#read tw

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 5 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5]☆ [chapter 6]☆[chapter 7]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 5/10 ☆ 2,808 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, more will be added.

Note: TW there is non-con spanking in this one - while reader is turned on, there technically isn't anything sexual happening.

“Who did you tell?”

You blinked groggily up at her, confused at what was happening.

“What?” You mumbled.

You were ripped from the bed, for half a second just impressed with how easily Kate did that. That was until you collided with the floor, letting out a cry as pain spiked through you.

She stood over you and oh. Now you understood fully how she got to this place in life. 

It wasn’t that you hadn’t been afraid earlier, because you knew now that Kate Laswell was the famous Watcher. It was just something else to actually see.

Standing above you in her grey suit, high heels on each of your head, anger clear on her face; the gun pointed down at you was not even shaking one bit. 

There was a coldness in her eyes that had been so different from when you had kidnapped her yourself. In a way it was odd to think that this was the same woman.

Horror filled you. It wasn’t that you hadn’t realised Kate was dangerous, but still, still hit differently in some way. 

Death could be mere seconds away, it was only a question of Laswell pulling the trigger. Then your body would shut down like a broken piece of technology, never to be turned on again, missing its core features. She had said it herself, hadn’t she? 

If I don’t kill you before, that is

“Who did you tell?” She repeated, voice raising a little, a strand of hair out of place. 

“I - what do you mean?” you asked, weakly raising your hands in front of the gun muzzle, as if it would do anything to stop your death, in case she chose to end you, “I haven’t told anyone about anything!”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar,” she hissed angrily, one foot kicking away your hands, “How else would somebody else know about the arrival of my shipment friday?” 

You stared up at her, in between your fingers, feeling tears well up in your eyes, “How the fuck should I know? I haven’t told anyone?”

“Oh, so they would just happen to know, huh?” she snapped, as she bent over without any problems, the muzzle of the gun suddenly pressed against your forehead, as she almost screamed , “who did you tell?!”  

“I DIDN’T TELL ANYONE,” you screamed back, barely realising you did so, “MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE  YOUR IT-SECURITY IS SHIT!”

Kate Laswell’s blue eyes stared down at you; she was barely blinking, you weren’t even sure if she was breathing. Then she rose, straightening up, gun still pointing towards your face and even though it wasn’t pressed against your skin anymore, it was like you could still feel it. As if it caressed your skin, whispering a death threat that echoed in your mind.

“If I found out that you have anything to do with this, Fae, and I mean anything, I’m killing you on sight.”

She stepped over you easily and you tipped your head to the side, watching her high heels as she went out the door, snarling about something you didn’t even bother to listen to, while putting away the gun.

The tears kept coming as you curled on your side and cried. Staying here would no doubt result in anything other than your death.

You didn’t turn as the sound of another person entering the room was heard.

“Dinnae cry, bonnie bird,” Soap comforted - or at least tried to, “She dinnae mean it, boss lady is just stressed - dinnae fash.” He squatted down next to you, giving your head a little pat, but you didn’t turn around to look at him.

“We gotta go, but I’ll get ye some new clothes first, eh?”

You nodded.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

They were gone that night. The food you were given hours ago by a staff member, was cold by now, untouched by you. You weren’t going to dare, you didn’t want to be drugged again.

You slept on the little couch in the room, not caring that you were too tall for it. The idea of waking up, with Kate Laswell who had just promised to kill you, wasn’t really a pleasant one. Not that you actually had anything to do with it, though.

You just didn’t plan to stick around and find out if Laswell was serious or not.

The next morning you didn’t eat the breakfast that the staff member gave you, despite how lovely it looked and smelled. The lass who gave it to you and picked up yesterday's dinner was nice enough to point out that it wasn’t poisoned or anything. You merely answered by asking your own question.

“When will they be back?”

“In less than an hour or so, I think. But - I believe Miss Laswell would prefer for you to eat breakfast.”

“Okay, thank you.”

