#BABY OIL STAIRCASE

[hcneymooners]

⋆ ambessa headcanons but it's a modern au & she's a ruthless business mogul.

business mogul!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin.

cw: implied age difference! explicit sexual content below the cut!

notes: i need her. i am going to lose it. the theme of this marriage is definitely cherry by lana del rey ( listen here. ) and bordersz by zayn ( listen here. )

getting together

one night, a little tipsy and feeling bold, you post a video to social media. you don’t care about the controversy, you declare—you need ambessa so badly.

despite the chaos that follows, your words are so heartfelt, so sweet, that the video practically goes triple platinum overnight.

later, at a restaurant opening, you both happen to be there. she spots you sitting in a corner, all soft warmth and radiant energy.

you look lovely, your wide smile lighting up the room. she notices how your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your dress—loaned as a favor to a designer you adore—dips elegantly at your hips.

with a little... maneuvering, ambessa secures the seat next to you and strikes up a conversation.

you’re so vivacious, so intelligent, and for the first time in a long time, she meets someone who doesn’t greet her with judgment or disapproval.

when you speak, you lean in, your hand occasionally brushing her arm. you’re so intentional, and it utterly endears her to you.

after the event, she goes home haunted by your perfume and the sound of your laughter.

the next morning, her PA reaches out with a dinner invitation to one of your dream restaurants. ambessa had spent the night scrolling through your socials, watching videos over and over.

the married life.

you’ve become a media darling—everyone adores you.

sometimes, ambessa can’t handle sharing you with the world, so she’s left her mark: photos of you often feature dark hickeys blooming across your neck like wildflowers.

your ring is massive, but she insisted you pick it out yourself—she wanted to make sure it was exactly what you wanted.

you call her “bessa,” and she alternates between “my love,” “baby,” or “sweet girl” when speaking to you.

when you leave for trips, whether for work or to visit family, she secretly diffuses perfume oils that mimic your scent throughout the house.

the playlist you share is ridiculously long—so long, in fact, it almost crashed your phone once, but neither of you care.

her desk is cluttered with framed photos of you, and your house has a photo wall that stretches up the staircase.

even when she’s annoyed or upset, she’s impossibly soft with you.

she gets genuinely upset if you don’t use her card to make purchases. like pissed.

“you will want for nothing” was one of the first promises she made to you.

you have to sneak birthday and christmas gifts for her because she always checks to make sure you’re spending her money “as the Lord intended.”

“i didn’t add this card to your apple wallet for decoration.”

she’s deeply affectionate, both in public and private.

she adores nonsexual intimacy—massaging your feet as you tell her about your day, pulling you into her lap while she works, and just sitting quietly together.

when you cup her face during conversations to focus her, it often leads to... wonderful outcomes.

if she catches you pouting, she pinches your lips into a duckbill and laughs. you let it slide because her laughter is so full-bodied, so infectious, you can’t help but love it.

her humor is so dry and witty it takes you a minute to register sometimes, but when you do, you’re in stitches.

she’s always close—sharing water, joining you in baths and showers. you’re rarely apart.

ambessa loves to provide for you. she’s your dictionary, bank account, calculator, calendar, dild—

her gift-giving is unmatched. she remembers things you mentioned wanting years ago, down to the minute you said it. it could've been mentioned 6 years, 2 months, 3 days, 1 hour, 6 minutes, and 23 seconds ago. she still remembers.

she keeps a lawyer on retainer because you’re fiercely protective of her. she acts exasperated but secretly loves it.

if you get sick, she’s terrifying—she’ll track down whoever got you sick and sue them into the ground. when you had pneumonia once, she nearly had a breakdown. it is now referred to as the crashout of the century in your household.

she’s serious about keeping you healthy, even if it drives you crazy. workouts with her are intense.

“just a little more, my love.” “you said that two rounds ago!"

her countdowns are the worst. she swears there’s ten seconds left, but it feels like eternity.

speaking of households, you don’t play when it comes to your family.

you’re fiercely protective and, let’s be honest, a little conniving when necessary.

the pta? you run it like the navy. everyone falls in line when you walk in the room.

once, a kid at mel’s school thought it was a good idea to bully her. you pulled up, found the kid, and made sure they’d never even think about messing with her again.

after that, everyone was a little afraid of mel and kino’s stepmom. you never heard another peep of bullying.

when it's good—it usually is—it's wonderful. but there were compliated moments in the beginning.

ambessa’s rise to the top wasn’t exactly clean. there were deals in shadows, strategies that left her enemies ruined. you should’ve felt more conflicted, but you found it difficult to care.

but then she announced she was running for office, and everything changed. you hated what she was doing to win—how ruthless she was, how far she was willing to go.

it led to the biggest fight you’d ever had. you left, heartbroken, and stayed with your parents for weeks.

mel had never seen her mother so undone. ambessa was quiet, distracted, a shadow of herself.

mel flew out to see you, desperate to fix things. when you saw her, the grief on her face mirrored your own, and it shattered you.

you forgave ambessa immediately—not because she was blameless, but because you hated what it had done to both of you.

she will always choose you and the kids above anything.

the marriage bed.

it's a workout in here, too.

she gon’ put that baby inside of you.

you are a bit of a perfectionist and stressed about doing it wrong and she literally could not have cared less.

she loves to lace your hands together when you fuck.

the first couple times you sleep together she treats your body like a land she needs to learn, to map.

she prefers to be dominant but sometimes you just need it and she allows you to take control.

you adore her strength and you are not slick about it because your favorite positions reflect it: mating press and amazon press, specifically.

she’s a munch and she likes humiliating you so that usually entails spreading the lips of your pussy to watch it drool for her, spiting into your cunt, pushing your legs out or up so that it’s completely bare to her.

you're enamored with her breasts. 

even outside of sex sometimes you just squeeze or hold them.

she says you’re being ridiculous but then will take off her top and reveal the most insanely tight sports bra. her tits are practically spilling into your mouth all on their own.

you can no longer go to the gym with her bc it will get crazy.

impact play. 

straps you down. you are not walking for at least two days.

once she begins, she will be finishing. no breaks. so don't tease unless you can commit.

will most definitely keep fucking you even she gets a work call + sometimes if you try to be quiet she’ll loop a hand under the thin fabric of your g-string and bounce you fast and hard on her cock until you’re moaning shamlessly.

you love kissing her so she’ll make out with you until your lips are so swollen and your words are slurred.

the best sex you had was in the bathtub one evening.

you were slipping and sliding but a swat team couldn’t have pulled her out of you.

you held onto her tightly, felt her back ripple, and to this day you swear you saw the gates of heaven. you knew if you came to be before them without her, you'd hold the gates to let her in.

she’s always telling you to take it and forces you to look at the ring you’re making around her cock.

when you’re ass up she’ll consume you until you’re shaking.

she loves making you squirt; it’s like a challenge for her.

when it happens she’ll drop her mouth open and moan so loudly it makes you flush.

she then begins to finger you and the overstimulation really works you up.

she loves to put you on your side with a leg raised so she can snap her hips hard against your ass and hear the squelch.

you love when she does this because her tits are against your back and she’s just so fucking big and warm. you feel safe.

you’re usually so sweet but during these moments you curse like a sailor.

“fuck fuck fuuuuuck. holy shit, bessa.” “such a dirty girl.” 

one thing about her fingers? they’re going in your mouth and you’re gonna gag on them.

super thoughtful with aftercare.

massages every part of your body and intersperses the pressure with tender kisses.

you always fall asleep to affirmations of how beautiful and loved you are.

you are her angel, fallen and found by her hands.

© hcneymooners.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Daddy’s Doll

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin is a fancy oil tycoon heir cowboy who loves it when you call him daddy. He can have anything a man could dream of but he just wants to watch his beloved babydoll ride him like a prized pony

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin hot af cowboy vibes • his beloved • his baby doll• daddy kink• pet names • sugar/goodgirl • fetishism • edging •lap sitting• sweet talk •dirty talk • Austin encouraging • it won’t fit • praising •girl on top • cowgirl •size kink •deep •p in v •simultaneous •orgasms

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine ✍ 👄 Plot+ smut consultant @butdaddyilovehim99 🗳️ Based on Unanimous 🔗 Poll Decision

🏆 1st Devotion 2nd Daddys Doll 3rd Love/Hate 4th Wild Hearts *Special thanks for voting 😍 & enjoy the upcoming fics!🤩 🗳️

Daddy’s Doll

Austin is a vision of effortless luxury and southern charm, a cowboy dipped in opulence, wrapped in impeccable fashion. 

He steps through the grand front doors of your mansion, bathed in the golden light of the evening, his silhouette framed against the sprawling estate beyond. 

His shirt is sheer floral delicate lace that clings to the toned muscles of his chest, teasing glimpses of his sculpted abs.

His blonde sun-kissed hair is styled perfectly, and with a slow intentional tilt of his head, he shakes it back pulling his wide-brimmed cowboy hat off just right.

The scent of him reaches you first, something expensive, deep notes of jasmine and cedar mixed with the warmth of the Texan sun. 

He moves with the ease of a man who’s never wanted for anything, his boots echoing across the polished marble floors of the grand foyer. 

Oil money built this place, and it shows in every ornate detail, from the sweeping staircase to the towering windows that spill soft, amber light into the vast space.

You wait for him at the landing, one hand resting lightly on the banister, wearing one of his favorite shirts barely buttoned.

The soft fabric slips off your shoulder, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone as the hem teasingly skims your thighs.

The way you stand there, framed by the grandeur of the mansion, wearing his shirt like it was made for you, is enough to fill him with unbridled lust.

“Hey baby doll,” he says, his voice as rich and smooth as molasses as his blue eyes drink you in.

A coy smile plays on your lips as he steps closer, his six-foot frame matched perfectly to your perch on the stairs.

He leans in for a kiss and you reach down, your fingers brushing his hand as you take his wide-brimmed cowboy hat and place it on your head with a teasing flourish.

“Hey, Daddy,” you smile, your voice laced with temptation as you tip the rim of his cowboy hat low over your eyes, “Been waiting for you all day,” you say taking a step back, and with a slow sway of your hips you turn and saunter up the stairs.

Austin watches as you climb higher, the hem of the shirt riding up with each step, and his eyes lock on the tantalizing curve of your ass and the unmistakable lack of panties, and it’s a sight that sets his blood on fire.

“Naughty little vixen,” he says, his voice thick with heat and desire as he climbs up the stairs right after you, two at a time, his boots thudding on the wood as he gives chase.

You squeal, a high, delighted sound, as you rush toward the bedroom, but he catches you just inside the doorway, his strong hands grabbing your hips as he spins you around to face him.

“You like teasin’ Daddy, don’t you?” he grins, a challenge in his blue eyes, darkening with intent.

You tilt your head up at him with wide puppy eyes, soft and innocent, as an adorable smile forms on your lips from the mischief you caused.

“I couldn’t help it, Daddy, I just missed you so much,” you confess, your voice soft and pouty as your hands slide down his hard chest, fingertips tracing the firm ridges of his abs beneath his sheer lace shirt.

Austin watches you closely, his breaths slow and measured, as your fingers dip lower, working at his belt buckle, the metal clinking as the leather slides free from the loops, and you toss it aside

He lets you back him toward the bed, your fingers teasing open the buttons of his lace shirt one by one, revealing his sculpted chest and abs as you peek down to see the thick bulge in is Wranglers practically begging for your touch.

“Oh Daddy, you’re so worked up,” you coo, your eyes soft and adoring as you peek up at him. “Let me spoil you the way your sweet baby doll’s been dreaming of,” you say as the last button of his shirt falls open, and he gives in, dropping onto the mattress, propped back on his elbows, his eyes full of heat and desire as he takes you in.

“Alright, baby doll,” he drawls, grinning wide, his voice rough with lust as his gaze slides over you. “Come take care of Daddy.”

You flash a sweet smile, sliding your leg over his lap reverse cowgirl as you straddle his hips. Leaning over to pull off his boots one at a time, sweet and innocent, giving him the perfect view of your ass and wet pussy as your hips roll forward against the bulge in his Wranglers.

The sight draws a low groan from his throat, the sound rough and needy as his boots fall to the floor with a soft thud.

You climb off his lap with a slow, teasing lift, your hips swaying as you turn to face him. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take real good care of what Daddy needs,” you purr, your voice coy and promising.

His eyes are dark and dangerous, filled with barely restrained lust as you begin to unbutton your shirt.

As the last button slips free, the fabric falls to the floor, leaving you completely naked, his gaze raking over you as you stand before him wearing nothing but his cowboy hat.

“You gonna ride me like a bull, babydoll?” he asks, his voice tense with desire.

You smile sliding your hands up his thighs to push him past the edge of control. “I’m gonna ride you like a prized pony,” you counter, and he groans in response.

“So pretty and needy for Daddy, huh?” he drawls, his voice low and thick like honey over gravel. “Go on, pull me out let me watch you ride me,” he orders, his words tumbling out in a rush.

You bring your knees on the bed, crawling up to settle on his thighs, your fingers working at his zipper the sound sharp in the quiet room as you pull it down.

His cock springs out thick and achingly hard, the tip warm and rosy, the shaft veined with an impressive girth. His size is a beautiful challenge that never fits without effort, and the sight alone sets a tight pulse through your core.

You shift over him as his cock brushes your entrance, and you whimper at the stretch already threatening to fill you up.

“Go slow, sugar,” he instructs, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips. “I want to watch you take every inch.”

You nod leaning forward, bracing your hands on his chest, the sheer floral lace of his open shirt soft under your palms as you start to sink down, the head of him nudging in as the stretch burns, deliciously so.

You moan, thighs quivering as you ease lower, his cock splitting you open bit by bit. It’s a struggle, your walls fluttering to accommodate him, and you pause halfway, breathing hard.

“Oh, Daddy, it’s way too big without you pleasing me first,” you whimper, your face flushed with effort as you try to adjust.

His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you down with a low approving groan as he angles his cock just right. “You’re doing so good for Daddy, doll. Keep going, I want you sitting pretty on every single inch.”

You moan, the tension of his size overwhelming as his words spur you on, and with a shaky breath, you sink lower until you finally meet the base. Your ass presses flush against his thighs as your walls grip him so tight they can barely pulse around his big cock.

