.

Instead you turn, grasp at his hand, bring it to your lips in a firm, tender kiss.

“I love you too, Captain Johnathan Price.” You whisper, and Price’s eyes close, chest aching, the world quiet around him, and yet full. When he breathes, it releases as a sighed prayer to the heavens, a plea for mercy for your safety, for his own forgiveness, for the promise of another day, another hour with his family in his arms.

Taglist:

@guyfieriii @zwiiicnziiix @writeforfandoms

#John price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #price x reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #oneshots #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #mw2

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chappellroansdreamgirl · 8 days

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officer!els<3

author's note - meow i love this woman.

content warnings - black!coded!reader ig????, fluff, els i love u ellie williams pls handcuff me to ur bed and police-brutalize me! , text msgs from reader that are very me-coded! , mostly just based off every grumpy but cool cop i've seen in media, lots of notes from me i'm going insane I NEED HER!!!!! , there's a white man in a pic i put... you have been warned, smut/suggestive shit at the end!

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- def wanted to be a cop when she was a kid and then was a total fucking juvenile as a teen. (duh!)

- always loved the police officers who barely ever gave troubled kids a hard time. (this is coming from a troubled kid. acab all the way except for u guys. well, still acab, but y'all r cool!) would refuse to talk to anyone except her favorites. i fully believe that's one of the reasons she would go into this workforce.

- when she got approved to start training to be a cop, u were home with her favorite strand of weed and she gave u a look like, "🤨🤨" , "can't be doing that no more baby, i'm gonna be a cop." , "...stfu and take the first hit before you piss me off..." , she's wearing a SHIT-eating grin before she takes it. (don't ask me how she passes her drug-tests!) (probably gets jesse to do it or someone idk maybe joel if she's lucky!) (def not joel...)

- ADDING ONTO THIS!^^ : every single time you smoke when she can't she'll look so sad or just side-eye tf out of you... "really?" , "what do you want me to do ellie..." u stopped smoking around her when she couldn't...

- this woman is so intimidating but once those cop dogs come on the scene she's so cute<3 . she's so smiley and happy they love her AND SHE LOVES THEM. she definitely sent u a picture of her with the group of the babies and was like, "can we adopt them all pls i love them ):" . you guys adopted a rescue pup shortly after...

- whenever you're doing ANYTHING EVER she flashes her badge at you and says something so loser of her , "don't make me handcuff you..." or makes finger guns with the sounds and GOD I LOVE THIS WOMAN.

- speaking of badges, she always has her badge on her. ALWAYS. it is EMBARRASSING!

- when she got her first arrest she was so happy:3 . i FEEL like she took a picture with the fucker and everything and she looked so proud of herself. "good job baby now pls get to the station before that mf breaks out of those handcuffs he looks like he's gonna murder u..."

- this is a headcannon of mine (and canon so why am i saying hc maybe it's just bcs it's more in-depth in my head.) but she loves kids and whenever she sees a younger person at the station, she makes sure that they're ok and have everything they need.

- with that being said, she HATES the teens who don't have a valid reason to be such delinquents. lovable delinquents are her soft-spot but those... THOSE ONES😧.

- definitely is a kitten-saver-cop. hates getting the call but she responds every time.

- sends u this pic anytime u say something mildly threatening to her in text msgs:

suggestive/NSFW!

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- the day she got her uniform, you wanted to jump her bones. she came back home, poor girl was so tired and all you could think about is how good she looked in that shit.

- like i said... the badge is with her at all times... maybe this is too feral but i feel like she put IT in ur mouth and took a polaroid of it after u were done eating her out or SSAAAWWWWMMMMTHHHIIIIING. (pls let me wear ur badge baby i'm on my knees BEGGING YOU!)

- definitely joked about role-playing jailer/jailed and then it wasn't a joke anymore. y'all tried it once and couldn't stop laughing.

- has definitely used her handcuffs on u or vice versa. she gets so excited when u pull that shit out.

- ggggg...g-g-gu-....gggggggggguuuunnn ki-

- definitely has fucked u in the uniform. u two probs have had a quickie in the station bathroom on multiple occasions.

bonus round - police!els edit<3 :

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licorice-lips · 5 months

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So, I already posted this, but I'll give it one more shot:

I think the view that the reality of The Hunger Games is literally happening right now is so right and probably way scarier than people even realize. When we talk about The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins literally just reflected real capitalist-caused issues to fit into a dystopian world, but it's literally here, from the most obvious thing to the simplest detail:

How the riches and concessions from the Capital to loyalist Districts made people from 1, or 2, or so on, think of themselves as closer (in nature) to people of the capital than people in the poorest Districts? That's middle-class thinking, stopping them from realizing they're just as pressed by the Capital as the poorest Districts (the guy from 2 in the last movie, saying he wasn't Snow's slave when WE KNOW he is, everyone is?)?

How the electric fence around 12 is THE ONLY THING stopping people from starving to death since they could very well USE the land? That's literally the argument for legalized occupation movements on unused land, like MST and MTST in Brazil.

The use of addictive drugs and the idea of a "war on drugs" in District 6 to control the population and quite literally render them useless to weaponize such an important thing as medical supplies against the Capital (not that this should happen, but still)? That's literally happening in most poor countries in the world, just as much with legalized drugs - like the COVID vaccine (which Africa had and is still having trouble acquiring because of the Global North) - as with illegal drugs like weed, which is used as justification for police to invade favelas in Brazil, kill innocent people (children especially) and brutalize dozens more each time in a war against poor POC in special.

What they did to Finnick, Cashmere, and Gloss? Lemme tell you two words: Epstein Scandal.

The control of the media? Comms people can tell you: media always has a side, it's not bad in itself, but most of the mainstream media is right-wing and/or conservative, and I'm not talking just regionally, but globally, hence what we're seeing at mainstream media trying to hide important news, manipulate or maintain the narrative of equivalence between Israel and Palestine when we know what is happening is a genocide, an ethnic-based genocide.

The dehumanization of the people from the Districts suffer by the people of the Capital? How billionaires see the working class, how white people view POC, how the North looks at Global South countries - that's exactly there, people.

It's literally there.

But we're not the Capital, not entirely at least. It's true that we live in constant alienation caused by the overwhelming amount of content we have to swallow on a day to day basis — Brave New World, hello? — but we, the working class, are also the ones who pay the price of the "Capital's" need for profit without wanting to actually work — we work so they don't have to, even though we should be the ones to benefit from the result of our own work.

#the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games theory #katniss is maude ivory's granddaugther #katniss everdeen #peeta melark #katniss and peeta #suzanne collins #coriolanus snow #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #hunger games books #politics #political thinking #free palestine #free congo #brave new world

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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more raider joel PLEAAAASE 🙏

Failed Escape

4k, raider!Joel x f!reader / raider master / joel

Mood board by @milla-frenchy

SUMMARY: when Joel brings you to a familiar area for a raid, you run away but get stopped by FEDRA officers with bad intentions, worse than Joel. Joel saves you.

