#damn!!! impressive work op

[freefallintothevoid]

I believe in my heart of hearts that the Lego Batman movie exists in DC and that it was created by the batfamily as a way to throw off the conspiracy theorists

Maybe the superhero forums were getting too close to realizing their identities again. maybe one of their injuries had accidentally gotten spotted by the paparazzi. maybe they were just running out of plausible alibis. maybe they just wanted to be funny.

Bruce gave the world the "do the butts match" meme. His children give the world a cinematic masterpiece.

[charliemwrites]

Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

[velvetures]

Honorifics

A/N: Yeah... I don't know about this. I'll probably take it down since I'm unsure if it's got enough of a consistent vibe. Let me know if it's actually something you enjoy since I don't write angst or hurt/comfort often. I ALWAYS WRITE HAPPY ENDINGS THO. That's a damn promise. Summary: You've given Ghost a title he hates, and takes it out on you. The situation goes too far, and you're both left trying to figure it out. Reader is nicknamed "Brass" since she's a long-distance shooter/sniper. T/W: angst, cursing, Ghost being an emotionally unstable human, yelling, the reader having a breakdown, smidge of not eating, smidge of not drinking anything, comfort, feelings, female reader, not proofread.

When you joined the task force, things didn’t exactly go as smoothly as you had hoped it would. Training sessions usually ended up with you either getting your ass beat or nearly surviving a full-on embarrassment by the skin of your teeth just to be told that you still weren’t in good enough shape to keep up with them in the field. Surely being a woman didn’t excuse you from being in shape for the kind of work Laswell and Price had brought you in for, but damn if it wasn’t difficult to try and have a one-on-one fight with someone like Soap or Ghost without the benefit you would typically have in a real-world battle situation. The reality that all of the men in the squad were literally the best of the best aside, there could be just barely enough room for you to compete on the same level when it came to sheer physical strength. While that wasn’t your specialty anyway, the Captain made it clear you needed to prove you could handle your own against serious physical fights without assistance. After nearly five weeks of having one of your squad mates slam you on your ass one too many times in the training hall, you finally were able to prove to Price that you could go out in the field and he didn’t have to extend any extra worries for your ability to survive.

Logistically as a sniper, it meant you frequently held a much more distant role in missions. By watching from a scope you could ensure that infiltrations, covert ops, and other hush-hush kinds of operations that typically the 141 wouldn’t have the luxury of. Being the skilled marksman you were, it made sense to take advantage of your talents and also extend you a job that progressed past what you’d experienced in your “standard” military career and multiple tours overseas. However, that meant communications were essentially the backbone of your usefulness aside from your rifle. Next to nothing else, your daily and mission-based work almost exclusively went through Lieutenant Ghost. Which… often proved to be the largest obstacle that you faced aside from making sure that your scope didn’t get bumped off sight the -often- rough flights and drives to insertion points.

The Lieutenant was particularly mean… he certainly didn’t give a single thought to if anyone thought that he was a little too harsh of a personality to swallow. That went for everything you came to learn about Ghost. From his lack of willingness to speak unless required of him, to his unique ability of appearing and disappearing from anywhere without the slightest sound or hint of where he’d come from or gone to. Trained as a distance marksman, even you were impressed that such a massive man could move around like smoke on water. That and his physical appearance; good god above. Surely a man like Ghost had never graced the face of the Earth before, else he’d have been just as mythical in his legendary life and would’ve been known by thousands of people. He stood towering over just about everyone, in whatever room he was in, and compared to your own height it was downright laughable the difference between the two of you as operators.

The one thing that made the biggest impression on you after meeting the Lieutenant was his voice and how he spoke. That thick accent always sounded rough and a little gritty. His deep timbre gave such a commanding authority that if given the choice between getting yelled at by Captain Price or Ghost… there was no choice you’d sit for hours listening to Price threaten you over Ghost. He just sounded so scary and attractive all at the same time. Unsurprisingly, it developed into a subconscious dynamic where you saw Ghost as such a superior officer -and human- that no matter how much you liked to daydream about Ghost in less-than-professional situations… You gave him the utmost respect at all times. Easiest of all to recognize was that from day one, you had never addressed Ghost to his face as anything other than ‘sir’. Not even his rank gave enough nuance to his character and presence, so for you, Ghost was inextricably attached to the name.

Ghost however… didn’t like it.

Such a simple address actually made Ghost grit his teeth beneath the shield of his mask. When he heard you call him that, he automatically related it to how he had called General Shepherd ‘sir’ as a subtle sign of mockery and defiance. Thinking about that made him more than necessarily angry and confused, but he couldn’t really accuse you of having ever been given much of a reason to detest him. Therefore, he had to come to the conclusion that you were doing it out of some kind of respect that a drill sergeant or boot camp instructor had bashed into your brain so hard that it stuck permanently. Not surprising since you were much different from the rest of the task force. Yet he had to revise that after the first six months of you being with them permanently. You had gotten settled in. Enough so that you called the Captain, ‘Cap’… Soap, ‘Johnny’… and Garrick, ‘Gaz’ like everyone else did. Exceptionalities only appeared when it came time for you to be around him or have any sort of interaction that wasn’t the occasional silent nod of acknowledgment when walking past each other in the hallways.

He honestly tried to ignore it and you altogether for that matter in an attempt to keep his bitter anger at a minimum. Seeing such a small and fucking happy woman always lingering around somewhere in the corners of his sight couldn’t be anything but a distraction waiting to happen. A bad habit that he didn’t have the mental capacity or emotional willingness to take on. Fuck… he already had to worry about the 141 as a whole, to begin with. Now you on top of that? It was more responsibility than he’d signed up for initially. Hearing you call him ‘sir’ day in and day out began to take its toll on his self-control. Ghost needed to either find out why you were hellbent on calling him that, or at least be enough of a bastard to you to be reassured that you did it because you wanted a polite way to tell him to shove it up his ass sideways.

The Lieutenant had been being nothing short of a prick in the last few months.

He was making paperwork back at HQ a nightmare that couldn’t be solved alternatively through someone like Gaz or Soap who often didn’t mind playing the part of the unbiased third party. Refusing to sign things when you stopped by his office, outright ignoring your necessary questions, and stonewalling you at every single stop along the way just to yield at the last moment and do everything you’d been asking for so the both of you wouldn’t face heat from any higher-ups. That alone was enough for you to consider talking to Soap privately since he knew Ghost the best… but you’d kept putting it off hoping that it was just a passing phase of shitty attitude.

Your patience and emotional strength fell through the floor after attempting for the third time in a week after something so fucking simple as trying to get his approval and official signature on a post-mission report Price had delegated to you after being called to Washington D.C. for a meeting. It wasn’t a major task, but knowing that the Captain had given you the responsibility first over anyone else made you want to impress him and take care of business without incident. God forbid you do something as simple as ask Ghost to pick up a pen and scribble his name at the bottom of a page so that you could send it on through the higher-up channels. It resulted in the Lieutenant straight-up yelling at you in the middle of the hallway outside his office when he’d found you standing there patiently waiting for him to show up. He wasn’t threatening physically, but it cut much deeper into your pride and feelings than it should have.

With every word that dripped venomously out of his masked mouth, you lost a little extra peace of mind on having such an untouchable and unshakably good opinion of Ghost for so long. This moment of undeserved verbal punishment was enough to make the corners of your eyes burn with inner disgrace, self-doubt, and plain old sadness which motivated you to get the hell out of there before the Lieutenant saw you cry. When you turned your back and walked away right in the middle of his berating for you being “too fucking annoying to tolerate”, your only destination was your personal quarters on the other end of the building where a lock on the door could shut out the entire base for as long as you saw fit. Upon the first estimation, it would be after Captain Price returned so that you could have at least one single chance at not getting a second punishment or dismissal from the squad. The sound of your door slamming shut and your back sliding down against it on your way down to the floor silenced the entire room around you, leaving just enough room for the papers clenched to your chest to flutter onto the ground and your weak cries to sounds amplified.

It was hours before you could drag yourself off the floor and into bed, too tired and wanting to fall back on the trained and instinctual desire to hide away somewhere isolated and not move for hours on end. Being a long-distance marksman gave you the talent of patience insurmountable to the average person, allowing days to pass by without you needing to do more than go to the bathroom before coming right back to a motionless position. That’s what you wanted tonight. You needed to focus all of your energy into your brain alone and use it to sort through the hurt burning through your eyes and throat, and the questioning that gave such a sickening feeling a chance root in your stomach. Questions of if it had been foolish to trust Ghost as much as you did the others, knowing how you’d been warned that he would be difficult to work with. Hoping you hadn’t been truly so ignorant of judging behavior to think that the Lieutenant was something much greater than his behavior had been not only today but for the past months.

The next two days were spent laying near motionless… not hungry or thirsty.

Just thinking, sleeping, and staring at the wall across from your bed.

A solid knock on your door was the first human sound that hadn’t been made by you in over forty-eight hours. You’d not looked at your phone or any communications since locking yourself inside, and there was a good chance someone from the squad had come searching for you after such a long period without seeing or hearing from you. When you refused to answer right away, another harder knock banged on the door twice and rattled the steel in its doorframe. Impatient. Testy. Quite familiar with everything you’ve been through lately. Recognizing the Lieutenant was the one outside made your gut churn all over again. Questioning whether to get up or not wasn’t hard. Laying perfectly still in bed, you waited. If you were being honest though, it’d been a long time since you’d spent so long restricting yourself from basic needs for the purpose of acting like a living phantom. Close to three years since any sniper position had left you utterly abandoned without resources. Only this time it was self-induced and nothing short of a trauma response you wanted to hide away from. Truthfully you couldn’t tell if walking to the door was an easy feat or not. After not drinking anything, using the bathroom wasn’t necessary and the last time you’d stood up didn’t cross your memory clearly.

Ghost slammed his fist against the door again one last time. But he didn’t wait long enough for you to answer before rattling the handle to the door with a heavy sigh that was audible through the cracks separating you. Metal on metal gritted softly and moved the door handle a bit further. Recognizing that as nothing short of Ghost picking the lock to your quarters without the slightest care of how he’d be breaking multiple stipulations laid out for them living in HQ. Either your physical or mental state kept you from giving a damn when the handle gave way fully, leaving a bright fluorescence light flooding in from the hallway into your pitch-black room. It made your eyes water and the urge to turn your head away was strong enough to budge your head into the blankets and pillow surrounding. Heavy boots made the paperwork scattered on the floor crunch softly and the sound of his deep breaths gave away his current state of frustration. Clearly not appreciating being locked out of a room that he had no fucking business being in. A long pause led to shuffling around, and the sound of your desk chair creaking under his weight.

“Gonna say somethin’?” He sounded no less irritated than the last time you’d spoken.

It made your throat burn to even think you’d allowed his to get in your head so deeply just to utterly rip every last bit of security and respect away from you for no damn reason. Your silence made quite the statement, even if the actual task of speaking hadn’t been a totally voluntary one. You’d not moved your jaw in days at this point.

“You’ve missed five drill sessions, two mandatory meetings, and one phone from General Shepherd.”

Listing off your offenses hardly bothered you. The consequences of this had been fully accepted days ago, and Ghost would have to do a lot more to get you up from this bed. You’d trained for hell, and no matter how badly Ghost had ruined your almost loving and patient view of him there weren’t enough men on the planet to make you get up voluntarily. Drastic… yes. Satisfying to your own pride… undoubtedly. When you didn’t even let out a single breath loud enough for Ghost to hear instead of that instant apology or willingness to appease him… please him even, with that little quip of ‘sir’ ready on your tongue, the Lieutenant was up out of that chair so quickly you heard it roll into the wall behind him hard enough to thud against the drywall.

“Goddamn it Brass, I demand a fuckin’ answer!” His loud bark caught your attention, but the feeling of your blankets being ripped off your body was a far more startling sensation.

Baring you to the cold air of the room, all your body managed was to raise chills on your skin in a feeble attempt to keep you warm or alert you to seek out that heat again. Tension exploded into shocked silence when Ghost didn’t utter more than a sharp inhale after getting one, shadowed glimpse of your body totally frozen on your stomach. You knew it couldn’t look great. Snipers could come back looking like skeletons sometimes after a long mission if they were given the orders to stay put. You’d not been laying nearly long enough for that to be the case, but dehydration was certainly a symptom you were ignoring quite easily, as well as the possibility of some minor pressure ulcers that would linger for a few weeks if you didn’t move soon. Ghost wasn’t as familiar with the sight of how you felt internally. Snipers weren’t commonly used or in collaboration with Task Force 141. You’d been their first real look at how the inner workings moved or didn’t, and much of your personal way of doing things had dispelled or blown away any misguided assumptions they’d made about your skills early on. Viewing a sniper after days of doing literally nothing, of her own free will…? That wasn’t healthy or accepted in general military companies. Lucky Ghost got the front-row seat though.

When you heard his movement next to you, weight pressed down the mattress at your side in the shape of his hands, and a low sigh registered.

“Brass…” Failing to even say something, you wondered if your own assessment of yourself wasn’t accurate. “It’s been five days.” His faltered tone was truthful, and it destroyed your semblance of time that had been misled by the absence of sunlight coming in through your room.

You thought about trying to say something, resolve falling flat when swallowing felt difficult. A gloved hand rested against your thigh and Ghost almost growled again, sounding a lot more like he was resisting the urge to squeeze you hard. Only his fingers traced along your hip and over the curve in your waist with a tense and heavy swallow. He was being gentle beyond your concept of his depth of emotion and understanding. Nearly loving as he paused over your ribcage with another pinched sort of sound. Staying like that for what felt like hours, you struggled to keep yourself awake. It had been a struggle to move your tongue in your mouth, testing what mobility you’d lost in the short term. Only Ghost wasn’t leaving like you expected, and suddenly his voice returned it its normal stature.

“This’s Ghost. Get a bay ready now, I’m bringin’ someone in.” The reverb of his voice crackled in a radio you knew hooked to his vest. A backup short-range alternative in the case that SAT couldn’t be established or wasn’t clear enough to rely on in the field. Apparently, he used it to keep in contact with someone on base. Or multiple people for all you knew.

“Copy Ghost.” A static voice could be heard and quickly the room was pitched back into a silence you wanted to remain in, but Ghost was adamant to keep infracting alone with a whole list of other rules that, for whatever reason, just didn’t fucking matter or apply to him.

His other hand searched around the dark until he found your face resting amongst the fabric of your bed, curling his hand around your head and meticulously lifting you so very slowly away from the bed with his other arm steadying your legs that had also been taken up off the mattress. You’d never touched Ghost once in all the time you’d known him. Understanding that with his sour attitude, there couldn’t be a single chance in Hell that touching him was an acceptable action. Whereas with Soap, Gaz, and even on occasion Price: hugs, handshakes, shoves, and other physical touches were common, Ghost totally ignored all human contact. Maybe Hell had frozen over outside of your quarters for your weak and still motionless body to be lifted up against the Lieutenant’s chest and carried preciously outside of your room into the burning light of HQ. His chest heaved deep and quickly against you. Both hands curled around you and flexed tighter each time you were able to hear another set of shoes approaching closer to you. Possessive like a soldier. Silent like a Ghost. Determined.

He takes you straight to the medical hall where three nurses and two of the on-shift doctors are fast to respond to your condition. Only Ghost refuses to let them take you away from him for any reason. Stoically stonewalling them just like he habitually did to you as they begged him to lay you down on a transport bed so they could take you back to a room for assessment. The Lieutenant took you there himself, with the group of nurses and doctors hot on his heels and surrounding your bed once Ghost had you settled down inside a private room.

The whole place smells sterile and like alcohol. It’s not the first time you’ve been here, but these are far different circumstances. You’re still too sensitive to open your eyes, but hands are all over your body, gloves fingers touching around the sore places on weight-bearing points on your body, pricks in your fingertips, and a needle poke to the back of your hand. It’s overstimulating, to say the least, and you’re worried they’re going to think you’ve tried to starve yourself to death or decided that living altogether wasn’t worth it and simply wasting away into your bed was the solution. Right away, one of the voices of the medical professionals breaks that worry in your mind by calling for some of the tests to be staggered, needing time between them for nothing other than your own benefit.