“Damn, sugar,” he breathes, his voice rough and raw in astonishment. “You look so pretty all full of me…My perfect little doll.” He groans, his voice catching.

His praise ignites you as you start to move, slow at first, testing the rhythm. Your legs flex, thighs tensing as you lift yourself up, the drag of him slick and hot before you drop back down, taking him deep.

He grunts his hands sliding up your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he watches you, his lips parting as his chest rises faster under his delicate lace shirt.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, his voice heavy with praise. “Ride Daddy’s cock. Show me how good you are at making me feel good.”

You nod picking up the pace, hips rolling with purpose as your body finds its rhythm. Your hands brace against his chest, fingers curling into the lace as you ride him, the slick sounds of skin on skin filling the room.

Your thighs burn with effort, but the way he fills you, stretching you, hitting a spot deep inside makes you go faster. You swivel your hips, grinding down, and he bucks up into you with a sharp thrust that makes you moan.

“Fuck, doll,” he grits, and you gasp, faltering as his hands grip your thighs so tight you know you’ll bruise, the thought fueling you even more. “Keep goin’ for me, Sugar, ride it out,” he drawls, his voice breathless with pleasure.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper, cheeks flushing hot as you obey, legs pumping as you bounce harder and faster. His thrusts keep coming, one right after the other as he tenses beneath you, his hips jerking up to meet your rhythm.

“Look at you, bouncing so pretty on Daddy’s cock,” he rasps, his blue eyes locked on where you’re joined, watching himself disappear into your slick heat. “Taking me so good, doll. It’s like you were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you cry out, your voice breathy and desperate as you chase the high, riding his cock even harder with your slickness coating his shaft.

He groans low in his chest, his abs tightening every time you sink down on him, both of you spiraling higher as the pleasure builds.

You roll your hips in a fierce rhythm, every bounce sinking him deeper, the stretch so perfect that with each rise and fall on his cock, you take him harder and faster, feeling the pleasure roll through you in waves.

“That’s it, baby doll, ride Daddy’s cock like you can’t get enough,” he pants, his voice rough with praise and exertion.

You moan loudly, leaning into him, lost in a haze of bliss as his cock twitches hard inside you.

“Fuck, doll, you’re gonna make Daddy lose it,” he grits his fingers sliding over your swollen clit, circling in firm, teasing strokes as you cry out, the sudden jolt of pleasure making your hips stutter.

“Oh, Daddy—oh, Daddy,” you moan, words tumbling out incoherent and wild as you bounce hard, chasing the edge. He keeps grunting beneath you, his eyes locked on you like you’re the prettiest sight in the world, the wet slickness of your heat soaking his shaft with every thrust.

His movements grow erratic, his hips snapping up into you as the bed bounces under his weight. “C’mon, babydoll, come for Daddy,” he rasps, his voice strained with need as his blue eyes lock into yours.

His words tip you over the edge, and with one last grind, your body seizes, pleasure crashing through you in waves.

You clench around him tight, your core pulsing, wildly as he bucks up hard and fast a guttural “Fuck, Doll—” tearing from his throat as he spills inside of you hot and thick.

His hands hold you down, keeping you flush against him as he rides out his release, his cock pulsing every last drop inside of you until he’s completely spent.

You collapse forward, your cowboy hat tipping back as you lay panting against his chest, the floral lace of his shirt damp with sweat under your cheek.

His arm wraps around you, warm and firm, as he smiles, lifting his cowboy hat off your head and setting it aside.

You tilt your head up to gaze into his stunning blue eyes, and he smiles trailing his thumb affectionately over your lower lip.

“My perfect Baby Doll… you did so good for Daddy,” he praises, and you grin, breathless and satisfied, knowing you’ll do it all over again the second he asks.

END 🐎

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[entwnii]

it’s already late at night when 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 walks out of the gym, his sport bag in his hand.

the droplets of water falling from his platinum blonde hair run down his face and the back of his neck. paired with the chill breeze of the night, it makes a trail of shivers run down his spine and goosebumps appear on his light skin.

god, why did he forget to bring a towel ?

he grabs his keys from the back pocket of his shorts before opening the car’s door, throwing his sport bag somewhere on the backseat while he slides down on the driver seat.

he turns his car on, a white porsche 718 spyder, hoping that his hair will dry during the ride home before driving off to your shared apartment.

the wind that blows through his blonde locks makes the pro athlete sigh in contentment, a small smile appearing on his slightly chapped lips as he drives through the busy streets of osaka, the neon lights of the stores lighting his face in various colors.

it doesn’t take him longer than twenty minutes to get to his residence, parking his convertible car in it’s usual spot.

atsumu grabs his bag’s handle and gets out of the car before locking it. he walks over to the apartment building’s entrance, opening the door and making his way to the staircase.

once he reaches the third floor, he walks over to the door of your shared apartment, the only one on the third floor.

the blonde-haired man unlocks the front door with his keys before stepping inside.

your fiancé carefully closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake you up. he kicks his shoes off his feet before placing his sport bag on the floor next to the door.

atsumu’s dark brown eyes are attracted by a small light coming from the living room.

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the pro volleyball player walks over to the living room, scratching the back of his neck.

the frown on his face immediately disappears at the sight in front of him, a fond smile replacing it.

the television is on, mamma mia is currently playing on the screen, one of your favorite movies. there’s a plate of muffins on the coffee table, blueberry and lemon ones with powdered sugar icing on top along with a glass bottle of lemonade.

all the while you are laying on the skandi couch, facing the television, visibly asleep. one of your cheeks is pressed against the back of your hand, your eyes closed and your plump lips slightly parted. soft breaths escape you as one of atsumu’s large shirts is draped over your body.

despite all of his efforts not to wake you up, atsumu’s foot bumps into one of the couch’s footers, making him yelp at the sudden pain, which wakes you up.

atsumu watches as you turn around, facing the couch’s back, a frown on your face while a small whine escapes you. your eyelashes flutter open, trying to adjust your eyesight to the light coming from the television.

as you sit up, you start rubbing your eyes, letting a groan of complain before finally glancing to the side, glaring at your fiancé.

“sorry, baby.” atsumu flashes you a small smile, a hint of regret visible in his eyes, despite his urge to laugh at your sleepy appearance.

“how’s my future mama ?” he asks as he places his hands on the back of the skandi couch, leaning towards you.

“fine, but she was quite calm until you arrived.” you accusingly tell him, a subtle frown on your features as you place a hand on your baby bump.

“‘t’s not my fault she likes my voice.” atsumu lets out a chuckle, placing a hand on the side of your face, turning your head to place a small peck on your plump lips. “only two months left…”

you let out a small hum at his words, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

atsumu parts away from your plump lips, licking his own. “imma eat somethin’, what do ya wanna eat ?”

you scratch the bridge of your nose with your nails, thinking about his offer. “i want vanilla ice cream… with olive oil and salt.”

atsumu nods his head at your request, a small ‘kay’ leaving his lips before he walks over to the kitchen.

he knows better than to criticize your cravings, especially since it isn’t the weirdest one out of your seven months of pregnancy.

your fiancé turns on the kitchen’s lights, scratching the back of his neck as he walks around the kitchen to gather the ingredients.

he grabs two bowls from one of the drawers before turning over to the fridge and opening it. he grabs the vanilla ice cream container along with his oatmeal and the milk.

atsumu places a good amount of oatmeal into his bowl before pouring some milk on top and putting the bowl on the side.

he then begins to scoop out some vanilla ice cream, placing it in the second bowl before grabbing the olive oil. he pours a trail of the oil on top of the ice cream and sprinkles some sea salt on top.

the blonde-haired boy wipes the kitchen counter, cleaning the small mess he made, and puts the ingredients back in the fridge.

he grabs both the bowls, along with two tablespoons and walks back to the living room.

“here ya go, pretty girl.” atsumu announces with a grin on his face as he hands you your bowl and a spoon.

he slides on the skandi couch right next to you and digs into his oatmeal. he glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches the pleased expression on your face as you savor the ice cream.

“do you want to try it, ‘tsumu ?” you ask as you look over at atsumu, pointing to the mixture in your bowl with your spoon.

“nah, i’m not trustin’ you with that.” he shakes his head, a loud laugh escaping him.

safe to say that you were pissed at him after that, which only made him laugh more.

[harridansibyl]

Personal associations/interpretations of the dark/mystical houses (4th, 6th, 8th, 12th)

4th house

twisted tree roots, cultural practices, heirlooms, photo albums, inherited features, traditions, the mother, past lives, generational trauma, picture books, garden beds, childhood homes, ancestor altars, hand written recipe books, hearth, squeaky wooden floorboards, genealogy archives, caves, oak trees, baby wrap carriers, emotional security, cultural heritage, building foundations, photo albums, genetics, laundry lines, swing sets, property, mines, crops, sanctuaries, the chest and heart, home steads, fields, farms, root cellars, harvests, pots on stoves, brooms, backyards, agriculture, vines on trellises, handmade blankets, grandparents house, laundry baskets, attachment styles, singing lullabies, history, deep emotions, instincts, the unconscious, summer, waxing moon, vase of flowers, bath time, picking berries, celebrating holidays, chicken coops, older sisters, family gatherings, stone paths, forest walks, ancient structures/buildings, ancestral languages, cupboards, staying in

6th house

vitamins and supplements, morning routines, pharmacies, tasks and lists, doctors offices, health food stores, stomach medicine, hygiene practices, journals and planners, schedules, herbal teas, personal rituals, emergency kits, dog walks, lymphatic drainage, caregiving, donating blood, examinations and checkups, meditation, colour coordination, sticky notes, gastrointestinal problems, folded laundry, labels on everything, retirement homes, hand washing, braided hair, herb gardens, filing cabinets, face masks, kombucha, detailed diagrams, volunteer work, medicine cabinets, cleaning supplies, shelves, acts of service, skin care, organic linen, gauze and stitches, stress-induced illnesses, essential oil/herb baths, house plants, instructions, repetition, holistic medicine, giving advice, yoga studios, "gut feeling," bone broth

8th house

altars, divination, near death experiences, candle wax, feeling crushed by a heavy weight, grave dirt, red/dim lighting, funerals, double income, control, the underworld, cheques, insurance, heirlooms, ghost sightings, power imbalances, crime documentaries, ouroboros, bank accounts, grief and loss, shadow work, the womb, manipulation, scrying mirrors, Russian nesting dolls, keys, mortuaries, tests from the universe, pendulums, crime scene tape, the phoenix, projections, credit scores, animal bones on a forest floor, blood stained sheets, metaphysical shops, spiritual attacks, deep emotions, snakes, dead flowers, late autumn, wedding veils, envelopes, full moon, muddy boots, shadows at the corners of your vision, scarab beetles, inner processing, experiencing crisis, inherited possessions, natural disasters, sexual trauma, psychological studies, ancestral connections, cracked dolls, veil between realms, mental illnesses, deep connections, intimacy, reincarnation, torture devices, keys, whirlpools, the sound of sirens, unconscious fears, intense first impressions, pushing limits, feeling bound, scratches on walls, ten of swords

12th house

abandoned places, liminal spaces, long winters, shadowy figures, reoccurring dreams, repeated patterns, fog-filled forests, self analysation, inner worlds, cave systems, unfinished basements, hallucinations, solitary confinement, empty parking garages, spiral staircases, substance abuse, trapped in purgatory, hidden beneath the surface, maladaptive daydreaming, hospital hallways, confines of society, waning moon, moths, wandering aimlessly, disconnection from the world, psych wards, healing others, tired eyes or dark circles, chronic mental illness, suppression, addictions, hiding places, overnight shifts, unexplainable experiences, past life karma, exhaustion, cobwebs, others projections, catacombs, bird cages, premonitions in dreams, prescription bottles, self destructive patterns, late night walks, misty lakes, the feeling of walking out of the movie theater at night, identity crises, blurred faces, empty public transport, astral projection, comas, diary entries, dissociative episodes, shape shifting, generational trauma, observing people, mirrors, padded rooms, the afterlife, chain link fences, paradoxes, feeling misunderstood, repression or memory loss, hikikomori, the freeze response, disappearance, waiting rooms

[shruiee]

Let’s Play Dress Up

Vampire!Rhaenyra x Reader x Vampire!Daemon

masterlist | Bloody Baby AU | Vampire AU

synopsis: Ms Blood Bag breaks a rule to play her little game, stumbles onto Rhaenyra’s midnight snack. Rhaenyra punishes Baby to prove to Daemon she isn’t soft with Baby

warnings: DARK! DUBCON (I think) NONCON (to be safe) blood, blood drinking, infantilism, mdlg vibes? mommy mink, sub space? pet play, spanking (paddle), clamps (nipples and clit), vibrators, exhibitionism? butt plugs and bondage. overstimulation!! degradation!! pussy spanks. heel worship. WlW,

A/N: what have I done 😨

Another day of digging through your closet, gowns of pinks, baby blues, sweetheart neck lines, halter tops, sparkly, tulle, high slits—high slit. You happily shuffled out of your sundress for the day, your getting ready playlist blaring through the ceiling speakers. The red dress hugged your body perfectly, the silk so cold it made your nipples perk up and rub against the fabric. You excitedly twirled, damn— you already imagined your best friend hooting at you once she saw you in this. You clicked a picture and sent it to her, nibbling at your thumb and smiling to yourself.

Makeup, because why not, you still had five hours before Rhaenyra made it home. Daemon had left for Braavos the night before, preparing for the charity gala for a deal well struck. You hummed along, rubbing moisturiser into your skin, you had hoped to put on some mascara, maybe a nice bold lip to match the dress— mostly since it would be easy to scrub off in the shower. It was only then you realised from all the lip glosses, oils and sticks. Not a single red, barely darker than a hot pink. You pouted, you knew this was Daemon’s doing, forever infantilising you to his perfect little girl. The frilly socks and the bowl of candy in your room.

You knew who did have beautiful red shades— Rhaenyra! You knew you weren’t supposed to be in their rooms when they weren’t home. Only having been inside the dark scarlet room twice, the night of the party and the second was when they showed you the cabinet full of dragon eggs. You sauntered over, your Versace pumps clicking against the marble floor as you walked across the corridor to the other end of the grand staircase. You rested your hand upon the gold handle for a moment, looking back to your rooms once more— they wouldn’t know — you pushed the handle open.