WARNINGS: NSFW I8+ dark, violence, assault, manhandling, captivity, restraints, exhibitionism, humiliation, unsafe dubcon vPIV, fingering, oral, filth, orgasm denial, cockwarming, police violence, allusions to very dark fedra activity.

A/N: This is 4th in the Raider series but can be read alone. credits / shoutouts - @romanarose escape ask, touch-erase anon, rope kink anon, many others with thots & thirst.

“I'm sorry," you sob, and you really are. It's the second raid you’ve been on this week. You thought you recognized the forest behind the house, making it your best chance to escape. You don’t have anything or anyone to go home to, but you’re hungry. You’re tired. You don't sleep. Sometimes you wake up with Joel’s arms too tight around you. If you move, they tighten more and you can hardly breathe.

Those things on their own might be tolerable, but the rest of Joel's men are the real problem. That first day, Joel told you he’d make sure nothing happened to you. He made it very clear to you and everyone else that you were his and no one else could touch you. At this point you don’t always mind his touch, but you worry about what could happen to you if something happened to Joel. The guys are disgusting, and not just the ones Joel originally saved you from, as you learned at the stash house.

There are a lot, and they’re brutal with their prey. They’re not just rough, they’re mean, degrading. They know they aren’t supposed to look at you, but they still steal a hungry glance when Joel’s not watching. From what you’ve overheard them doing to their victims, your greatest fear is that Joel will die or get overthrown and you’ll be at their mercy. The day Joel first claimed you, he warned you about those men and how much worse they'd be. At this point, you've seen and heard enough to know it's true.

But even that prospect doesn't sound bad right now compared to what you just went through. You never should have run.

- - - - -

You stumbled through the woods and when you were almost to the other side, you spotted three armed men in uniform - FEDRA. You called, “Help!” You were relieved. They could get you somewhere safe. But when they turned around, it was only a couple of seconds before they aimed their rifles at you. You fell to your knees begging for help.

They laughed and talked to each other like you weren’t there.

“I dunno, she looks infected to me,” the tallest one said.

“Sure are seein’ a lot of infected this week,” another said and elbowed the tall guy in the ribs.

The apparent leader of the pack ordered the men to take your clothes off. They stripped you of everything, even your underwear, and felt you up while they were at it. One of them stuck a finger in you. Then, the leader put a single bullet in a revolver, spun the cylinder, handed it to the tall one, and said “your turn.”

"Already? C'mon, I don't wanna fuck another dead girl."

“At least they can’t scratch you up kickin’ and screamin’,” the leader said.

“Yeah, so what’s the point?” the third one said. “That’s half the fun.”

"Better say a prayer then," the leader said. "Go on," he urged.

The man put the muzzle to your temple and your life flashed before your eyes. He pulled the trigger and the click made you wince. You kept your eyes pinched shut and when you slowly opened them, you could hardly believe you were alive.

Leaves crunched behind you in the woods. "ANIMALS, all of you," Joel boomed, and you turned around to see him with his rifle aimed at the men.

"Get down and cover your ears, baby." Joel didn’t even look at you.

Without so much as blinking, he shot the leader right in the forehead, then kept walking toward them. Shot another one like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. Not even a flinch.

Meanwhile, the tall one, the one with the revolver, charged straight at him but Joel still didn’t flinch. He calmly used the butt of his rifle to strike him square in the face. When the man fell to the ground, Joel straddled him and pummeled his face.

Still straddling the man, Joel asked you what they did to you. You told him about the revolver first. Joel took it from the man, spun the cylinder, then held it out for you, but you didn't take it. You were cowering naked on the ground. “Go ahead,” Joel said. The man pleaded for his life. You hesitated, and Joel said “Now,” firmly. You crawled closer, took the revolver, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The man screamed and winced, but the gun only clicked. Joel took it back, spun it again, and handed it back to you. “Again.” That time, you shot the man in the chest and the recoil sent you back on your ass. It wasn’t a kill shot. The man tried to speak but could only gurgle. Blood spilled out of his mouth. Your face went cold and you were shaking.

Joel made sure the man was disarmed, then came over and started putting your shirt back on you.

"Is that what you want? Shared and slaughtered by those pigs?” He motioned to the three men on the ground. You started crying, still sprawled on the dirt

- - - - -

Joel puts his rifle around his back, squats down, grabs you by both elbows, and violently forces you to your feet.

"Breakin' my goddamn heart, sweet pea." He seethes with disappointment.

"I'm sorry," you repeat through your tears, still begging his eyes to meet yours. Finally, he puts his rifle around his back and looks at you. You must look so pathetic. Crying, knees covered in dirt, still naked from the waist down. The dying man stops gurgling. You whimper yet again, "I'm sorry."

He looks you up and down and seems to soften a little as he responds, "I know, baby.” But notably, he doesn't say it's okay. He doesn't say he forgives you. You collapse into his chest and sob. He pulls you closer and you're startled when his arousal swells into you.

"How'd they touch you?" Joel asks, then clenches his jaw as though bracing himself for impact. At least he knows they didn't fuck you since they were all still dressed, to his great relief.

Joel has your pants in his hands waiting for your answer. You tell him.

He sighs and squats down. He wedges his hand between your thighs and you're wet with arousal from feeling his wood. "Was it like this?" He asks, sliding his fingers against your folds. You don't know what to say. It wasn’t like this because it didn’t feel good. He plunges two fingers into you and asks, "like this?" He digs the heel of his palm into his arousal.

“Kind of”

His face tenses into a snarl as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. What does 'kind of' mean?”

“It hurt.”

“Too many fingers?”

“No, just one, but too rough. And too dry.” Your cheeks burn.

His eyes light up in grim satisfaction. “Ok, baby.” He takes his fingers out and wraps his arms around you again. You start crying again.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the millionth time.

“I know you are, sweet pea." He brushes the tears off your cheeks. “Wanna be sorry here or in the house?” You can only assume what he means. You just hope it won’t be too brutal, given your betrayal.

His breath deepens, and he’s slowly stroking a larger bulge in his skin-tight pants now. You have to think about it for a moment. You’re anxious to get away from the dead FEDRA bodies, but the other raiders and victims are still in the house.

Joel adds, “Or in the van?”

“In the van."

He brushes the dirt off you and helps you step into your pants.

When you get back to the house they’ve been raiding, Joel doesn’t take you straight to the van. There are a few bodies strewn about. The hostages are all in one room. Joel takes you to a bathroom away from them.

He locks the door, hangs his rifle on the towel hook, then turns on the shower. He strips you and gets behind you, both of you facing the mirror. He asks, “They do anything else to you? Touch you anywhere else?” You tell him they touched your breasts. He inhales deeply and clenches his jaw, then cups both your breasts from behind, slowly massaging them. "Like this?" His hardness presses into you.

