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#superior nonetheless

and-you-found-me · 2 years

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Why is enemies to lovers always more ✨️spicy✨️ when it's wlw

#yk im right stfu #also im running on no sleep pls forgive me #superior nonetheless #mousie.txt

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victoriously-wicked · 7 months

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NOVEMBER 14TH 2023

ONCE UPON A TIME APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 3

FAVOURITE FAN THEORY ARTWORK- THE BLACK FAIRY IS A FRAGMENTED PIECE OF THE BLUE FAIRY

THE THEORY: Fiona is a result of Blue trying to rid herself of her inner darkness.

Blue’s attempt at ditching her evilness goes awry; she does succeed in removing the bad from inside of her, but it doesn’t mean that the darkness is necessarily destroyed. That’s when Fiona is brought into existence, becoming the physical embodiment of Blue’s dark side. (obviously this theory isn’t true, but after hearing about it, I thought it could’ve made for a pretty interesting storyline, had the writers decided to go in this sort of direction with the plot. Also, Blue is shady as hell, you can't convince me she hasn't done some dark stuff)

#onceuponatimeedit #once upon a time #ouat #ouat fanart #blue fairy #black fairy #fiona ouat #mother superior ouat #ouat fan theory #userstorybrooke #mr gold #question- does anybody else feel like the Black Fairy’s death was really anticlimactic?#Because I do #I mean it just seems so sudden #But anyways Blue definitely is shady asf #Like if you think about it she’s responsible for so many of the villains becoming villains #And I know in some cases it was indirectly her fault but it was still her fault nonetheless #there is definitely some darkness in her past that we don’t know about #she’s definitely done some things

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synth-spinner · 1 year

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oh one thing i wanted to ask you, if the superior thing happened in ps4 world, how would you go about it? Because Otto is made to be more . endearing (? i’m not really sure since i only cared about Miles) in this game esp because of his close relationship shown with Peter, do you think he would immediately try to do good or would he still have that “haha i can do what i want now” followed by an internal battle to better himself even though he did have to kill Peter for the body?? or would you completely go a different route and make it so neither Otto or Peter die in this seeing as they’re much closer here?? and would the company Otto made as “Peter” even exist in your version?? i know you really love the ps4/5 versions of these two so i was just curious ^_^

OOOOOO that's a pretty interesting idea :0 I've actually never thought abt that since I loove the 1048 canon story and usually need ps4 peter to do my silly found family ideas with my own superior (who travels to 1048 to visit with those dimension hoppers in the spiderverse comic)

My take on a superior arc within earth 1048 is that it probably wouldn't take as long for otto to stop being evil !! I always saw ps4 otto as being malicious only cuz of the errors in the neural interface + his desperation :3 if it was removed I think he could eventually come back to his senses and somewhat return to being a sweetheart like he originally was ^_^ so if he swapped bodies with peter then since he no longer has the neural interface affecting his mind and he isn't desperate to escape his failing body anymore he would calm down pretty quickly from his evilguy mode and be like oh god what have I done 💥

Plus doc wasn't like actively dying in ps4! So if he did swap bodies with peter it would not be a very good plan since there's no guarantee peter won't be able to fight back </3 so unless we change that aspect of the story he probably wouldn't have attempted to do that in the first place </33

BUTTT IF HE DID ^_^ and if peter does die and otto relives all his memories then it would just be a huge horror for that man.. he would like instantly snap out of that evilguy mindset and be mortified by what he did </3 its gonna be so much worse for ps4 otto cuz he's cared for peter for so long and saw him a son vs the default otto who. Let's be honest he likely didn't care much beforehand </3 I mean even when ps4 otto was going evilmode he still left a message to Peter saying he hopes they don't find each other on opposite sides </3 BWAHHH

So! My thoughts r that it is kindaa hard to see it happen BUT if it did it would be SUPER sad </3 so much angst potential </3 for relationships i dunno honestly! I think ps4 otto would rather stay alone and cut off from the world after he realises what he's done vs huge ego comic ock who immediately tried to make ties for his own gain </333 MAAAN now uve got me slamming my fist crying thinking abt it.. ps4 peter and ock my beloved they dont deserve this💥💥💥💥