The strong scent of mahogany and vanilla filled your nostrils, you once more looked to your rooms and the the floor below through the trim railings to check for Mrs Stone before slowly closing the door behind, wincing at the gentle thud as it latched close. You turned, the thick maroon and sheer white curtains pulled, the only glow in the room came from the heated egg chambers. You happily trotted over, squatting down to admire them once more.

“Hello dragons.” You mused, petting the egg from the outside, finger dragging against the warm glass. “Will you hatch? Maybe one crack…” you spoke to the white egg with gold scales “no? Please?”

What pulled you from your adoration gleam upon the dragons was the quiet but very apparent whines echoing in the room. You looked around the living space, finding nothing as you stood in confusion and stood straight. Walking towards your left to Rhaenyra walk-in-closet. The moment you stepped in, the soft vanilla smell of her perfume became more apparent. Her closet far bigger than yours, shelves covered with glass doors and quaint vanity at the end of the room. The centre island filled with jewels, rubies, gold, a very distinct dark metal necklace with rubies laid on a plush velvet holder. Valyrian steel, just like Daemon and Rhaenyra’s signet rings.

You looked at the vanity, eyeing the perfect scarlet to match your skin tone and the dress. You pout your lips to swipe the colour across your lips before looking side to side, a little messy without lip liner but just to mess around? This would have to do, you wiped around the corners of your mouth before making sure everything was placed right back where the belong before leaving.

Again, you were graced with whimpers, you were sure they were there. You should have left, you knew you should have. However your curiosity are at your as you ventured further to their bedroom, and then it was. The source of the whimpers, a tied redheaded woman, heaving with the gag shoved in her mouth. Her hands chained to the brass ringlet mounted to the wall, the second she say you her shoulders slumped as she blinked her tears away. Then she gestured her head to the chains, you gulped - fuck, what the hell had you stumbled into - you walked forward bending to her eyes, worried for the poor thing.

You pulled the tape from her mouth, cries pouring through in relief. She had dried blood running down her neck, chipping against her skin. She sniffled her cries to try and halt them.

“Ho- how long have you been here.” She hiccuped, seeing a glimmer of hope for survival in you

“Two months…” you looked to her chapped lips “do you need water?”

She furiously nodded as you stood up, tiptoeing across to your room to not alert Mrs Stone as your grabbed your pink cup and sprinted back with your skirt hiked up.

You bent by her head again, holding the straw to her lips and letting her drink, her hair was in a messy braid, the stray hairs clinging to her skin and her skin ghostly pale. You pulled two tissues from the tissue box on the side table and wet it with the water from your cup. Gently rubbing away the dried blood.

“We have to leave!” She croaked “why haven’t you run?”

“Run? I live here now, with Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is my home.” You monotonically replied, still wiping away at the blood, your heart mildly thudding. Not for her, she shouldn’t be here.

She was in their room, chained by their bed. You weren’t even allowed in here. Your heart thud louder as you rubbed away “we can never leave.”

“No! You don’t understand, we can run…” she huffs “I counted steps and you— you know this place. Please! Untie me, we can go.” More tears fell from her eyes as she pleaded with you.

You looked back to the door before reaching for her cuffs, that heaviness in your chest returning as you unhooked the bonds for the ringlet and started pulling at the chains.

“What do you think you are doing?” Rhaenyra’s stern voice spoke up from behind you.

Your blood froze as you slowly turned to face, “uh- I— she,” your words began to fail you.

“Get away from her.” Rhaenyra commanded, pointing at the bed for you to go sit on the bed.

A hard glare fixated itself within the purple of her eyes as she swiftly tied up the red haired woman again.

“Was she letting you go, sweetie.” Rhaenyra asked the girl, petting away her hair and you frowned harder. You’re her sweetie. The girl nodded, making Rhaenyra tut before turning to you. Her eyebrows quirk, awaiting an explanation.

You looked at your fiddling finger on your lap, unable to muster up an answer as she came to hold up your jaw. She was disappointed, you could see it in her eyes.

“What was the rule?” Rhaenyra questioned, she should have known your curiosity would kill you soon. Mostly she was worried that you would be terrified of her now.

“Don’t go to your room.” You whispered, still trying to look away.

Hmm

“You just had to play dress up that badly, huh?” she stroked her thumb across your cheek. “Let’s play dress up then.”

You sat on your knees, moving your weight uncomfortably.

“Don’t be scared.” Rhaenyra had whispered, forcing your to look at her, your head went blank for a moment and then your heart wasn’t thudding as hard anymore

All you could here were the placated whimpers from the red-haired girl sitting on Rhaenyra’s lap as she fed on her. Not a drop of blood trickled down as she controlled the flow of the girl’s blood through the carotid. Jealously was burning at your throat as Rhaenyra took her time leisurely feeding on this girl, she only fed like that on you. You were all pouty, however you couldn’t look away if you knew what was best for you.

Rhaenyra had dressed you throughly, after ripping through your red gown, she had pushed a cabinet to open. Pulling out a red collar to wrap around you neck, she had cherry lubed your ass, pushing in a plush red kitten tail butt plug into your hole and then promptly pulling onto it to tease you. Clamps with kitten bells on them had been pinching on your nipples as she sucked them hard before sliding them on. Your horror was when she flicked her tongue against your clit just the way you liked it to have you squirming and then clamped the little bud over the hood. The kitten bell adding just enough weight for it to remain dangling in between your legs.

You wanted to call out to her, beg her to feed from you instead but you couldn’t. You focused so hard on the way her lips’s suckled around the girl’s skin. There were tears rolling down your red hot cheeks.

Rhaenyra pushed the girl off her, she was still conscious but too weak to break her fall as she laid flat with a thud.

“Come here kitty,” she motioned her fingers towards you. “Come to Mommy baby.”

You moved to stand but she stopped you, “Crawl to me.”

You placed your palms flat against the plush rug, crawling over to the space in between Rhaenyra’s legs without giving the barely moving girl’s body laid on the other side of the floor. The bells clamped to you jingled as you inched forward, longing to bury your head in between her thighs.

You stopped in between her thighs, glancing up at her through your lashes, your glossy red lips just begging to be kissed and bitten. You were about to rest your head on her thigh but she pushed you back with her heeled foot.

“Lick my heels, kitty.” she smiled, tapping her other foot on the ground.

You waited for a moment before bending down, your pink tongue poking out and licking a strip through the pencil-thin heel of her red-bottom shoes. You hummed, kissing the heel. Taking your sweet time to show her how sorry you were. She tapped your cheek with her other foot, letting you switch over and lick up the covered foot and then her heel.

Rhaenyra pulled you up by the hair, admiring the lengths you had gone to play your little dress up game before. The red bows in your hair would have Daemon feral and she knew the perfect way to coax her husband back home early. She reached down to pinch both your nipples as she pulled you up to your feet, you yelped, the sting radiating through your tits as you gave her the pouted lips once more.

She stood to push you down where she sat, taking a moment to admire the mess you were soon to be before flicking her middle onto your pouted lips, they wouldn’t work this time. The connectable cuffs laying idle around your wrists and ankles were just waiting to be used as Rhaenyra pulled you to the edge of the bed. You scent of gleaming cunt making her impatient as she hooked each of your ankles to your wrists, forcing you to keep your legs spread open.

“Now— you’ve been bad.” She began, shuffling down to pick up the forgotten flogger in her hands.

“I’m sorry Mommy.” You whimpered the second you saw her stroking through the ropes of the flogger.

“Ah- ah kitties don’t talk baby,” she tutted, reminding you of the plug situated in your asshole as she gently pulled on the plug to stroke the tail. “Use that dumb baby brain of yours and tell me, what do kitties do?”

The humiliations burned through your chest, more tears welling in your eyes but what other alternative did you have?

“Meow?” you asked, hoping to appease her enough to weasel your way out of this predicament.

“Good girl!” She praised before swatting the flogger sharp against your ass. Your help bringing her much joy.

“Let’s see—“ she rubbed the sore skin of your ass “Mommy will strike you ten times, and you will count? You can count kitty? Can’t you?”

You nodded your head, sniffling.

“Good, let’s begin then.”

The first hit landed against your ass, your body stiffened as you whimpered. “O-one.” You stammered.

Another immediate strike radiated through your rear, much harder—a penalty. You made mistake. “Kitties do not talk.” She reiterated.

“Meow.” You sobbed.

The lashes came one after the other, Rhaenyra had enough sympathy in her heart to soothe the sore flesh with her palm as she waited for you to mewl out your kitten count before striking harder than the one before. The last one, you screamed. Legs shuddering from the pain as your cried out the last count. Face covered in mascara tears and snot as you lamented the ache on your ass, the tips of the flogger curling bitterly around you curves to cover the expanse of your skin. Some cruelly being landed right onto your cunt, the fourth one making your squirt from the pain.

Rhaenyra sighed, dropping the flogger and reaching for her phone in her trouser pocket. The sight of your reddened, blue ass was sure to be a ticket home for Daemon.

“Look here baby, pose for mommy.” she cooed, the frame perfectly capturing your tear-soaked face, your sopping cunt and your bruised ass. Even the little red ribbons in your hair leaking from behind made it in, along with the tail hanging over the edge of your bed. Your swollen little clamped nub also waiting to say hello to Daddy. She smiled to herself as she sent the live picture to Daemon before tossing her phone to the armchair.

She was nowhere near done with breaking you apart just yet.

She pulled out a vibrator next, hoping to reward you for taking your spankings like a good little girl. She reached up to the bed to place a pillow under your back to angle you to her liking before shuffling behind you, pulling you snugly between her legs. She unhooked the cuffs, holding onto your ankles as she freed them. You whimpered feeling the cramps in your hips.

“Shhh—you are fine kitten, no more pain for you.” She cooed, letting your legs fall before hooking her calves around them to keep them spread open.

She reached for the oh so yearning bud next, the worst of it all. Toying with the little bell as you yipped and flinched, she gently pulled it off. Letting the bundle of nerves fill but blood again, the filling pain had you crying out. Trying to bury yourself in Rhaenyra hold as she consoled you.

“Oh baby, so swollen look.” She curred, letting the pads of her fingers gently graze over the peaking flesh before pushing the hood behind.

She turned on the vibrator, the setting low as she pressed against your clit. You squirmed against her hold but to no avail. She tapped the vibrator on your bud. You still mewled, rubbing your hips into the cool object.

Even in the throb of your ass and the one very evident in your clit, your first orgasm tore through you out of nowhere.

“That’s it, good girl!” Rhaenyra praised as she pressed down the vibrator hard, switching the setting up higher.

Just as the waves of the first one washed over, dread-filled in your belly as Rhaenyra didn’t pull away. You cried harder, the oversensitive tingle in your bud began to knock the air out of your lungs. Clawing at your insides as you cleaned harder around nothing, wanting to beg her to stop, please mommy, you tapped at her thigh but she wouldn’t budge.

Rhaenyra knew you would break, you would speak. She didn’t want to hurt you more for violating another rule, finding the only solution for this and sticking two fingers into your mouth. Using it to gag you as she stroked your slimy tongue, your soft lips curled around her fingers as your muffled wails indicated your next peak.

This time you gushed around the vibrator, screaming from the back of your mouth as Rhaenyra pulled out her fingers to push open your hood further, letting those cruel vibrations focus on your weeping clit. You thrashed, shaking your head as the wave toppled you down, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching away from Rhaenyra Your entire body stiffened as the warmth engulfed you once more.

Rhaenyra turned off the toy, dropping it on the bed next to her as she held you through your orgasm. The pads of her fingers rubbing through your folds gently and circling around your throbbing clit. You still sobbed in her arms, unable to speak, you looked up at her. Vision blurred from tears as you cried, Rhaenyra kissed your temple as she pulled off the nipple clamps.

You shrieked as she rubbed them, soothing the pebbled flesh with the cool pads of her thumbs. So bitterly pinched and hardened.

You wept, letting Rhaenyra scoop you up into her lap; your head immediately burying itself into her chest as you wailed, she was rocking you, like a child grazing their knee upon she was soothing you with the rubs on your back.

You look up at her, still hiccuping through your sobs. She knew what you wanted, tracing the trembling bottom lip as she laid a peck on it.

“You can speak, baby.” She purred, her eyes long softened at the broken figure of yours.

“I- I’m sorry Mommy.” You pule, then again hiding your face in her chest.

Rhaenyra might have sat there for hours, rocking your shaking frame in her hands, humming a Valyrian lullaby to soothe your aching.

“Do I not make Daddy and you happy anymore?” You weakly mused, your fingers toying with the gold chain on Rhaenyra’s neck.

She frowned looking down at you before nudging her nose against your forehead to make you look up at her.

“What makes you say that?”

“She gets to stay with you at night,” you referred to the red-haired girl “You like feeding on her.”

“Oh, baby.” she cooed in a sing-song voice “She is just a midnight snack,” Rhaenyra explained. “Just like the candy bags in your room.”

You were still pouting, satiated with the answer but unhappy. You could still see her wrist laying on the floor, you looked away.

There was a longing, you needed to be sure. You lifted your wrist to her lips, looking at her pleadingly.

“You want me to feed on you?” Rhaenyra tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, a burst of triumph flared in her chest. The reasons to compel you into feeding seemed to have been fading.

“Please, Mommy.” You mumbled, shuffling further into her hold.

Rhaenyra took hold of your wrist, just grazing the poking nerve with her fangs as her eyes darkened, the nerves yet again pooling around her eyes, a terrifying sight to most but not to you. She hummed before sinking her fangs into the flesh. Fine caviar amongst the pretenders, she groaned at the sweet coppery taste of your blood. Watching over you as you closed your eyes, dozing in a soft slumber dancing across your eyes.

Phew… here’s another Rhaenyra focused chapter. I’m sorry if this is a bit much compared to my usually vanilla smut (minus the incest)

I’m giggling thinking of Daemon loosing his find over the picture of tied up and weeping Ms Blood Bag

comments and reblogs are appreciated.