"Kind of, but it didn’t feel good."

Half his mouth smiles, and in the mirror you notice him scanning your body head to toe. Then he turns you around to face him.

His hands engulf your ass cheeks, pulling you into his pants. The feeling of his arousal against your front makes you weak.

A massive hand drifts to the center of your ass, and his middle finger lightly glides up and down your crack. “They touch you in here?”

“No.”

"Good. They're all gone now, okay baby?”

The water is ice cold as usual and your nipples are painfully hard as Joel lathers them. He washes your whole body, looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb. When he goes between your legs, you sense his intentions and warn him, “Um, you can’t put soap in there.”

He pauses, bemused. “Why’s that , sweet pea?”

“It’s bad for you, you can get an infection.”

He looks at the soap contemplatively and says “okay, baby.”

He rinses you off and tells you to sit on the toilet seat. Then he sits on the ground, his legs to each side of the toilet, knees up. He gets you to spread your legs, come to the edge of the seat, and lean back. The way he’s breathing as he eyes your pussy gives you butterflies.

He puts your knees over his shoulders. He drags two knuckles down your slippery folds, then extends and inserts his fingers and curls them, dragging his thick digits against your walls, trying to scrape off any trace of FEDRA. The smallest skin particle would be too much. It's extreme, but you don’t mind how it feels – physically, at least. It’s also not a bad view. His neck veins bulge, his eyes are dark.

He looks like he has a job to do, and he goes about it quite industriously. His beard scratches your inner thighs and outer lips. He licks a thick stripe from your taint to your clit, then drags his tongue through every crevice of your folds on each side, making you squirm with tension. He swirls his tongue around your clit and sucks your hood. Then he plunges his tongue onto you and your whole body feels hollow and light. His tongue is so thick it's like being fucked. You shudder and he glances up darkly. His lips move diligently with the effort and he sucks like he’s trying to cave your walls in on his tongue. Your thighs quiver and he glances up at you again. When you're right about to come, he pulls away.

"Good as new," he says as he wipes his beard.

You were so close to coming and you can hardly bear the tension.

As though reading your mind, he says, "This ain’t for fun, baby. Not today. Not after what you did."

He braces his hands on your thighs and stands up with a groan, sporting major wood. "Stay here," he says coldly. You squeeze your thighs together. He takes his rifle off the back of the door and puts it on. He leaves for a few minutes and takes all your clothes with him including your underwear.

As soon as he walks out of the bathroom, one hand goes between your legs and the other to your breast, working toward the quickest release possible, biting your lip. The vision of him between your legs is blinding your mind’s eye from thinking about anything else. You come just in time, covering your own mouth with your inner arm. You feel a wave of shame after you come - how depraved to get off in this situation. But the tension was too much to take.

Joel comes back with a duffle bag and a dress. He seems to notice your post-orgasm flush. He puts the dress on you and it's not a minidress but it's shorter than you're comfortable with, especially if you don't get to wear underwear. It’s thin, too. He strokes your inner thighs and gives you an accusatory look.

"You come when I say."

Your face burns and you nod.

"Told you I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you. . . then I did." He looks guilty, almost anguished. "You're gonna learn to do what I say, understand?"

You nod.

"For your own good, sweet pea."

"Yeah," you whisper.

You try to tug the dress down and hesitantly ask, "Can I have, um-"

"No," Joel says and slings the duffle bag over his shoulder. "Got you some but you're not gonna need it for a while."

You swallow thickly and remember you chose the van.

Joel manhandles you into the passenger seat, takes some paracord out of the duffle bag, and ties your wrists in a special knot. Then he ties them behind your head to the headrest.

He strings rope around the headrest and across your chest in each direction forming an X across your chest with your breasts on either side. He ties that to the wrist restraints. The rope digs into your neck uncomfortably.

“Try to get out and it’ll only get tighter. And I’m gonna know about it.”

“I won’t.” You’re earnest.

“Hope not,” he says. “‘Cause I’ve got a lot more of this.” He holds up a bunch of paracord, puts it back in the bag, then looks you up and down and wets his lips. “Looks good on ya, too.” He shoves the duffle bag behind your seat. “Real good.”

He slides his hand between your legs and shoves his middle finger right inside you. His head falls back and his eyelids are heavy. You’re still wet enough that it doesn’t hurt. He thumbs your clit while pushing two, then three fingers in and out of you. Then he stills his fingers inside you. He strokes the bulge in his pants with the heel of his palm. His mouth falls open and he studies your face. Then he flattens his fingers and rubs your whole pussy. It feels so good, so unbearably good. Your spine arches. He takes his time and brings you to the brink again, then cruelly removes his hand.

“Stay here.” He points at the rope. “Remember – try to get out, it’ll only get tighter.”

You nod, clenching your thighs together, barely paying attention.

“It’s for your own good.” The tension feels like torture.

A few minutes later, Joel comes back out to the van, and thank god. Your hands are getting numb and the rope is chafing your neck and cleavage. He opens the door and examines the paracord around your wrists. “Good girl,” he says. He looks you up and down as though deciding what to do with you. He exhales with a puff of his cheeks and rubs the protrusion in his tight pants. At this point, nothing would surprise you, and you wonder if you should have made a move in the bathroom to suck him off.

He swiftly unties the paracord then unbuckles his belt, gazing at you in a dark trance.

He aggressively shoves his strong arm under you, then you make space and he wedges himself between you and the seat. You’re in his lap again.

Initially, he pulls you back into him and your breath hitches when you feel his hard package beneath you. His hips lift and his arousal swells harder. He breathes heavily and his chest inflates against your back. Then he extends his legs to make a downward slope and scoots you forward on his thighs. You hear his zipper come down. When you chose the van, you didn’t know it would be this. You’re humiliated, but your body purrs in anticipation.

You’re startled by the van’s back doors opening.

“Come on,” Joel whispers flatly, nudging you to hover over him. When you rise a few inches, he lifts your dress and guides your naked ass backwards, hovering in his lap. He presses the curve of your spine and you tilt your hips. He guides you until you feel his firm tip at your dripping entrance. "You want this?" You nod almost imperceptibly, then he says, "Go ahead." You sink onto him with a soft gasp. “That's right, take it," he says. He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls you down, breathing, "yes." Then he sighs "Ahh," as his girth parts your insides. He has to use both arms and a thrust to bury himself entirely, then your body’s flush with his. His noises are quiet but visceral, softer than usual, but just as masculine.

You’re pitiful, like a rag doll in your thin dress, no panties, no bra, sitting on his cock. Bending to his will like he’s your puppeteer. And you might as well have an arm shoved all the way up you. He’s inhabiting every bit of space in your guts.

Men are loading things into the back of the van. Joel leans you forward to spread your dress over his lap. Then he pulls you back and lifts his hips, making his cock move deep inside you. The main door to the van slides open and men start piling in. Your seat is always in Joel’s lap, that’s nothing new, so hopefully no one notices you’re impaled on his massive cock.