#THANK U FOR THE ASK IT WAS PRETTY FUN TO DO!#god it would be SO SO SAD. IT WOULD EXPLODE ME AND MY ATOMS INTO 8 GAZILLION PIECES #unfortunately it wouldnt have much goin awn </3 im sure otto would try to be a hero in peters honour but other than that he would just #stay to himself i bet !#GWAAHH ITS SO SAD #but now u got me thinkin !!! cuz rigjt i was like yeah i can see why that could be a thought!! cuz ps4 otto had the muscle deterioration :(#but THEN when i realised it wasnt actively killing him i thought of ULTIMATE OCK #(the tv show so sorry) WHO NEEDS A VENTILATOR TO BREATHE ?? AND IS PARALYSED #AND ALSO WAY EVILLER AND ONE OF MY FAV OCKS #I WILL BE THINKING OF HIM 2NIGHT!!!#tbh its a bit strange to make superior arcs out of diff ocks cuz it really depends on their stories ! it could just be bad </3 #BUT ITS FUN TO THINK ABT NONETHELESS!! THANK UUU MUTUALBESTIE SCOR #superior spidey

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doecrossing · 2 years

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ik this has been said before but all the anti-intellectualism stuff that's cropped up recently just reeks of insecurity... like the ppl making these posts bitching abt "film bros" and "literary snobs" are very much intimidated by ppl that they percieve to have more "refined" tastes. and you know i don't think that there's anything necessarily wrong with liking books or movies that are maybe a bit cheesey and unrefined or even just straight up bad bc i do think that people deserve to have their indulgences and that's fine. that's one thing. but it's another thing entirely to act like that indulgence makes you somehow superior to those who approach media on a more critical + intellectual level, or to somehow assume that those with refined tastes consume the media they do out of some heightened sense of superiority and not simply because they just like it. idk I feel like some of you would have a lot more fun if you could just admit that some of the things you like are bad and just... own it and stop pretending that caring abt the quality and love and skill that goes into making a story makes is what makes someone a snob.

#idk if this makes sense im just having thoughts.#im just like. over the past year or so ive been reallt getting into cinema and film history and film production.#and i like a lot of the kinds of movies these ppl complain about constantly.#but i also admittedly like things that are. bad. sometimes. i know that theyre bad but they click with my brain nonetheless.#like i dont really think that having bad taste matters all that much as long as youre self aware and humble about it yeah?#theres a difference to me in liking something bad and denying its flaws AND having a superiority complex abt it #vs having enough of a critical eye to understand why something is bad and liking it anyway.#txt

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todayisafridaynight · 1 year

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ok but now sawashiro yelling BOOOOOOOONE?????!!!!!!! is stuck in my head look what you've done imma try to draw that

obsessed with how this makes it sound as though ichi's out of touch and not maybe like 23 years old around when i'm thinking His Snooping is at its peak ☠️☠️

#snap chats #BUT YEAH NO THATS IT. THATS THE ONE #its so clear in my head please id cry #see i dont even think ichi would be THAT blunt about it in regards to His Superior Officer and His Boss #just very Wink Wink Nudge Nudge but same results nonetheless

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astridthevalkyrie · 2 months

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i LOVR LEGI X READER THEYRE SI CUTE LET ME LIFE

this is such a funny ask to get at 2:50 AM when I haven’t written a levi fic in so long thank you <333

#not sure if this is about superior or something else but I appreciate it nonetheless

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chimney-begins · 1 year

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Ellie is literally a lesbian who has said she doesn't like men and you like some lesbophobic ass rehortic LLOLOLOOO classic pedro icon

i have no idea what this is referring to? if i accidentally shared something lesbophobic lmk lol. i know ellie is a lesbian and doesn't like men, because lesbians literally do not like men. that's basic knowledge. and anyone who says ellie is bisexual is just lesbophobic for sure. but i don't remember reblogging anything like that, so...? i am Confusion.