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[justforbooks]

One Club Row, London E1

Battered stuff, things in buns, strong drinks: a thrilling, retro ride. They will feed you, water you, give you a good time and make you feel carefree and cosseted

As a name, One Club Row sounds a bit like the title of a 1990s lads’ mag, but it’s actually a purposely shabby-chic room above a pub in Shoreditch that serves martinis, oysters and schnitzels in a heady, tipsy, twinkly atmosphere that itself may well remind you of the 1990s. Or at least it will if you were “on the scene” back then. These days, the 90s are synonymous with louche, raffish semi-pandemonium, mainly because today feels so saintly in comparison. No 90s restaurateur ever offered reclaimed spud peelings as a starter or a kombucha-led, alcohol-free drinks flight to spare your liver, complete with an earnest lecture on zero-waste hospitality. Puritanism was definitely out there back then, yes, though mainly only in The Cranks Recipe Book. But mindfulness? Not so much.

What One Club Row and similar London establishments such as the Devonshire in Piccadilly and the Plimsoll in Finsbury Park seem to offer, is a thrilling, retro glimpse of mindlessness. Battered stuff, things in buns, strong drinks – and the sense that, at any point, you might cop off with one of Shed Seven or Wendy from Transvision Vamp.

In that same spirit, the Knave of Clubs downstairs calls itself “a proper pub” where dogs are welcome and you can “have a pint and a packet of crisps”. There are bags of Tayto’s, scotch eggs and toasties on the bar menu, and Sunday roasts. On a side street behind the pub, One Club Row has its own separate, neon-signed door, a hole in a graffitied wall, that opens to a wooden staircase – think 1990s squat party – that leads up to a long room where, by 8pm, the party will already be in full swing. Elegantly, of course – this is not a bun fight – with rather sexily dim lighting, and a long bar where you can eat a plate of pickled jalapeño gougeres while sipping one of their four house martinis (club, classic, French or olive oil).

Obviously, if, like me, you remember the 90s from their original incarnation, by 8pm you may well be thinking: “Gosh, it’s a bit late”, and “Why is the font on this menu so faint?” and “Hang on, is this actually Les Trois Garçons?! I thought I’d been here before!” If that all sounds rather expertly staged, then thank owners James Dye and Benjy Leibowitz and chef Patrick Powell for that. It’s all very well creating a buzzy, laid-back, convivial vibe, but with Leibowitz on the floor, alongside general manager Niall Harte, things stay the right side of fancy.

Powell, meanwhile, has been one of my favourite chefs for quite some time, particularly at his former Michelin-starred Allegra in Stratford. Here, however, his menu is much more hearty than fussy or finickety. There are croquettes filled with lobster and ham, roast scallops in confit garlic butter and thick French onion soup topped with comté and gruyere.

We began with a round of those gougeres laced with cheese and sweet, spicy chilli, plus one of the chunky, crisp lobster croquettes, which dance a dainty line between an Antonin Carême classic and a Findus crispy pancake. A classic steak tartare with beef-dripping bread, dressed with crisp baby gem leaves, was really very delicious, as was a remarkably pretty tuna crudo, arranged artistically with teeny slices of pickled celery and draped over a rather funky blend of smoked aubergine, creme fraiche and lemon. Zingy, smoky, delightful.

Mains are marginally even less cheffy, and major on the likes of fishcakes, pasta, moules frites, meatballs, a ribeye with chipotle mayo to share, and so on. Hell, there’s even a burger, and they won’t even resent you for ordering it. This 250g grass-fed specimen, served almost rare, may not quite be the best fancy burger in London, but it’s certainly nothing to complain about, either. The accompanying sauce au poivre, however, was a little weak and drab in comparison. The fries – just fries, mercifully, rather than truffled or faffed with in any way – come separately, with a little bowl of aïoli. A whopping pork schnitzel in a sauce moutarde with added gorgonzola was a feisty combination and, considering its size, felt a bit of a challenge.

For dessert we shared a Dutch baby with chantilly, blueberries and optional smoked bacon. What is a Dutch baby, you may ask – well, it’s what those of us in this parish call a yorkshire pudding.

One Club Row isn’t fine dining by any means, and some things still need a little fine-tuning, but that isn’t really the point. They will feed you, water you, give you a good time and make you feel carefree and cosseted. And if that all sounds a bit old-fashioned, then the future suddenly feels a whole lot brighter.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Massage

@jegulus-microfic January 14 Word count 638

It had been a gruelling week for James. It was, of course, of his own making. He was up every day at the crack of dawn, including weekends, for a run around the grounds. Then, straight into a team Quidditch practice. His day would then be split between lessons, homework, pranking and meals. Then, finally, a quick solo flying practice before he settled down for the evening.

He was always proud that his body could just keep going. No matter what he did, he could always do more. That was until a mistimed dodge of a Bludger twisted his back and caused him a lot of pain.

He spent an absurd amount of time in the shower, the hot water pounding into his lower back. He did feel better for a while after that, but by the evening, his back was so sore and stiff that he decided not to go for his evening flight. 

Instead, he flopped down, face first onto his bed, trying to stretch his back out. It didn’t help. He groaned into his pillow. He was so uncomfortable. 

Regulus walked in not long after. They’d given him the password to Gryffindor Tower at the beginning of the year. There had been a few grumbles, but Sirius had managed to quell most of the unrest using his natural charms. The majority of the Gryffindors thought the Black brothers had made up and wanted to spend time together. Only a few in the know knew the truth. Regulus was here mainly to see James. 

He wandered over to the bed, tilting his head so he could see James’s face better.

“What are you doing?” He asked. James grunted as he turned his head to talk to Regulus.

“I hurt my back. This is the only comfortable position.” Regulus hummed as he thought. He left James and went into the bathroom. It wasn’t long before he returned with a bottle of baby oil that he had stolen from Sirius’s collection of products. 

“He’ll kill you if he catches you messing with his lotions and potions,” James murmured. Regulus scoffed. 

“I’m using them on you. I hardly think he will care. Now, take off your shirt.” He ordered as he started rolling up his sleeves. James rolled over. With some difficulty, he unbuttoned and slipped his shirt off his shoulders. 

Regulus carefully climbed up onto the bed and straddled James's legs. Settling himself on James’s thighs. 

“This ok?” Regulus asked James as he shook the baby oil bottle before opening it and pouring a small amount into his hands. 

“Uh-huh.” James had closed his eyes. The slight pull caused by Regulus’s weight on his thighs was pulling his back muscles but in a good way. 

Regulus rubbed his hands together, then got stuck in. He gave a good massage. When they had been young, he’d massaged Sirius’s sore body after his punishments. After so many times, he’d gotten really good at it. 

He’d barely started when James started moaning. The sounds only got worse. If anyone came up the spiral staircase now, they’d think Regulus was giving James the time of his life. 

After a few minutes, the noises stopped, and James’s soft snore escaped his mouth. Regulus continued kneading James’s back until he felt the knots relaxing. 

He got off the bed, being very careful not to knock James as he did. He returned Sirius’s baby oil before his brother noticed. James was right. Sirius would kick up a stink if he saw Regulus with it. He went back and gazed at James, sleeping soundly. His back must feel better as his face was soft and untroubled. He bent down and kissed James’s forehead before leaving him to sleep. He went downstairs to spend some time with his brother. He had to keep up appearances, after all.      

[albi-bumblebee]

Last Kiss

Transfem!Sirius/Lily, 638 Words, for Femslash bingo dark card prompt: Last Kiss.

As Sirius gazed out of her the window in her mother's old, decrepit bedroom, watching the cold, unfriendly square outside Grimmauld Place, she couldn't help but think back to the last time she saw her Lily living. 

The lamp glowed with aureate light that illuminated the edges of Lily's body, making her look golden. 

Sirius' breath caught in her throat as she viewed her from the staircase. 

Harry was perched in her lap. 

She looked over at Sirius from the sofa, their eyes meeting, her brilliant green and Sirius' silver. 

She smiled.

Sirius sauntered down the rest of the stairs. 

Lily gestured for her to sit next to her, and she did.

Sirius couldn't help but stare at her pale eyelashes.

"James is asleep?" Lily asked.

"He was knackered after we practiced that hex Dorcas wrote up for me."

She nodded.

"You think you might still have a couple of kisses left in you? We haven't since we moved into this boring old cottage."

"I have been occupied with the Order, and James being around has not made things easy. You know that better than I do."

Sirius kissed Harry on the head, and gently placed him on the armchair next to the sofa. 

"Part of me thinks you've just spent the last six months refining that motorbike. I can smell the oil on you."

"I may have been in the workshop this afternoon, but after I was done scouting."

Lily coughed.

"Oh well then."

Lily grabbed one of the tassels on Sirius' velvet robes, dragging her closer to her,

She twisted it in her slender fingers.

Sirius took it as a sign, and sat down next to her.

She pulled up the hem of Lily's knee length skirt, and squeezed her thigh. 

Lily's left arm coiled itself around her, pressing them further together. 

Sirius' blood felt heavier in her veins. Everything was blurred at the edges and heady.

She pushed back Lily's fringe. 

Lily brought their faces closer, and brushed her lips against Sirius'. 

Sirius gasped for a moment, but then reciprocity. 

Their mouths locked together, a slow chorus of pleasure.

Lily's lips were supple, and tasted like sour apple, probably from her chapstick.

Sirius thought it was heavenly, as their mouths moved against each other's at a leisurely pace.

Sirius' fingers curled into the cotton of Lily's shirt.

Lily's right hand crept up the front of Sirius' robes. 

She felt Lily's hand lightly grip one of her small, pert breasts.

A small noise thrust itself out of her throat.

Lily and James were the only two people who knew she was taking Oestrus Elixir, in hopes that she would be able to live as woman by next year.

Sirius tilted her head away for a moment.

"You forget yourself, we can't while the baby's here," Sirius breathed out.

"Right, you're right. I could put him upstairs."

"I think I ought to go home, I've been awake for too long. I'll bring you a new Potions book next time I visit, alright?"

"Two new books, and we're discuss the contents after."

"Deal."

"Wait, when do you think you'll be able to come back next? Will you make it for Halloween?"

"Not for Halloween, no. We'll see each other on my birthday, though. I'll make sure of it."

Lily gave her one last chaste kiss, and relinquished her hold.

Sirius got up, and stumbled towards the front door. Her shoes click-clacked against the wooden flooring.

Then She opened the door, and left. 

How badly Sirius regretted taking her leave when she did. 

She drew her head into her hands.

There was a metallic taste in her mouth, had been all morning, no matter how many times she tried to flush it out with water.

She rubbed her eyes, and resolved that she ought to go find the Firewhiskey.

Thank you for reading <333

[captonite]

Don’t You Dare Say Her Name

Post-dream continuation | John tries to talk. Dean and Sam lose it.

They were on a hunt in South Dakota when it happened.

Bobby’s house smelled like oil and dust and coffee that had been sitting on the burner too long. Sachi was curled up on the couch with a book, wrapped in Sam’s flannel — the sleeves hung way past her hands.

She was quiet. Still a little too pale from her last fever. Still flinching when doors slammed or voices raised. But she was healing.

She laughed the night before. A soft snort when Dean dropped a fry down his shirt and cursed like a sailor. Sam and Dean had both frozen when it happened. Like time paused just to capture it.

Dean didn’t sleep that night.

He just sat up, hands over his mouth, replaying that little laugh over and over again like it was music he’d never heard before.

John showed up unannounced.

Boots on Bobby’s porch. Beer in hand. Like the years hadn’t passed. Like the blood on Sachi’s shirt never happened. Like she wasn’t asleep upstairs wearing a sweatshirt Dean gave her the night she called from hell.

Dean saw him through the window and nearly shattered the glass running to the door.

“Absolutely not.”

“Dean—”

“No. No, you don’t get to show up. You don’t get to breathe her air.”

John’s face tightened. “I’m still your father.”

Dean barked a humorless laugh. “Not to her, you’re not.”

Sam came down the hall, quiet but purposeful. His hands balled into fists. His jaw locked.

“She upstairs?” John asked, craning his neck like he had the right.

Dean stepped between them. “You look at that staircase again, I’ll bury you myself.”

John didn’t back down. “She’s not your kid, Dean. She’s a liability. You said so yourself.”

And that’s when it happened.

Sam — quiet, rational Sam — shoved their father so hard he staggered back off the porch.

“You don’t get to use our words against her,” Sam snapped. “We were wrong. We were blind. But we love her. And she’s not your punching bag.”

John’s brows furrowed. “I never laid a hand—”

Dean cut him off. “You didn’t need to. You made her believe she was unwanted before she could even speak. You made her think she had to earn being alive.”

John glanced toward the house again.

And that’s when Sachi, wrapped in a blanket, peeked through the door frame — tiny, unsure.

Sam saw her first. “Chubs, don’t—”

But she was already outside.

John’s eyes widened. “That’s her?”

Dean turned, furious. “Go back inside, baby.”

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, eyes big, clutching the flannel like it was armor.

And then—“Hi,” she whispered.

John’s mouth opened.

Dean stepped in. “No. You don’t speak to her.”

“Dean—” she murmured.

“No, baby,” he said gently, turning to her, voice trembling now. “You don’t owe him anything. Not your voice. Not your kindness.”

“I just wanted to see…”

Dean knelt down in front of her. “He’s not him.”

She blinked, confused.

“He’s not the dad. He’s not the protector. He’s not the one who made you feel safe. You hear me?”

Sachi looked between them, then slowly nodded.

Sam took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Go back in, sweetheart. We’re right behind you.”

She obeyed.

She trusted them now.

Dean stood. “Say her name again, and I swear to God—”

John shook his head, finally starting to back away. “You boys have lost your way.”

“No,” Sam said. “We found it. And we found her.”

Dean turned back one last time. “If you ever come near her again, I won’t hesitate.”

---

They went back inside.

Sachi was curled on the couch, trying not to cry.

Dean picked her up — just scooped her into his arms like she was small again — and tucked her into bed without a word.

Sam sat at the edge, gently brushing her hair off her face.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I heard everything,” she whispered.

Dean froze. “You weren’t supposed to.”

Sachi looked at both of them. “Thank you. For not letting him... for protecting me.”

Dean’s eyes burned. “Always, chubs.”

She yawned, curling into the blankets. “You guys… I love you.”

Sam swallowed hard. “We love you too. So, so much.”

Dean whispered while tucking her in, “Sleep tight, baby. We’ve got you now. Forever.”