But that’s going to be difficult considering he’s not sitting still. He rocks his hips, pushing his length up into you at a slow pace. This has the effect of lifting your whole body each time. Someone sitting behind you could surely see your head bobbing slowly, smoothly, but rhythmically. His hands cup your breasts through your dress. Tension is coiling in your core. With his next upward thrust, Joel softly grunts into your hair. Quieter than usual. He isn’t worried about being seen or heard – That’s not his style at all – It’s just that, in the van, it doesn’t take much to put on a show. In a way, if he can subject everyone to it in near-silence, that’s even more dominant.

Joel’s hips continue to lift into you and he slides his hand into the low-cut neckline to grope your naked breast. The driver glances over and does a double-take, then swallows sheepishly and quickly averts his gaze, but reaches for the bandana on the dashboard and hands it to Joel. They’re going to the stash house so Joel pauses to tie it over your eyes.

Joel grunts softly into your hair as his cock is hugged tight by your warmth. None of the men talk to him. They chatter at low volume amongst themselves, and he doesn’t have the best hearing. You hear his name in a whisper from the back of the van and get self conscious that they’re watching. But of course they are. If Joel hears them, he doesn’t seem to mind. With each tilt of his hips, his thick cock moves a short but impactful distance, nudging your g-spot. You’re already so full, but it fills you more each time. The tension tightens, radiating to your whole body. Begging for release. The motion is smooth and fluid beneath you. It’s like you’re riding an ocean wave. Your breathing gets heavier.

You squeeze your thighs together, tightening around his cock. Joel grunts into your neck, then whispers “I don’t think so, sweet pea” and stops moving. He’s really punishing you. For almost the rest of the ride, he holds you completely still on his cock. Your heart races and your face is hot. He’s leaning back against the seat and has you leaning back against him. You ride in silence, listening to the noise of the road under the tires, pitch black under the blindfold. Joel’s as thick and hard as ever and the swell of his shaft twitches. Every bump in the road provides welcome friction between his warm rod and your desperate walls.

You know you're getting close to the stash house when you reach the gravel road, at which point you’re continuously bounced on his cock. You can feel your arousal leaking out of you and onto him. Your combined musk fills the van and the driver cracks his window as the terrain effectively makes you ride Joel's cock despite his best efforts to deprive you. He holds you tight, trying to keep you completely still against him. You aren’t sure if you’ll be able to stop yourself from coming.

“You were bad today,” he whispers lowly into your neck, and you feel a wave of shame. “In the worst way," he adds coldly.

You turn your cheek as though trying to meet his eyes through the blindfold, but his hand strongly grips your jaw and forces your face straight ahead again.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you bounce there, filled to the brim with his girth.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on?”

“Yes.”

“Come when I do, then,” his low voice murmurs into your ear, sending a rush through your body. He better come really soon.

He inhales deeply through his nose and puts his arm flat on your back with his strong forearm resting along your spine and his hand firmly gripping the nape of your neck. He forces you down, and you fold forward with your head near your knees. Then he covers your mouth tight with his other hand. His arm presses down on your back as his hips lift up into you. He grunts as he erupts inside you. His thick cock powerfully pulses and sends you clenching and fluttering around him, softly moaning into his hand as you find your own waves of release. It feels like it lasts forever.

“Maniac,” someone says under their breath as Joel lets you sit back up.

"You did good," he whispers flatly into your hair. To your shame, your heart can't help but swell at his approval, even though the coldness in his tone stings. He's obviously preoccupied by what you did.

You can't discern most of the hushed murmurs until another voice ominously whispers from the back of the van, “He can’t watch her 24/7 forever.” Joel must not hear it or else you imagine the man wouldn’t be breathing for long.

The van parks at the stash house and Joel takes off your blindfold. He helps lift you off his lap and his length slides out, bringing with it a dripping mess of both of you. Your insides slowly pull themselves back together as your combined juices trickle down your thigh. You step down out of the van while he zips up his pants and you dab yourself as best you can with the dress, face burning along with your neck, shoulders, and hands. With Joel facing away from the men, you can feel them staring at you, but as soon as he steps out of the van, they look away and go about unloading.

Joel retrieves the duffle bag from behind the seat, but he doesn't bring it into the stash house with you. He takes out a blanket and wraps it around you, making you decent. You shouldn't feel like it's sweet, but there's a passing moment before you remind yourself the gesture is for him, not you. He doesn't want anyone else to see you. He said as much the first time you were there. Joel takes out some rope from the bag, and before he brings you into the house, he makes sure his switchblade is in his pocket. Then he firmly grabs you by the elbow and takes you inside.

"You're gonna have to be brave for me in a minute, baby."

we'll pick up from here next time & a couple more asks will become relevant.

Thank you so much for reading and interacting! We've been simping for this sicko for a month now and i really enjoy our banter and dialogue about him and the other toxic joels.

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @ele-meno-p @internetobssessed1234-blog LMK if I left you off

RJ: @str84pedro

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dark!joel miller #dark!joel #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#possessive!joel #joel miller fanfiction #raider!joel #raider!joel miller #OG!raider☠️

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call-me-maggie13 · 1 year

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My late 40s to early 50s boss just asked what’s wrong with 18-25 year olds these days

And as a 21 year old all I could think was

The world has been on fire since we were born and we’ve been told the adults are putting it out and now we’re old enough to realize they’ve been pouring kerosene on the flames instead of water.

Before my first birthday, 9/11 happened and the world wouldn’t let us forget it. When I was 6 years old, on September 11th, my teacher sat us down in front of a tv and showed us footage of 9/11 and then told us we weren’t allowed to cry. She said that it was real and those were real people jumping from the building because jumping was a faster death than burning.

When I was 7 years old, the economy collapsed and my family went from lower middle class to poverty, we went from healthy home cooked meals every night to mac and cheese and beans for weeks in a row. We started skipping holidays because mom and dad couldn’t keep the lights on and buy us new toys. We started wearing clothes and shoes until they fell apart.

When I was 11 years old, Sandy Hook was attacked by a grown man with a gun and 26 children and teachers were brutally murdered. My teachers never looked at us the same and I haven’t felt safe in a school since. After that, once a month we would have active shooter drills and we were taught to fight and cause as much damage as possible if an armed man entered our classroom because it gave other classes a few extra seconds to escape, it gave our siblings a few extra breaths of safety. We were taught to cover ourselves in other students blood and play dead if we weren’t hit, we were taught that we weren’t safe and we wouldn’t be safe as long as we were in school.