“Treat this no differently than prolonged active reconnaissance,” The female voice states softly. “Being on-the-gun for this long is detrimental to all senses, and she’s going to need a while to wake up in a meaningful way.” She added, voice coming clearer the closer she got to your head.

“You’ve been working very hard, I suspect. Maybe not in the field… but you’re one tough lady.” She commented to you quite personally, her hand falling to your shoulders. “We’re going to get you plenty of fluids and start you on a vitamin drip to get everything running as it should again. You’ve also got some slight bedsores, but as long as we take care of them now, you’ll be right as rain soon, sniper.”

Tests were run, treatments began, and nurse after nurse was brought in with both doctors running rotations in and out of your room for the rest of the night. All of them were under the hard watch of Ghost who’d not moved from his position sitting in the corner of your room where he could see not only you but anyone approaching the door. He’d been very quiet throughout the process, watching and waiting for someone to give him some news about your condition with actual certainty. Stewing over the guilt he felt knowing damn well he was the reason you’d shut down so far and were still unable -or unwilling- to come out of it yet. You’d been nothing but the perfect little woman, doing her job with skill and grace, making everyone around you happier just with one glance in your direction. But fuck, he couldn’t stand seeing someone do the callous profession of killing people with one single squeeze of her finger and still have so much innocent and emotional humanity inside such a small body. Ghost couldn’t wrap his mind around it. So instead of trying to do the right thing and figure it out, he did what a man so out of touch with empathy did: Try to snuff it out.

You threatened him whether you or he realized it in the beginning.

But now he could see it with that crystal fucking clear hindsight. How monstrous he was for punishing you with no foundation other than his own selfish fear of seeing a dynamic he didn’t know was possibly wrapped up inside of you. Sweet and little you, never saying anything to him other than a ‘yes sir’ or ‘no sir’. Goddamnit Ghost knew he’d nearly killed you in a way. Seeing days of neglect in your sallow expression, darkened under eyes, and weakened body was more than even his cold heart could take all at one time. Wasting away for someone as useless as himself, all because he’d never given you enough credit for finding something worth liking in him where no one else had. Screaming at you. Cursing your existence. Right in your face, while he’d been too big of a pussy to even take off his own mask he hid behind every day as he utterly destroyed your meaningful position and life working alongside of his and his squad. Owing you his life wouldn’t nearly cover his offenses. Laughably, Ghost admitted his own life or death couldn’t measure up to yours. So instead of saying any kind of bullshit apology, he sat in the corner of your room and denied himself sleep, food, and water because there wasn’t anything else he could do until you’d been considered healthy and strong again.

Almost one week to the day you had been signed off for return to duty with zero restrictions. Your physical and mental evaluations came back clean, and with both Price and Ghost signing off on the doctor’s orders, you returned to your quarters where you expected to see your room exactly as you’d left it before Ghost brought you into the medical wing. Only nothing was as you’d left it. All the paperwork left on the floor was gone, as well as the other documents that had been left on your desk that still needed finishing. All of it was gone. Your bed and all of the bedclothes you’d been taken from were also missing. Replaced with totally brand new bedding in dark hues of dark green and navy blue with a decidedly feminine pattern on the quilt. Items you didn’t own. Or have any idea where they came from. Even the smell of stale air was traded for a woody, and familiar smell that wasn’t of a candle, or room spray; It was from a person. The person who sat in the corner of your room in your desk chair with his massive arms crossed over his chest and dark eyes staring at you through the painted visage of a skull gracing a black compression mask.

“Sir,” You greet hoarsely, still working through some of the non-significant parts of your recovery that lingered. Ghost stood from his seat and met you halfway across your room with a silent nod, his hand reaching out and motioning for you to step closer to him. Warily but complicit, you make the few steps forward and watch his hand turn to slide against your jaw and stay there firmly. “I expected you to be at drill.” You say with a tinge of surprise at the touch of his bare hand resting against your cheek.

“Should be,” He replied flatly. “But I’m not.” You nod a little, biting your tongue when his fingertip rubs over the curve of your ear. His eyes were soft and his unarmored physique was highlighted by the shadows made by the lamp on your side table. He’s inspecting you, you know as much. Clear by his thumb pressing over your pulse point and the minute exactly that he waits before speaking again.

“Do you like the color green?” His question knocks you off guard and his eyes slide over the quilt laying neatly over your bed. You were quick to answer honestly out of mere habit.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand stiffens against your cheek, and Ghost takes another step closer. His boots graze the tips of yours and his chin is nearly tucked against his chest to look down at you properly. You’re breathing a little harder, anticipating another break of his patience and an onslaught of screaming all directed at your apparent mistakes made right in front of his face. Judgments you’d still be unable to solve no matter how much you thought about it or what you did to try and find a solution of healthy -or not- motives. Ghost doesn’t yell though. He actually lowers his face down to yours, eyes locked right on you and an intensity burning there.

“Why do you call me that?” His low growl made you shiver, especially when his hand dropped lower to your throat. Now squeezing, but holding your gaze steady on him, reminding you of his strength. The power over you he’d always held, and given you the instant to call him ‘sir’ in the first place. Everything about Ghost was overwhelming, and you’d always been one wave away from drowning under him.

“You deserve the honor…” You answer, certain. Even if he’d broken your spirit and came back in the aftermath with questions you still believed to be much too complex for a single-sentence answer. Hopefully, he understood a little bit better but the way you leaned against his hand, letting him actually feel the pressure of your throat pressing into his palm. Literally offering your trust in him over again, testing the Lieutenant and watching as his eyes widened. His other hand came up to your face, counteracting the pressure you’d applied to keep your breath and blood flow uninterrupted. His face is still only inches away from yours but unflinching at the close contact.

“Brass,” He murmured, masked face teasing closer with his own lack of control. “I’m not what you think I am.” Your chest tightens with his words, soaked in desperation that heats your lips and cheeks.

“What’s that, sir?” You question, earning another flinch of his fingers against your skin.

“Safe… Trustworthy… Honorable.” He replies, getting even closer. The smooth material ghosted over your lips, and his breathing fanning over you wetly through the damp material. You sigh, feeling lightheaded. Weak in his hands, confused yet happy to have your life held in the palms of his hands. Confused about where his mistrust comes from, but gaining perspective every time he flinches when you address him in the way you always believed he’d feel the most revered and… loved.

“You’re wrong,” You challenge, hands moving from your sides to run up the thin shirt covering his chest. “You’re a man of fear. One that death shakes at the mention of. Even looking at you through my scope a mile away is enough to remind me you’re capable of inhuman things…” Your voice lowers, hearing thoughts straight from your soul escaping without filter from your brain. “Yet you’re human. So much more than anyone sees. Because it’s not evil that keeps you going. It’s the fear and hatred of losing anything that means something to you.” Your hand rests over his chest, hearing his heart thundering against his ribs.

“You’re not a monster, you are terrified of losing everything. That is why I call you ‘sir’, is because you’re a man unlike any other, Ghost.”

Hearing your own voice say his name like that feels so foreign. Coming off your tongue with the letters not fitting together in a way that you’d experienced. But Ghost… he reacts differently. His hands tightened around you and he hugged you against his chest tightly. His chest heaves up and down and the thunder of his heartbeat impossibly quickens until your left ear can’t hear anything but the repetitive thrum of blood coursing through his body. Heavy arms snake around you, one around your head to secure it to him and the other clinging to your waist with his hand fisting into your shirt until it’s skin-tight on your stomach. The Lieutenant practically shakes against you, using your much smaller frame to steady himself.

Yet he’s dropping to one knee on the ground, bringing you down with him until he’s nearly cradling you and softly rocking your weight back and forth. Soothing himself in much the same way a child would after scraping their knee on the sidewalk and the tears have begun to dry up. God, it made the massive man feel so weak; much like you did after he’d yelled at you a week ago. Both of you kneeled on the floor now with all of your wounds opened up to each other and had silently found a calm within the eye of a destructive storm that had been raging against the pair of you while everyone on the outside had been simply looking on with bated breath to see how the ending would play out.

“Brass - I…” Ghost’s voice choked up again, his arms tightening around you. “God, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ignore you anymore… I’m losing my mind.”

You lean into his chest harder, arms struggling to reach all the way around his wide back in an attempt to support him a little bit. You understood through the way he was grabbing at anything on you he could desperately. So you did all you could and rubbed your hand up and down his back quietly allowing him the time to work through his thoughts. Both of you had been hurt by this, and while the Lieutenant’s form of apology came in the way he’d ushered you for help when you needed it most and unquestionably been the reason behind the way your quarters looked. Now it was you, cradling a man who’d never shown a single crack in his armor, feeling the weight of so many emotional wounds that he was practically bleeding out with pain and palpable regret.

“You don’t have to…” You whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Ghost just nods his head, panting heavily and giving a low sort of whine. “I’m so sorry…”

You smile sadly. “I’m sorry too.”

His eyes soften more, blinking away at wetness brimming at his waterline. “Say it again… please. I need to hear it. God, please.”

“It’s okay…” Your hands cradle his cheeks, feeling the sharp lines and hard muscles. “I’m right here, Ghost. We’re going to do this over again… Together, Ghost.”

Nodding weakly, he meets your gaze as you say his name again. Reveling in it. “Together… together, with you.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Villain's Protector (Part 1) - Don't Blame Me

Summary: The reader wants out from working for the CIA so they propose a deal. She acts as the captured Soldier Boy's caretaker and she's free to go in six months. Their idea of stealing Soldier Boy's supe altering powers aren't exactly for what the reader thinks though and she needs Solider Boy to escape for her own plans. But those plans go awry when the CIA unleashes a dangerous life-changing weapon and the only way for her and Soldier Boy to survive is to stick together...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 5,400ish

Warnings: language, violence, torture, bombing,

A/N: This series takes place post Season 3. Please enjoy this first part and let me know what you think!

________

“Y/L/N.” You lifted an eyebrow, finding an unfamiliar older woman at the entrance to your office. Your supervisor nodded beside her and you pulled your headphones off, letting them rest around your neck. “You’re off desk duty.”

“The chatter from these guys-”

“Yeah, I know. Somebody else will handle it. As of five minutes ago, you report to her now,” said your supervisor, rattling a knuckle on the door. You were ready to argue about how you were promised desk duty to finish out these last six months but she was gone before you could blink. You grumbled as the older woman stepped inside, closing the heavy door behind her.

“I heard you want out,” she said. You leaned back in your chair, cocking your head. “Nobody ever really leaves the CIA you know.”

“What’s my handle ID?” you asked, the woman raising her chin. “I ain’t telling you jack shit until I know you’re legit.”

“Black Midnight Angel. You want to get to work now? Or you going to waste more of my time?” You narrowed your eyes, the woman giving it right back. “Work this job for six months until you leave and the agency will pay for your schooling. And I know you’re skeptical so we already wired the funds to your bank account.”

“Black ops?” you asked quietly. She shook her head, taking a seat in the chair across your desk.

“Mallory Fischer,” she said, your lips pressing into a thin line. “You know what I do then.”

“Yes, I do. Question is why do you want me on your team? There are far more qualified people.” She looked you up and down, a small smirk crossing her lips.

“You’re right. Your agent assessment scores are average aside from your intel work. Last time you were in the field you were shot-”

“Why. Me.” You knew it was coming. You knew exactly what was coming.

“You have a year of medical school under your belt.” That…was not what you were expecting. Did she not…know? Maybe not. Fine. You weren’t bringing that up if you could help it.

“I do. You should know that the reason I couldn’t finish was because the CIA recruited me, despite my desire to not join,” you said, letting it hang in the air. Mallory rolled her eyes and crossed her legs. “You people fucked up my life plan you know. I’m thirty two. I’m going to be a good 5 years minimum behind my peers by the time I graduate.”

“Did I give you the impression that I give a shit?” You grumbled but kept your mouth shut. “You agreed to work here.”

“You threatened to deport my friend if I didn’t,” you growled. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have had an ex-boyfriend with ties to-”

“Just stop. What the fuck do you want with me?”

“I have Soldier Boy.” You laughed, Mallory dead eyed. “I’m quite serious.”

“He fucking blew up last week.” Mallory cocked her head. You sighed, running a hand over your mouth. “He fell from, what, the seventieth floor? He’s really that strong?”

“He’s damn near indestructible. If it makes you feel better, Maeve survived too. But seeing as how she hates Vought more than most, we let her slide. Pretty sure she and her girlfriend went up to-” 

“So she’s free and you don’t give a fuck about what she does. Fine. But what the fuck does ‘I have Soldier Boy’ mean exactly?” you asked. Mallory eyed you up and down. 

“He’s Homelanders father.�� You rolled your eyes and she frowned. “Why exactly is that not surprising to you?”

“Come on,” you laughed. “The most powerful supe to exist suddenly disappears right around the time Homelander was born? They’re both the poster child for all american wonder boy. I figured he was the dad doing a book report in middle school. It’s not that complicated.”

“Then you can understand why having Homelander’s father provides us an opportunity. His power is the only weapon we have that comes close to taking Homelander out. You watch the news. Homelander is losing his shit. We need to find a way to deal-”

“You don’t need Soldier Boy’s powers to fucking catch Homelander. If you caught pops, you can catch the kid and for the record, I am not one of your fucking super agents so you want me for research, fine. But save the shooting and catching Homelander for your own people.” You scooted your chair in closer to your computer, Mallory grabbing your hand roughly when you placed it on your mouse.

“Soldier Boy didn’t have the power to knock out other supes powers until after the Russian’s tortured him. We need to understand that ability of his and what made it change.” You sighed, pulling your hand away. “Work the job and in six months you’re gone.”

“And what exactly does this job entail?”

“We need a doctor, or the next best thing, for the night shift. Twelve hour shifts. You feed him, clean him, tend to him. Most of the time he’s going to be out cold. It’s maybe an hour of real work a night. You can do whatever the fuck you want in your office when you’re taking care of him, I really don’t care. We just need him in working order, got it?”

You pushed away from your computer, lifting your chin. “And that hour where he’s not out cold? How the fuck do I go near him without dying?”

“You better not be claustrophobic.”

Two Days Later

Mallory had ditched you not five minutes after seven pm after showing you to an office in the very plain looking warehouse in upstate New York. She’d naturally failed to mention that Soldier Boy was being held at a facility outside of the city. But you weren’t about to complain, not when the commute was shorter than your original one. So there you stood, a frozen TV dinner in your backpack, a guard dressed head to toe in black combat gear with an assault rifle almost as big as you, still wondering what the hell you were meant to do.

“You guys got a break room?” you sighed, dumping the bag on the desk and pulling out your dinner.

“Two doors down on the left. Unisex bathroom is around the corner,” he said, still not revealing his face from behind his dark mask. That was fine. He was an overqualified security guard in your mind. “Mallory left a schedule and map of the building on your desk. Burn them when you’ve memorized it.”

“Yup,” you said, walking past him and heading down the hall. “So how many guards are there right now?”

“The only staff on the night shift is yourself, a dozen interior guards, and four patrolling external officers.”

“No custodial staff?” you asked, entering the bare bones room with a microwave, old fridge and a wobbly table. Wonderful.

“No. They clean during the day. The facility isn’t large enough to warrant external help.” You hummed, popping the tray out of the box and into the microwave. “Do you have any further questions?”

“Is the Novichok gas always on in the room he’s held in?” you asked. He shook his head.

“He’s kept in a cryo tube during the night. Before entering the room, we will fill the room with gas for five minutes that will allow him to waken slightly but remain harmless. You will then enter in your hazmat suit and remove him from the chamber where you will perform your duties. When you indicate you are finished, we will increase the gas until he passes out and you can place him back in the tube. When you leave the room, we will stop the gas.” 

“Does he eat during the day? What about the bathroom?” He was still and you frowned. “Dude. I get that everything is need to know but I need to know basic shit about my patient.”

“You feed him according to the schedule. He has a catheter.”

“And going number two?” 

“He doesn’t get solids.”

“I don’t care what kind of liquid diet he’s on, he’s still going to shit.”

“I have my job, you have yours.” 

You grumbled when he left, hitting the power on for your dinner. Just what you wanted for a career. Wipe the ass of the world’s most powerful supe.

You tried to forget about that portion of your “duties” as you ate your meal. It was still going to be easier than your first rotation in med school, that was for sure. He’d just…lay there drugged out of his mind. With the small threat in the air of if your hazmat suit tore for any reason, like say an angry supe being held prisoner grabbed it and ripped the plastic which he very likely was capable of even in that state. 