The idea of getting all your meals delivered seemed so… unnecessary to you. Though your own cooking skills were limited, you at least made food yourself. 

Soap had given you a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants yesterday - your own. Which meant they had gone through your stuff and while Soap grinned as he knew you realised, you wanted to throw up at the thought. 

You looked outside the window. You just needed to get out of the house - and somehow past the fence and then it wouldn’t be far to a crowded area if you weren’t wrong. You looked down at the bushes. It wouldn’t be too bad now that you weren’t in shorts anymore - as long as you didn’t break anything.

You didn’t touch the actual food you were given - but you did touch the fancy cutlery.

With a quick movement you opened the window and located the censor - ignoring the blasting sound as you moved, using the sharp knife to pull the censor free. 

You knew they would check on you soon, so you desperately stabbed at it until you -managed to get it open, pulling the battery from it. The alarm stopped and as you closed the window, you heard people at the door. You merely sat down on the broken little censor. 

You winched at the sight of the two big men, who looked like security, but tried to look as apologetic as possible.

“- Sorry. Needed some air.”

One of them looked properly annoyed at you. “Don’t do that again!” 

The moment they left and the door locked you looked directly up at the security camera - then you flipped it off. Opening the window fully, no alarm stopping you this time, you counted towards ten but jumped at nine. In the half second you gave yourself to lay in the bushes, you realised how fucking easier everything would have been if you had just stuck to blackmailing rich cheating people - or maybe been a better kidnapper. Alas, you got up, grumbling as you looked around, moving quickly.  

Then you darted across the lawn. You had never been a runner and you weren’t wearing any shoes, but you gave absolutely no shit. 

Crawling over the fence though? Nope. You weren’t ready to experiment with those sharp points, no thanks. And squeezing through it? Not happening. What was happening was a car arriving apparently - and you hid behind one of the thick pillars near the port, out of pure panic. 

The moment it passed you, you darted out from behind it and through the port - ignoring the screeching of the tires and yelling as they spotted you just a moment later.

While you weren’t a runner, you sure weren’t going to sit around and wait to be killed either. You just turned down the way too fancy road in London and ran .

Escaped. Fleeing. Bolted. Cleared out. Booked it. All the fancy different ways of saying that your bare feet hurt as they hammered against the road, your lung stung – and you were moving faster than you had in a while.

You also very much wanted to throw up. People were staring at you as you passed - but you weren’t going to stop a stranger, no no. You just needed to hide , no need to get random civilians into this mess. Everything was dreadful enough as it was.

Hurrying through some smaller alleyways, your mind already had a tiny plan of how to escape - find a place with a lot of people. Blend in, take underground to somewhere … but you didn’t have any methods of paying. And with your build, as much as your body gave its full potential right now, jumping over wouldn’t be an option.

Fuck.

Keeping low for a while it was, then. Maybe you could borrow - either with or without the person’s permission - a phone.

Your lungs were burning, your skin already collecting a nice layer of sweat.

Fuck being out of shape. If you made it out of this whole thing, you would try to at least be able to run without feeling like you were going to die any second. 

If you managed to get out alive.

Your feet were throbbing at each step. You didn’t even want to think about what you had stepped on.

As you looked over your shoulder, you saw a behemoth of a man together with two others in the distance, trying to get to you. You darted onto a different road. Barely able to hear the sound of tourists and people buzzing in the bigger streets.

Just a little more.

The moment you hit the crowd of people you weaved in between them, desperately trying to pretend you hadn’t just been running for your life and was close to keeling over from exhaustion. As you got further into the crowd, you slowed down and soon you were walking in between people, trying to pretend you weren’t barefoot and terrified. Your lungs burned, as if embers filled them to the brim, pain shooting through your legs at each step. Salvia filled your mouth while you walked, threatening to make you throw up.

It was as if the world stilled around you as you kept following the stream of people - as if it agreed that you had been through enough. The many faces of strangers that passed barely noticed you. You melted into the current of tourism, letting yourself become nobody. A person that passed you on the street while you were on vacation, someone whose face would never be remembered.