When I was 15 years old, my high school art teacher locked us in the classroom and told us if we heard gunshots we should line the desks up lengthwise so that they reached the other wall because that would be harder to break through than a barricade. She told us that she knew about the threats and she wouldn’t judge any of us that wanted to leave. She told us to get our siblings and stay in the buildings as long as possible, to duck in between the cars so we couldn’t be seen until we got to ours. She told us about the trail behind the auto shop that was lined with trees and led off campus. I got my brother and his friends and we left, we spent the day sitting on the floor in my living room waiting for a phone call that the people we left behind were dying.

Two weeks later, one of my friends dragged me out of a football game and forced me to go home with him. He grabbed my brothers and my best friend and forced the six of us into a two seater car before he would tell us anything. His mom worked for the school board and had told him the police found an active bomb under the bleachers in the student section, and they weren’t informing anyone because they didn’t want to incite panic.

When I was 16 years old, ISIS set off a bomb at a pop concert in Britain and killed 22 people, injuring at least 100 more. The next day at school, our teachers went over how to stay safe if we ever experienced something like that. They told us the most important thing to remember was to not remove any shrapnel because it could be keeping us from bleeding out, they said it was more important to get yourself out safely before you worried about anyone else.

When I was 18 years old, my teachers stopped teaching and put the news up on the projector and we watched as the Notre-Dame burned. The boy I had sat next to since second grade spent the entire day trying to call his sister who was studying abroad in Paris, I watched this kid I had never even seen frown fall apart in English because she wouldn’t pick up the phone. We didn’t know it at the time, but she was okay.

Six months later, my history teacher put the news on the projector again for another fire. This time, we watched as an entire continent burned for three months. We watched their sky turned orange from the smoke and their wildlife drowned in pools because they were trying to escape the heat.

When I was 19 years old, the whole world shut down because of a global pandemic. I didn’t meet a single new person for eight months, despite the fact that I had just moved across the country. I watched as people didn’t wear masks and spread it to everyone around them, I was so scared when I went back to my room every night because my roommate was immunocompromised and I was terrified I would give her Covid and kill her.

Just two months later, I watched a video of a black man being murdered by police officers. I watched the world around me explode after George Floyd’s death, people destroying businesses and police stations. I watched some of my friends realize police officers didn’t exist to keep them safe, they existed to keep the people in power in power. I learned that some of the people I had grown up with would rather watch a black man die than admit that maybe, maybe, the system was broken.

When I was 20 years old, I went to the mall with a friend to buy a birthday present and I was pulled to the ground by a twelve-year-old girl after gunshots went off in the mall. I held this child’s hands as she cried for two hours until we were evacuated by police, and then I waited with her outside and helped her look for her mom. I gave her my phone to call her mom and I watched as she called the number over and over and never got a reply. I waited with her until a police officer took her to the station to try to find out more information about the girl’s mom, I hugged this girl I had never seen before and I wished her the best. I never found out what happened to her or her mom, it keeps me up at night sometimes worrying that this little girl was orphaned.

When I was 21 years old, I started working at a daycare and exactly a week later, Uvalde happened and I found myself crying because my students are the same age those kids were. When they came in after school the next day, one of them had asked me if I had heard about Uvalde and I told her I had, I asked her if she was scared of going to school because of it. Her reply broke my heart. “We practice for it every week so that when it happens to us, we know what to do. I’m just worried that the shooter is going to start in my baby sister’s classroom and not mine.” I listened as other students with younger siblings agreed with her, one of them saying “I would take fifty bullets, if I had to to keep my little brother safe.”

Early this year, I watched Russia launched bombs into Ukraine, blowing up churches and schools and hospitals and apartment buildings. I watched as the estimated death count rose from the hundreds to the thousands to the tens of thousands. I watched men send their wives and children to bordering countries for refuge while they stayed behind to fight, knowing they would probably never see each other again.

Just four months ago, I watched as my right to medical privacy got taken away. I watched my old roommate fall apart because she was denied the right to have her dead fetus removed from her body for almost two days, I worried every time I looked away from her that the next time I saw her would be in a casket. I watched as the women around me realized the military-grade weapons that had torn children in classrooms apart were protected by the government but our bodies weren’t.

There is nothing “wrong” with my generation, we’ve experienced all these things as children and were expected to respond with patriotism for a country that continuously sacrificed their children for the “right” to military-grade weapons, that took away my freedom of choice. We are tired, we were told the world was a wonderful place then shown, at every step, how the world was a place of destruction and pain. And we are angry. We are angry because no one but us seems to be trying to fix anything. And we are scared. We are scared because our children, our nieces and nephews, our cousins and our friends children are growing up in a world that won’t protect them.

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oizysian · 5 months

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Now That I’m With You | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Serial Killer!Wanda Maximoff x Innocent Fem!Reader Warnings: murder, mind control Word Count: 3.5k Genre: smutty, but not too smutty Summary: Y/N moves to Westview and makes some new friends that her neighbor, Wanda, isn’t too happy about.

• Kinktober Masterlist •

I keep having the same dream about the woman a few houses down from me; she’s calling me, beckoning me with a power I can’t explain. I’m drawn to her and I can’t resist her when she calls to me - calls my name so sweetly, so lovingly. Why did I keep having this dream about a woman I barely knew?

Wanda Maximoff was a sweet lady - one of the first people on the block to introduce themselves when I moved into town. She brought over a homemade chocolate cake and introduced herself the same afternoon I moved in.

She had a beautiful smile and the most gorgeous emerald eyes I had ever seen in my life. I couldn’t help but stare when I first saw her, completely enamored by her. She welcomed me to the neighborhood and I knew instantly that as long as she stayed here, I would never leave.

On that same day another woman came to my house to welcome me, bringing over a homemade pie, which I liked a lot less than the cake Wanda had made. Her name was Dolly and she was about my age, maybe a bit older, with a husband and a son. She was very hands on and clearly didn’t believe in personal space, but she was nice.

Dolly came over to my place a few times, friendly visits, just to see how I was settling in and to get to know me. I understood that as I was new to the neighborhood and everyone else already knew each other, so they didn’t want anyone to stay a stranger.

That was two months ago. Dolly was found dead a few days ago, brutally murdered in her living room. They have no idea who would do such a thing to a lady like her. The whole block is on edge now, everyone making sure their doors are locked and their blinds are pulled down.

Except Wanda.

She came over and offered to make me dinner, despite the police all over the place, questioning everyone.

“You have nothing to worry about, you didn’t do it.” She said confidently. “What would you like? Meatloaf? How about a nice pot roast?”

I couldn’t imagine eating at that moment but when I looked at her something switched up in my mind, and suddenly my stomach was growling.

“Pot roast sounds really nice, Miss Maximoff.”

“Please! It’s Wanda! Come on over at around five, okay?”

She smiled and walked away as if there wasn’t yellow tape all over the street and covering the house across the way.

I watched her as she left, the sway of her hips hypnotizing and I couldn’t help but stare at her departing form. Her reddish brown locks bounced as she walked, her steps were delicate and precise. She was perfect.