And for once—

She believed it.

[immoralimmortals]

A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 10: Kimmy and the Kalmia Kid

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter

Summary of chapter: Lust and purity fall as drops into the same pool of Kisame's mind, and he's concerned that they blend so well instead of mixing like oil and water. A flower festival proves to be one of the most challenging missions he's taken on since becoming an Akatsuki. What does it mean to maintain a lady's honor?

Author's Note: Two songs are used here, the first one being Woah There Kimmy by Felix Hagan and the Family. Second song is Kalmia Kid by chloe moriondo. Minor content warning: this one is saucy and has vague discussions of prostitution that doesn't actually happen. But while we know that, Kisame does not.

*slaps the fanfic* This baby can fit so much self serving mental illness, autism, bisexuality, and polyamory in it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I’m so sainted, untainted

Scrubbed up and squeaky clean

My virtue will serve you

Delight that’s so pristine

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

What has Kisame done today to deserve his eyes?

White sheets wash over their heads like seafoam of a tide. He senses her with every part of his anatomy. The woman raises her head, hair falling over her shoulders. It is immediately known that those hooded eyes desire him just as much as Kisame achingly desires her. Thirsty, soft lips part as she lifts herself up, drawing closer to the man as their bright snowy backdrop gently tents overtop her exquisite body. She’s so small compared to he as she leans above him, but the view he gets of her now fills his whole world. He is so, so hungry for her flesh, and he is ready to taste every square inch of it.

As he reaches a hand forward to guide her mouth to his, Kisame wakes up.

The sound of her sigh disappears as he gapes for air, throwing himself straight up in bed, heart racing as he grips the covers between tense fingers. Tweet, tweet, tweet. The morning birds mock him from the windowsill as Kisame begins to recover from his beautiful, terrible dream. Each hurried breath leads to one just a bit slower until the very last one comes as a groan behind a worried frown. The air is cold upon as his bare back now that he’s sitting up, and a hand holds his forehead in grief. He waits a moment. The blood in him needs to calm down before he moves from the mattress and begins the day, lest he spend more of it feeling like a lowlife.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

That’s what I tell myself

Well you’ve torn those lies apart

Just touch my wrist and for that instant

I’m yours with all my heart

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

His tormentors, dreadful and cute feathered things, seem to follow him from the outside trees down the staircase, into the hallway, and down past the kitchen. He pauses as he’s about to walk by the entryway of the room, his hair nearly touching the ceiling as he looks over his shoulder and towards the vase. The little blue daisies he bought have disappeared, not a day after they started to show decay. It’s a mildly disconcerting turn of events, though as far as bad things go this is probably in the bottom two or three of things that actually matter right now, which is not a hard award to achieve when bloodshed is the name of your game. Still...if the lady is so picky about her flowers, it wouldn’t hurt to replace them for her. A conversation begins under his breath as he walks over the floor he’s repaired, picking up the empty vase in his hands.

Ah...to get more would mean to go back to the florist that missed her. Maybe it’s time he considered keeping a promise. But is it a good idea to go so soon? Perhaps wait until his lusty heart clears up and he can behave like a human being in front of—

“Good morning!”

—Her.

The straps of her dress fall more loosely than he noticed before, as she surprises him from behind. Eyes trail down from the shoulders he’s massaged down the cleavage that teases ever so slightly in her neckline, down to the curves at her waist where the fabric hugs so lovingly—

“Mm?”

Goddammit.

Fish eyes return to her own, which are to his gratitude unwitting. To her, Kisame seems simply as if he is just waking up. “Sorry if I kept you up too late.” An apology, already, though from the warmth in her smile it is merely a formality. The birds continue to balk loudly behind the man’s ears, as if he’s not overwhelmed enough. Just shake your head enough, Kisame, and maybe it’ll knock the thoughts out.

“I’ve stayed up later,” he shrugs. Bashfully, the princess raises her shoulders, too, tilting her head.

“Not me, not really. I’m more of a morning person. It was nice, though!” A pause. He’s a bit...quieter than she expected. “...Did you have a nice time?”

Kisame remembers, of course, as two of the most gorgeous people in not one but two universes graced him with their presence until midnight, leaving him with longing and regret that he was so much of a bastard in a past life to curse this one with a shark’s mug and a penchant for unforgivable violence.

“It was alright.” He corrects, though, as the woman raises her shoulder higher just so her head can dip lower in disapproval. “I’m not used to that kind of thing, that’s all.”

What, having friends? She’s so fucking glad that this was NOT one of her slips of the tongue and stays in a shameful little corner in her head where such malice fucking belongs.

“Well...I appreciate it, then.” The traveler nods to finish the conversation, about to make her leave—

“Hold on,” a groggy voice stops her in her place. “What do you think about going to the village today?” As the woman mumbles in questioning interest, he elaborates. “I didn’t know you’d been there before. Turns out, someone misses you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Woah

Step back and slap myself sane

Now lust erupts to leave shame

Bad little man, catch him and make him say:

Woah there, Kimmy

I’m not that kind of boy

I’m not some womanizing, self-defiling

Slave to my own joy

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A lot of someones missed her, actually. The star of the show walks out of the shop first, a twig of forget-me-nots behind her ear and straw-colored sunhat cooling her face with its shadow.

“Wow. I didn’t realize she liked me that much.”

Kisame did, a man having become a walking bouquet of flowers of every shape and size that are together so large you can’t even see the bottom half of his face.

“You don’t say?”

She hums in the negative, though her tone is pleased. “We just talked in the morning, when I used to come down for lunch.”

“Lunch?”

A hum in the positive. “Kakuzu used to give me an allowance. I’d come over every day for it, and the entrance closest on the path here is always right by the flower shop.”

“...I see.” He had wondered why she was trying to lead the way for such a long walk it was to the town. It’s one she knows well. Another thought scratches his brain, though:

“Did you really just say Kakuzu gave you an allowance?”

“Oh, yeah. Just enough for lunch at the market.”

Well, that is a thing that Kisame never expected to hear in his lifetime or, frankly, any other in any timeline or in any dimension. He huffs a chuckle to mask confusion with amusement, tilting his head past an iris to see where he’s being led by the girl now. Someone too busy to stay gives her an excited wave as they wander by, one she returns as if she recognizes them.

“...Rather interesting he’d give up his own change. Must have put quite an impression upon him, to get a single coin from that miser.”

“Oh! It was technically mine. He said it came from my tips.”

What. What?

“Tips?”

“From the work he got for me.”

...

What???

The ghost of the still very alive florist looms over his shoulder, repeating something he had forgotten until now:

She was with others like you. She visited our village alone in the day, and they brought her back by night.

“Kisame?”

All of a sudden, he sees how everyone acknowledges her, if they so choose. He sees them with eyes half closed, lips parting, moving towards the oblivious siren. But the knight’s ward is not oblivious to him, to how he stops in place. She steps forward to stand right in front of him and look up, hoping he recognize her and say what’s wrong. Kisame feels as if the crowd of people is inching closer and closer to circle her like prey.

“AH! Kisame-!”

A coral-toned azalea ends up underneath someone’s shoe as a sacrifice, as Kisame frees one arm to quickly shuffle his princess away from immodesty. Turns out when a fish blushes, their cheeks turn purple. Oh, dammit…

The air is much cooler in the shade of the thin alleyway, the smell of trash an absolutely delightful addition to the aroma of flowers. His head is held again, dipping with the weight of a very likely reality that he was foolish enough to bring her back to. She repeats his name again, more commandingly as she begs to be recognized, but the shark can’t speak until he knows what to say.

“Kisame...?” He’s scaring her, now. The woman approaches from behind, gripping both hands on one arm and tilting forward as much as she can so as to put herself in front of his sight. He can’t bring himself to match her gaze.

“...I’m sorry.”

“...Huh?”

But he can’t give further answer at the drop of a hat. Whatever it is, it’s deeply affecting him, as he frowns so hard that lips lining sharp teeth begin to twitch. The woman knows, though, what it is like to be so overwhelmed you cannot talk, so she merely, gradually, moves herself in front of him again so that she is right there whenever he is ready.

Being able to look down the top of her dress is not helping. He’s no better than the rest of them. Kakuzu, though...he’ll pay for this. He really made a girl as sweet as her the village prostitute. Shame chokes his neck.

“I shouldn’t have brought you.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“To see them again. I’m—...certain you’re uncomfortable. I’m certain your...occupation...was not one where you want to return.”

She furrows her brow. “What? Well...just because I met most of them in a different place at night doesn’t mean they can’t talk to me when I’m not at work.” She talks as if she could just...waltz back into the job any second she wanted to. Fish eyes cast her under a new light that makes his heart ache and race:

Did she enjoy it?

Kisame makes himself look squarely at her boots instead of any part of her body, innocent or otherwise. Sex work is work, of course, and fine when done safely and without duress, but...she didn’t strike him as the type. Does that childish veneer really carry such sultry expertise underneath? On her side of the back alley, the performer is only about halfway to deciphering what this is about, but lacking a full answer doesn’t keep her from acting upon her instinct to comfort the man.

His stare jumps up as she takes both of his hands, and before they can wander, they pin to the flower in her hair.

"I’m okay,” she assures, and she means it. “I liked my job. Everyone treated me nicely and if they didn’t, Hidan helped me out.” Kisame tries to imagine the silver-haired demon as chivalrous for the first time they’ve started wearing the same clouds. It is very, very difficult. “Kakuzu arranged everything so while I just...did my thing, we got paid and everyone went home.” For some reason, she knows, it’s important to her guardian that everything was safe. Were Hidan and Kakuzu really that mean to other people…? Grumpy, yeah— also yeah okay they were killers or whatever— but they didn’t start any fights! Yet! “I was safe. I was never scared.”

"...You weren't forced into it, were you?"

It is not a good thing that she shrugs as an initial response. He nearly has a heart attack and half a mind to shave the zombies shred by shred to see if they'd still technically be alive.

"He kinda pushed me to try it...but it worked out. I enjoyed myself." An index finger and a middle finger on either hand cross, framing a nearly silly smirk. "Promise!"

Beside himself, Kisame memorizes the shape of tiny blue petals around yellow dots until he can see them with his eyes closed. She was safe...she was happy. Why does it bother him so much, then? She is not his; the carnal desire for that to be true does not substitute an actual contract of fidelity to the man. So Kisame does the right thing and lets the woman choose her life for herself.

“If you say so.”

Her smile widens and she closes her eyes up at him. The skin so soft against his, even if its just their hands, make his purple tint deeper and his own grin feel like an undercover sin.

“I’d like to go back outside now.” And he nods. And then, something horrible happens, as they reenter daylight: a familiar face from the flower shop is running down the street to catch up with them.

“Takara-chan!!!” she nearly runs the other woman over, throwing her arms around the performer to catch herself before holding her by the shoulders, stepping back. Was she one of them who hired her? She's so attached to the songbird... “I thought I’d lost you! I forgot to say—!”

“Mm? Say what?”

The florist is beaming. “The hydrangea festival is this evening!!!” Why does Kisame’s stomach sink as her heart flutters to the sky?

“A festival?” She gets an eager nod in turn but no explanation. “I’ve never been to one just for flowers before.”

“You HAVE to come! Please? Please, please!” Beseeching, the villager looks up to Kisame. He notes the trust in her eyes, now that he’s brought back the woman safe and sound as she had asked. “It’ll be in the town courtyard. I made all of the arrangements! Please take Miss Takara-chan, I know she’d love it!”

And though Kisame knows it is the princess’s decision to make, the two women still look to him for approval. He is, after all, her chaperone; her bouncer; her Akatsuki.

He isn’t sure he likes the feeling of replacing the feet that were in Hidan and Kakuzu’s shoes.

The man exhales, much less amused than he’d normally be. “...Fine.”

This is already the longest day of his life. Might as well make it longer.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Woah there, Kimmy

But I’m programmed to destroy

And make mistakes, so hit the brakes

And find another to enjoy

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Honestly, it’s a real damn shame that he didn’t tell Itachi there’d be dango and make him come along.

But the woman’s modesty— whatever that means to her— necessitates his protection, and it is her decision to tell the Uchiha about her line of work when she so chooses. However, she seems rather...open about it, and he notes others are pretty open to her, in turn.

“Hello!”

“Takara-chan!”

“Where have you been?”

“I missed you!”

For a performer, all the attention is making her blush.

“Wow...I...wow,” she murmurs to Kisame the moment there’s a clearing in the crowd, some space to be somewhat private. “I had no idea they liked me so much…” It surprises him, too. Perhaps it’s a different attitude this village has, to see her for her heart of gold before anything else. He still hasn’t looked her in the eye yet, today, and the way she refuses to let go of his hand— lest they lose each other in a place neither had explored all that much— is not helping the stress on his mind.

Having no answer from him in the seconds after her confession, the star turns her head side to side, taking in everything. “Wow…” she repeats, under her breath in awe. Speckles and bundles of blue, purple, pink, and white adorn the buildings at the town center like an art piece, cut and in pots and rooted in ground alike.

“Isn’t it wonderful?!”

The florist gleefully makes herself known once again, latching both of her arms around her friend’s in excitement. “It’s my first year doing it! I mean, I did it before, but that was before my dad passed away— Anyhow! It’s good, right?”

As if she has any expertise in floral arrangement, the gardener’s favorite rose nods in assurance. “I think it’s wonderful,” she confirms, choosing the same word the other lady did on purpose. The florist squeaks with glee.

“Oh, Takara-chan…—!” Abruptly, the kimono-clad woman lets go of the princess and stands straight up, attention locked across the paved circle at a man who looks especially curiously at one of the bushes. “Hold on—” A few hurried steps forward and she begins to rethink this command, ponytail whipping as she turns her head backwards at the two strangers. “I have to stay and host everything. You just go and have fun, okay?!”

And she’s off to the races, already educating the other villager’s ear off by the time Takara turns to her guardian with a bright smile. Kisame isn’t as sure as she is that they can do as told.

Gentle fingers guide his, happy to blindly lead and wander the sectioned off streets and shops now dedicated to natural beauty and perfume. It’s familiar, of course, the way people eyeball the giant blue man, but somehow it is much more uncomfortable now that he has a dainty, feminine comparison by his side. Does he look like a lost puppy or a vicious dragon in the minds of these strangers?