Free. Your body was burning and in pain, but you were free like a bird, having just left the cage and the captivity behind an–

“There you are, sweetheart.” A rough voice said, as an arm was thrown over your shoulder in an almost friendly manner, but the grip on you was too strong to be anything but danger, “A real sprinter, eh? Gave the guys a run for their money.”

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering around desperately, doing anything but looking at him, the urge to scream instant but the moment you opened your mouth, you felt a familiar muzzle press against your side. Even with fabric in between, the gun was a clear threat.

“Don’t be silly,” John Price warned and though his voice was happy, you knew he was serious, as he steered you, “c’mon now, she isn’t in a good mood as it is.”

As you watched a big, black car with darkened windows stop at the road a couple of metres from you, you reconsidered making a scene - wondering if Price would actually shoot you, if the shot would be immediate. You finally dared to look over at the man having a grip on you that he pretended to be a friendly one as he steered you directly to the car. He gave you a grin. He was dressed in “normal” clothes, a beanie on his head, scarf hiding some of his face, dressed as if he was any other civilian - as if the two of you were lovers, on the way home, as if you weren’t being steered towards what you were sure would lead to your execution. 

You stopped in front of the side door of the car and heard it unlock, fear unlocked inside your mind too, unable to focus. Either you would be brought back to the cage - or to an early grave.

The door opened and Price took a hold of your neck, more or less just pushing you inside, a grunt leaving you as you fell on your knees on the carpet - only to see a pair of high heels in front of you. You looked up, on your hands and knees, taking in the Watcher .

Kate Laswell’s hand shot out, gripping your hair and pulling you up next to her, ignoring your cry of pain - and to your horror, John Price didn’t just close the door behind you. No, he joined the two of you, closing the car door behind him, the doors locking once more.

He sat down on the seats opposite Kate Laswell - because of course they had a fancy car like this, where the guests were sitting opposite each other, a black screen behind Price, keeping the chauffeur from watching you. You didn’t even get the chance to comment on it however, because then the car moved once more - and Kate pulled on your hair, hard.

A pitiful whine left you as she manoeuvred you, pulling you over her lap and then pushing down on your back, not saying anything as you struggled and began to protest. A pair of bigger hands suddenly pulled on your arms.

“Wait-wait-wa–”

Click . 

Price sat down again, the handcuffs around your wrists, making your hands useless behind your back. Confusion filled your mind as your face was pushed into the seats, body draped over Kate’s lap - and then a well-manicured hand took a hold at the hem of your pants, pulling them down.

“No- nonono, I’m sorry Kate - I did–” “SHUT UP!”

Your face was pressed harder into the seat, body flinching at her sudden yell. 

“You’ve already created so many fuckin’ problems,” she continued, voice eerily calm again as she pulled your sweatpants down, hand then resting on your panties for just a moment, “all you had to do was stay .”

Humiliation filled you, your brain not allowing you to lay still, Kate’s hand tightening in your hair. You almost bare ass was exposed to her, stretchmarks and everything. Price was just watching the two of you, having pulled  out a cigar.

“I’m sorry, please don't, I was sc–”

Your panties were pulled down so suddenly that you barely registered it, before Kate’s palm collided with your asscheeks. The sound that left you was a mixture of a surprised squeal and scared wail.

“Told you to fucking shut up too - stop squirming!” 

You couldn’t see Kate’s face, but you could hear the dark annoyance in her voice. One hand gripping your hair tightly, the other starting a painful pattern as it repeatedly collided with your soft ass. Making it jiggle a little as the skin burned and you squirmed. The words of apologies and begging that left your mouth at first were replaced with whimpers and cries. As each hit made your poor skin redder and warmer, sending so many emotions through you that you felt like a computer program on the edge of crashing. The worst part, besides the pain?

… The fact that you liked it. The fact that her mean words and harsh spankings made your need for Kate somehow grow even more, how you felt your pussy grow wetter each time her hand connected with your skin.