The honking of a passing car pulled me from my stupor and I turned my attention to the man across the street, Dolly’s husband, speaking to police again.

“A murder in Westview? It’s unheard of!”

A pair of women gossiping were overheard saying as they scurried down the street to their respective houses. They would lock their doors and sleep with one eye open tonight.

But I wouldn’t. I wasn’t afraid. Something inside me told me I was safe, that I would always be safe in Westview, and that I had nothing to worry about anymore.

I realized I’d been standing in my doorway for far too long and decided it was time to go inside and stop looking like a nosey neighbor. It was bad enough that there was a rumor going around that Dolly wasn’t her real name and that she was murdered because she was a secret agent of some kind. How ridiculous people could be when something happens in a small town.

Thoughts of Wanda flooded my mind as I closed my front door behind me. Why did I think of this woman so often? I sighed and rested my forehead against the door. I had to get myself together. Not everything in my life revolved around Wanda.

I tried to push the thoughts of her out of my head, but the harder I tried to think of something or someone else, the stronger the images of her flooded in.

A knock on the door brought me out of my thoughts. It was still early in the afternoon so it could’ve been anyone, but most people were just hiding in their houses instead of being social.

I took a deep breath and opened the door to see another one of my neighbors standing there, a smile on her face.

“Hi, Y/N,” Erica greeted me. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, me? I’m-I’m fine. I’m great!” I smiled at her and she looked at me expectantly.

“Can I … come in?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure!” I moved aside for her to enter and she smiled, walking into my house.

“I wanted to come over and invite you over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh,” I turned from the door to face her. “I’m sorry, Erica. I’m going to Miss Maximoff’s house tonight.”

“Miss Maximoff? Oh, you mean Wanda?” She laughed, placing her hand on my bicep. “You’re so polite, it’s cute!”

I smiled nervously back at her, unsure of what to do.

“Well, what about tomorrow night?”

“Um, I’m not sure, I -”

“I can make you a better dinner than Wanda could. Come on. Give me a chance.”

I looked at her smiling face and tried to smile back, the thoughts of Wanda swimming in my head again as I stared at her. I pushed the thought of her out of my mind and nodded at Erica.

“Okay. Dinner tomorrow.”

“Great! Tomorrow, say six-ish?”

I nodded and opened the door for her. She smiled brightly, she kissed me on the cheek before leaving. I watched her leave, shocked that she had kissed me, even if it was just a kiss on the cheek.

She walked down the street, a purposeful sway in her hips, and I stared at her, my mind swimming once again with the image of Wanda walking away from me earlier. Erica definitely didn’t have the same sex appeal that Wanda had, and she certainly didn’t have the same sensual sway. Damn it, why couldn’t I stop thinking about Wanda?

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I closed the door and sighed. I didn’t have to be at Wanda’s for a few hours, so I had time to shower and get ready. I wanted to look my best for her, so naturally I’d wear something nice and wear my best perfume.

I headed into my bedroom to pick out my nicest outfit from my closet and get prepared for my shower. I stood and stared at my clothing before a little voice in my head told me she’d definitely like my little black skirt and a cute pink tank top. Whose voice was that? It wasn’t mine …

Deciding that arguing with the voices in my head was a little unhinged, I grabbed my clothing and headed into the bathroom, getting my towels and washcloths in preparation for my shower. A nice, hot shower would do wonders for my nerves.

I undressed and adjusted the water, stepping under the hot spray and getting myself wet. Why was I worried about what Wanda thought of my outfit? It was just dinner. Not a date. She was married to that Vision guy anyway. What kind of name was Vision anyway?

After scrubbing myself clean, I got out and dried off, realizing quickly that I had been in the shower for much longer than I had intended, and now I had to get dressed and go. How did time move so quickly.

I rushed to dress, sniffing all of my different perfumes and colognes before finally choosing one that was a little on the sweet side. She’ll love it.

I made my way through the rooms of my house, grabbing all of the things I would need for the evening; my keys, my shoes - got it all.

I put my shoes on and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I left the house, locking the door behind me and making my way down the block.

It was a cool evening and it made for a pleasant walk. Wanda lived only a few houses down from me, so I didn’t have far to walk late at night. I rarely wore skirts, so I was slightly uncomfortable as I made my way up her walkway. What made me wear such a skimpy outfit anyway?

Before I could process the regret, I made it to her front door, ringing the bell as I flattened down my skirt. Why did I wear this?!

The door swung open not seconds after I rang the bell, revealing Wanda looking absolutely gorgeous behind it.

Her hair was curled, falling down along her shoulders and she was wearing a red dress, which matched her red lipstick.

I licked my lips nervously and smiled, trying my hardest to look into her beautiful eyes instead of her inviting chest.

“You’re right on time, darling.” She said, her voice silky smooth.

She moved to the side and allowed me to enter. I looked around at her decor, noting the family picture of her, Vision, and her two boys. Where were they?

“Vision and our sons, Billy and Tommy, are out seeing a movie. It’s boys' night.” She sighed, but I saw little to no disappointment in her eyes.

How did she know what I was thinking?

“You look lovely.” She purred as she closed the door behind us, grabbing me gently by the arm and guiding me into the dining room. “And you smell divine.”

Okay, weird, but -

“Thank you,” I couldn’t help but blush ever so slightly. “You look great too. Gorgeous, even.”

“You’re such a charmer, Y/N.” She smiled, leading me to a chair and allowing me to sit. “I’ll be right back with dinner. You just relax.”

I would not be relaxing. I took a deep breath as she left the room, inhaling her vanilla perfume and letting it get to my head, almost making me dizzy. She really smelled nice.

“Here we are,” she returned before I could even process that she was gone. “My world famous pot roast. I know you’ll love it.”

“I’m sure I will.” I smiled brightly, watching as she walked back into the kitchen to retrieve whatever she left behind.

It smelled absolutely delicious. My mouth was watering as I shifted in my seat, suddenly very restless.

The table was set beautifully, complete with candles and matching silverware and china. It was breathtaking and I was shocked she did all of this for me.

She returned with mashed potatoes and spinach, placing it down in front of me and brushing her hand along my arm. I looked up at her, noting that she was definitely staring at my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn this shirt.

“I love your top.” She said as she sat down. “It’s a lovely shade of pink.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, bringing my attention to the table. “This is very beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble, sweetheart!” She began serving us, giving me a hearty helping of everything and I couldn’t help but almost start drooling at the sight.

“This looks amazing.” I said as I dug in as delicately as I could under the circumstances, as I was starving and it all smelled divine.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

We had a pleasant conversation over dinner. She offered me some wine, which I normally didn’t drink, but gratefully accepted, having one or two glasses before I felt my cheeks flush and I knew it was time to stop.

“Can I help you with the dishes? It’s the least I can do.”

I stood from the table and grabbed my dirty dish, and she shook her head, standing as well.

“You don’t have to.”

