#fledgings get the job done

[fauna-and-floraa]

King the Land has been such an interesting watch for me because I went into it expecting a festival of every romance cliche under the sun, and I was right- They have had pretty much every classic romance trope and yet? It feels fresh. They consistently do things I didn't expect, the story and characters are much more mature and interesting than I initially thought they would be, they could have indulged in a lot more cheap drama for dramas sake but they didn't. It's an absolutely cheesey fun ride but the emotional through line of the series hits so well.

[connorsui]

“Believing in love”

Sylus x fem! reader

Synopsis: Amidst the dazzling lights of a futuristic city, you confront your fears of love

Genre/warnings: Angst with a Happy Ending, soft sylus, reader who doesn't believe in the concept of love, emotional trauma, vulnerability, discussions of betrayal, past trauma for reader, sylus just wants to love you for you and nothing else, hurt/Comfort, emotional healing, small fluff, slow burn, hints of trust issues

Note: okaaayyyyyyy I went overboard this was originally going to be a short imagine ..like maybe five hundred words or less with the concept: “I don't believe in love” and “I'll show you what it can be” – I wasn't planning on this to be a full fledged one shot…but hey …I ain't gonna complain any further my brain is just doing its job ✨️

w.c: 1.8K

The city hums beneath you, a symphony of noise and light, but your mind is far from the chaos below. You keep your gaze fixed on the skyline, as if it holds the answers you can’t seem to find. Beside you, Sylus’ breath is ragged, his desperation barely concealed as he clings to your wrist. You can feel the tremble in his fingers despite the firmness of his grip, as though he’s trying to hold you together—or perhaps, to keep you from drifting away.

“Why do you always attempt to leave me? What is it that I’m doing wrong?” His voice is soft, almost pleading, a rare break in his usually stoic demeanor. He’s searching your face for something—anything—but you remain still, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

He clutches you tighter, not forcefully, but in a way that tells you he’s afraid you might vanish into the night, just like the countless times before. The emptiness in your silence gnaws at him, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything.

“Sweetheart…” His voice cracks, the word nearly lost in the wind. “I’m not one to beg, but if it means I’ll get an answer from you, then I’ll lower myself.”

You glance down as you hear the rustle of fabric, your eyes catching the sight of Sylus sinking to one knee. A proud man, reduced to pleading. The weight of his devotion presses down on you, suffocating in ways you hadn’t expected.

“I wish for an answer. Any answer from you.”

But still, you say nothing. The flood of emotions you’ve buried for so long stirs within you, threatening to overwhelm. The city lights blur in your vision, turning into a kaleidoscope of glowing orbs, and suddenly, your throat tightens. You want to speak, but the words are tangled in your chest, caught in the rising tide of emotion.

“It’s… it’s not that I wish to ignore everything you’ve done,” you start, your voice shaky and weak, barely audible over the rushing wind. “It doesn’t mean I hate you, or that you're not trying hard enough. I care for you. I do.”

Your breath hitches, your heart pounding against your ribs, as tears, hot and unrelenting, streak down your face.

“I want to love you, Sylus. I want to be near you every day, to feel what it means to love someone, to truly understand it. But I…” Your voice cracks, the word foreign on your tongue. Your chest tightens, the familiar sting of betrayal flashing in your mind, the memories you’ve fought so hard to suppress now rushing back in vivid detail.

Before you can break down any further, Sylus pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield from the world. His warmth seeps into you, steadying you amidst the storm inside.

“Shhh… it’s alright. Come here.”

His voice is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself relax in his hold. You breathe out slowly, though each exhale feels labored. Your chest rises and falls as you try to calm the sobs threatening to tear through you. His hands gently cradle your face as he wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, his touch delicate but firm, as if assuring you he won’t let go.

“I’m scared…” Your words spill out between quiet gasps, your chest heaving as you finally let out the weight you’ve carried for so long. “I’m so scared, Sylus. I’ve loved before, countless times… and neither time was it ever given back.”

Sylus' embrace tightens, his chin resting atop your head as he rocks you gently. His voice, though calm, carries a raw edge of determination, as though he’s willing his words into reality.

“I can show you what it can be,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll show you what love should feel like, what it should be… No one in this entire city is more deserving of that than you.”

His hand rests against your back, moving in slow, soothing circles.

“I just need you to believe in me. let me show you that I can give you the love you’ve been searching for.”

You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling into your chest, pushing against the wall you’ve built around your heart. For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the quiet murmur of the city below, and the cold wind that carries the scent of the night sky. Moonlight bathes the two of you, casting silver across the rooftop as if the world has stilled for this one moment.