Though, despite your unexpected turn-on, you sobbed from the pain and shame. Tears and drool dripped from you onto the seats beneath you, as you kept your eyes closed. Small pitiful begs left you now and again. The number of spanks had passed 20 a while ago. 

Your sobs eventually dried up, only small moans of pain leaving you, body having gone limp. When it finally stopped, it took you a couple of seconds before you realised it. Instead her hand was resting on your burning ass, her other hand gently petting your hair. A part of your brain registered the fact that the car had driven far too long, which meant she had prolonged the ride, merely to spank you.

She leant down to whisper in your ear.

“You won’t do that again, will you, Fae?”

“N-no,” you answered weakly, not wanting to open your eyes. The car smelled of cigar smoke and you could hear Price let out a pleased hum. Like a vicious dog, loyal to its master, even as it watched her beat up a stray. You felt her hand squeeze an already burning cheek, making you add “I won’t do tha-at again, miss Laswell.”

The cheek was released. Her hand in your hair moved down to dry off a few tears.

“ Good girl ,” she praised.

[hyperfixingfr]

TW// sexualization

Okay PSA for the fandom: meercat55 has done extremely questionable things before and I tried to brush it off as them not knowing any better despite the fact that they never fixed their issues properly and constantly crossed boundaries... But I just found this on their Instagram and this is proof that we should all probably just block and move on tbh.

THE CONTENT THEY POSTED IS A SEXUALIZED KUKI. I WILL BE SHARING THE DRAWING WITH PROOF OF THE CHARACTER BEING KUKI (THE TAGS) AND PROOF OF USERNAME BUT FOR THOSE WHO DON'T WISH TO SEE IT, THAT'S THE SUMMARY! BELOW THIS READ MORE IS THE ACTUAL IMAGE THEY MADE FOR THOSE WHO WANT PROOF OF THEIR ACTIONS.

TW// SEXUALIZATION

"I aged her up" isn't an excuse. You should be inclined to not need to age up a character just for nsfw. Gross. Also getting inspired by a pedo artist who only draws pedophilic stuff is creepy as fuck

For those who don't know they've also overstepped artist's boundaries, used their trauma as an excuse for disgusting behavior multiple times, they've used the R slur in one of their numerous "apologies" (which they never stick to), and they have a thing for drawing little girl OCs with boobs, that they continued doing even despite being told why it was bad.

[your-local-number-simp]

Grim theory/Au idea

Disturbing: Mentions of murder, disturbing scenes, child abuse, sacrifice, miscarriage/stillborn

What if the bfdi universe is the afterlife and what everyone is could be linked to their death. It could be how they died like Firey could have died in a fire or Rocky who could have been crushed by a rock, or it could be their favorite food like Fries or Gelatin or maybe even their favorite number or letter like Four and X.

David and Dora could have been murdered or died of natural causes. Teardrop could have drowned in salty water like the ocean or was murdered and was crying because she couldn't scream for help because she was mute

Firey Jr could have been a child burned to death either by accident or maybe as a sacrifice idk.

Or for the numbers it could have been the age they died, like zero could have been a stillborn (Wasn't born alive) and if so maybe their related to their death or how their personalities were in life, for example Nine could have died in a skateboarding accident and sense Five likes book they could have possibly been crushed by a bookshelf, Ten could have died helping a cat down from a tree or was just a nice person in their life

Anyway I just wanted to share my thoughts

If you decide to use this idea you can credit me or at least tag me in the post so I can see it

[earlgraytay]

God, there really is nothing like 20s detective fiction to remind you that prejudice is a social construct.

You'll have a story with a crossdressing thief which is mildly transmisogynistic but completely devoid of modern vitriol; it literally comes off as "here is a fun oddity that lets me be Clever about French grammar"

And in the very next story you will learn fifteen different slurs for Italians

[candyje11yfish]

nacho ahhahaha (i hope this looks cool)

[kensatou]

deepthroating a gun without breaking eye contact...... he put his entire gongyussy into that | SQUID GAME 2

+ the video because the sound he makes when he puts the gun in his mouth? [redacted]

update: he improvised that. the man really said i'll go full slut.