“Please, I’ll feel bad if you have to do them after cooking such a delicious meal.”

Her gaze softened and she picked up a few dishes off the table, leading me to the kitchen. I placed the dishes in the sink and started to wash, humming softly to myself as she continued to bring in what we left behind.

“You’re so cute.” She said as she slid up behind me, putting her wine glass in the sink.

I could feel her press herself up against me, her hands at my hips, sliding up and down my thighs. I felt her breasts against my back, my heart pounding fast as her hot breath hit the back of my neck.

“Absolutely adorable.”

She gripped at my hips and I gasped softly, nearly dropping the glass I was washing as she thrust herself up against me. I imagined that, right? She didn’t just -

Her pelvis hit my ass again and I let out a small whimper, grabbing onto the edge of the sink as she continued to hump my ass.

“W-Wanda …” I whispered and she shushed me, gasping softly into my ear as she pressed herself against me again.

“I want to thank you,” she breathed softly. “For being such a good girl.”

My head was foggy with the smell and feel of her. I couldn’t think about anything but her body pressed against my own. Suddenly, the thought of Vision and the boys entered my head and I shook myself out of my lust filled daze.

“I-I should really go.” I said as I turned off the water, her hips still thrusting into mine.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” She kissed my earlobe and I shivered. “I’m not done thanking you.”

I could feel her hands slipping up my skirt, her fingers pressing against my slit as she groped me through my panties.

“It’s late,” I tried to reason with her. “And I’m seeing Erica tomorrow so I really should go.”

“Erica?” She hissed into my ear, her hand cupping my covered sex. “Wouldn’t you rather be with me?”

“Y-yes,” I whimpered. “But, I made a promise.”

“Break it.” She pressed her lips to my neck and I used all my willpower to slide out from under her.

“This was lovely, Wanda, really.” I was aching painfully. “But I really need to go.”

She pouted, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving - she looked so fuckable.

Before I lost control over myself again, I rushed to her front door, nearly running out as I made my way down the block. What the hell just happened?

•

I laid in bed, thinking about what happened at Wanda’s. She was married, with kids! Why would she do that? Did I imagine it? No, her hands were …

I bit my lip and slid my hand down inside my panties, my eager fingers circling my throbbing clit. The feel, the smell of Wanda still lingered, and I couldn’t help but touch myself at the thought of her.

I closed my eyes and it felt as if a mist washed over me, and all I could see inside my mind was Wanda doing the same, her hips rising slightly off the bed as she pleasured herself at the remembrance of touching me so intimately.

“W-Wanda …” I whimpered softly into the darkness, my hips bucking as I brought myself to the quickest orgasm of my life.

In my mind, she came saying my name, sweat built up on her furrowed brow, her hips still moving as she worked herself up once again.

I couldn’t bring myself to open my eyes and stop watching her. Something compelled me to stay inside my mind which was completely filled with Wanda - her smell, her feel … her taste?

My imagination was clearly running wild as I could almost taste her, sweet and musky on my tongue. I moaned softly, my fingers slipping into my wetness as I thought of Wanda sitting on my face, letting me pleasure her the way only I was meant to.

In my mind, she came multiple times already, begging me to both stop and for more. I was addicted to her. I needed more, more, more.

I opened my eyes as I came and everything was dark red. It took a moment for my vision to focus before the darkness of the room came back into sight. I panted softly, slipping my hand out of my panties and standing shakily from the bed so I could go to the bathroom. I really needed to get a hold of myself. This couldn’t be healthy.

•

It was nearly dinner time as I made my way over to Erica’s. She lived farther away than Wanda, but her house was still within walking distance. I was feeling uneasy about going there. I really had wanted to be with Wanda again, but I knew I wouldn’t be strong enough to resist her if she made a move on me again. I wasn’t sure how I resisted her the first time. Something was constantly pulling me towards her, physically and mentally.

I knocked on Erica’s door, waiting patiently to be let in. No answer. That was weird considering she was expecting me. I rang the doorbell, thinking maybe she didn’t hear me knock.

A few moments passed and I decided to see if the door was unlocked. Maybe she was in trouble. I turned the knob and the door opened. I stepped in cautiously, looking around as I entered.

“Erica?” I called out, walking further into the house.

I made it to the kitchen where I found her, on the floor in a pool of her own blood. I was stunned. I had no idea what I should do. I looked around, finding a knife nearby on the ground and blood smeared everywhere.

I rushed over to the phone and dialed 911. After telling them everything and them ordering me to stay where I was and not touch anything, I quickly realized I was now a suspect.

I hung up the phone and stared at her body. There was so much blood and she was completely mauled. Her eyes were still open and she was lying face up.

The pot on the stove was bubbling over and the table was set. Before any other observations could be made, I heard the sirens, and soon I was completely surrounded by police.

They questioned me for hours, grilling me about why I had gone to Erica’s house in the first place and where I was when she was killed. I had no answers for them, unable to help and insisting upon my innocence.

Once they said that I could go, I went straight to Wanda’s, having no one else I could turn to. I rang her bell frantically, almost in hysterics once she opened the door.

“Y/N, honey, what’s the matter?” She asked as she ushered me in, leading me into the living room and onto one of her plush couches.

“E-Erica is dead.” I stammered, looking up into her concerned eyes.

“I know, darling, it’s going to be alright.”

I tried to control my breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply, attempting to calm myself down. It was hitting me all at once and I couldn’t believe I had seen a dead body.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/N, alright? I’m here. You’re with me and I’m here.”

She took me into her arms and I melted in her embrace, my face pressed against her breasts. She smelled like home and suddenly nothing really mattered but her. Erica’s death was irrelevant now that I was in Wanda’s arms.

“That’s my good girl.” She cooed, stroking my hair. “I’m here.”

Before I lost all sense of self in her presence, her previous words struck me funny. She knew Erica was dead? How could she know?

“I know,” she said, answering me before I could even ask her. “Because I killed her.”

I pulled away from her, staring up into her deep, emerald eyes. She killed Erica? But why?

“Because she thought she could have you, when you belong to me.”

She was reading my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to regain control over my mind, when I felt her hands on my cheeks, caressing them gently.

“It was all for you, Y/N. I couldn’t let them come between us.”

“Them?”

“Dolly, Erica, and anyone else who stands in my way.”

“Dolly too?” I was stunned.

There was no way Wanda, the woman that I had been completely obsessed with, could be a murderer.

“Shh,” she cooed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Your mind is racing. Let me take care of you.”

Her eyes turned red and everything felt better. It was good that they were dead. They were trying to take me away from Westview. Away from Wanda.

“They were bad people. You’re safe now.”

I threw myself into her arms, letting her hold me close. But, wait …

“What about Vision?”

“About who?”

I looked at her, confused, then I noticed the photo on the table no longer featured a man, but me. All the photos in the house replaced Vision with me and then suddenly … who?

“I-I don’t know.” What was I even talking about?