Easy peasy.

You were able to distract yourself for an hour by walking the halls to figure out the layout of the building. The guard had been right. It wasn’t a large building. There were a few offices and typical building facilities in the front of the building. Security was stationed in the middle and Soldier Boy’s holding cell along with a viewing room was in the back corner. What appeared to be an operating room was further down the hall but that wasn’t entirely uncalled for in a black ops prison like this. You couldn’t exactly take your wounded agents or prisoners to a normal hospital. 

You ended your self-guided tour in the viewing room staring down at the dark room below. Save for the soft blue light emitting from the cryo tube. You couldn’t see much at the angle. The top of the tube was see through but all you spotted were a pair of bare feet.

“He’s not strapped down?” you asked as the door to your right opened, a guard stepping through, this one slightly shorter than the one you’d spoken to originally.

“No. You’ll need to move him around. He’s wearing a face mask providing a direct stream of Novichok gas to him. You only need to remove it when you shove a tube down his throat for feeding. I’d suggest saving that for last.”

You quirked an eyebrow up. He was a supe, sure. This was a CIA secret holding prison, sure. The treatment of prisoners didn’t exactly have to adhere to the Geneva Convention in this kind of environment.

But it felt gross treating him like a meat puppet, keeping him alive only to figure out his powers. Which made you consider something else.

“Why go through the trouble of keeping him alive? Wouldn’t it be easier to just drown him? Or just take his DNA and recreate the power aspect?” you asked. Unsurprisingly, the guard didn’t answer. You crossed your arms, glancing at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t much past eight and there were still a few hours until his scheduled “wake” time. “New plan.”

“New…plan?” he asked. You just knew he was rolling his eyes at you behind those thick black goggles.

“Well he’s my patient, isn’t he? I’m making a new schedule, one that’s more appropriate for the patient.”

“You can’t do that,” he said quickly, your chin raising. “He’s a prisoner.”

“I know I’m just the glorified ass wiper for this guy but the more he feels like he has someone in his corner, the more apt he is to let a secret loose. Maybe he says jack shit but maybe he tells me what the russians did so you can figure out whatever power crap you’re looking for. Got it?” 

“That’s the Y/N I’d expect.” You turned around, Mallory appearing in a doorway behind you. “Dismissed, Greg.”

“Don’t play games with me,” you said when the guard left. Mallory took a few steps forward to join you at your side, peering down into the room below. 

“We had to know you’d be a team player. You’re not dumb. I think you can understand why I want you to do this job, even if you don’t have your medical degree.” You narrowed your eyes. 

“Am I supposed to be his doctor or his fake friend? Which is it?” you asked.

“Both. It probably won’t work, the cocky bastard’s too smart for it, but it doesn’t hurt to try every option. I’d like to think you in particular would be willing to do whatever it takes to figure out that supe destroying beam of his. Am I wrong?” You ignored her, staring through the glass to the dark room. 

“You hired me to be his doctor so that’s what I’ll be. Anything more will be my choice, am I clear?” 

“Fine. Now let’s get you acquainted with your patient.”

“Fine.” You turned and left the room, heading down a set of stairs. You were in a changing room that had hazmat suits and respirators, different outfits for you to choose from. Along the back was a fridge that held his food, a thick mixture that looked completely unappealing. Beside the fridge was a cart for you to bring in and out, a medical bag on top but otherwise it was bare.

You stared at the options and sighed as you picked up the gas mask on its own. For one, if he wanted to kill you, he really could, suit or no suit. But mostly you had a bad feeling in your gut, like he needed some actual human interaction. If they were barely letting him be conscious during the day, he was going to start having problems. Namely, the angry supe was only going to get angrier which meant more violent which meant way more likely he killed you.

A gentle hand might be the only way to get through these six months in one piece. 

After securing your mask, you made a note of the log by the fridge, surprised to find he’d been fed roughly an hour before your shift started. Huh. Maybe they were treating him better than you’d though. With your bag in hand, you hit the button on the wall, thick metal doors opening and allowing you to step into an air lock. You hit the button behind you, sealing it off and then a large black one with a hazard symbol over it. A small light appeared red over the button for a moment before turning green. You hit the button on the far wall and another thick door opened to the dim room. A fine mist clung to the air, deadly novichok swirling all around you. You raised your arm, checking for any reaction but you weren’t expecting one. Novichok was an aerosol. You had to breathe it in to suffer any consequences which hopefully you’d never find out how that felt.

The door shut quietly behind you, leaving you alone save for Mallory observing from behind the thick glass panel above.

You set the bag down, approaching the side of the far end of the chamber and hitting a large black button. A locking mechanism released, the door swinging open and allowing you to grab the end of the pull out tray. The first thing you noticed was Soldier Boy was naked, followed by a slight warmth to the air. The tray helped but he was heavy, a solid wall of muscle you noticed as your eyes darted over his body. Every inch of him oozed strength.

Ever so gently, you moved to his side, knuckles grazing over up his leg, over his strong thigh, soldi chest. You rested your palm over his chest, a slow, steady beat thrumming away.

You didn’t falter, didn’t do anything strange as you started to check his pulse, mind wandering while you went through the motions.

Sure, you’d be his fucking doctor. Until you figured out how to get him out of there that was. 

Ten minutes later you returned to the viewing room where Mallory had remained, her focus on Soldier Boy below.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. I know you’re thinking about how to break him out. Why do you think I hired you?” You smirked, cocking your head. 

“So you don’t want me for my medical knowledge. Shocking.”

“Fuck no, just like I know you have no desire to finish med school. Use that money for whatever the fuck you want. You do what I ask and we’ll give you ten times that and maybe we end up dealing with your little…problem along the way.”

You glanced at Soldier Boy, pursing your lips. “Why the ruse? Why not just tell me you want me to act like I’m the only one on his side?”

“Because I had to see how good an actor you are. The second I told you he can take away another supes powers…you should have seen your face. You were already in. You’ll have to be on all the time with him though. No mistakes. He’ll snap your neck if he finds out.”

Your gaze shot back to Mallory, her mouth forming a small smile. “I’m good at pretending everything is just fine. So what exactly is the plan to get him to trust me?”

“Be his friend. A few weeks from now you’ll miraculously break him out after learning about the torture he goes through during the day in our attempts to understand his powers. He’ll be leery of course but weak with the massive dose of novichok will get in him. By the time it wears off, he’ll trust that you’re a caretaker for him, likely even fall for you. And then? You prove your loyalty, shower him with that love he so desperately wants but won’t admit to. By then, he’ll blow the powers out of whoever you tell him to. He’ll be our loaded gun without even realizing.”

“That’s what you wanted all along,” you said, Mallory nodding for the two of you to leave the room, heading down a hallway. “Because if it doesn’t work, you can blame it all on me.”

“There’s a reason I wanted you on this job kid and it’s not just because that man will take one look at you and want to screw you. You will need to adapt on the fly. Use that head of yours and we’ll relay the list of supes we want him to take out and then he’ll go back in his box.”

“We’ll worry about that later. Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill me first.”

You were tired when you got home from work the next day around seven thirty in the morning. Mallory and security had given you an in-depth briefing of their plans. It was all very simple. Manipulate him. Make him see you as his only friend. Break him out and make him reliant on you to the point where he was doing exactly what they wanted without lifting a finger.

Except that wasn’t your plan. You’d break him out, play along to get him there but the second you had him alone, you’d tell him the truth.

And if he killed you in a fit of rage, so be it.

If he even could.

Three Weeks Later

You were grateful Mallory no longer came into work during your shifts. She wasn’t suspicious of you. Shit, she thought she had you read like an open book and you were perfectly happy to let everyone keep on thinking that. The guards left you alone unless you asked for something from them which meant you spent a lot of time either in Ben’s room, you’d taken to calling him Ben when you went in with him, or sitting in the observation room with a book.

It wasn’t hard to feign boredom when there wasn’t much to do. You desperately wanted to spend more time with Ben but it was dangerous to leave him off the gas for more than thirty minutes at a time. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call cognitively aware when you’d pull open the drawer and assess him. His eyes would flutter open weakly, a glimpse of an angry glare behind them before he’d call you a bitch and they’d shut again, his chest rising and falling deeper than when he slept. 

Which meant you were in for a fun time in about forty five minutes when you were supposed to “break him free” according to the plan. You were meant to go about your usual routine with him before they’d take him away to the operating room they called it. More like commit war crimes against a prisoner.

You didn’t know exactly what they were doing to him during the day but it was bad enough that Ben was starting to show injuries. Injuries. On an all powerful supe. Nothing major. A few bruises and scratches but it meant something was up and you wanted to be done with this charade and now.

You just needed Soldier Boy to take care of Reaper, that god awful supe, and then he could do whatever the fuck he wanted for all you cared.

A faint scream in the distance made your head snap up. You heard it again and closed your book. Who the hell would be screaming in a place like this? You got up and headed down the hall, dipping your head in the observation room.

A louder scream rang out as you saw the empty cryo chamber. You ran out to the hall, bumping into a guard.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, Lance from the sounds of it. 

“Where is he?” you asked, more screams heard now.

“Oh. Yeah, they kept him in the operating room longer today so he can do his ‘breakout’ with you soon. Sorry for the noise, he can get loud sometimes.”

“What?” you asked, furrowing your brow. 

“The breakout. You’re supposed to grab him from the operating-“

“I know which room I’m supposed to fake the breakout from. Why is he screaming?” you asked. The guard blinked, raising an eyebrow.

“He always screams. I would too if they shoved nuclear waste through a needle into my eyeball.” You scrunched up one eye, the guard giving you a look like you were the weird one. “It’s the only way they get the red matter out of him…”

“If you have your fucking red matter then what the fuck are you faking a break out for,” you growled. The guard held up his hands. “I asked a question.”

“Listen. I’m only telling you this cause I like you. They needed to fake a breakout that way they can drop their red matter bomb they’ve been brewing up and wipe out Soldier Boy and let the fallout spread down to the city and kill all the supes there, including Homelander. You were…the fall guy,” he said quietly. Your eye twitched as you grabbed his assault rifle, jamming the end under his jaw. “Y/N-”

“The only reason I’ll let you live is because you warned me. Now put on your gas mask.” He hesitantly did as told, securing it before you clocked him in the back of the head. 

Soldier Boy let out another pained scream and you’d had enough. You grabbed your gas mask from your office and ducked into the security office, grateful to find it empty. A large red button behind glass sat on the far end of the console.

NOVICHOK - EMERGENCY USE ONLY

“Fuckers,” you said before smashing it, jamming it with the butt of your weapon. You watched on screen as people started to panic and then came the screams in the hallways as the nerve gas tore through their nervous systems, quickly but oh so painfully killing them. You knew there’d be a few people that would see the flashing amber lights in the halls and get their masks on before they keeled over. Whatever.

You’d deal with those people easily enough.

The monitors showed most people had gone down, convulsing violently as they foamed at the mouth. The south hallway was clear and after checking your gun, you ducked back outside, slipping the sidearm from the guard you’d knocked out into the back of your jeans. Soldier Boy had stopped screaming, the halls eerily quiet. Still, you stepped carefully, amber flashes bouncing off the dull gray walls.

Past the bodies, you went down the far passage, taking a breath before opening the double doors. Blood stained the walls. Dried blood. Old, rusty, oxidized blood. 

“What the fuck…” you trailed off, eyes settling on where a barely conscious Soldier Boy lay restrained on the metal table in the center of the room. 

“Y/N,” he mumbled, your eyes widening briefly. He rarely spent time awake with you and the rare occasion he did he’d only ever called you curses. 

“Can you fight?” you asked, unbuckling the thick leather restraint wrapped around his right wrist. He was strong, powerful. But even he couldn’t escape when they kept him gasing him all the time. He grunted, closing his eyes. “Most of them are dead but there’s stragglers to deal with.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow under your mask, removing the leather restraints over his torso and left wrist. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here. I need to get you up North,” you said, strapping the gun over your body. You helped him sit up, Soldier Boy’s body lax, littered with dark bruises. “Can you walk?”

He only stared as he slumped against your chest, face jammed against your body before mumbling, “You got great tits.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” you muttered. You grasped his shoulders, forcing him upright, Soldier Boy scowling as you barely kept his heavy body steady. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he tried to growl, coming out like a petulant child instead. You rolled your eyes, scanning the room quickly. Trays of syringes littered the room, bottles of something red inside some, a cream white liquid in another. “Fuck off.”

You dropped his shoulder, grasping his jaw hard, Soldier Boy flinching slightly at the touch. You’d deal with whatever the fuck that reaction was later. 

“I will leave you here to die you insolent little man-child. Cut. The. Shit. Now.” The hardness in his gaze stopped, an almost panicked expression replacing it. “Work with me here. What’d they do to you? Why are you the equivalent of a sack of potatoes?”

“They keep me gassed and stick the white stuff in my eyes. I think it’s novichok,” he said. He closed his eyes, slumping forward ever so slightly before flying them open. “It’s the only way they get the drugs in. Or out.”

“Out?” You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. “Later. Can you move on your own or no?”

“I’m fucked for at least a few hours. Does that answer your fucking question?” He spit out the words, his glare indicating you’d be thrown against a wall if he were capable at the moment.

“Little bastard,” you grumbled to yourself, slinging the automatic rifle across your chest. He raised an eyebrow as you sighed. “Here’s how this works. You do as I say or you can die here. Your choice.”

“Get me the hell out of this shithole,” he growled, reluctantly holding out a hand. You turned, squatting down and pulling him into a fireman’s carry. He was warm against you, two hundred plus pounds of solid muscle. “At least you ain’t a weakling.”

“Shut up. Take that handgun in my waistband and shoot anything that moves and I mean anything.” He grunted which you took as an answer. You shifted you itself. Fuck, he was heavy. Dead weight too. 

He might be able to run his mouth but that was all he had going for him. He nearly dropped the gun the second he took it out of the back of your jeans. Without another word, you exited the room, fine mist filling the corridors. Quickly, you moved down the hall, Soldier Boy grunting more than once.

“Shut up,” you whispered.

“Fuck off,” he snapped back, albeit more quietly. With gritted teeth, you continued forward, eyes flaring wide when you saw movement ahead. Gunfire rang out as you spun around, Soldier Boy hissing as loud shots fired off behind you. It went quiet, Ben dropping huffing against your back. “Thanks for using me as a fucking meat shield. That’s the only reason you busted me out, isn’t it?”

You dropped him straight on the ground, straddling his hips, not even a flicker of amusement on his face. You held up the gun, Soldier Boy scoffing. “What part of listening to what the fuck I say don’t you understand?”

“Leave me to die then, bitch.” You grabbed his jaw, pressing your thumb right under his eyes socket, his eyes narrowing. You pointed the gun at the inner corner, his eyes focused on the barrel.

“I need you to kill a supe for me. Reaper.”

“Reaper? That dumb fuck kid? Why the-” You pressed the hot barrel against his cheek, Ben growling.

“It doesn’t matter why I want him dead but I do. You will die if we stay here, Ben,” you said, tucking the gun back away. You sighed, checking the silent hallways once before re-focusing on him. “Lots of people hurt you. People here hurt you. But I am the only one that’s ever tried to protect you from something. So be quiet or I will leave.”

A grin crawled onto his face, a frown forming on yours. “You need me, don’t you sweetheart? Cut the tough guy act-”

You grabbed his throat, Soldier Boy’s eyes narrowing. “A bomb is going to drop killing all supes on the eastern seaboard. That’s us and you know what? Fuck it. Maybe I get lucky and this thing kills Reaper somehow and I don’t need you.”

“Dramatic are we?” he said as you stood upright. You got three steps down the hall when he slammed his fist against the cement floor. “Fine! I’ll shut up and kill Reaper for you. Now get me out.”

You smirked, wiping it off your face and hoisting him up once more. He stuck to his word, keeping his lips sealed as you made your way out, shooting one more guard at the front lobby area before you were in the parking lot. 

After a quick check for trackers and bombs, you picked him up off the cold pavement, sitting him in the passenger seat of your SUV.

“My suit,” he mumbled. “Need my suit.”

“Already in my trunk. I was supposed to take break you out,” you said, closing the door.