[akdenide]

TW: swearing, talking about sexuality in depth with sexual themes, mentions of trauma and harassment.

Fucking hell WHY CAN'T I UNDERSTAND MY SEXUALITY CRISTODDIO

Like, sex is good in theory, masturbation? Also good. Talking about sex? If we're friends and we know eachother then yes, I'm open to it!

But letting someone touch me? Gods forbid that. I don't know if it's trauma or something, I have been touched without my consent or with my forced consent more than once, but that's after I discovered I was so uncomfortable with being touched?? My first boyfriend ever once asked me if I could give him a hickey. I told him I wasn't exactly comfortable with that and when we said goodbye he told me I had tears in my eyes when he asked me that thing. He was the one to make me understand how uncomfortable I was with sexual things outside of talking, how uncomfortable I was with someone else's touch. My own touch is good, imagining someone else's touch is good. But if you ever even brush your hand against my hips accidentally it makes me want to cry. I've always been so confused about myself.

But I guess orchidsexual is the label that fits better with my experience.

[decapod-appreciator]

it’s called self love

[supersnaill]

ponyo au part 3 🐟

1, 2, 3, 4

[tsuutarr]

Rich! Yandere x Chill! Reader

Work is a drag – your supervisor expects mountains from you while allowing himself to pick pebbles. He expects you to be there before him and leave after him even though he allows himself to arrive late and leave on time. He expects you to respond to every email and ask questions but ignores emails sent his way. He condescendingly laughs at you and gets annoyed at you making mistakes even though he’s made plenty himself.

In conclusion, you’re about to lose it. Go absolutely bonkers.

Still, you gotta earn money somehow, so…

You really have no choice but to continue onwards.

But seriously, who thought a cycle of work and work and more work was a good idea? You have a few choice words for them. Especially since you’re forced to stay longer than you want to because your stupid supervisor decided to give you work at the last minute, two minutes before you clock out.

By the time you arrive home, you’re dead tired, absolutely unable to keep your eyes open. You tell yourself that you need to get changed, eat dinner, brush your teeth, catch up on your weekly show… but your body is too tired to obey any of that, so it’s lulled into a long, dreamless slumber.

When you come to, you wake up on a gorgeous bed in a gorgeous room. You’re disoriented, absolutely positive that you’re dreaming. But you don’t wake up even after pinching yourself so… this must be real?

Your thoughts are interrupted as the doors to the room open, showcasing a handsome man. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on the news somewhere. Probably. Anyway, the point is that he’s handsome.

“Are you feeling all right, Darling?” he asks, voice velvety smooth and deep like dark chocolate.

“I guess?” you say, feeling surprisingly calm. He blinks at you.

“Ah… are you not going to ask where you are…?”

“Oh, right.” You nod. “Where am I?”

“You’re at one of my mansions,” he responds, smoothing out his dress shirt. “I’ve selected the best one, just for you.”

“Oh wow.” Flashes of your dingy one bedroom apartment flash through your head. “That’s great.”

“And of course, you’ll have everything provided for you. If you need anything, just tell me – I can get you everything you desire.”

“That’s amazing,” you respond. “I’m in.”

“Wha–” he looks at you, shocked. “I knew you were in dire financial straits but… aren’t you going to be wary of me, Dear? I mean, I kidnapped you?”

“My guy, the economy is awful, I hate my job, and I really just want to enjoy life for once. I am not complaining.” Shrugging your shoulders, your gaze remains steady on him. “Besides, you’re easy on the eyes.”

A bright red blush splatters itself across his cheeks, forcing him to clear his throat. “W–well, I’m pleased that my appearance is desirable to you.”

“Yup,” you reply, before looking at him curiously. “So like… did you stalk me or something? Put trackers on me?”