“Are you feeling okay, honey? Maybe you need to lay down.”

“No, I-I feel fine now. I’m fine now that I’m with you, Wanda.”

•

@natashaswife4125, @poison-blackheart, @aemilia19, @claxre-bear, @dorabledewdroop

#oizysian’s kinktober #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy wanda #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel

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medium-rare-bimbo · 9 months

Text

Teehee hopper punishing you

♡masterlist♡

MINORS DNI

Contains: spanking, mean! Hopper, daddy kink

༺*:ﾟ･✧･:*:ﾟ･♡ readmore ♡･ﾟ:*:･✧･ﾟ:*༻

"Who do you belong to?"

"S-Steve HarRINGTON-"

His hands tighten their grip on your hips arching them so your head is shoved into the pillows below you.

"You want to repeat that? Who" -thrust- "do" -thrust- "you" -thrust- "belong" -thrust- "to?"

"S-StEve-" you answer is cut off by a harsh slap to your ass, your skin prickles as the impact burns, a deep bruise would settle in its place the next morning reminding you of your idiotic behaviour.

It's not your fault that you're acting out like this, honestly. Hopper never let's you do anything >:(( you're his dirty little secret and you hate it (although you cant deny the thrill you get when sneaking around with him), the constant flirting with women yet you're barely allowed to talk to a boy :(( why can he flirt yet you cant?? Its not fair !!! You've hinted at becoming his and only his but he always reminds you that you already belong to him, that's not what you mean and he knows it. You want the entire world to know who you belong to !! Officer jim hopper !! You want to be able to hold his hand and kiss him in public :(( if he wasnt going to let you have you're fun you might aswell find it somewhere else, Why behave like a good girl when pretty boy Steve Harrington can give you all the public attention you could ever want??

Your plan had horribly backfired, you had not expected hopper to find you mid act in the back of Steve's car. Shame, embarrassment and regret washed over you as hopper made some half assed excuse to usher you into the police car instead of letting the boy (who had just had his cock inside you) drive you home.

The drive was quiet and you hadn't said a word to eachother since the car started, when you were pulled into his house you didnt try to stop him nor did you try to defuse the situation you've gotten yourself into.

Which is how you got here;

Hoppers thrusts got more brutal as you refused to answer him correctly, each thrust pushing you up the bed almost hitting your head on the headboard (which hoppers hand was holding as to not cause too much noise occasionally leaving to play with your body) you've never felt so full before and although steve has big nobody was as big as hopper, with fury fueling his movements he was able to hit spots you didnt know existed.

You could feel your orgasm build up as the abuse on your cunt refused to cease, your insides would be rubbed raw from the way he was playing with you however Hopper pulled out before your peak hit, removing any sort of stimulation from your aching pussy. You mewled in despair almost sobbing as you were stolen from that sweet release of pleasure

"Nonononononono please- I- i need to cum please let me cum I'm sorry- please! I didnt mean to- I- i just did it for attention he meant nothing i promise- daddy please I'll be good just let me cum-"

SMACK

"Oh so You'll be good now? AFTER you've been bad?-"

SMACK

"If you didnt prance around like a stupid slut you would get to cum wouldnt you?"

You nodded your head, tears leaking from your eyes and onto the pillow your face was previously shoved into. Whines left your swollen lips yet hopper payed no attention, preferring to watch your hole clench and unclench with desperation to be filled. His thumb came to rest on your opening pulling at the flesh to watch the slick spread.

"PleASE daddy please I'm so sorry- I should have never done it! jus' wanted you to pay attention to me! dont like hiding us- d- didn' think you'd care about it-"

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

you squealed into the pillow as his heavy hands rained down on your sensitive behind. Your face was hot and lips were sore from how your teeth caught on them when you cried, cheeks puffy and soaked with tears.

"Didnt think I cared about it?" He shoved himself back inside of you the burn of the sudden breach made you squirm but were quickly held still by the big man above you, a hand holding both of your hands against your back forcing it to arch, the other holding your head in the pillow as to muffle the sounds escaping you.

"Does this look like I dont care?" -A thrust matching each syllable he spoke- "do you think I'm okay with my girl whoring herself out to whatever man gives her attention?"

"Nu uh- i- I'm so sorry daddy jus' thought-"

A particularly hard thrust knocked the breath out of you cutting of your rambled apology.

"Thought what? That you could get away with being a slut?"

"NO no no no I didn't think tha'- th-thought that I wasn' your girl- thought you didn' wan' me to be"

Hoppers thrusts softened yet still had their strength as he took in your words he has told you countless of times that you belonged to him and him only. perhaps the hickeys, hip bruises, marks on your ass and limping wasnt enough for you? Or maybe you wanted eveyone to see it, the entirety of Hawkins watching the mean old man swoon for his pretty little girlfriend. He had always thought you knew that, always thought you were the one that didnt want to show affection in public.

You're sobs of gratification do not fall on deaf ears as you mutter out praises and thank yous, most of what you say is unintelligible too caught up in the pleasure he was finally giving you. Hoppers hand reached below you his middle and ring finger finding home on your clit, pinching and circling the poor nub as best he could giving the unpaused movements of his hips.

Moans and squeals fell out of you as you felt your orgasm build up again, a part of your brain wanted to scream with agony fearing the rejection and denial of release but that thought was swept over as hopper held your body closer to his. His chest touching your back with his head in the crook of your neck whispering praises that you couldnt hear, drowned out by the collision of your lower halves.

"Ah shit fuck- oh god baby cum for me come on- good girl- such a good girl for me being so well behaved- cum as much as you like there you go baby-"

"I love you daddy s'much- I love you- I love you- i love you pleeeaase-" before you had the chance to continue your love filled rambles your orgasm washed over with such force you collapsed on the bed, too focused on the feeling to continue to stay up, instead letting hopper hold you up by your hips.

"thaaat's it- well done c'mon get it all out for me-" he growled out almost reaching his end as your now damaged and sensitive pussy clenched around him. "Gonna cum in my girl- make sure it stains yo- shit- your insides make it- make it drip out of you-"

With a final harsh thrust hopper came inside you his hips stuttering as he pumped you full of his thick seed making sure to finally claim you, panting above you to catch his breathe when the pleasure died down. His vision cleared to see you in a spaced out haze, barely awake and too fucked out to care. Carefully he pulled out of you rubbing soothing circles on your hips as he began to free himself of your tightness, you whimpered in protest desperate to keep him inside you aswell as the warmth he gave you. You felt every vein and ridge of his cock leave your pussy giving you a cum filled hole in place. some of it leaked out of you and down your thighs yet hopper was quick to stuff it back with his fingers.

"Who do you belong to?"

"J-Jim hopper"

The next day he took you on a date and for the first time held you hand for eveyone to see <3<3

#stranger things x reader #jim hopper smut #jim hopper x reader #hopper smut #hopper x reader

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