#also idk what you expected this to achieve #if you send me another ask explaining yourself i'll be surprised tbh #but appreciative nonetheless #like you know you could explain things normally to people instead of assuming the worst of someone right?#especially just because they have an icon that you somehow think is emblematic of problematic opinions #anyway. explain yourself #or i guess feel happy that you think you're morally superior than me #a random ass person on tumblr that you don't even know #im not a lesbian so obviously im going to have some blindspots on what's lesbophobic rhetoric and dog whistles pertaining to those things #but clearly you picked up on it so. lmk since you sent this ask just to look down on me instead of actually tell me what i reblogged that #was wrong

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deception-united · 1 month

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Random Character Profiles

Prodigal slacker. An exceptional intellect, capable of solving complex problems with ease, but absolutely no drive or motivation to apply their abilities towards any practical endeavors. Others are often frustrated by the wasted talent, but they couldn't care less. If their ideas are so great, someone else can come up with them. They're just here to laze around and have fun.

Loveable annoyance. A mind that dances on the border of sanity, and a perpetual source of simultaneous amusement and irritation. They delight in making puns and bad jokes at the expense of others' patience. Undeniably loveable nonetheless.

Reluctant recluse. They present a facade of rugged independence, portraying themselves as one who thrives on solitude and despises the company of others. They project an air of indifference towards others, often dismissing any attempts at connection or sympathy with a sharp retort or a cold shoulder. But beneath this tough exterior lies a soft spot reserved for the select few who have managed to breach their defenses—though they're reluctant to show it, going to great lengths to conceal the affection they view as weakness. Their stubborn refusal to accept help or acknowledge their own struggles stems from a fiercely guarded sense of pride, manifested in their vehement denial of any signs of weakness or vulnerability, even when they're visibly on the brink of death.

Sister figure. Sharp-witted and quick-tongued; will shame, embarrass, and ruthlessly tease. Their sarcasm is as much a display of fondness as it is merciless. Fiercely affectionate, extremely caring, unwaveringly loyal. Will put themself in danger for those they love, and will not hesitate to hurt anyone who offends or hurts those they care for; but mess up, and their sternness could make a warrior sob.

Impressively patient. Reserved, caring, mature, typically polite and tolerant to an extreme extent. May lash out occasionally. Possessive of a quiet strength, tending to observe situations with a thoughtful demeanor. Their reserved nature can be mistaken for aloofness despite their deep well of empathy and care for those around them. They navigate social interactions with a polite grace; however, beneath this composed exterior lies a potential for volatility on the rare occasions when they are pushed to their limit. Often the peacekeeper in friend groups.

People hater. Seems perpetually done with everything and everyone. Specialises in dry remarks and diminishing enthusiasm. General mood killer. However, their outward projection of disdain and superiority is really a mask of their own feelings of inadequacy.

Feel free to add on any other character descriptions you like! Happy writing ❤

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #character description #character development #character traits #character design #writing characters #character writing #deception-united

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sailortongue · 4 months

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Special Delivery

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

summary: your husband forgot his lunch at home so who better to bring it to him than his lovely wife and son

an: is it Jujutsu High or Jujutsu Tech?? i've seen it both ways

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Your husband was an idiot. A handsome and talented idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. You had reminded him countless times that his lunch was on the kitchen counter. Even put a sticky note on the door so he’d see it before he left. And yet there it was, still sitting right where you’d placed it for him. You sighed in exasperation, resigning yourself to the fact that you’d have to bring it up to the school. Of course, Satoru was more than capable of procuring his own meal. There was no shortage of good restaurants in Tokyo, but you could practically already hear him whining over the phone that nothing would compare to your homemade cooking.

You looked over at your son, Hitoshi, who was staring back at you from his high chair. You still couldn’t believe you had housed him for nine months in your own body just for him to disrespect you by looking like a carbon copy of his father, the same charming combination of snowy hair and vibrant blue eyes lingering in your vision. Your genes didn't even put up a fight.

Satoru had joked that, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he made the baby all by himself. But even though he got the satisfaction of genetic superiority, you still got the bragging rights for your son’s first word being “mama.”