“What the hell does that mean?” he asked when you got behind the wheel, leaning over to buckle him up so he didn’t slump over.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, pulling off your mask and tossing it in the back seat. “We need to-“

You both tensed when the night sky lit up red in the distance, a towering inferno blazing up into the atmosphere from the direction of the city.

He grabbed your hand as a shockwave barreled toward you, both of you flinching as a strange feeling washed through your bones.

But you also felt a sharp familiar zap kick in and course through your arm, straight into his hand. He pulled his hand away, staring at you. 

“What the fuck was that? Why the fuck aren’t we dead?” he asked, flexing his hand as best he could.

“I sort of…can’t die. I guess that bomb can’t kill me…or Reaper,” you mumbled, turning the car on and driving out of the compound. All the while you felt his drugged up stare. “I can’t control it. But good news for you, apparently you can’t die either when you’re touching me.”

You didn’t want to acknowledge that you felt all of his fear and pain when you’d somehow protected him. How afraid he was. How fucking alone he felt way, way deep down in a place even he didn’t touch until the moment of immediate death.

You slowed down, reaching over to hold his hand, ignoring the way he relaxed at the touch. Soldier Boy was out cold fast as the adrenaline wore off, his grasp on you too tight to slip out of.

You didn’t get far though, barely a few miles up the road when you saw people arguing outside a house, strange red streaks across their skin.

What the fuck did that bomb do?

Unfortunately for the two of you, you didn’t have to wait long to find out.

____________

A/N: Part 2 coming soon!

[savi-our]

Anti-Harem with OP Mage MC pt. 2

Right so... this is longer than i intended and more detailed than intended, i humbly ask for your forgiveness for this reading more like a fanfic one-shot 😭 Theres just so much you can do with this idea and i wanted to do the SF brothers justice, this is less anti-harem centric and more daily life of MC centric so do what you will with it - id love to hear some thoughts on this though, im genuinely considering writing a full blown fic abt this prompt and writing out ideas here helps convince me. Also watch me turn SF Sans into a closeted fangirl in real-time bc i CAN and i WISH TO and i WILL... tee hee 😍 HT for next part maybe? idk hdafejkkl

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Months passed since the new recruit arrived, and you had spent most of those months avoiding the household all together, not that any of them were in any hurry to seek you out. Actually - apart from passing glares and avoidant glances the skeletons had seemed to avoid you all together now, and it didn't take you long to realize that it was the newbies doing. It seems the brothers had already begun to switch all their official mage dealings with the newbie, and you overheard them one night speaking of how nice it'll be once you were gone. It hit you hard, the unbridled JOY that came from those words. The first smile in months had graced your expression, this annoying assignment would be done soon, and you didn't even have to look for a replacement. Of course there was a technical issue there, the recruit was weak, you doubted they could handle the responsibility, but you'd be damned if you had to be reassigned to the brothers again due to their own poor judgement. You set up barrier upon barrier on the furthest borders of the property, weaving old and powerful magic unseen by the untrained eye, as invisible as a spider thread in the deep dark of night.

The day came sooner than anticipated, a sunny morning wrapped in late spring dew when an official courier brought you the sealed reassignment papers, you wasted very little time. There were no goodbyes, nobody to see you off, no see you laters. You just packed your bags and left, deciding to celebrate your release from this mock hell with a feast of your own making. 

Days passed easily after that, your new assignment had been similar in that you were still expected to deal with monsterkind. As the official top ranking mage you were expected to oversee the immigration process of the newer species - finding them homes and determining the new borders, on paper that is - in actuality you were there in case it all went to shit. You were there to evaluate how big of a threat these newcomers were, and if all of it went down the drain, expectation fell to you to play both judge and executioner. It was all a terrible diplomatic hassle, endless meetings with diplomats and officials from both sides, meetings with the kings and queens, correspondence between the Archmage and the people on the ground, endless evaluations and negotiations. Where they lived, were they safe, were they able to integrate, political and financial concerns, provisions and temporary shelters were now your everyday cause for headache. It was there you met a pair of somewhat similar faces.

 Black and Mutt were skeletons, and that fact had not given you the best first impression - unbecoming of you perhaps, to judge a book by its cover, but months of threats and insults could change even the most unbiased of people. The two were a tad different from the others however, something you found curious if not a bit strange, they were… respectful, if not a bit stiff. Charged as part of the Royal Guard - they worked closely with the rulers of Mtt. Ebbot, so you saw them often escorting officials to and from meetings. You had no reason to approach them, coming from the other side as you were, you technically outranked them quite a bit in the merging hierarchy, but it was one stormy night that made you all grow quite a bit closer in an alarmingly short period of time.

A pack of fiends had snuck their way into one of the lesser guarded shelters outside of Mtt. Ebbott, cunning creatures that fed off of magic. They were hardly a threat alone, even an apprentice mage could take on two by themself - unfortunately due to that fact they tended to gather in numbers, the recorded largest amount was around forty if you remembered right, this however, this was beyond your imagination.

You should have predicted it,it was your miss, your meager miscalculation, of course they would be drawn here, a cave sealed off for centuries, brewing magic for centuries, a breeding ground for anything magic, broken for the first time in centuries. You responded quickly, but by the time you got there it was already chaos, the loud thrum of magic permeated the air and both monsters and humans were rushed off of the scene, the ground was bloodied, a sign that you were already late. You assessed the scene as you rushed past the terrified civilians, you would need to clean it up quickly. 

The resisting force had taken damage but they were holding, human and monster guards stationed at the furthest gate fighting off the onslaught of fangs and burning eyes. You took notice of the two skeletons fighting beyond the gate, they worked well together, soldiers of significant skill - you sped past them, an order to pull back immediately flew past your lips and you moved further into the swarm, Black had called after you but you tuned it out, as daunting as the situation seemed it was still below your paygrade.

It was a single spell, a light that lit up the sky, a deafening bang that rattled the ground and the job was done. Your hands stung from the forced speed of the cast, but you remained unscathed as you stood among the scattered ashes, burning flesh permeated the air. You sighed, the ever present mountain of paperwork on your desk was bound to double in size.

It was all damage control after that, rushed orders to your subordinates and rebinding of the barriers, but when you stepped past the gate once again to scout out the surrounding for any remaining threats is when the two skeleton guards approached you, they demanded to go with you- well the shorter one did anyway, it made your brows raise - there weren't many people left in the world that demanded things from you. You looked them both over, amusement in your eyes, and agreed, a challenge to keep up on your tongue.

After that things had slightly shifted, the skeletons greeted you upon meeting, saluted you upon leaving, you began to notice more monsters approach you with official papers or directives, it was an odd thing, mainly because you reflected on how joined it seemed all of a sudden. Before the attack you were mostly responsible for the human mages and soldiers on base, now it seemed your responsibilities grew their own legs and danced around the monsters as well. You saw more of the skeletons, Black in particular seemed curious, even though he never admitted it or outwardly showed it, it was subtle but you noticed, he often joined you for your nightly rounds even when not required to, it was a bit awkward at first, silent patrolling of the grounds, you had nothing to really speak about, and it seemed neither did he. You could not for the life of you figure out why he took such a sudden interest in your company but you also were curious how long he would keep it up, besides, having him accompany you seemed to put the other monsters at ease.It was on one of those rounds when you finally addressed him, he seemed surprised that you had, shoulders stiff, back straight as he looked at you with wide eyes.

“Don't you have more important things to do?” You asked, the question seemed harsh, but its harshness dissipated by the lightness of your tone, echoed by the stone hall in the moonlit night. He had opened his mouth but it was a moment before he responded, seemingly not expecting conversation, he turned away clearing his throat as he set himself to rights.

“OF COURSE NOT, THE SECURITY OF THESE GROUNDS IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. CONSIDERING THE DISASTER FROM TWO WEEKS AGO ITS MORE EFFICIENT TO DO IT MYSELF.” 

You hummed, continuing to walk, listening to the sharp sound of his footfalls a step behind you.

“Would it not be better to split up then?” You asked, your tone still light, your eyes observing him with a knowing glint.

“W-WELL YES, BUT FOUR EYES ARE BETTER THAN ONE, AND IT WILL SAVE TIME IF WE DO SPOT SOMETHING AND NEED A MESSENGER.”

And your guess proved right, his reasoning was weak at best, there was no need for both of you to do rounds together - you could clock a threat miles away even in the pitch black, and you knew for a fact that Black could handle himself well enough, and yet he seemed to want to be in your shadow all the same, you chuckled, but did not voice your thoughts. 

Your relationship seemed to steadily improve after that, every now and again you would walk the shelter grounds together, and every now and again you'd exchange conversation albeit a short one, but it beat the awkward silence that was there in the beginning.

Mutt was different, he didn't seem to hold as much intrigue towards you as his brother, he was more so there by default as he seemed to almost always stay by his brother's side, in fact the only time you saw either of them apart was when Black joined you in securing the premises. The taller brother was an enigma, you had not heard him speak once since your assignment, a part of you wondered if he even could. But he didn't seem outwardly volatile either, more so apathetic towards the goings on around him. That opinion switched one busy day where a scheduling error had made the three of you take an overnight shift guarding a group of pompous diplomats. It was a nightmare, twelve straight hours of listening to empty boasts and endless rants about the economy, even you had begun to space out, this was probably worse than those month long scouting missions in Siberia you were forced into back in training.

 You noticed the brothers were reaching their limit as well, you worried Black would leave indents in his skull with the force he was gritting his teeth and you were sure Mutt was half asleep as he wobbled on his feet, skull falling every odd minute or so. 

It was a couple hours later when you found out you were scheduled for two more babysitting sessions except they were both at the same time, and both had human and monster envoys, Black seemed to mirror your frustration as you checked and rechecked the schedule. 

One way or another you had organized a lower ranking mage qualified for escort duty to take your place for one of them, and Black had given his brother the order to attend the same one as you as he himself took the other, rushed words of “IT’LL BE QUICKER IF EACH OF US TAKES ONE.” after which you parted, the vote of confidence made you chuckle.

It was another four hours when you wondered if Mutt had passed away standing on his feet, he hadnt moved in a good hour or two, and skeletons didn't need to breathe so he remained deathly still. He stood behind the officials chair like a statue carved from marble, quite an unsettling sight considering the early hours of the morning and the sharp looming shadows casting off of him. The human envoys seemed to agree with you, considering the nervous glances being cast his way amidst the conversation, and you couldn't help but find the situation amusing. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep or the frustrations of your job but you decided to hurry the meeting along with a mischievous play of magic, lest you join Mutt in his nap. A moving shadow here, the caw of a crow there and what do you know, suddenly all business has been magically taken care of.

You had woken the looming skeleton with the good news and watched as he attempted to stifle a yawn, he had checked his phone and noted that his brother had not been graced with the same fortune as you. You had asked if he would wait - a nod, you offered your office - a moment of silence, but after a while, another nod.

It was another hour at your desk, finishing up some paperwork when you heard gentle snoring on your office couch, a comfy thing that had served you many times for a bed in the days where your job kept you from home, the sound made you blink slowly to the skeleton that occupied it.

Your own exhaustion made you zone out in thought, the sight had an enviable peacefulness to it, it's perhaps why you didn't notice the phone that fell with a quiet thump out of Mutts pocket. It vibrated, once, twice, then for a third time, screen lighting up repeatedly. You rose from your seat, bones popping as you sighed and made your way over, if it was Black then it was probably asking where Mutt was, you should wake him.

Is what you thought anyway, what ended up happening was you being trapped in an iron grip stuck to a dead asleep skeleton. It happened so quickly and out of nowhere that you didn't even have time to process it, the long hours awake didn't help either. One second you're reaching for his shoulder and the next you're halfway on top of said skeleton, limbs wound around limbs. You blanked, what even was this situation, you never took Mutt for a cuddler, his grip is crushing, impressive for someone with no muscle, wait hold on.

You attempted to pull away, but the answering growl and tightening hold let you know that the skeleton didn't agree with that choice of options, subconsciously or not. Waking him up seemed a thing that you should do, but the option flew right out of the door once you thought about how this would all register with him once he woke up, it was embarrassing really. You attempted once again to move off of him but he turned, and dragged you along with him further into the couch. Ah, you had made it worse. Couch cushions pressed in your back and a very large and a very asleep skeleton pressing you into his ribcage, it seems he intended to keep you for a body pillow, now what.

The door slammed open and you blanked once again, this was a nightmare, you prayed it wasn't some disgruntled diplomat come to complain to you about something. You attempted to lift your head to see but the grip on you made your back pop and you groaned, breath knocked out of you.

“MUTT! WHAT IN TORIEL'S NAME ARE YOU DOING GET OFF THIS INSTANT!! NOW YOU DOG! OFF!” The yelling was familiar and for a second you felt relief, and then dread all over again as vertigo hit you. In his panic he had rolled, rolled right off the couch and onto the cold hard ground and had taken you with him. You groaned again as you attempted to get your bearings, lifting your gaze only to be met with bright purple, you blinked and watched as slowly but surely confusion turned into realization and then straight into horror, the brightness of the flush on Mutt’s face was there for half a second before he was gone, disappearing into thin air. 

It took you a while to process the whole thing , even longer to reassure Black that it was an accident on his brother's part and that you were partly to blame for the situation as well. By the end of it all it was safe to say that you were exhausted, so you had locked up and went home, it was the morning after that you noticed that the lanky skeletons phone was still innocently laid on your carpet. You snorted, wondering whether or not the silent guard dog would come knocking on your door before late, or if it would be his ever principled brother in his stead.

[shinestarhwaa]

ON-CALL || PARK SEONGHWA

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Seonghwa x Fem Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Tags/Warnings: Doctor!AU, intern!reader, peds* resident!Seonghwa, kinda inspired by Grey's Anatomy, dirty language, masturbation, dom!Seonghwa, sub!reader, oral sex, unprotected sex, namecalling, slight hairpulling, slight spitting, praise

Helpful guide:

*Peds/pediatrician=doctor for kids

**pre-op = before operation

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho

ENJOY!

"Dr. Y/L/N, you will be following Dr. Park Seonghwa today," your supervisor said as she finished her pep-talk of the day. Your supervisor, Dr. Long was a very kind and positive woman, always quirky and bright and she gathered her interns every morning before work to cheer them up and motivate them.

You'd been an intern for a few months and you were slowly getting used to the hard work. You vaguely knew dr. Park from several heroic stories. All the women seemed to swoon over him as they gossiped about his fine looks every day.

Pediatrics was not the field you wanted to pursue but you figured a look couldn't hurt. You met dr. Park Seonghwa right in front of room 204 and suddenly you understood why all the women gushed over his beauty.

Dr. Seonghwa was a tall man with a sleek and defined look. His hair was slightly curly, tucked behind his ear while a few front pieces fell in front of his eyes. His nose was prominent, eyes big like boba pearls and lips thick and they looked like they'd be softer than all the fluffy kittens in the world. God damn.

"H-Hi, dr. Park, I'm your intern for the day," you introduced yourself. "Right, Y/N, I got the note that you'd walk with me today. If you have any questions let me know, okay? Let's get inside now, we're here to see a ten year old boy pre-op**," Seonghwa said as he guided you into the room.

"Good morning Kang-In, you look bright this morning," Seonghwa said with a smile as he greeted the boy named Kang-In. "Thanks doc, I'm feeling uplifted, I'm finally getting my surgery today! I've waited two whole years for my new heart."

"That's right, this is Y/N, she's my intern for the day, she will do a quick exam on you to check up on your stats."

Seonghwa watched you do the exam on the boy and asked you several questions to test your knowledge and he was surprised at your smart and quick answers. You got a kick out of it, watching his impressed expression and his small nodds.

The entire day was pretty fun, Seonghwa was still quite a young doctor and he told about his job with a lot of passion which intrigued you. When you laid in the on-call room that night you couldn't sleep. All you could think of was Seonghwa, the living example of perfection.

You looked around briefly, you're all alone. Would it be horrible if you slipped your hands into your panties just for a little bit? Deciding it would be okay you took your pants off, kicking it on the floor. You opened your legs and felt the damp spot on your underwear. You closed your eyes and slid your hand in your panties, rubbing your wet folds. "Mmh doctor," you moaned softly as you rubbed your clit, coating it with your arousal.