But he must remain, not only for the mission but as an unspoken duty to the lovely girl that feeds hungry eyes.

It’s fascinating, he ends up wondering at the back of her head, how someone that he thought he had clocked so well— she did melt so quickly that night in the cave, of course— could have so many unguessable multitudes. It reminds him of when he first met Itachi, a handsome man he greeted with hostility but eventually made more than peace with. It’s the lonely life of a ninja, yes, but they’ve at least been lonely together. Kisame knows his soft, matte gray eyes and the ravenous nature of his sweet tooth, and Itachi knows each flaw and strength of his partner like the back of his hand. The shark sighs. Beauty to him is merely something destined to be put on the shelf of his mind, isn’t it? To be admired and protected but never touched.

But the difference between Itachi and Takara is that Takara will touch you.

“Kisame…” His palm feels hers tighten, and he snaps himself awake to see a finger of hers point. “What’s that?” Bittersweet, his toothy grin widens. Ah, the irony.

“Ahhh…” he takes in the sight as they approach, tri-colored balls of mochiko delicately slid onto wooden skewers by a street vendor. “That’s dango.” He drinks in the sound of her hum, curious and unknowing of even the most common treat. “Don’t tell Itachi-san that I told you, but it’s his favorite.” He reaches into an inner pocket of his cloak. “We’ll grab some to go.”

A minute later, a stick is in her hand, and he examines her as she examines the candy, its weight and balance and its dusted, muted color against the blue sky.

Really? Someone like her...?

Kisame threatens his own brain to shut the hell up. It doesn’t matter. She’s still the same person. It’s none of his business. No matter how sweet her lips look, rounded and plump as she brings the candy nearer...no matter how cute and pink her tongue looks, peeking in between her teeth. Her innocence is a fact assured as the treat is, eventually, lowered. She re-wraps the dango and hands it back to him for safety alongside the spare.

“I’ll wait until we can share it together. I figure he’d like that.”

…

Kisame exhales, one side of his mouth wearily upturned.

“So he would.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Well I’ve got these demons

They’re screaming for something good to eat

Trussed up and dreaming of their freedom

Their chains are getting weak

But I’ve seen darkness

In my heart, miss

And it scares the shit out of me

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The terrible, beautiful nightmare come to life finally winds down, it seems for the poor, hotblooded man. Some sort of song is hummed sweet as nectar inside his friend's mouth, legs that are bare up to the knees kicking at her seat. Twilight has fallen, the sun down but the sky not yet dark. Finally, a long day can be put to rest. Kisame rolls his weary shoulders, one arm behind her on the bench while his chin looks to clouds the same color as the festival’s flowers.

“We best be getting home now, or else the whole trip is going to be done in the black of night.” The woman interrupts her murmurs to reply.

“Mm…” This tone is a sad one, and while tempted to argue that she’s gone back in the dead of night all the time, it isn’t her call. Kisame sighs.

“We can always come back.” He damn hopes they won’t, but that isn’t his call. Takara sighs.

“Yeah, okay…” The melancholy is as thick as can be for reasons he can’t assertain why. One by one, the street lamps are lit by a candle bearer, and the woman watches them until her eyes trail down to the one place down this road where the building’s entry shines in the coming midnight.

“...One last thing?” With his grunt of permission, the performer explains. “I wanna visit the bar before we go.”

The bar.

Kisame can feel his heartbeat in the sides of his neck going up to his ears and aching his head. Presumably, if he remembers correctly, this is where she used to go, escorted and guarded by the zombies. Presumably, if he infers correctly, where she preformed her work. She’s allowed to go back. Of course she is!

And putting himself aside, she deserves to not go alone. He accepts solemnly, with a dip of his head, and her eyes are as bright as the stars. The woman guides him by the hand the long walk down. He counts the lamps until the awning of the only business awake this hour is at their feet.

One.

Two.

Three.

She senses how tense he is. “I think you’d like them,” she tries to soften, and a lost breath in his throat somehow loses even more air.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Is he afraid? Why is he afraid? Is he unhappy? Why is he unhappy?

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

“...You don’t have to go in with me if you don’t want to.”

Ten.

Kisame drinks in the sight of her, his sinful gaze better hidden as it grows dimmer outside. Lantern-light slicks her locks and caresses the shape of her face. A couple of blue petals have fallen over the course of her day, off and away into the cracks on the road or blown onto rooftops. He can’t help himself. He pushes the stem of flowers back in place.

Briefly, he asks himself: if so many hands can touch her, why not his? But he’s not that kind of man. He wants to be wanted. It doesn't feel fair otherwise.

“Takara!”

The two dreamers under the stars turn around as a new addition opens the curtain, arms spread open. She recognizes him immediately.

“Sir!” though she’s ashamed she never learned his name, the middle aged man makes her beam. Kisame finds his mustache too bristly and eyebrows too thick; you can’t get a good read on a face you can hardly see. The barkeep’s star, though, reads the wiggles of fuzzy brown caterpillars with ease.

“Where have you been, my girl!” A clap on her back is met with wary eyes, one which the man seems to meet with a raise of his chin. “Ahh, a new entourage. I’m glad you took her back. Place hasn’t been the same without our little lady.” The hand slides down, holding her around the hip. Kisame wonders if his stare alone could set it on fire.

“Wait, really?” The older man meets her surprise with an exhale.

“My little wallflower doesn’t know how to give herself credit! I still get asked: ‘Taiga, when is your girl going to come back!’ I swear, my profits on drink since have sunk 15% if I did the math right.”

A flush tinges her face, and wide eyes end up locked on their shoes. “Wow…” So maybe it wasn’t just Kakuzu that kept her employed. Huh. ...Huh.

“Now, I don’t mean to take up your precious time. Is this business or pleasure? Guess for you, it’s the same thing!” Oh, Kisame does not like how he laughs at his own jokes, but she doesn’t seem to mind, and for her sake he can keep his pointed mouth shut.

“Just wanted to say goodbye before I left.” The old man coos:

“Ooh, well, goodbye to you, lass. But consider this: you only just arrived! You don’t want to come in? Maybe perform one last time?”

“Welllll…”

Kisame scrutinizes every inch of his ward for some sort of signal she needs help. But, eventually, the woman just just shrugs her shoulders.

“I suppose one more night wouldn’t hurt.” She looks up at the knight. Oh no. “Is that okay?”

He nods. He cannot do anything but nod. The old man leads the way, disappearing into the debauchery and expecting her to follow. Does the star expect the same of Kisame? She certainly offers it with that long gaze she gives. Before him again, as earlier when he held the flowers, an innocent folds her hands behind her back and stares up in wait. Kisame is so, very, still.

…

His frown twitches.

…

The corners barely stretch up.

“I’ll wait out here.” No, he cannot bear it. He will be here, waiting without judgment, but he cannot witness what she does. It's as if he doesn't have the right. The man isn’t sure what to make of the exhale she gives, what she must expect of him— hope from him. What a strange thing, he ponders, as the woman slips by and he turns his back to the curtain. He tries to ignore the cheers that emerge, hardly muted by the barrier, tries not to imagine the groping and dirty words she will accept. But then...things are hush. Far too hush.

And then he knows he’s become the fool.

If I found someone to stick like glue to

That...is singing. She is singing.

I'd probably peer out from the leaves

Hide a couple of roses up my sleeve

The performer sounds more lovely than any dove as she continues the tradition Kisame has already known her so eager to do.

Of course she is singing.

And I always find myself stuck

In this love goo

Feelings are hard to ignore

Especially when you don't know what they're for

Don't know just what makes flowers bloom

But I hope that they'll enjoy a tune

Oh, goddammit, you asshole...

The swordsman breaks his chaste vow and peers inside, shocked at what the truth is despite how it was the likely outcome all along. She’s in the corner of this little watering hole, a borrowed guitar on her lap that she strums like she’s never been away from it. So many eyes on her but she only has her own on strings and fingertips, hair falling off her shoulder as she tilts her head in dreamy melody. Kisame sees her lips part and sigh, revealing secrets of tiny things that find contentment in their simplicity.

So if the only love I'll feel is for bumblebees

That's fine with me

That's fine with me

And if I'll only ever dance with pine trees

That's fine with me

The siren lures Kisame in, despite his previous misgivings, despite his obvious, painful misunderstandings. The giant ignores the stares on him as he drifts closer and closer in the tide of the goddess, and though she is not here for sex as he mistook, she is still the most enrapturing woman to have ever walked into his life. Her eyes crack open, the moment they notice him clear as she jumps up in her seat with excitement first and then simply, purely joy. She smiles. She smiles for him. A whole audience in the room and he could swear it's like he’s the only one that matters.

He’s the only one shy eyes will make contact with.

That's fine with me

He kneels right in front of her, as any obedient knight should. Although new and novel at first, the other stares begin to fade, and as she did before, the performer blends into their background. Her doubts hide in the lyrics and sift away, lost forever behind the noise of conversation and clacking drinks.

It's lonely in the coral reef I float in

I wish I could swim out of the sea

But sharks are circling and nothing's easy

I-I still don't really know

Which way I'm going

But I guess the water's warm enough to bear

And I never have to wash or dry my hair

He is so, so desperate to drink the sight of her in, both culpable and so relieved. It didn’t matter, no, but shame on him for assuming something so drastic just because of the sin on his mind.

I miss watching the flowers bloom

But at least I can keep writing tunes

The applause is a gentle patter as the song ends and she excuses herself for the night. The woman stands up, and much to his surprise, asks for his hand among many for his help down and out. The hesitation Kisame keeps doesn’t last, but the guilt for being so presumptuous does.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So I’ll cement my defenses

And get up off my knees

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The night is no longer young by the time the escort is complete, the welcome mat that is this clearing in front of her home finally beneath their feet. The crickets chirp and the owl calls. All the sounds of nature, and still the breath from her lips is the only thing he can hear.

“Kisame?” It isn’t a question, not really. She just wants his focus and permission to speak. She gets it. She gets all of it from him. “I...wanted to thank you. For everything today. I know it wasn’t your favorite.”

Don’t apologize, she reminds herself, he doesn’t like it when you apologize.

“I...hope you enjoyed yourself,” the performer rephrases, taking the sunhat off her head to hold it to her chest. His answer is immediate, of course, certainly he did—

But as he speaks it, he stops. He’s surprised to find it true. He did enjoy himself, somewhere underneath being a prudish worrywart fussing too much about what a lady does or does not engage with...even if only for the way she looked at him at the end of the night.

It’s so saccharine that he can’t take it anymore.

“Takara…” Kisame begins, tugging at his collar and looking towards the ground in shame. “I apologize.” It almost makes her mad, how he’s begged her to stop saying that and yet he—

No, it feels important the way he’s saying that. She closes her mouth and listens.

“I’ve been an idiot.” And he’s continuing to be! He doesn’t NEED to tell her this! Why? Why!!! Why does it matter that he’s honest? It’s because he needs a world of truth. He can’t go on another way. Honesty is something he and her have in common, spilling into their lives in different ways.

“I’ve thought...I’ve had...no reason to. I want you to now this. It isn’t your own doing. But with the breadcrumbs I’ve gotten today about working at night, and getting tips, I had...forgotten myself.”

Please don’t make him say it.

…

She is going to make him say it.

“I believed you to be a...lady of the night.” The term murmured under is breath for the minute chance the woman mishears him for something better. And perhaps she does! Because the first reaction he gets isn’t sobbing or yelling or a slap to the face. It isn’t even remotely upset. At most, at worst, is a tiny tinge of annoyance.

“Oh, well. I’m not.” And then her own guilt comes in. “I...didn’t do anything that made you uncomfortable, did I?” Kisame sputters.

“No, no! I simply— I just—” He looks her over, starting at her shoes, working up her waist and landing on stern eyes. They don’t hate him. Why don’t they hate him?! “I...I expected you to be uncomfortable with me. Assuming such a thing about you.”

...Oh. Something clicks in place for her. This is explaining a lot, about how quiet he’s been, how introverted.

“No…! Kisame…” Two brows tense in concern, a small pout in her lips as she tries to repackage the situation into something less raw and tender. “There’s...no such thing as thought crime. You know that, right?”

“...Thought crime?”

“Yeah. It’s a term used where I’m from.” She tilts forward at his side so he sees more of her, of how unintimidated she is no matter how brutish or mean or dirty he believes himself to be. “Just because you think something...doesn’t mean you’re bad.”

“Eh?” That certainly isn’t the response he expected. “That’s nonsense—”

“It’s really not! It’s what you do that matters.” Unable to stand tall enough to touch his forehead, she touches her own square in the middle, serious as can be. “Whatever is in here...it stays in there. It only matters—” The hand is moved back so both of hers are raised to the shoulders, flexing fingers demonstratively. “—What these do.” She’s pleading with him, and it hits him in one more sentence how emotionally immature he’s been:

“And nothing you’ve done today in misunderstanding my job has actually hurt me!”

The bugs and the birds and the lowlifes of the dirt play their tunes in the stead of his silence. She just sang a song about how she adores them. Is now really the time to dismiss her? ...He concedes:

“...Sorry, princess,” he sighs. She’s much too kind for him, unable to even return the scolding the woman has received before from him. She just smiles. The star twinkles and shines and smiles, and he melts. All of a sudden, he understands astrology, the people who throw their fate to bright and distant things.

“It’s okay.”

But as soon as they walk across the way, over the grass, onto the porch, and turn different ways down the old hall, not even her wave goodbye can cleanse him. The goodness in her heart and the snow-white purity of her soul are too naive to see past what they want to see, and another truth seeps into him as his bedroom door clicks behind his back.

Samehada looms inches away from his shoulder, disappointed at being left behind, at having no feast in the days he’s held back from war. A blue palm presses onto the bandages and lets it drink, staves it off lest he gets a good enough reason to take it out for a run. Normally, he’d be eager for it, but it’s too risky to do it here, anywhere within sight of a pale dress that’d be ruined by getting blood on it. It needs to wait. The beast in him needs to wait. Itachi knows him, knows that the Akatsuki are destined to die by their own treachery. There is no gentle way to make Takara learn...so perhaps he will just avoid tainting her mind in the first place.

At least, as long as he can.

And so he slips into bed and imagines his exoneration for besmirching the princess’s faith in humanity. It hasn’t happened yet.