You smiled at the sweet memory and briefly wondered if you should call Satoru first or let your visit be a surprise. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to surprise him. So, shortly before his lunch hour, you packed another two lunches for yourself and your son and set out for Jujutsu Tech.

-❀-

As you approached the classroom, you could hear the rowdiness through the door. It was amazing how loud Yuji and Nobara could be together (you were quite certain Megumi’s quiet demeanor wasn’t to blame for the noise). You gently released Hitoshi’s hand and handed him Satoru’s bento. “Do you want to bring Daddy’s lunch to him?” you asked him gently, the pitch of your voice slightly raised as it naturally tends to be when talking to your mini Satoru.

“Yes!” he responded eagerly, taking the carefully-packaged lunch in his small hands. You pointed him to the door and watched as the adorable two-year-old knocked on the door of his father’s classroom. It was Yuji who opened the door, a broad smile quick to spread across his face as he looked down at a mini version of his teacher. “Gojo-sensei,” he called over his shoulder. “Special delivery for you.”

Yuji stepped aside from the doorway to allow the toddler inside, who immediately and unceremoniously dropped the bento on the ground upon spotting Megumi. “Gumi!” he exclaimed, running as fast as his little legs would allow straight into the arms of the dark haired student.

You heard your husband’s dramatic gasp of indignation at the sight, thoroughly offended that his own son was clearly more excited to see one of his students than him. With a laugh at Satoru’s typical antics, you finally entered the classroom yourself, accepting the bento that Yuji had kindly picked up off the floor. You thanked him and walked over to Satoru, handing him his lunch as you kissed him on the cheek. “Forgot your lunch. Again.”

He smiled sheepishly before eyeing the bag in your hand. “Gonna stay and eat with me?”

You nodded in confirmation, and he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. “Can’t believe I have such a perfect wife,” he said sappily.

“Yeah, neither can we,” chimed Nobara.

Satoru glared at her, but it didn’t last long as Hitoshi had hopped off of “Gumi’s” lap and was happily running to his father. Satoru separated from you and caught his son in his arms, using the momentum to gently toss him in the air before catching him and securing his little frame against his chest. Your son’s giggles permeated the classroom, and it seemed to have a contagious effect, the students’ laughter joining in as they watched their teacher entertain Hitoshi, who cried “Again, Again!”

Once the excitement had died down and your son was being held comfortably in your husband’s arms, Satoru glanced at the clock and deemed it close enough to lunch to dismiss class. It wasn’t like anything else was going to get done anyway, especially since all of Satoru’s attention was focused on the two most important people in his life.

The three students filed out of the classroom, all of them waving goodbye back to Hitoshi as they discussed where to go for lunch.

Once the door was firmly shut behind Nobara, Satoru turned to you, his pupils practically resembling hearts. “I meant what I said. I have the most perfect wife any man could ask for.”

You rose to your tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to lips. “And I have the most perfect—and most forgetful—husband.” He rolled his eyes at you playfully before placing Hitoshi back down and grabbing the lunches.

“C’mon, we can eat in the staff break room.”

You held out your hand for Hitoshi to hold, and you walked alongside your husband, intently listening to him recount the day’s antics of his students, namely Norbara and Yuji.

The three of you spent lunch seated at the round table in the break room, simply enjoying the company of your little family. Before you knew it, his lunch hour was over, and he unfortunately had to return to class. In typical Satoru fashion, he cranked the dramatics up to the max, instantly pulling you and Hitoshi close as soon as you expressed the slightest intent to leave, refusing to let the two of you go. Each time you tried to pull away, he whined and held fast. “You’re squishing Hitoshi,” you said in an attempt to get him to release his grip, but to no avail.

“Toru,” you giggled, a small smile playing on your lips.

He groaned and hugged you both tighter to his chest. He seemed deep in thought and said, “Y’know, I bet they wouldn’t mind.”

You questioned what he’d meant by that, but, instead of answering, he plopped Hitoshi back on his feet and dashed out of the room, telling you to wait there and that he’d be back in a sec.