Suddenly the door opened and revealed dr. Park, his eyes widened at the sight of your bare cunt right in front of him. He closed the door instantly and froze for a few seconds just like you. ''What the hell are you doing?'' ''U-Uhm... Just...'' you stammered, not knowing what to do when your superior walks in on you touching yourself to the thought of him. ''S-Sorry sir, fuck I just-''

''Open those legs wider, I can't see it well enough.''

You felt like your heart stopped at those words, breath hitching in your throat. ''W-What? Sir...'' ''Well you obviously wanted someone to walk in on you, so you should at least give me a good show, right?''

You bit your lip and spread your legs wider, giving him a good view on your wet cunt. ''Why give a show when you could come here and taste it?'' This sentence went straight to Seonghwa's dick and before he could hold himself back he kneeled down in front of you, eyeing your glistening wet cunt up and down ''Christ,'' he cursed underneath his breath, ''What a beautiful fucking pussy... Who got you this wet, Y/N?''

Seonghwa licked a stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit. ''Y-You, I was thinking about you. Fuck, you're so hot doctor, you are so hot I couldn't help but think of having your cock stuffed inside me,'' you cried out. ''Fuck, you're such a little minx, I love slutty interns,'' he grunted against your pussy, lapping it up and down. His long and skillful tongue felt warm on your labia. Seonghwa's eyes stared deep into your soul, making you whimper.

''Fuck, I'll be your slutty intern, doctor,'' you moaned as Seonghwa dug his tongue deep into your core, fucking it in and out of your hole. You guessed he must fool around with all the women around here but you didn't care. In the moment you wanted nothing more than be used by him.

Your walls clenched around his tongue and you whined out his name. ''Please, it's not enough,'' you cried, ''I need your cock sir, please.'' He smirked against your pussy and lapped at your clit, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands desperately reached for his head full of curly raven locks of hair, grabbing them and pulling them slightly, making the doctor moan into your core. You wanted him badly but he would not budge, eating your pussy like a starved man.

''Fuck, you're such a good little wet slut, all for me to ruin, keep begging for my cock, princess,'' he grunted as he worked on your clit, sucking and biting on it as his nails dug into the flesh of your thighs. ''Y-Yes, yours, doctor! Y-yours to ruin!'' It was wrong, God, it was so wrong of you to sleep with him but why did it feel so good then?

Seonghwa pulled those thoughts right out of your brain again as he sucked particularly hard on your clit, making your hips buck up. You felt the familiar warmth coil in your abdomen and your body grew restless. He held you down and stopped you from moving and you couldn't do anything else but let him make you come undone.

The orgasm hit you like a truck, washing over you as you chanted his name over and over. Seonghwa rode out your high with his delicious tongue and finished it off by pressing soft kisses over your used pussy and thighs. He hurried to pull down his pants and underwear and get on top of you, lifting your legs up and letting them rest on his shoulders. Seonghwa gave you no warning as he pushed inside you, nearly folding you in half as he did.

Soon he started moving at a fast pace, the sound of skin slapping together filling the room definitely able to be heard on the other side of the door. You could swear you heard a few giggles coming from the hallway but Seonghwa didn't accept the fact that your thoughts were drifting off again. He went harder, faster and with his fingers he grabbed your chin, forcing your mouth open. He spat in your mouth and ordered you to swallow, as you did.

A cry left your lips when he suddenly seemed to have found a sensitive spot inside you, something not many of your past lovers were able to do. ''You're such a good fucking slut for me, such a cute little pussy for me to fuck. You're gonna let me do this to you often, hm? Gonna let me fuck this pussy over and over whenever I want it, right?''

You mewled at his words and could only whine and nodd your head, nothing else processing in your head. The sensitiveness of your previous orgasm was building up to a second one and before you knew it you were clenching down on his cock, coming once more for him. ''That's a fucking good slut, that's it,'' he praised you.

He fucked you roughly, seemingly chasing his own orgasm. The doctor pounded into your pussy with such force you nearly forgot how to breathe. You dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders, moaning over and over. He cursed underneath his breath and his thrusts grew sloppier. ''You're gonna let me breed this pretty pussy right? Gonna let me fill it up with my cum? You're such a good little slut, such a good little fucktoy! Fuck, take it baby, take my fucking load,that's it!''

Seonghwa came with a loud moan and his hips stilled, cum spurting deep inside you. The two of you panted softly as he pulled out and laid down next to you. Before you could say anything to him his pager went off and you sighed. He pulled his underwear and pants up and hopped off the bed. ''This isn't over yet,'' he says with a wink before exiting the on-call room.

You sighed deeply and squirmed a little, giddy with the thought of continuing later on.

[kamiko1234]

Can we talk about how genuinly OP Rin acctualy is ?

(English isn't my first language, so please excuse any spelling mistakes I could have made)

So I've been thinking a bit and....Rin may just genuinely be one of the (if not THE (in the future)) most powerful characters in the entire series? Genuinly if you look at what the guy managed to achieve in comparison with his relative time spent training is crazy.

We know that it's been round about a year since the beginning of the manga (afaik at least). Before that Rin had no idea of anything demonic. He didn't even know he had the abilities he does. That already puts him at a HUGE disadvantage against virtually everyone else in his cram school class. Even if they hadn't properly trained before, they at least had some form of basic knowledge and idea of the work to go off on.

Rin in the meantime started off from 0, no training and no knowledge. And even on that incredibly weak and disadvantaged position, he managed to beat up Aimaimon, a demon KING, fairly well early on. Admittedly Mephisto did interfere and Rin did have the element of surprise on his side, but one still has to remember that he did this on his own with no training or preparation time.

Then during the Impure King arc he played a HUGE role in defeating it together with Ucchusma. Bon was only there to do damage control for the other exorcists and civilians while Rin really posed the "main" fighting force. Ucchusma's role mainly consisted of guiding and reinforcing his flames which- again I have to remind you all that Rin JUST learned to control his flames properly. He barely got down the basics of his powers at that point and was already able to go toe-to-toe with the Impure King.

Shima specifically advice Lucifer to go send his bodyguards to fight Rin in battle as a safer bet, due to the fact that Rin would have reservations about killing humans. And even then he just called it a 50/50 chance at winning if I remember correctly- and those bodyguards are highly skilled exorcists.

Then when we fast forward to his awakening- which may just be Rin's biggest power-boost, the guy just gets more and more op. Not only did he gain pretty functionally much full control over his demonic side, but his body was burned to a literal crisp. And it proceeded to regenerate a few seconds later, fully. Without any issues at all- still leaving the guy more than enough energy to go ham on his friends right after.

During the Blue Night Remembrance Arc we only get more indicators for how strong he is. Rin was able to straight up kill like...five people as a newborn? Not to mention the fact that he did but up an impressive fight against Shiro- at the time strong enough to be declared Paladin- for someone who was literally just fresh outta the whomb.

This just proves (in my opinion) that Rin with his flames alone could kill off just about anyone not an Upper Class level exorcist atleast.

Later when the exorcists ask how to deal with him and propose just destroying his body Mephisto also plainly states that it would do nothing- that Rin will just keep on regenerating himself over and over again if his demon heart is not taken out. This confirms that Rin is practically invulnerable to any damage not destroying his heart- as his body would just keep regenerating and healing any other injury.

This btw also confirms that Rin basically has the perfect vessel. If Rin would have had to deal with the same issues as the other demon kings, i.e his body not being able to handle his power and thus deteriorating, all they would have had to do was to wait him out. And then when his flames destroy his body, just make sure Rin doesn't get another one. But no- it was specifically stated that his body would just keep regenerating.

His body's regeneration pretty much makes the guy immune to the major limiting factor for powerful demons in Assiah.

But the most damning proof of Rin's OPness: The guy managed to go up against literal SATAN SOLO and do fairly well. This is someone Lucifer had respect for, and he wasn't able to just one-shot Rin. He's still vastly superior ofcourse- but he did have to put in some effort, as menial as it is.

At this point I'd again like to remind you at right now, Rin still has comically little actual training. Again he's been introduced to this world like....one year ago. The guy is SEVERLY lacking in experience and training compared to pretty much everyone else, and he already managed to do all that.

Just imagine what Rin would do if he had been trained and introduced to the world of exorcists since birth. Or even if he just had started to train from the same age on as Yukio. If one year is enough to get Rin to the point of throwing punches with Satan, what would have 8 years of training done for him?

This is also why I'm genuinely gonna say that Rin has the honest potential to just about surpass everyone and everything in terms of power if he's given enough time and training. The guy isn't even a nuke anymore, he's a hydrogen bomb!

[ticklinglady]

The Guild's actions during the story are so insane, when you think about them properly, you know? When I first read the arc with them, this moment hasn't really occurred to me, as I was too busy going nuts over finally seeing the names of the familiar writers, but now when I think of that... I am not sure, I comprehend how they managed to achieve such a ferocious reputation. I have already made a little post about how extremely dysfunctional the DOA members are, but at least those guys have a plan, which actually makes sense more or less, even despite the gang using cheatcodes/the Book. The same cannot be said of the Guild however archghhjkn. Like, what the hell were these guys even doing??? XD

So here are just some moments, which weirded me out the most

At first I'd like to address the entire story with everyone's favorite tsundere, Lucy Maud Montgomery. Her introduction leaves quuuuite an impression in the best way and nothing makes me happier than the fact, that she gets a chance to find happiness in the following chapters and actually becomes a reoccurring character! HOWEVER, her entire involvement with the Guild is super odd... I still can't wrap my head around her getting fired. She is a girl with a hella powerful ability, who got taken to the Guild from a terrible, terrible orphanage in order to fight for them in the war for the Book, so not only is she very strong, but she's also immensely dependant on the organisation and wouldn't do anything outside of its interests. Yet Lucy is also put under extreme pressure. As she herself puts it, the Guild doesn't tolerate failures and will kick her out the moment she screws something up.

Later we see that this is exactly what happens, when she messes up her first mission. Fitzgerald himself confirms that, since she failed and revealed her ability to the enemies, she's no longer useful, so now a powerful esper, like Lucy works for free as a... laundress?

EXCUSE ME??? WHEN HAVE THE GUILD MEMBERS EVER DONE ANYTHING, BUT FAIL AND REVEAL THEIR ABILITIES?

Let's be real, these dudes were successful like only once or twice...

This fact not only makes Fitzgerald look like an idiot for wasting such a talented and useful worker, because of one mistake, but also as one hell of a hypocrite, cause he is more than fine with everyone else fucking up. And in case of Lovecraft and Steinbeck: fucking up twice. To add to the oddity, we later learn, that Louisa genuinely cares for Lucy and despite her social anxiety actually stood up for her during the entire story, but even that wasn't enough to change Fitzgerald's mind on the issue, though Louisa is one of the few people, whose opinion he respects. Honestly, this is such a waste of a truly useful subordinate. And speaking of which....

The Guild has never even tried to implement Edgar Allan Poe during the war...

This man is actually rather op when you think of it. He can capture and neutralise literally any ability user in Yokohama (besides Dazai, Mori and Ranpo ofc) just by throwing a book at them. Seriously, as we see with Chuuya, they don't even have to read it, they just need to see the pages. Plus the book can be actually sent via email!!! So why has there been an absolute zero amount of strategies with the use of this ability??? They could actually try to catch Atsushi by sending him such email containing any of Poe's mystery stories and then safely carry him back to their base. And it doesn't have to be just Atsushi, it could be literally any of their enemies. Non-combatant, like Ranpo could use this pretty damn well to his advantage and it doesn't take a genius to understand the potential of the "Black Cat in Rue Morgue". But nooooo, it seems like everyone has just forgotten of Poe!!! (Tho to be honest, I can actually see this situation in a funny extra awfgbfggfjj. Not the main story however) The agency would never even learn of his existence, if he didn't personally decide to try to fuck Ranpo's life up. Like, what does Poe even do in the Guild? He's the master architect and, according to him, the third ranking man in the organization, but we never see him be of any use, so Idk. 🤷🏻‍♀️ Lucy at least got to do something, unlike this poor man.

Then there's the entire drama with the Guild's decision to destroy Yokohama. Where do I even begin...

First of all, Fitzgerald has no way of knowing that Atsushi is going to come to Moby-Dick to fight him. Poor guy is the Guild's primary goal and has already gotten himself captured once, so it would have been safe to assume that the ADA decided to hide him somewhere and not send him on any dangerous missions for the time being. That basically means Fitzgerald could have burned down not just Yokohama, but also the only person, who could actually help him find his precious Book.

But if we're to ignore this, let's also go with Wikipedia then~

"Yokohama is the second-largest city in Japan by population and the most populous municipality of Japan. It is the capital city and the most populous city in Kanagawa Prefecture, with a 2020 population of 3.8 million. It lies on Tokyo Bay, south of Tokyo, in the Kantō region of the main island of Honshu. Yokohama is also the major economic, cultural, and commercial hub of the Greater Tokyo Area along the Keihin Industrial Zone."

..........................

Good luck making up for the destruction of THIS, Fitzgerald 🖕

And if this in itself wasn't bad enough, most people, including me, tend to forget that all Guild members are actually big shots in the American government, which I think is very sad. Because first of all, can you imagine any of the Guild members actually working as politicians?!! The sheer idea makes me hysterical avshbgj. Like, just consider Lovecraft working as a senator or something. This eldritch horror of a man leaves the ocean once in three years at best LMAO. Second of all, I have a feeling, that the destruction of Yokohama at the hands of influential politicians from a foreign country would have resulted in an international conflict or two~ Like as if random deranged rich Americans arriving in Japan, wreaking havoc over there and destroying the second largest city in the country wasn't bad enough, these Americans just HAD to be super influential businessmen and politicians. Louisa, my dear, I understand that it wasn't your intention, but it's as close to a declaration of war as it can get, you know? Fitzgerald may be ready to do anything to resurrect his dead daughter, but I'm not sure, that the execution of himself and the rest of the Guild at the hands of the Hunting Dogs is something he'd like.

(And here's another funny thing that stems from them being politicians 🤭 As @originalartblog wittily pointed out, Fitzgerald wasting all his money fighting sskk has probably resulted in a market crash and recession over in the USA)

I also have some other questions in regards to this entire plan, such as why did they have to waste Moby-Dick just to destroy Yokohama? Yes, it works in the short term, but in the long term they loose a super powerful fortress with the stealth mode and as the practice shows, you better have a safe base, unless you want another lemon freak to blow it all up. I mean, you could just ask Lovecraft to destroy everything for free. Or, if the device is the only way to stop the giant whale from crashing, why didn't Fitzgerald just take it to a far away bunker or something and waited things out there without the need to spend millions of dollars just to survive the explosion? (And it would have been extremely funny, if during the fight with sskk he just threw the device overboard) But I think I have already rambled for long enough already atxhghbgv XD

The Guild is an even bigger mess than the DOA and I think that's glorious 🙌

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

Which of the Boyds would be best friends? Which ones would hate each other?

Steve Murphy

Who he likes best: Quinn! They’re both annoying in similar ways, and although they’re generally sticklers for the rules, they both get the importance of going off-script sometimes. Quinn also doesn’t require any small talk from his companions, or expect Steve to be anything other than what he is.

Who he can’t stand: He finds the Corinthian appalling both because of all the murders, but also for making him question his sexuality! Beyond that, the Corinthian also just tends to lay on the charm in a way Steve finds off-putting and fake.

Donald Pierce

Who he likes best: You know, I think it’s actually Steve? Pierce genuinely thinks Steve’s kind of cool, what with the chasing down drug lords and the working with black ops militia groups and stuff. He’d love to take Steve out for drinks and listen to his stories. Steve also presents fairly masc, but not in an especially threatening way. He’s a specific kind of dad-coded that doesn’t *quite* match up with Pierce’s darkest kinks, but it is enough to make Pierce hungry for his approval. Pierce also wants to make him hotter. He begs Steve to let him buy him a new wardrobe. And stop shaving his damn hairline! They can figure this out together!

Who he can’t stand: He finds Quinn an utter pain in the ass to work with. Quinn’s competent, but he doesn’t like taking orders he disagrees with, which definitely results in the two butting heads and getting into a few heated altercations. Quinn’s tendency to bluntly speak his mind is also absolutely gonna result in Pierce getting his feelings hurt sooner rather than later.