But it will.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bad little man, catch him and make him say:

Woah there, Kimmy

I’m not that kind of boy

Get out of my mind and forget me forever

Woah there, Kimmy

I’m programmed to destroy

My body of mine

But that’s fine

So take your black heart and go

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

…

…

…

…

Tweet. Tweet. Tweet.

The lovebirds sing outside the kitchen window as Kisame is left dumbstruck, observing where the empty vase was. Not only is it now full to the brim, hydrangeas of the village cascading the edges and glowing in the sunshine, but what resided in it before has returned. Delicately taped to an old scrap of paper, the knight picks the blue daisies up. They have been lovingly pressed and dried over the past two days, surely by two equally lovely hands. He squints at the horizontal writing in symbols he can’t understand, leaving the imagination to fill the gaps. Just like a horror story, a romance is better written if one is allowed some mystery, room to see what the enigma of the brain wants to see. This is regardless of if it alarms the mind's owner, makes them wonder what lurks in their heart to make them think such a thing. Kisame so desperately wants the easy answer of being a monster. A rejection. A tailless beast.

But he also wants to be loved.

It is not so easy that the last word in the conversation of flowers is that he is still oh so very human, especially as a bittersweet parable still rings in his ear:

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

So if the only love I'll feel is for bumblebees

That's fine with me

That's fine with me

And if I'll only ever dance with pine trees

That's fine with me

That's fine with me-e-e-e-e-e

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[trillhouette]

This painting seems to have some discrepancies of what the title actually means, “Papilla Estelar” or Celestial mush/Star maker is what the internet is saying. Personally though Stellar mush may be the proper translation. Anyways,,, Varo presents a woman, likely a depiction of herself, using a meat grinder to create a kind of stellar mush—or ‘baby food,’ if you will to feed the crescent moon. The artist emphasizes the moon, drawing your eye through the scene to a staircase that mysteriously leads into the cosmos—but from where? The moon, seemingly held captive in this room, wears a glum expression—yet Varo tends to it with painstaking care. Why?

Varo, Remedios. Papilla estelar (Stellar Mush). 1958. Oil on masonite, 91.4 x 61 x 5.1 cm. Private collection. ADAGP, Paris.

[the-brothers]

Eleven - Twelve Months

A warm hand brushed over your left knuckles rousing you from your sleep. It was a struggle to open your eyes but you blinked a few times as Shanks came into view.

"Red?" you murmured startling him.

He straightened up in his seat next to your hospital bed not releasing his gentle grip on your hand, "There she is."

"How... What are you doing here?"

With a lopsided smile he rubbed his nape, "Well, you weren't answering my messages, emails or calls. I got worried and called the house phone and Thatch told me what happened."

"You didn't have to come here." you glanced around the room filled with flowers and balloons with well wishes printed on them.

"What?" he asked offended, "You're my girlfriend, I love you. Of course I came."

"Shanks,"

"Look, I know I've messed up, but please. F/N... give me another chance."

You sighed, too tired to argue, "We'll talk about this when I get home."

You knew you probably shouldn't, but he rushed over when you were hurt, and you still loved him.

"Where is everyone?" you looked down at your right arm wrapped in gauze and reposed across your chest secured in a sling.

"The boys are home with Thatch, probably sulking after the lecture of the century. Your dad and Marco went to get some food." he answered observing your demeanor.

You hummed and winced as a deep ache began to roll down your arm.

"Should I call the nurse?" the redhead reached for the call button as the door opened.

"Ah, you're awake, lass." your father boomed moving to the side of the bed, "how do you feel?"

"Like shit." you inhaled through your nose, held the breath for a moment and exhaled slowly.

"It's normal to be a little nauseous, yoi." Marco commented recognizing this habit of yours.

Your stomach churned as your father reached over Shanks and pressed the call button for the nurse, "I don't wanna barf."

"I'm sure they can give you something." Pops swept your hair from your face.

Moments later the nurse entered and gave you more pain medicine along with something to settle your stomach. She also informed you that visiting hours would be ending soon so only your father could stay. You placed an order for a small bland dinner before she took her leave.

"I'll be back after my shift tomorrow, yoi." your brother assured, "Gotta let the old man rest."

"I'm just fine, brat." Pops shot him a pointed glance as Shanks stepped forward.

"I don't want to crowd up the hospital room so I'll call you tomorrow." he kissed your forehead.

You hummed, "Be careful going home."

"Always." he nodded smiling brightly.

"Hopefully a little dinner will help you get your color back," Pops turned back to you as the boys exited the room, "I haven't seen you this pale since you had the flu a few years ago."

"We'll see, I don't feel much like eating." you sighed nestling back into your pillows, "How much trouble are the babies in?"

Your father's brow twitched, annoyance flowing over his features, "They're grounded for the next two weeks - it was going to be longer but Thatch argued that they'd been traumatized enough."

"Traumatized? I don't even know what happened."

"Apparently Ace and Sabo watched some movie where a kid fought off home invaders by oiling the staircase. We had to have a long talk about reality versus TV and movies." He grumbled.

"Sounds delightful." you scoffed.

"I'm glad you still have your sense of humor, lass." his golden gaze met yours, "The trauma is from seeing the result of your fall."

"Marco said it was bad."

"Ya bled everywhere, it was like a crime scene." he boomed, "But it's all clean now. You just worry about your recovery. Those boys will be fine."

Two days later you were released from the hospital. Arrangements had to be made for your final exams because you weren't able to return to school just yet.

When you returned home Ace and Sabo did their best to avoid you, casting gazes to the floor and giving short responses. Things were incredibly tense and you hated it.

If you could just get them to stay in the room long enough.

One night you woke up to movement at the foot of your bed and the sound of soft sniffles.

"Luffy?" you murmured into the darkness as the movement continued up the left side of your mattress.

"F/N..." your baby brothers shaky little voice answered finally popping his head out of the blanket as he reached you.

Wiggling into a more seated position you reached over him to turn on the lamp, surprised to see tears streaming from his big brown eyes.

"What's the matter, baby?" you wiped his face with your left hand and caressed his cheek.

"Pops i-is ... is gonna send us baa-a-ack!" he sobbed flopping against your torso.

You furrowed your brows and ran your fingers gently through his hair, "It was just a bad dream, you aren't getting sent back."

"Nah-uh," he sat back to look at you, "i-it wasn't a dream. He is.. he is gonna."

"What? Says who?" now you were getting angry.

How dare some bully convince your sweet baby brother that he'd be sent back to the orphanage. And on what preposterous grounds!?

"Ace and Sabo, they said because they hurt you." he hiccuped and hugged you.

"Shh shh," you rubbed his back to soothe him, "Pops would never do that."

"I h-had to pack." Luffy continued to cry.

That was it.

You pulled the blankets back and shifted to get up.

"Sorry, I can't carry you right now buddy, let's go to your room."

Luffy sniffled and rubbed his eyes getting down first so you could stand before leading you to the boy's room. Ace and Sabo were shuffling around whispering to each other when you opened the door.

"Damnit Luffy," Ace scoffed, "you crybaby."

"Hush," you entered the room and shut the door, "What the hell is going on here?"

"Packing." Sabo muttered flatly.

"Yes, I see that," you sighed, "for what?"

"We're leaving." Ace answered, "No point in staying when we'll just get sent back to that place."

"Why on Earth would we send you back? Your adoption was finalized ages ago. You belong here."

"Look, it doesn't matter how much we try to be good. We always get sent back." Sabo grit.

"Oh I see." you moved across the room and started dumping out their bags with your free hand, "I don't know what monsters took you in before, but this family doesn't work that way."

"F/N!" your freckled brother groaned.

"You know how many things Marco and I broke. How many fights we got sent home for?" you ignored their protest, "Pops doesn't care about that stuff. He loves us, we don't have to meet any standards. We just get love, just like that."

The room fell silent as you realized tears were rolling down your face.

"But, you could have been hurt way worse." Ace glanced away dolefully.

"It was a dumb accident." you wiped your face, "That doesn't mean we love you any less. Pops would be so hurt if you left." you sniffled, "We all would be."

Sabo gently took your hand as his big green eyes became glassy, "We're sorry."

"We didn't mean to hurt you." Ace added wrapping his arms around your waist and hiding his face in your shirt.

"It's ok, I'm ok. Let's move passed this. Everyone is fine. You're just grounded and I'm sure that will happen many more times," you chuckled softly, "but you can't run away every time. It doesn't matter how mad Pops gets in the moment, he loves you, you're his son's now."

The boys sniffled and nodded - all three hugging you now.

A sharp wrap on the door startled the four of you.

"You brats better be getting back in bed. It's a school night." Pops' voice was surprisingly gentle despite his choice of words.

"I-I was just tucking them in." you called back moving each child to their respective bed and whispering goodnight to them.

"Hurry it up then, you need your rest too."

"Yes - " when you opened the door your father was still standing in the hallway, "...sir."

You shut the boy's door and stood in front of Pops ready to apologize for still being up when he reached up to wipe your tears away.

"Thank you lass." he kissed your head, "Now, get to your room, I'll finish tucking them in."

"G'night then." you murmured making your way to your door as Pops stepped into the boy's room.

"Let's read a little," he suggested closing the door behind him.

You got back in bed with a sigh.

These kids were going to be the death of you one way or another.

[league-of-sam]

Catching A Ghost | Simon 'GHOST' Riley

Ghost x Reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Simon 'GHOST' Riley x AFAB!Reader!OC 18+ MINORS DNI! t.w // angst, mental health, language, violence, death, sexual themes/SMUT, military inaccuracies, language inaccuracies (google translate).

Catching A Ghost: Masterlist

Splashes of water as cold and sharp as ice cut at your face as you sped across the surface of the ocean, packed into a boat with Graves, Soap and Alejandro.

You had managed to contact Shepherd, who found that there was an oil rig only 400 miles off the coast, where the cartel had been using it as a dead drop, with a cargo ship anchored not 500 meters away. There, a large container was seen on surveillance being moved from the ship to the rig.

If the missile was anywhere, it'd be there.

Ghost was leading the first team boat, comprising of him and Shadow Company. They would be infiltrating the ship. You and Alejandro made up the second team, heading to the rig along with the third team; Soap and Graves.

Your clothing and tactical gear was soaked through, mask now completely stuck to your face. You clutched your gun in your hands, listening as the others reviewed the plan.

On arrival, you were the first to leave the boat, Alejandro boosting you up to the metal bars. Once you were up, you began expertly climbing, weaving in and out of the structure. The others opted to climb up using the ropes, but you were no stranger to a little acrobatics.

"Reaper, slow down! We're not up and ready yet." Graves said through your comms.

"Negative, Shadow." you grunted, "haul ass."

Despite your method being supposedly slower, you reached the platform before they did, and had taken out three unsuspecting guards while you waited.

"Damn, Reaper." Graves said as he reached the platform.

"I don't know why you keep acting so surprised." you said, offering your hand to pull him over.

The minute the teams were on the platform, you split off, all of you putting your various training and skills to the ultimate test. 

You went ahead alone, opting to use your knives where you could. 

The others were just slowing you down.

"Shadow to Reaper, where the hell are you?" 

"Clearing staircase to main deck." you grunted, slamming your knife into the body in front of you before pushing him overboard.

"Already?"

"When the Reaper comes, death is sure to follow." you said, making your voice gravelly and low.

A chuckle erupted over comms, "Was that supposed to be Batman?"

"Yes, Soap, it was. You tryin' to tell me it wasn't?"

"6-2, 7-1. Focus up." 

"Boo, you're no fun, Ghost."

"Oh really?"

You decided not to answer, only smirking as you stood cockily on the stairs, watching the rest of your team weave around the bodies as they came to you.

"Reaper on your left!" Soap yelled to you.

As you turned, a cartel member ran at you full speed, clearly with the intent of trying to push you overboard. With the dark of the night and the rain pouring, it made it difficult to spot him, and he managed to get you down, cutting your arm with a knife.

You let out an angered yell, using all the strength you had to lift the man with your legs, kicking him backwards over the railing.

A little move that Alex had taught you.

"Reaper! Baby you good?" Graves said, pushing Soap out of the way to help you off the ground.

Your arm was bleeding, a gash along your bicep. He moved your arm to look, and you winced.

"You okay, carino?" Alejandro said once he caught up to you.

"Yeah, 'm good." you nodded, ripping a strip from your shirt to bind the wound. "Let's go."

Bursting through the doors, you rolled over to avoid the incoming fire, shooting your own bullets into the cartel men, all of them taking their last breath. The others followed you in as Ghost confirmed his status on the boat.

"All Shadows, force out! I want eyes on that container now!"

You followed your team outside, shooting as best as you could as the rain drove down on top of you. It was almost impossible to see.

"Shadow-1, Ghost, visual on flares coming from the rig! What's your status, over?"

"They're signalling the ship! They're gonna launch that missile!" Soap yelled back.

The pace of everyone quickened, then, as panic set in. 

If that missile went, there's no telling the damage it'd cause.

With Soap and Alejandro covering, you and Graves nodded to each other, and ran for the missile. You were slipping and sliding, rolling and tumbling, vaulting over various bits of machinery that was in your path to get there. 

Bullets mixed with rain, your hair was slick to your head, eyes barely open as you squinted to see. 

Oh my god.

The missile was in sight.

"Actual, this is Shadow-1. Rig is secure. Moving onto the container now." Graves communicated.

"Roger that. Confirm when the objective is neutralised." Shepherd responded.

Soap had caught up to the two of you, pulling the doors of the container open, only to find it completely empty.

"Where are the controls?" he said.

"On that damn ship."

"Ghost! The controls aren't here! They're on the ship!" you said, turning to run back to the boats.

"Copy that, Boo."

You ran as quick as your feet could carry you on the slippery metal of the deck, winding down to find Alejandro, the two of you taking overwatch. 

Soap and Graves jumped back into one of the boats, speeding to the ship. Ghost's yelling could be heard, saying he'd found the missile controls on the bridge. You watched in horror as their boat crash landed onto the ship, sniping any enemy that came even remotely close to your boys. 

"Alejandro, maintain overwatch from the rig! We're forcing up." Ghost said.

"Copy that, hermano! (Y/N) and I have got you covered."