“Wha–”

“Well, it kinda seems like you’ve been after me for a while, I guess. Sorry if I’m wrong?”

“Well, no, you’re not… incorrect. But does that not bother you?”

“I mean, social media already has all my info anyway, so…” you hum thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway. Does kidnapping me mean that you won’t let me go out again? A lot of stories have the guy locking their love interest up.”

He blinks. “I… suppose so…?”

“I don’t entirely mind, but I feel like I’ll probably go nuts if I’m not allowed to go out at all. Can’t we compromise? Like… you can have your trackers on me or have someone follow me around. Actually, why don’t you come along?”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“I mean, it’s a fair trade, isn’t it? I have friends and family that I gotta see so I don’t go insane, but like, I don’t mind spending most of my time here. And if I do go out, you can just keep track of that. Plus it’s not like I have money or power to actually run or something anyway.” You nod, certain.

“You… you’re certainly rather… receptive to this whole situation.”

“Again, the economy is trash and you’re hot.”

He clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “W–well, it isn’t the worst idea in the world, I suppose. However, the world at large is quite dangerous. You can’t fault me for wanting to keep you locked up. It’s the best way to keep you safe–”

“Oh, I know!” you snap your fingers. “Let’s get married.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, that way you’ll legally be my family. Then you can be with me ‘til death do us apart. Or something.” Satisfied, you nod. “Good idea, don’t you think?”

Gears whir inside his head as he looks at you, completely flabbergasted by your proposal. He’s happy that you seem satisfied with the situation and want to marry him but… but…

“Good idea indeed,” he agrees, fully abandoning any notion of common sense (not that he had much to begin with). 

Your willing acceptance of your situation wasn’t what he was expecting, but… who is he to complain?

It’s working in his favor, after all.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Hey, do any of you people remember that one tf2 comic where soldier is talking to a bunch of wooden cutouts thinking they’re real people? You know how it was supposed to be a joke about how insane Soldier is, unable to differentiate the inanimate from the alive? Am I the only one who lost my mind about the implications of that or am I going just as insane as him.

You can see how lazy I got near the end but I couldn’t be bothered to work on this anymore

[opens-up-4-nobody]

.

[wileycap]

AITA for striking my (M43) son (M20) when he rejected me as his father?

I understand that the title might have you thinking the worst, but please hear me out.

I didn't have a relationship with my son for basically all his life. This was due to my circumstances at the time: I went through a major personal tragedy and was severely injured, to the point of being on life support. To this day I have a lot of issues with my health.

I recently reconnected with my son. I immediately invited him to meet my boss (M92), in hopes that I could set him up with a job opportunity. I feel that this is significant. As far as I know, my son has been working in menial jobs in agriculture, but then apparently chose to leave that life and - to my shock - join a criminal syndicate.

I felt as if getting a good government job would be a way to turn over a new leaf in his life, especially given his past. However, he immediately became combative. I attempted to give him some guidance in managing his emotions, but he rejected that as well.

I'm sad to say that the argument became physical. Some blows were exchanged, but in the end, I was angry enough to strike him. I immediately felt very bad, and decided to offer him the government job on the spot. He rejected me again, and chose to leave very abruptly. I haven't had any contact with him since.

So, AITA?

Edit: Yes, I admit that to call it striking him was an understatement. To clarify, I cut off his hand.

Edit: However, I feel like it should be stated that I myself am a quadruple amputee and we have excellent healthcare.

Edit: I did not immediately identify myself as his father when we met. I think this was my mistake. I think he would have been much more receptive of my message had I done so. As it stands I only told him of our relationship after I had struck him.

Edit: My wife is not in the picture. To my knowledge she passed before his birth.

[kensatou]

women………….. | DOROHEDORO

(by the way. this is noi.)

[cavalierclavier]

When I broke the cycle, I made sure that the tear was rough. You carry a part of what should be her, and she carries a part of what should be you.

[poempoetryandmore]