Cap Hatfield

Who he likes best: He likes Ty! He appreciates how family oriented Ty is, and he likes that he’s more capable of living off the land than a lot of the Boyd characters.

Who he can’t stand: Cap recognizes a predator when he sees one, and he instantly distrusts the Corinthian. None of the Corinthian’s methods of charming his prey are effective on Cap at all.

Clement Mansell

Who he likes best: Haha, Clement thinks the Corinthian is super cool! He loves his style, he thinks he’s a blast to hang out with, and he likes how agreeable the Corinthian is. Sure, the Corinthian is down for a concert! Yeah, he wants to try out that new steakhouse too! He’s so ready to hit up a dance club after!

Who he can’t stand: He genuinely cannot be around Danny. Clement delusionally thinks of himself as a struggling musician who’s only doing crime to pay the bills until he makes it; meanwhile, Danny’s a rich kid who grew up eating caviar and lobster, who’s got no logical reason for doing any of this crap. He doesn’t know the struggle at all! Plus, he’s got a daddy that loves him, and he’s still a brat! Clement would do anything for that kind of fatherly love!

The Corinthian

Who he likes best: Oh, he adores Pierce. He’s such a delicious mess of insecurities and trauma he’s staunchly avoided confronting for decades! And he was so damn pretty when he was younger. Exactly the Corinthian’s type!

Who he can’t stand: He thinks Quinn is deeply unfun. At least Steve has some tasty breakdowns and self-worth issues to exploit! Quinn is too sure of himself to be interesting, and he’s also not exciting in the ways the Corinthian likes.

Eli Klaber

Who he likes best: He likes Cap best, mostly because Cap’s fun to go to the shooting range with, and also because if Cap sees him in a pretty dress he’ll instantly think of him as a woman, without Klaber having to say anything at all.

Who he can’t stand: As far as he’s concerned, Steve is a tedious control freak with the blandest and most boring outfits known to mankind. Sure, Klaber dresses similarly when he’s out and about, but Steve seems to genuinely think those ugly suits look good! Horrifying.

Danny Maguire

Who he likes best: Haha, he likes Clement best! He kind of looks up to Clement in a weird way, and thinks his schemes are next-level impressive. He kind of digs his outfit choices too, and he really vibes with some of his music tastes. He’d love to do karaoke with Clement! He can bring the weed and the coke! Once Clement responds to his texts, they’ll make this happen!

Who he can’t stand: Yeah, definitely Steve. He’s DEA – that’s kind of Danny’s natural enemy. Beyond that, Danny also just thinks Steve is a giant buzzkill and an unpleasant workaholic/alcoholic.

Ty Shaw

Who he likes best: Haha he honestly likes Steve! He thinks his crime-fighting stories are super cool, and he’s an excellent guy to go duck hunting with!

Who he can’t stand: Danny’s probably the guy he most dislikes on the spot, but if he gets to know the Corinthian better, it’s definitely gonna be him. He thinks he’s stylish and erudite at first, but when he eventually clocks him as a threat to his friends and family, he’s gonna want him as far away as possible!

Quinn McKenna

Who he likes best: Cap. He’s just an easy guy to kick back with, and maybe go on some nice camping trips with. There’s not many people in Quinn’s life that are down for roughing it in the way he prefers, but Cap is totally fine sans electronics, making fires, and navigating by map and compass!

Who he can’t stand: Clement is an unpredictable criminal and liar, and his out-of-tune singing gives Quinn the worst headaches!

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am so sad to inform everyone that there is no Doffy for like 12 episodes since 629, he appears next in 642 which is a CRIME.

Anyway, Eng Doffy liveblog 642, let's gooo!

Doflamingo: Hey, Law! I hate to admit it, but you managed to impress me! Must've taken some effort to get a Navy admiral to show up. And since I'm no longer a warlord, I'm really shaking in my boots!

Hahahahahaha this bastard 🤣🤣🤣 also, the way he says "Law" oh the condescension. Fits.

Law: You're a damn liar!

Go, Law 😤 you tell 'im!

(skips the boring Colosseum parts cus we aren't here for that we are here for the sass fight between Doffy & Law in English)

"Haven't you ever seen a magic trick?" Did he just take a jab at Law's intelligence? I think?

See, Eng Doffy sounds so confident and smug but in that assholeish way, he gives me the "I want to punch him" feel. Meanwhile Japanese Doffy gives me the "I would not DARE punch this man bcs I know I will not live long enough to regret it" feel. I would not DARE go against Japanese Doffy, I would not dare speak or yell at him, while I would foolishly think of punching and attempting to punch English Doffy. Does that make sense? Eng Doffy would trick me into thinking I have a chance. Japanese Doffy I wouldn't even think about fighting him.

I love how you can already pick up on his "I am a god" thingy bcs Eng Doffy says "creates the blind spot in humans" he could have said "people" but nope. That's a nice little hint.

Also, once more, Eng Doffy is making my brain work for it with the "But it's the rigidity of the mind assuming no one would go to such lengths that creates the blind spot in humans."

RIGIDITY OF THE MIND

MAN, he makes me feel like I'm a silly little human with no knowledge of the world. Also, what a freakin scholar. I mean, we knew, and you can catch it in his Japanese vocabulary too, he is a royal for sure.

I gotta say, I remember the first time watching this and my brain was fckn THEORISING how the fuck Doflamingo could do that, get the newspapers to report fake news, did he threaten the newspapers, has someone in that branch etc etc...

Bcs at that point I don't think the OP lore made me aware Celestial Dragons have such influence? I just thought "rich ugly assholes who sit on their butts in Mariejois with no power of their own"

I think this was #1 reveal in One Piece for me cus like as Law slowly like figures it out and says "only celestial dragons have that power" my mind just blanked out from SHOCK bcs that means - Doflamingo is - but if he is, why is he a pirate - what - what - what - also how the hell is he so HANDSOME if he is a Celestial Dragon?

I think my reaction would be funny to Doflamingo 🤣

And then when the reveal happened I covered my face with my hands and said "Fuck, I want to fuck a Celestial Dragon. How far have I fallen?"

"Don't tell me... You're a..." The fckn FEAR in Law's voice. I got chills. I always get chills on this scene. The DREAD. THE ABSOLUTE DREAD. I'm glad it holds up in English.

"It's too complicated to explain right now." Keeping us at the edge of our seats, the bastard 🤣

"You know why I went to so much trouble, Law? Huh?" OH MY GOD AAAAA 😭😭😭 the way he says it is scary!

"No secret. I just really wanted to kill you."

RUN, LAW. RUN. AAAAAAAAAAA 😱😱😱😱😱

It's interesting how I can sorta pick up on the hatred Law feels for Doflamingo in English. Law has quite a calm voice in English, but it gets ROUGHER and RUDER in tone when he talks to Doflamingo. In Japanese, he tends to raise his voice so he's LOUDER than Doflamingo when he talks to him so both VAs have their own very good takes on the approach of Law's emotions. Very nice.

Doflamingo in English speaks like an angry dad who is trying not to show anger but is still angry and is about to beat the shit out of his son, and also condescending as hell. Like oooh, damn, the condescension when he talks to Law like Law is a kid (he does this in Japanese too just in a bit of a different tone but you still feel the "angry dad disciplining his kid who did sth extremely extremely stupid" so the shoe fits)

Onto Ep 643

Law: There's no way in hell you're getting Caesar back now!

HOLY HELL, HELL YEAH, FIERCE ENGLISH LAW, GO LAW!

Okay, so the way "Doflamingo" is said by Law is so very English it took me off guard. (pronouncing flamingo aloud to myself) Oh okay, that's accurate. Huh. I myself don't really enunciate the go as much as Law does. Okay. Sounds cute, though. Very cute 😊😊😊😊

"We've hardly spoken in ten years and this is how you act? Treat your old boss nicer, won't you, Law?"

OH SHIT OH SHIT. OKAY. OKAY. SO LIKE. WAIT IS THERE A WAY TO SEND A MP3 thingy, BCS YOU ALL HAVE TO HEAR THIS ONE. His voice softened when he said the "won't you, Law" and I fckn melted (again)

Oh, that softer "won't you, Law" I'D YIELD. NO, NO, HE SAID IT SO MUCH SOFTER OH GODDAMN FUCK FUCK THAT DIRTY - THAT'S CHEATING - THAT'S NOT FAIR, I CAN'T BE SCARED OF HIM IF HE TALKS LIKE THAT TO ME. I literally went "awww 🥺🥺🥺" after I heard this. I had the urge to just hug him and caress his hair and say "it's okay, Doffy, Law didn't mean it, there, there (pats him on the head)"

I am weak 😭😭😭😭😭 FUCK YOU, ENG DOFFY. DAMN YOU, ENG DOFFY. It's bad enough Japanese Doffy's voice softens when he talks to Cora, now I find Eng Doffy does it too (even if this is the manipulative thing he does for Law)? FUCKING SHIT FUCK.

DAMMIT!

I love how Doffy says "Hello there. 😄" to Fujitora! Haha.

"If you want to dig into my past, you better be willing to get your hands dirty. It'll take a mountain of evidence to topple me."

Or... You know... A crazy 19-year-old who you pissed off and who doesn't care about evidence 🤣🤣🤣

"Speaking of naughty warlords -" I JUST SQUEALED. HE DID NOT. HE DID. HE SAID IT. Naughty warlord. And the way he said it, too. Oh he is very aware. Adding that to my list of affectionate nicknames for Doffy.

"My plan completely fell apart. The Navy shows up and now I'm the target." Welcome to the life of being Luffy's ally, Law 🤣🤣😭😭

"Hehe. Just can't take the easy way, can you?" SAYS THE GUY WHO MANIPULATED THE WORLD NEWSPAPERS TO TRICK 10 PIRATES.

Excuse me while I go have a nerd timeout for Fujitora cus goddamn his gravity's COOL

Doflamingo: "That's a bit overkill, don't you think?"

I THINK SO, TOO! Japanese Doffy was def freaking out more 🤣

Oh, Eng Law saying "Room" sounds cool!

"Is this how the Navy acts now? Show some restraint! ARE YOU INSANE?!" Doffy freaking out 🤣🤣🤣🤣 this is hilarious!

"What now, Law? You aren't thinking about running away, are you? Because you won't get far here in my kingdom." Yikes.

Tagging @moonbaby26

[howlingday]

Another devilartemis cell vs x men 97

Rwby crossover

RWBY '97

Knight: TARGET IDENTIFIED. SURRENDER, MUTANT.

Cinder: For the last time, this is a Grimm implant! GRIMM! IMPLANT! How would you feel if I said you were a fucking air fryer, huh?

Jaune: Uh, I think he's talking about those guys.

Cinder: Who?

Ace-Ops: (Exist)

Cinder: Great! Another team of overinflated egos in spandex! Terrific! Okay, who's the one with the most trauma? Show of hands. Is it you?

Marrow: ???

Cinder: It's gotta be you. (Points to Vine) You're definitely on something. Nobody would purposefully be bald unless were high off something. Definitely scream "I'm not fit for anything BUT active duty".

Harriet: You talk way too damn much! (Rushes Atlesian Knight)

Jaune: So, what, did the robots become racist all of a sudden?

Clover: Well, actually... Well, yeah. The fugitive Arthur Watts hacked into our system and tampered with their coding. Now, they hunt down anyone that doesn't have human aura, including our own teammate, Marrow.

Jaune: (Staring at Elm's ass) ...I'm sorry, what? I missed, like, 90% of that.

Knight: (Head spins off)

Harriet: (Soccer juggling it) Problem solved!

Cinder: Not impressed. I could do that, too.

Knight: SURRENDER, DIRTY, STINKING, FILTHY MUTANT.

Cinder: What the fuck?!

Clover: Yeah, racist robots weren't what I'd expect, either.

HEY, YEAH~! I WANNA SHOOT, BABY~!

Qrow: Well, well, somebody better hang onto that non-existent budge! Are you telling me Clover has decent lines for once?! And I ain't just talking about his... dialogue~.

Cinder: Fucking hell- There's more of you?

Clover: He's not one of us.

Qrow: Y'know, Clovey, you'd think with all these AUs, somebody would've cared enough to give you an actual character.

Clover: (Readies Kingfisher)

Qrow: Oh, right, right, the part where you pick a fight with me... Yeah, because that worked so well last time. Doubt even [tumblr] could write our fight any worse. But you know who does have good writing?

Qrow: DevilArtemis! Yup! And by clicking that little link just above here, you can go support him on Patreon! That's right! This isn't a sponsorship! It's just an unpaid plug-in~!

Qrow: Click that link and maybe Clover will stop being such a dick! And just stick to having one, am I right?

Qrow: (Girlish scream, Chased off-screen)

Jaune: ...Do you think that Patreon plug was subtle enough?

Cinder: Fuck no!

Jaune: Shit! Plan B, Cinder!

Cinder: (Puts on straw hat, Dancing)

Jaune: (Plays banjo)

Patreon.com/DevilArtemis

[adhd-fandom-hyperfocus]

✧₊⁺ Dance with Me ✧₊⁺

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x OC (Astraea)

A drabble from Wisdom In The Stars

Author's Note: I am aware that there was a xenos in 40k already called Nephilim. Astraea is not from that species, merely, they just happen to have the same name.

Quick pro quo on drabbles in this work:

This is all very self-indulgent and I will not apologize. If the Grimdark can be extra, so can I!

Bobby G's love interest is a xenos of my making, so they are as long-lived as him, but not a perpetual.

Again mad self-indulgent. Oozing copium by the ton

Rowboat Guillotine deserves a happy life and some damn peace

So many Primarchs are going to be back in some drabbles. Again no fucks given

Proofread? Never heard of her

Warnings: G-Money has some very slight nsfw thought at the end. Very slight. That's it.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

To ally with Xenos, was a heretical thing, no matter the circumstances. No matter how much they needed that help. Guilliman knew the practical approach was swiftly dealing with those who opposed him. However, this might have been a push against the church too hard. Roboute was prepared for a bloody response. Yet, Astraea refused such things. Refused to just cut them all down to ensure ease. While she seemed as disgusted by the ecclesiarchy as him, she seemed to pity them more than anything. Something Roboute felt was far worse.

So to smooth things out, She and some of her people, diplomats, historians, and entertainers, attended a gathering to celebrate this new alliance, and hopefully, an even better Imperium as they set off to help their cut-off brothers and sisters. Roboute suspected some of her Seraphem and Maidens of Valor were among those attending. Hiding among them should things go poorly.

He could not express enough that Astraea agreeing to have this alliance look like her people were offering to serve under the Imperium made things easier, and he was forever thankful. Once he would have forced this kind of thing. Xenos as equals? A morbid thought. But now? A thinly veiled lie to keep the peace. One her people willingly were taking the short end for.

How in the time he had spent with her, traveling back to Terra, and planning all that is happening and to come, she swayed his mind like nothing ever could. Like a spell she was weaving, and he still felt she might be. How her opinion so quickly grew to carry more and more weight. Or how his eyes started to yern to gaze upon her. Her ability to rule, but stay humble. To honor he duty but find time to be selfish; it was a skill he was never allowed to have.

She made him look inward, something he dared not do. Roboute always feared what he might learn about himself. What truths lay there waiting to be found. But she had shown him hers, and the image of what she forsook for the weaker image before him, still haunted his mind. There were things greater than chaos and they cared not for what was beneath them.

Roboute Guilliman listened idly to some nobles about how Astraea's people's ships translated into real space and in such time. He oped this proved without words, that an alliance was better than them being an enemy. They thought the Imperium had impressive tech? These people made all of man still look like cave dwellers at times. But among the crowd of dull faces and nameless people of petty importance, he saw her enter.

No call of her arrival, nothing. Just her moving ever so gracefully among the sea of sycophants. All her people were catching eyes. They were taller than baseline humans, and their eyes both drew people in and made them uneasy. But her, oh Throne her...

She was resplendent, the beauty of a thousand stars captured in a mortal body. The terrifying beauty, the savage grace. How the fabric of her dress moved and clung so rightly to her, draped in the right ways to extenuate what Roboute Guilliman was gazing upon was the manifesting of terrible beauty in the real.

The thin fabric of the palest blue, shimmering so slightly as if some of the stars that made her fell upon her dress. Delicate silver chains hung from her with gemstones, some looking as if galaxies rested in them. Perhaps there was? The crown upon her head was like a sunburst and the way the lighting caught it was just as awe-inspiring.