When he walked back in a few minutes later, he bent down to Hitoshi’s eye level and asked with a knowing grin, “Wanna go get some ice cream?”

Hitoshi’s eyes sparkled as he gasped, and both you and Satoru melted at the look of joy on your son’s face. He had definitely inherited his father’s sweet tooth in addition to his features.

You gave Satoru a questioning look. “What about your class?”

He shrugged. “I canceled it. They’ve been working really hard, so I think they’ve earned a break. So,” he changed the subject, “what flavor sounds good to you right now? Because personally cookies and cream is calling my name.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x female reader

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loveindefinitely · 6 months

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༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 3 months

Text

Supersons +1 prompt answer

If you asked Danny, 12 year old half-ghost hero of Amity Park, how half-life was going, he'd tell you things were mixed.

On the one hand, he had just spent the last three or four months in family/scientist/'this house is a death trap waiting to happen' therapy with Jazz, and by some miracle, it worked. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream as his parents poured over years upon years of research, crossing out lines, rewriting equations, and reevaulating everything they thought they knew about ghosts.

Was the shudders family therapy worth not going over how they'd like to dissect him? he's still not sure. The horror.

Not to mention the attention. Danny was sure he was going to throw up if his parents drag him away for more bonding time, only for a ghost to attack and for him to run off to transform. What made it worse was when the Fentons came barrelling out, guns blazing, alternating between getting mad that he'd interrupted their family time, and asking him questions about "Your suspicious spook culture, if you even have one you dangerous delusional delinquent!"

At least they were trying, but Danny was very much comfortable not spilling the beans on the whole half-ghost situation, thank you very much.

And that's why, when Dad proposed to take him to Gotham to show off their latest invention, he jumped at the chance. The home city of the Batman, one of the greatest heroes known to man (except for Martian Manhunter and Superman of course) and Dad promised to take him to Gotham Observatory too. Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from Jazz's smug looks of superiority. Gotham here he comes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Wayne scowled as he scanned the crowed of scientists with more smarts than sense. Really, a flying toilet seat. For what deviant?

"Maybe they're for people who can fly." Kent piped up beside him. Father had let the two of them run off together, and his company was mildly more appealing than being alone with his thoughts.

"Why would Superman ever need to relieve himself mid-air. I do not believe you would appreciate your father's rear end being on display for all the world to see."

"True." Jon hummed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "You think indecent exposure is what your dad meant by "scoping out any potential future villains?"

Damian gave Jon a flat look. The sooner this convention ended, the better.

The crowded shifted, and the mass of visitors pushed toward a certain corner, where a man large enough to rival Superman's build stood upon a podium, with a boy their age off to the side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the latest in FentonWorks' innovations, the Fenton Ghost Zone Radar, soon to revolutionise the study of ghosts!"

"I thought ghosts were a magic thing." Jon said. "You know, stuff Constantine and JLD deal with."

"They are."

"Mixing magic and science is like, like, oil and water. No way this guy's serious, is he?"

"His name is Jack Fenton. That's Daniel Fenton, his son." Damian pointed to the boy in question, looking like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before, but with that knowing glint that promised something deeper. "They're normally spotted alongside Jack's wife, Madeline. Widely regarded as quacks by the larger scientific community for chasing paper-thin theories about ghosts, they've nonetheless gained funding from the government. This is the first time they've left their base of operations in Amity Park for years."

"Woah, you know your stuff, Dami!"

Damian glared at the young Superboy in disguise. "I read the briefing files. Didn't you?"

Kent looked uncomfortable and looked away. "Uhh, maybe?"

"Typical."

"Well, if he's so crazy, then why'd your dad even let him in." Upon another scathing glare, Kent relented. "Oh right, the whole supervillain thing."

"Enough chatter. We'll zero in on the younger Fenton. I intend to squeeze him like a grape, and make Father proud."

"Dami maybe you should be a little nicer-" Only for Damian to march off without him.

Honestly, inane niceties were above someone of his status. Those things were Superboy's job, and if Daniel Fenton wouldn't crack, then Damian was itching to try a new torture technique.

@impyssadobsessions

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