The sounds coming through the comms were pure chaos, as everyone yelled out orders and directions of enemies. 

It was a full on battle.

Finally, the team was able to make it to the bridge, taking out the last of the cartel members and securing the missile controls.

"Eyes on the controls, tappin' in...Fuck! We can't disarm it."

"Why?" Ghost asked.

"It's too late."

"What? You have to!" you yelled.

"There's no abort code?" Said Soap.

"Yeah, well that window's closed on that, boys...Gold Eagle, Actual, this is Shadow-1. Missile's in boost phase about to burn, how copy?"

"Solid, Shadow. If we can't disarm, then we detonate."

"What? Sir, surely not?" you said to Shepherd.

Just another reason you didn't trust him.

"Soap, get on the controls - we're gonna have to do this together. Now the clock is ticking. So we gotta move, brother. Alright?"

You and Alejandro could do nothing but listen as they ran through the process, trying to divert the missile.

"We're gonna take out the oil rig with the missile." Shepherd instructed.

"Alejandro and Reaper are back there with the Shadows." Soap interjected.

"Oh my god- Reaper, all stations, clear the rig now, I say again- clear the rig!"

You did not need to be told twice by Ghost to burst into action.

Dragging Alejandro by his hand, and yelling to the other Shadows, you ran through the decks, not even paying attention to your comms anymore.

That missile was gonna blow in less than a minute, and you will die if you're anywhere near it when it does.

You jumped into the boat, everyone piling in before a Shadow set it full speed, floating you away from the carnage. As you pulled up next to the ship, you turned, just in time to see the missile fly into the air.

Stood next to Alejandro, you marvelled - despite being so deadly, it was a fucking sight. The blast went off, erupting the ocean. You could hear the shattering of glass above you, the black of the night sky lit up a magnificent mixture of oranges and yellows. Alejandro had turned you, shielding you from any debris that may have come your way.

"Steamin' bloody jesus." You heard Soap mutter.

"Alejandro, you okay?"

"Holy mother of God- that was fucking crazy, man!" he said from next to you, shaking you slightly from his excitement.

"You safe?" Soap asked.

"Yeah, you?"

"All good here, hermano."

"Reaper you good?" Ghost asked.

"That was fuckin' insane! I understand why Soap wanks over demolition videos now."

"Oh my god for the last time I don't do that-"

That was it.

Mission complete.

Getting back to the cars waiting ashore, you reunited with the other half of the team, sharing hugs with Soap. 

Ghost approached you, gently taking your arm in his hand, pulling off your makeshift bandage. You let out a hiss, the pain now catching up to you now that the adrenaline of the mission had worn off.

You looked up at him, his eyes filled with a level of concern that made your heart flutter. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you were cut off.

"Ride with me, my Shadow medic can patch you up." Graves said, walking over to stand with the two of you.

"I'm more than capable of patching myself up-"

"Go with him, Price. Get it done properly." Ghost said, dropping your arm.

Your own hand went to grasp at the wound, the loss of Ghost somehow making it hurt more. You went to protest, but he'd already walked away, and you caught the back of him climbing into the last car with Soap.

"C'mon, darlin'." Graves spoke softly, placing a supportive hand on the back of your shoulder.

You frowned, but turned to look at your ex-fiancé, nodding. He grinned widely, and led you to the car. 

The journey back to the compound was silent, aside from Graves reporting to Shepherd in hushed tones, or constantly turning to make sure that his medic was taking good care of you. By the time you were pulling up to the gates, you had fresh stitches and a clean bandage. 

You watched through the window as your car was allowed past the checkpoint, but then a hand went up, stopping your teams cars from proceeding. Alejandro, Ghost, and Soap exited their vehicle, only to be cut off by Shadow soldiers.

"What are they doing?" you said to Graves.

He turned, sighing, "This'll just take a minute, stay here." 

With that, he got out of the car, leaving you in it with the medic and one other soldier.

"Fuck that." you said, and swung the door open, jumping out and slamming it behind you.

"What's this?" Alejandro said.

"This is the immediate future." Graves replied. "Damn it, (Y/N), I said stay in the car."

"What the fuck are you doing?" you said.

You moved your hand to rest on the pistol strapped to your sides, looking from Alejandro, to Soap, to Ghost, with panicked eyes. There was five Shadows and Graves between them and you. 

Something wasn't right.

"Step away from the gate."

[tellyreviews]

Bhagya Lakshmi 14th May 2025 Written Update: Rishi Ousts Lakshmi

Bhagya Lakshmi 14th May 2025 Written Update: Rishi Ousts Lakshmi. Today in Bhagya Lakshmi written update, Neelam asks Lakshmi if she has tried to harm Malishka. Rishi asks Neelam how can she suspect Lakshmi. Kiran asks Lakshmi why did she plot this against Malishka. Lakshmi denies the accusations. She tells that she can’t think of harming Malishka’s child. Aanchal tells that she has seen Lakshmi on the staircase. She rebukes Lakshmi. Harleen, Rishi and Ayush support Lakshmi, while the others doubt her. She tells that Lakshmi has no motive to harm Malishka’s baby. Neelam and Lakshmi argue. Lakshmi denies the accusation. Shalu tells them that Malishka isn’t carrying Rishi’s child. Neelam scolds Shalu and asks her not to speak nonsense. Rishi watches the drama. Malishka and Kiran tell that Lakshmi hates Malishka’s baby and that’s why she has tried to harm her. Kiran tells that she will prove Lakshmi’s crime. She asks them to get the CCTV footage and check Lakshmi’s crime. Neelam agrees. She asks Rishi to call the security guard and ask him to get the footage. Lakshmi tells him that she isn’t scared of anyone. She asks him to call the guard. Rishi doesn’t think its needed. Neelam asks the guard to get the big screen along with the footage. She tells that the culprit will get punished today. They arrange the CCTV footage. The family checks the CCTV footage. They see Lakshmi with a liquid bottle. Neelam scolds Lakshmi. Lakshmi tells that she didn’t try to harm Malishka, she was using a floor cleaner to clean the stairs. Kiran tells that Lakshmi is fooling them. Rishi asks Lakshmi to get the bottle and show them. Lakshmi gets the bottle and asks Rishi to check it. Neelam asks Rishi to find out. Rishi checks the bottle and finds oil in it. Lakshmi and Shalu are stunned. Anushka and Malishka smile. Ayush verifies the truth. Lakshmi asks how it can happen. Malishka acts cautiously about her baby. She asks Rishi to add the liquid to the glass of water and check if it's oil. She says that oil will not mix with the water and Lakshmi’s crime will be proved. Aanchal asks Rishi to give the bottle. Aanchal pours the liquid into the water. Malishka shows to them that it’s oil. Lakshmi tells that she didn’t use any oil. Neelam reprimands her and asks her to recollect what she said before. She asks Lakshmi to leave the house. Lakshmi tells them that she didn’t do anything. Rishi asks her to stop it. He tells her that she can’t deny it now; she must know the difference between oil and floor cleaning liquid. He also believes that she has done this to harm Malishka’s child. He goes against her. Lakshmi is stunned at his behavior. Neelam yells at Lakshmi. She asks Lakshmi to leave the house. She doesn’t want anyone to defend Lakshmi. She is upset that Lakshmi has tried to kill the family heir. She condemns Lakshmi. Lakshmi asks Rishi not to say anything when he doesn’t trust her. She is hurt. Rishi says that he has no reason to think otherwise. He adds that everyone has seen her actions in the footage, she has tried to kill Malishka’s baby, and the truth won’t change if she shouts. He asks her to just leave his house. Read the full article

[bllsbailey]

Interior Dept Reviewing Federal Lands for Energy Needs

As part of President Donald Trump's push to increase domestic energy production, the Interior Department is reviewing ways to utilize federal lands, which has alarmed environmental activists.

Interior Secretary Doug Burgum on Feb. 3 directed his assistant secretaries to "review and, as appropriate, revise all withdrawn public lands," citing a federal statute corresponding to the Antiquities Act of 1906, which allows presidents to create national monuments, the Los Angeles Times reported Friday.

Burgum's directive builds off an Inauguration Day executive order by Trump titled "Unleashing American Energy" that says it is now U.S. policy to "encourage energy exploration and production on federal lands and waters, including on the Outer Continental Shelf, in order to meet the needs of our citizens and solidify the United States as a global energy leader long into the future."

Burgum gave his assistant secretaries 15 days to submit plans on how to comply with his order, which are now under review, according to the Times.

"At this stage, we are assessing these reports to determine if any further action is warranted, and we remain dedicated to ensuring that all items are thoroughly evaluated as part of our internal management process," J. Elizabeth Peace, senior public affairs specialist for the Interior Department's Office of the Secretary, told the Times.

She did not indicate when the review might conclude or what actions could be taken.

The Antiquities Act gave presidents the authority to designate monuments to protect "objects of historic and scientific interest" and can encompass geologic wonders, archaeological sites and wildlife habitat. Presidents on both sides of the political aisle have used the law to set aside land.

Monuments can be managed by the National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, and other agencies, according to the Times. They typically exclude oil and gas drilling, coal mining, and other forms of energy production.

During his first term, Trump sharply reduced the boundaries of two monuments in Utah — Bear's Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante — and stripped protections from a marine monument off the coast of New England to allow commercial fishing, the Times reported. Former President Joe Biden reversed the changes, but some believe the review will pave the way for similar actions in Trump's second term.

"Donald Trump made it clear on Day 1 what his priorities for public lands and waters would be, and these orders are the next step in his reckless ‘drill, baby, drill' agenda," Athan Manuel, director of the Sierra Club's Lands Protection Program, said in a Feb. 4 statement. "But … we won't stop until these lands and waters are protected for the next generation."

Sean Hecht, managing attorney for the California regional office of Earthjustice, a nonprofit focused on litigating environmental issues, told the Times the state's youngest monuments are most at risk of being rolled back.

During his final days in office, Biden designated two national monuments in California's desert and far north — Chuckwalla National Monument, located south of Joshua Tree National Park, and the Sáttítla Highlands National Monument, located near the Oregon border.

"Older and more established monuments tend to be popular in California — while new monuments are often not as established with a wide constituency, and therefore are more vulnerable politically," Hecht said, adding that Trump might target the monuments as part of an effort to undo recent actions by Biden.

Michael Katz ✉

Michael Katz is a Newsmax reporter with more than 30 years of experience reporting and editing on news, culture, and politics.

© 2025 Newsmax. All rights reserved.

[stokesy55]

So, Stoot can be Harry's real life parents - happy Harry has found some fame and fortune in the Indian soap opera scene, but not actually involved in the shoots themselves. So they're not characters, they're real.

Oh yes this is fabulous. And I love the idea of Joey being prepared to give the studios a piece of his mind haha 😆😆 Ben and Joey might not be there for the shooting, but they watch all the episodes without fail. Their heads soon start aching from trying to keep up with the convoluted plot.

Conversations go like, "They're wasting my baby's talent on this, seriously what role does he have apart from crying in every episode?" "Come on, Harry, there's oil on the staircase AGAIN, I didn't raise you to be so dumb as to fall for the same trick three times in a row." "Wait, how DARE Shubman slap my baby boy? I'm gonna break his hand!" xD

Also, Ollie as the vamp character please 😆😆😆😆 Ollie and Harry's characters are brothers, but they're as different as the sun and moon. Ollie, the older brother, is flashy, flamboyant, feisty and headstrong, while the younger brother Harry is quiet, studious and shy. Ollie's marriage is fixed to Shubman but on the wedding day he elopes with his boyfriend, leaving Shub at the altar. To protect the family's reputation, their dad forces Harry to replace Ollie. And then drama goes down.

Later, just as Harry and Shubman have started settling into their married life and falling in love with each other, Ollie is back. His boyfriend dumped him and now he decides to go back to Shubman. Only to find Shubman mad for Harry. Which he can't digest because he's always gotten what he wants. So now he decides to steal Shubman from Harry, his own little brother, and capture Shubman's enormous wealth for himself. xD Bonus if Harry and Ollie's parents refuse to accept Ollie back into the family after his elopement stunt and exile him from the house. Harry brings him to live with himself and Shub, at their house because he's a soft-hearted (read spineless) creature who can't bear to desert his brother, no matter whatever happened in the past.

Now that all three of them are living in the same house, Ollie is free to come up with various schemes to break Harry's household and take his place in Shubman's life 😂😂🤭

Let's just say Joey and Ben HATE Ollie's character with a burning intensity.

Also headcanon that Shubman always flirts with Harry on set, since they're playing a married couple. Initially it's just for fun but soon Shubman falls for Harry and is determined to crack this one guy who's never paid him any romantic attention. Every time they're supposed to shoot a romantic scene, Shubman purposely forgets his lines or pays off the spotboys, the guys managing light and sound, etc. to mess up something in the scene so it needs to be reshot again and again. (This actually happened in real life, a famous Bollywood actor used to do this for an actress he had a crush on and eventually married haha 🙈🙈)

Ben really wants to support Harry but he just can't keep up. Joe, however, gets so invested and explains all the scenes to Ben as they watch, explaining who is who and who is dating who now.

"I thought she was married to the blonde guy." "... That was a week ago." "She can be not married in a week??" "She's been sleeping with him on the side for like four weeks now! Even during the wedding. Don't you remember?" "Joe, how do YOU remember??"

Ahh see I don't think Joe would get that invested in the real person versus the character. He knows Harry wouldn't fall for the oil trick once, just that Harry's character is dumb as fuck xD however he does pout and fold his arms every time Shub slaps Harry because pretend it may be, he still doesn't want to see it.

So I actually love that Joe hates Ollie's character, but when they meet him in real life Joe's protection instincts kick in, leading Ben to remind him "We are not adopting a 25 year old man." xD

Ahahah I love Shub messing up on purpose to get to kiss Harry more. And Harry totally knows what he's doing but who's going to believe him so he has to put up with it and be kissed by Shub over and over again.

Also love the idea that Harry wants to bring his boyfriend to meet his parents and Joe is so excited to meet this mystery man who makes his son so happy only to drop a bowl of potatoes or something when Harry shows up with Shub.

"I thought you were bringing your boyfriend?" -- maybe Joe expects it to be Ollie? "... Shub is my boyfriend." *plate shatters*