Oh normally he would find such decadence too much. Obscene even; reminding him too much of Fulgrim. But her? It was a show of what was condensed inside that soul; heavenly beauty. All of them did. Moving with a unnatural grace and motions of a soul not used to it's body. Their luminous attire catching the eye of all.

As music played it became an interesting spectical of the Nephilium dancing to Terran music, in their many cultural ways; followed my humans over taking the floor and dancing. Like they were waves taking turns to move upon the shore. Though some humans did arrive with the Nephilium, a bridge between as it were. It would seem some human colonies were lost during the Age of Strife and some were saved from breeding planets. Something The Lord Regnant did not know existed. Something when he could, he planned to deal with personally.

“Odd, I thought the Lord Regent would be swarming with people, or at least out partaking in the the festivities. After all it is for your name, yes? Your impending victory.”

Astraea's voice even among all this noise was a calm river, who's waters when they touched his eardrums lulled him into a sense of ease. Oh the power she weaved by just existing. Just like a god, he thought dangerously. He hadn't noticed the noble that was rambling at him had left; he gotten so lost in his own head.

“They are all afraid of me,” Roboute answered, “Afraid of me, and too awestruck to dare approach me without need.” he knew the micro hint of sadness in his voice that was unavoidable was picked up on by her. Nothing seemed to pass by her notice, not even the slightest change of breathing, how a heart beat. The micro expressions of being a creature of feelings. All were laid bare before her, and the other methuselah. Roboute wondered if among those in attendance there were others. Astraea done well to keep the others a secret for now.

While deep down he felt alone, tired of being put so high up none dared to even look upon him; he was almost glad. It meant there was less of him hearing the putrid spew of their false religion and deification of him.

“And I do not dance.” he added.

Astraea craned a brow, “Do not dance, or do not know how?”

Roboute scoffed and feigned some level of offense, “My lady I will have you know I am the son of Konor Guilliman. I know how to dance, and all the pleasantries one is expected to have when at a gathering such as this,” he gestured to himself, “however, I do not know if you noticed, but my size compared to baseline humans is rather great...I always felt awkward dancing.”

It was hard to dance when your partner was eye level with your crotch. He only tried to dance a few times before he decided he rather face hoards of green skins than that embarrassment again. He wasn't as graceful or charismatic as Sanguinius, or Horus, as much as he hated to think of the latter. So he would start rambling about how dances were not made for one of his size and prattle on about upcoming laws. He would bore his partner to death so they would leave him.

There was a soft touch on his hand. So gentle and delicate he almost didn't notice it, “This is like in your human books, where the heroine or hero take their love interests hand and dance. And they do so like no one is watching.” Astraea said with such an even tone, it made the statement more amusing.

Like she wasn't fully aware what she said, but he knew better.

“Lady Astraea are you asking me to dance?” Guilliman smiled fondly, looking at her hand in his. It was so much smaller, yet held so much more power; he couldn't explain why, but it made his hearts pound.

“I am, is that not clear? We can dance however we like, as awkward as we like. I can show you some dances of my people, then you can blame the awkwardness on being diplomatic.” she offered.

Roboute knelt down and kissed her hand, “My Lady it would be my honor to share a dance with you. But tell me,” he spoke low now, “Am I your love interest in this book?”

His eyes widened with shock, was Astraea blushing? Had he managed to crack the ever cool demeanor of the Methuselah of Undoing? The Great Wakener? Now this was an accomplishment he would hold close to his chest for a while to come he thought.

“I do not know? Is my flirting working? This is how humans flirt, yes? If it is not I would prefer you act as if none of this happened. As I promised I would not manipulate your mind, so I will not make you forget. But believe it or not, I have not learned in my long years to handle rejection of this kind.”

Though he words were in the same steady cadence she always had, the red on her cheeks was spreading, betraying the mask of otherworldlyness. It gave her a more...human look.

“You are flirting?” Guilliman was genuinely surprised.

Yes, he had read how he was described in some records, seen the many statues. Heard whispers of those who thought his ears wouldn't hear. But if he found these things to be true, he was not so certain. And no one to his knowledge ever flirted with him. Too afraid, or figured he was beyond them. What was this bubbling feeling in his chest? Was his hearts okay? It couldn't be magic. The primarch would give credit, that Astraea seemed to hold her word true, and did not interfere with his mind or anyone's in the Imperium unless he asked. Perhaps, it was effects from his battles with his traitor brothers?

“Like I said only if it is working. I do not wish to shame us both.”

Roboute smiled, and decided to take the lead, bringing them both out onto the floor. Oh how the whispers went wild. Like sharp hissing of a pit of snakes. But he tuned them out; he had to if he wanted to enjoy this fleeting moment. This little blip in his life for himself.

“I did not know you could be embarrassed.” he continued as he turned to face her and take her other hand.

“You have not answered me.” was her only response.

“I cannot right answer right now, I am afraid. I will be honest, I am not ready for the answer I want to give.” it was an honest answer. It was not the one he wanted to give, but he would not lie. Couldn't lie. And Thorne he wanted to be a little selfish.

Astraea smiled and bowed her head, “Well, it is not a no.”

“Exactly, so this dance...” he asked, they were now out on the floor, and eyes were upon them. Glaring and judging. Picking apart every move, every expression. It must be driving them all mad to see this xenos had him truly smiling. Had their demigod belittling himself human novelties and joys.

“All you do is try to compliment the move you think I am about to do, and I do the same for you. It is a dance many young couples do, and eventually it just becomes their dance. It becomes ever more graceful as they grow together.”

That was such a beautiful idea, and this allowed him to use his brain for something more creative, yet still just as strategic. He had to guess her move, as it was happening and make sure he could match it in kind with a good gesture. Make the dance beautiful and uniquely theirs. Oh this was more exciting then just repeating the same steps as everyone else.

“Very well, let us begin.”

Perhaps he should be a bit more surprised how easily his mind switched from all the theoreticals and practicals thinking of running an Imperium, and war strategies, to figuring out every possible move he could guess she could make while they danced, when he only had one hand, when he had move. When she moved to the left or right. The sacred geometry of it all, their movements poetry being written. Co authors of book of secrets and hidden truths. How she wheeled and pun and he glided across the floor.

It was as if they were dancing among the stars, just them, in one glorious harmony. He felt light as air, weightless.

Her smile and how she hummed to the score that played. It kept him there in rapture. He wanted to be close to her; closer. Close in a way he couldn't describe. Like if souls were real, he wanted his to melt with hers. To touch someone in a way he never had before. He wanted to be inside her.

The last thought sent a cold chill down his spine, and Fulgrim's cruel words burned into his mind again. How everything he did, everything he felt, he would have to worry that it was bringing him one step closer. Suddenly he felt ill, disgusted with himself. But the score ended then. Everything crashed around him. Sounds returned and suddenly it was all too loud and he didn't want all these eyes on him.

Roboute bowed awkwardly, Astraea looked at him with worry, “Guilliman? Did I offend you somehow?”

“No,” he shook his head, his tone weak, “Just...excuse me. I need air.” was all he chose to say before leaving her standing there alone.

[quinloki]

Hi Quin <3

I may or may not have gone through your entire catalog haha (^///^) Thank you for feeding us all so well ☆ Such stunning works!!!!! (シ_ _ )シ

I was wondering, I find that I keep on reading the same people a lot. Have you discovered some cool new people to read from recently? any great recs? stuff you keep coming back to?

Anyways, you're awesome!! And I can't wait to read what you come up with next!!!!!

=O Sideblogs and everything?

...

Σ(っ °Д °;)っ

(*/ω＼*)

Goodness. ❤️I'm glad you enjoyed my stuff enough to read all that. I'm a terribly wordy ^^;

Ah! But hmmm... I do tend to read from many of the same folks, especially since I ended up surrounded by impressive writers.

But let's do this:

@swampstew - if you follow me, you know her. I cannot fathom otherwise, and if you don't, start here.

this is @icy-spicy's master list - I'd have that cold shower ready before you start, but there's more than One Piece there.

@mydisenchantedeulogy writes for a lot of fandoms, her words are so good I'm a fan of her stories without even having seen the universes they come from.

@un-shit-yourself is a long time real life friend, and a fantastic writer. Mostly Dragon Age, but the writing pulls you in. We chat, but we don't usually cross post, so you probably don't know about this one even if you do follow me.

@zoros-sheath - if you haven't read Magnets, start there, otherwise go hog wild. I can't imagine you're going to find anything bad.

@standfucker - whew, I look - Zen makes me wonder why I even write because what she writes is just too goddamn hot. Y'all don't need me, you got her. (I say this in jest, I'm going nowhere I promise) White Out and Rotation are two of my favorites, but Stowing Away to Save Yourself is something I specifically requested and gods was I served well.

@writing-yarn-goblin and @lyndsyh24 and @theaceofflamesposts are here, but you're more likely to enjoy the first two on Wattpad and the last on Ao3. Lyn's getting more active here, but her library is full of good stuff - fluffier than my usual work, but just as good imo. Lyn is one of the biggest reasons y'all get to deal with me at all. She was a saint when I stumbled into Wattpad.

I love @heyitsdoe and @/bas-writes stuff - they are both phenomenal writers. Bas has shifted away from OP a little and is more into JJK, but if you're looking for solid fic to read, then you will find tons there and I promise you'll enjoy it =3 Doe is super sweet and her writing is always a full meal, I've commissioned her and it was far and away worth every penny.

Honestly, I'd really recommend checking out my Following page. I leave it public, but everyone on it is either a friend, a writer, an artist, or some combination of all three.

I could go on in this post for like 5,000 more words and not hit everyone who has delighted me. @cyborg-franky @coza-main @lerya-fanfic @leakyweep @leftsidebonfire -- I'm going to hit a damn tag limit again.

@thus-spoke-lo is a little on the darker side, but gods alive I love her work, and I could read it for hours if I had the hours to spare.

@vizkopa writes in a way that helped me loosen up and write more how I wanted to, so thank her for that, and enjoy what she's got - mostly on Wattpad I believe? I know that's where I've read it.

Seriously, just peruse my followers, if you need something new.

But know that like me, they're 18+ and that's a boundary for their comfort as much as anything else. So don't break that.

[riotwritesthings]

Who Guards the Bodyguard

T, 3k - No-Powers AU, Humor, bodyguard!Bucky

One college bar, one bodyguard, one sleazeball who can't take no for an answer. Shaken, not stirred.

Hey remember when I took birthday prompts, like… 9 months ago? Good times. Anyways guess what I finally finished.

The prompt was some combination of “You’re my new bodyguard and you’re cute” / “Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second” / “I’m going to save you from the terrible date you’re having” So I really just mashed all of those together and ended up with this lol. I hope you enjoy it @clarajanedesperaux!

~

This job is supposed to be easy.

All Bucky has to do is keep an eye on a billionaire’s spoiled, wild son and make sure the kid doesn’t end up kidnapped or otherwise killed. Easy.

And yet, it has not been easy, most notably because Tony Stark can’t know that Bucky is guarding him. Howard had been very insistent about his son’s ability and determination to ditch his previous bodyguards, and half of the stories were honestly impressive if true. So Bucky has a very strict set of guidelines to follow that most days make him feel more like a stalker than anything else.

He gets a ping whenever Tony leaves the Stark family’s Fifth Avenue mansion, and satellite tracking makes it quick work to follow him anywhere in the city. Bucky’s not exactly sure how Stark has GPS-tagged his son, but he’s not paid to ask questions.

He’s paid to put his experience in black ops and undercover work to good use and not be seen while he’s following a twenty-year-old around the city making sure no one kills the kid.

Totally normal, super easy.

Yeah right, Bucky thinks to himself in bemusement as he watches Tony over the rim of his beer.

This is the third bar the Stark heir has been to tonight, and Bucky really must be getting old because all he wants is to go home.

He’d kind of like to tell Tony to go home too, and not just because it would mean Bucky could go back to his apartment to hang out with his cat. It’s because he knows what Tony is doing, he knows the rotating cast of friends that meet Tony at one bar just to abandon him at another. He knows how damn lonely that is.

He might be watching from a distance, but Bucky is pretty damn good at what he does and he can tell there’s a lot more to Tony than the kid lets on. He’s got a bigger heart than he likes to show and hidden scars, he deserves better than fake friends and a father who won’t even give him a chance.

But that’s none of Bucky’s business.

Two more bars later, Bucky is feeling a lot less generous towards his charge. This place is too damn crowded, and loud, and Bucky has to keep moving around to keep Tony in his sight. And for what, just to watch him half-heartedly flirt with some asshole in a trucker hat, of all things? The kid could at least have the decency to have some taste.

Bucky forces down some more unsavory thoughts about trucker-hat-douche as he slides onto another seat at the bar and waves for a refill on his beer. He pointedly ignores it when the guy on the next stool spins to face him, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Tony near the pool table across the bar. Even if he wasn’t working right now, he is in no mood and he does his best to convey that with the side of his face.

The asshole doesn’t take the hint though, and Bucky can feel the weight of his sleazy smirk as he asks, “Well hello, you come here often?”

“Nope,” Bucky says shortly, which is conveniently both true, and will hopefully cut off any further conversation.

"That makes sense,” the man says with a nod and a widening smirk, continuing to ignore all of Bucky’s not-so-subtle hints, “I would remember seeing you before.”

He probably thinks it sounds flattering, but he just comes across as gross. Bucky takes his eyes off his charge just long enough to glance over at the man next to him, taking in his flushed, sweaty face. The asshole is definitely drunk, probably completely hammered, and Bucky doesn’t want to deal with this.

He fixes his eyes forward again, hoping the guy will at least take one of his hints if he just keeps throwing them in the asshole’s face.

“C’mon, I’ve seen you moving all around the bar,“ the man says, because of course he can’t just give up. ”It’s obvious you’re looking for something, only to wind up next to me,“ he continues in what he probably thinks is an alluring tone, ”there’s no reason to play hard to get now.”

"‘M not playing anythin’,” Bucky snaps, cutting his gaze to the side just long enough to give the man a sharp glare, "and I’m not interested."

The asshole on the next stool just laughs, and Bucky can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans closer. “Don’t be like that,” he says with another slimey laugh, “you don’t even know me yet, and I’m very interesting.”

Bucky lets himself outright scoff at that, because he very seriously doubts that this bar-regular who can’t take no for an answer has any sort of hobby that Bucky would find interesting. He can see it from the corner of his eye when the asshole scowls, when his fingers curl tighter around his drink, and Bucky sighs internally.

“What, you think you’re too good to even give me the fucking time of day?” The guy demands, abandoning his attempt at a sultry tone in favor of a snarl. It sounds more natural for him, honestly.

There are a lot of ways Bucky could answer that.

He could point out that technically at this point it would be ‘time of night.’ Or he could get brutally honest and say that while he doesn’t usually think very highly of himself at all these days, he does still think he can do better than this random bar asshole. Maybe not a whole lot better, but better.

Instead of saying anything at all though, Bucky reluctantly tears his eyes away from the Stark heir across the small bar. He turns to finally face the man next to him and fixes him with a dry, expectant stare, quirking an eyebrow and letting the man fill in how ‘interesting’ Bucky thinks he is for himself.

The asshole’s face starts to twist with rage, but he smooths it out again with what looks like a fair amount of effort before saying, “Well, how about you let me buy you a drink and give me sixty seconds to change your mind.”

“No,” Bucky says shortly and starts to turn away. But then the man starts to reach for him, like he’s going to grab Bucky’s shoulder to stop him, and Bucky goes tense all over.

Part of him, a big part, wants to break this asshole’s wrist and be done with it, but that would draw way too much attention. He doesn’t trust himself to grab the man’s hand without breaking something, and he can’t even risk punching the jerk when his entire job relies on Tony never noticing him.

So Bucky has to settle for moving out of the asshole’s reach, shifting half off of his stool to accomplish it, and glaring harder as he snaps, "Do not touch me."

If the man was less drunk, and less of a dick, there’s no doubt that Bucky’s best death glare would be enough to chase him off. But he is a drunk asshole, so instead of running he grits his teeth and narrows his eyes.

“Listen, asshole,” the guy starts and Bucky does outright laugh at that, sharp and mocking.

He’s not surprised that the man’s face flushes an angrier shade of red, but Bucky really couldn’t help himself. The asshole continues to sputter for a second before sliding ungracefully off his stool and pulling himself up to his full height, wobbling slightly in the process.

“I don’t appreciate you- fuckin’- talking down to me,” the asshole spits furiously, but Bucky isn’t listening to him anymore.

With a sigh, Bucky slides the rest of the way off of his own stool and he can only hope that Tony is still distracted with the trucker-hat-douche because this is definitely about to become a scene. At least it’s somewhat gratifying to watch the drunk stumble back half a step when Bucky pulls himself up to his full height and squares his shoulders, but it doesn’t look like the man plans on backing down.

“Last chance to walk away,” Bucky warns because he has had it with tonight. At this point he will be perfectly happy to get kicked out of this shitty bar and fuck this job.

The asshole has his mouth open to respond, but then his eyes go wide as Bucky feels someone winding their arms around his and plastering themself tightly to his side. Bucky feels his own face twitch in shock when he jerks his gaze to the side and realizes that it’s Tony clinging to him.

Tony, who Bucky is supposed to be keeping an eye on, and who is not supposed to even be aware of Bucky’s existence. Tony, who is smiling up at him like Bucky isn’t a complete stranger to him, like he knows Bucky.

“There you are, hot stuff,” Tony says, his tone as familiar as his grin, and Bucky has a terrible feeling about the future of his employment. “I was starting to think you were standing me up,” Tony continues, fluttering those long eyelashes up at him.

The eyelashes that Bucky has tried so hard not to notice, but he’s sure as hell noticing them now.

Even caught off guard, and maybe a little distracted, Bucky isn’t a complete moron. He knows what Tony is doing, so he quickly pulls it together and works up a smile of his own.

“Wouldn’t’ve been so hard t’ spot you if you’d picked a less crowded place,” Bucky finds himself saying, because he can’t not complain about this dive bar now that he’s been given the chance.

Tony throws his head back with a laugh, and Bucky does not let himself get caught up in the sound of it. Not even a little.

“I * knew* you would hate it,” Tony says gleefully and the light in his eyes isn’t just teasing, it’s knowing.

Like Tony actually chose this bar just to annoy him, and Bucky is officially in so over his head.

He is also reluctantly charmed, and Bucky can’t fight down a tiny grin of his own even as he shakes his head and says, “You-”

“Hey,” the asshole interrupts, apparently not happy with being completely ignored.

He’s glaring at both of them now, and Bucky automatically shifts so he’s a little more between the drunk and the person he’s supposed to be secretly bodyguarding. He can at least still do half of his job. Tony grins at him like he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking, and hell, he probably does. Just like it’s probably no accident that Tony is wrapped around his good arm, making it much less likely that he’ll throw a punch.

Nothing would really surprise Bucky at this point, Tony is so damn smart and apparently Bucky has been underestimating him, too. And apparently, Tony has been watching him back, and Bucky has no idea what to do with that.

When the asshole makes another impatient sound Tony finally deigns to look over at him, barely tearing his gaze away from Bucky long enough to flit his eyes over the man from head to foot.

“Bye,” Tony says, his tone artfully dismissive, and then goes right back to grinning up at Bucky like the other man doesn’t exist.

To Tony’s credit, his cold, superior tone has the asshole automatically taking a step backward, even as he sputters, "Dude, wh- what the fuck-"

“What part are you not getting?” Tony asks, one sharp eyebrow crawling up his forehead as he slowly turns to face the asshole again, like he’s still unconvinced that the man is worth the effort. ”He was looking for someone, now he’s found me,“ Tony continues as he smoothly fits himself under Bucky’s arm, ”no part of this has anything to do with you, so you can go ahead and leave now."

Bucky can’t quite bite down his laugh when the drunk man sputters dumbly again, and the tiny grin that Tony flashes up at him has Bucky’s heartbeat doing truly concerning things in his chest. But he’s not thinking about that, just like he’s not thinking about the way his arm has automatically fallen around Tony’s shoulders, the way Tony fits perfectly against his side.

“L-Listen here, you little-” the asshole stutters and then trails off, his face going scarlet as he seems to notice all of the people staring at them.

"Little what?" Tony asks coldly, the look on his face just daring the asshole to come up with something that Tony hasn’t been called before. Bucky is equal parts impressed, enraged at his employer all over again, and trying his best not to be completely smitten.

The asshole’s face is nearly purple as his eyes dart from side to side, taking note of the increasing number of people watching them with open interest and amusement.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles and finally starts to back away, deciding to save what little face he has left in front of this crowd of college douchebags. He apparently has to try and get the last word though, because as he turns he shoots Bucky a final glare he loudly mutters “I could do better anyways.”

“Doubt it!” Tony calls after him gleefully, and the on-looking crowd laughs. Then he turns his bright grin up at Bucky, and oh, fuck.

Bucky is so fucking fucked.

“Do you want to get out of here, now?” Tony asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” Bucky groans instantly and emphatically, all thoughts of his imminent unemployment momentarily forgotten in the force of his relief over getting to leave.

Being caught by Tony is the least of the rules he’s broken, but he can worry about that later, or maybe never. It’s not like anyone needs to know that he’s been slowly but surely failing the first rule of bodyguarding over months of catching glimpses of the real Tony. Except Tony might know, because he’s been watching Bucky back.

And Tony is still grinning smugly as he starts to drag Bucky out of the bar with his arm still looped comfortably around Bucky’s waist, staying plastered to his side. Bucky has no idea if it’s necessary or not, he can’t tear his eyes away from Tony to see if the asshole is still hanging around.

He does spare the most fleeting thought for the trucker hat douche that Tony was flirting with before, but that’s only to think that at least this mess is getting Tony away from that asshole. Tony deserves so much better, of that Bucky is sure, he’s had way too much time to think about it while watching Tony flirt with every type of douchebag.

Once they’re out in the cool night air Bucky drags in his first deep breath in what feels like hours, relishing in the slightly less disgusting smells of the city. At least there’s less old-vomit smell.

When Tony snickers Bucky looks over at him again, honestly not sure what to make of the teasing, knowing smile on Tony’s face.

”So, where to now?“ Tony asks innocently, like he’s not still actively throwing Bucky’s life into chaos.

”Off to look for a new job, probably,“ Bucky grumbles, but he can’t actually force any annoyance into his voice. It’s not like he actually likes this job, after all, but…

He’ll probably never see Tony again, once he’s fired, and that thought sends a sharp pang through his chest that Bucky is trying not to think about too hard. Tony is still staring up at him as they start to aimlessly wander down the sidewalk, apparently trusting Bucky not to run them into any street signs, and Bucky is trying not to think about that either.

”Why?“ Tony asks, sounding genuinely confused, and then he pouts as he adds, ”I can go back to pretending not to notice you, is that more fun? Little weird, big-time stalker vibes, but I can work with that.“

Bucky huffs out a laugh, then raises an eyebrow as he asks, ”“S that what you’re into? That why you haven’ ditched me yet, like all th’ others?”

“Give yourself some credit,” Tony says, patting his side, “I did try at first, but you’re hard to shake. Plus, you’re much cuter than the rest of them were.”

Bucky tears his eyes away from Tony’s teasing, flirty grin, looking back down the dark street and trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. ”Maybe I’m jus’ sick of bein’ dragged to college bars,“ he says after a pause that’s probably tellingly long.

”Okay,“ Tony says agreeably, and when Bucky looks over at him in surprise, he finds Tony grinning up at him with an almost hopeful look in his eyes as he asks, ”How do you feel about burgers?“

Bucky finds himself trailing to a stop, still staring at Tony, who stopped right along with him and is now watching with a nervous little smile, like maybe he thinks the ‘better’ that he deserves is somehow Bucky.

For a second all Bucky can do is stare, his mouth gone completely dry. He has to lick his lips, watching Tony’s clever gaze track the motion, before he can croak out, “Seems like I’m gonna be fired for a different reason.”

Tony laughs, delighted, and starts leading him down the street again as he asks, ”What are you talking about? What better place to guard me from than up close and personal?“

Bucky is pretty sure that the elder Stark would not agree with that statement, but like hell is he going to be the one to point that out. He knows this is probably a terrible idea, and he’s definitely going to get fired for this sooner or later, but with any luck, it won’t be the last time he sees Tony.

”So, burgers?“ Bucky asks as he tightens his arm a little more around Tony’s shoulders, and when Tony smiles wider Bucky finally lets himself acknowledge the way it makes his heart flip over itself in his chest.

[h2llish]

vil rambles cuz im still sick

listen, everyone who literally views vil as this arrogant asshole who likes looking at himself in the mirror every morning has got to be some of the most blind idiots i've ever seen. his insecurities have played out right in front of us?? he is literally so insecure it's blaringly obvious???

it pisses me off watching people completely mischaracterize him as some harsh, insincere character who would bully and pick at someone's insecurities like a fucking prick.

those who genuinely see and regard vil properly as the type of person who has so many insecurities and stresses from living as an actor/model/etc, have honestly earned my respect. his character is interesting and having him mischaracterized as less peeves me.

i don't like to compare trauma, even in characters. trauma is different and revealed in every person differently.

and yes, vil has trauma. living life under spotlight and having his entire life on screen for everyone to see, is his trauma. while he may enjoy his line of work, and has a very supportive father in his corner, that does not make it any easier for someone who grew up under expectations and ridicule since the moment he started walking.

vil's insecurities stem from his roles in movies; he's been casted and sought out for the role of a villain even when he only ever wished to play the hero. since he first played the villain role as a child, bullying the hero (neige) he was automatically perceived as a villain outside of the role as well. and while he may not seem all that bothered, i think it does get to him. to constantly be casted as a villain because he "fits that role so well", and then to have people see him as a villain outside of it can be dehumanizing and painful ━ hence, his insecurities.

a lot of people fail to realize that the life of a celebrity isn't all its chalked up to be. they're human too, they have insecurities and flaws, parts of themselves they don't want others to see. and i think vil does a good job at presenting that.

his overblot revealed that sometimes our insecurities build up and spill over and we may do things we regret. in this case, paired with magic, it was an attempt on a rival's life.

unlike leona or maybe azul, he does regret his actions. he admits his wrongs and that he let his insecurities lead him down a path that could've been disastrous had it not been for rook and everyone else.

i understand that his confidence can be misleading; "if he's so insecure why is so confident?" because idiots, a person with insecurities can also have confidence. while vil is insecure about his stand in beauty, he's also confident in his looks. his insecurities about his looks come from his one-sided rivalry with neige. neige receives more compliments and views and offers, so that comes back to vil and he views himself inferior.

a lot of people seem to think he hates neige. but he doesn't, even he has admitted that he's only jealous. he holds a lot of respect for neige. he knows about neige's tough childhood, and he knows how hard he works, but he does not pity him for it all the same. his feelings for neige have only been jealousy brought on by the views of fans and media, and believe it or not, jealousy is not hate.

vil is genuinely a decent person. after his overblot he continues to thank those that helped in stopping him, and then proceeds to take responsibility for being the reason they were all so tired during the competition. he even takes his own money to offer to everyone after he broke his promise to split the earnings when they won. he also isn't upset with rook for voting for the winning team; he respects that he was able to do so without feeling much guilt. (while i still want to fight his ass. fuck you, you damn peacock spitting mf /affectionate). and then proceeds to give his money to the mc so they can fix up the dorm.

i understand his first impression wasn't great. even i thought i'd hate him, but after getting to know him, i saw that my opinion on him was stupid; understandable at first, sure, but false.

he's strict, yeah, but he means well. he just wants everyone to be healthy, and that includes routine and taking care of your body. it may seem a bit obsessive, but it's his way of caring for those around him, even if it isn't how, you like it or how you'd prefer to be cared for.

i think what i like about vil, is that he genuinely tries to make things right. unlike those before him, he wishes to apologize for the trouble he caused and wants to avoid having his jealousy take ahold of him so strongly again.

and addressing those that seem to think he would attack a person's insecurities, you're wrong. i doubt he'd try to hurt a person by pointing out their own insecurities when he himself has insecurities. he knows what it's like to have your insecurities take hold of you and consume your thoughts, why would he do that to another person? if he does find himself saying something that might be an insecurity for another person, i don't think he'd do so on purpose. he probably intended to help, but in the process hurt them. i just don't believe he'd want to hurt someone by rubbing their insecurities in their face.

overall, he's not a bad person or some asshole who would hurt someone on purpose. he's confident but insecure, and he's strict but means well. stop regarding him so wrongly please, it's actually fucking annoying.

[ghostaholics]

I had a dream about your enemies with benefits ghost x reader where the reader had a cryptic pregnancy. She kinda just doubled over in pain randomly and BOOM. Baby.

HE'S A LETHAL PERFECTIONIST TO THE CORE: rigid expectations impressed upon everyone; it's what makes him a first-rate soldier – grit factor and an appetite for excellence in everything he does.

(The thing is, Ghost doesn't make mistakes.

Of course, there's a first time for everything.)

It's chaos walking in Bangladesh, guerrilla warfare against an AQ cell weaseled away in Dhaka because the shiteheads have business with the organized crime bosses here. It's a city jam-packed with civilians, innocent lives. No open-fire allowed. A place like this means guerrilla warfare. Hit-and-run tactics. God knows he's not trying to start an international incident by blowing up half the bloody capital.

Cloak-and-dagger: they're picked off one-by-one. It takes a full day. A mess to be cleaned up, and he does it exceptionally well.

Ghost doesn't get any reports outside of the mission until he relays his total kill count.

"Good work," Laswell radios in. "We need you on the first flight to Oslo."

He lets out a slow exhale while jumping into the driver's seat of the vehicle he commandeered a couple blocks over. Time to make his way to the airport, then. They need his back-up. He knows what that means. But he's not going to think about the fact that the rest of the One-Four-One are there for a completely different ops and whether things have gone south if they're calling him in. He was supposed to be their fallback plan. "Everything solid?"

"It's Mav."

His grip around the steering wheel tightens. If he starts speeding through the streets, then he doesn't notice, too tuned in to the conversation at hand. "Fill me in."

"Landed herself in the hospital."

Again? Christ. It's the second visit in six months. He was there for the first one. Damn near had to stop the bloody doctors from calling out her time of death. Fuckin' tossers.

"What's the damage?"

"Well—"

"Alive?"

"Yes," she says quickly.

"Then quit beating around the bush. The hell's wrong with her?"

"All in one piece. Just get here when you can."

Right, so no helpful answers from the Station Chief. And Ghost tries to contact the others, but gets the same fucking silence. Not Price, not Gaz, not even Soap who always answers just to take every opportunity over the comms to blather about anything and everything in real time. He's not sure why he's being kept in the dark like this, but it's definitely putting him on edge.

The only other message he receives from Laswell: Oslo University Hospital. He'd combed the website for information in between stoplights. It'll do, he supposes. Their services don't seem subpar, which at any rate sounds far better than fucking Moscow; he still gets sick thinking about it.

So he checks in, gets his visitor badge. It's a whole ordeal that takes a lot longer than he likes. They tell him what floor, what room. That's the Gyneacology and Obstetrics Wing. He triple-checks, making sure nothing gets lots in translation; doesn't sound right to him, but he'll tear up the place later if they gave him the wrong directions. He memorized the hospital layout already; it'll take him approximately three minutes utilizing the right staircase, or seven minutes if he wants to take his sweet-fucking-time with the elevators.

"Our gift shop is around the corner," they tell him in a thick Norwegian accent before he makes his exit.

Odd.

She doesn't like flowers or cards or sentimental things anyways. Calls them impractical. Would rather hoard his jackets or other belongings of his that she finds useful, so the gift shop would be a waste.

When Ghost finally gets to where he needs to be, 2 minutes and 45 seconds later (skipped every other step just to shave off time), he finds everyone sans Mav waiting outside the room. It's not a happy reunion, despite Soap's grin. Everyone's intact, nobody's dead or anything that would excuse their silence during his trip from Bangladesh. Ghost is extremely unimpressed with their lack of communication and promises that he'll deal with their sorry arses later before shoving his way through the door.

—only to be met with the sight of her sitting up in bed, a tiny newborn bundled in her arms.

... whose fucking baby is that?

And when his eyes snap up to hers, she's glaring at him with a positively seething look that could kill.