And though the fear still lingers at the edges of your mind, something shifts within you. Perhaps it’s the warmth of his touch, or the sincerity in his voice. But for the first time, you allow yourself to believe in the possibility.

Yet he keeps himself steady, his grip tightens—not out of force, but from desperation, as if he’s holding on to more than just your body. He’s holding on to the very idea of you, of the two of you.

“I don’t need you to say you love me, not now, not in this hour, not tomorrow” he murmurs into your hair. “I just need you to trust that I will. That I already do.”

His words pierce through the walls you’ve spent so long building. The fortress around your heart cracks, letting in the first tendrils of warmth you’ve felt in ages. You try to push him away, afraid of being vulnerable, but his hold remains firm—not possessive, just secure. Safe.

“But Sylus—” you whisper between breaths, your voice breaking.

“I’m not like you. I don’t know how to—how to do this. Every time… I let someone in, they ripped pieces out of me until there was nothing left to give...so, even if you say you love me… what can I give you..when there's nothing? ”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His red eyes soften, the intensity that so often burned with dominance now a smoldering ember of understanding.

“You think there’s nothing left to give,” he murmurs, “but every broken piece of you is still yours to offer. And I’ll take them, even if they don’t fit together perfectly. I don’t care if you feel shattered. I’ll hold onto every fragment until you’re ready to trust me with the rest.”

Your chest heaves as you fight for control over your emotions, but the more you resist, the harder it becomes. Sylus’s steady gaze undoes you. How could someone like him—so powerful, so untouchable—look at you as if you were the most fragile thing in the universe?

“ — and yet there will be days you think I don’t know fear?” he continues, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t wonder every day if I’m enough for you? That I’ll lose you before you ever truly belonged to me?”

The vulnerability in his words makes you flinch. You’ve seen Sylus command entire fleets, face enemies without a trace of fear, and yet here he is, baring himself before you. It’s too much—too raw. But it’s also exactly what you needed to hear.

“I’m not a perfect man, and I won’t pretend I am," he adds. "But I will never stop trying for you. Not for a second or an hour or a day of my life"

His thumb brushes the last of your tears away, and for a moment, all that exists is the sound of the wind whipping around you, the lights of the city flickering beneath your feet, and the quiet hum of your hearts—one racing, the other steady.

You finally exhale, the weight of your emotions loosening its grip just enough for you to speak again.

“What if I’m broken?” you choke out. “What if there’s nothing left that is untouched for you to love?”

Sylus’s lips quirk into a sad but tender smile.

“It doesn't matter if any part of you is left …untouched ” he says softly. “When I mean I would love ..you ..I mean you .. Every part of you…that I have fallen in love with”

His words settle into you like a balm, soothing wounds you didn’t realize were still bleeding. You’ve spent so long believing that love was something to fear, something that would eventually turn on you and leave you empty. But Sylus is showing you a different kind of love—one that doesn’t demand perfection but offers patience. One that doesn’t expect you to be whole but promises to stay, even when you’re not.

Your body, tense and guarded for so long, begins to relax in his arms. You close your eyes and lean into him fully for the first time, allowing yourself to be held—not because you’re weak, but because, for once, you don’t have to be strong.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped up in each other as the city continues its ceaseless rhythm below. The cold air bites at your skin, but neither of you care. Not when the warmth of Sylus’s embrace keeps the rest of the world at bay.

Eventually, you speak again, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than before.

“I don’t know how to let go” you admit.

Sylus shifts slightly, enough to look into your eyes again.

“And, you don’t have to,” he replies. “I’m not asking you to forget anything that has happened to you then or anything that has happened to you in the months or years away. I just wish for you to allow me to be part of your future.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away this time. Instead, you let the weight of his words sink in. He isn’t asking for grand promises or declarations. He’s asking for a chance—a chance to be the person you turn to, the one who stays when others would leave.

“Would you allow me?” Sylus asks softly, almost pleading.

“Can you let me in?”

There’s a long pause as the world around you holds its breath. Then, finally, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I’ll try.”

And with that, the dam inside you breaks. For the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can learn to love again.

Sylus would show you how much you mean to him ..✨️

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Can I ask a wuestion?

What iif tenjikud girlfriend beaten up by their enemies after their rough fight. I wanna know see their reactions. Especcialy İzana and ran

Tenjiku When Their Girlfriend Gets Hurt By A Rival Gang

♡ SFW, angst, fluff, fem reader, violence against reader and random gang, murder but not anything detailed, Tenjiku members getting their getback ♡

note: yes anon, you may ask a "wuestion" lol

note 2: I've been ultra busy lately, essays, research papers, group projects, applying to jobs and all that jazz lol, things have been good tho

note 3: I put Ran and Rin together, scenario works for both regardless of which brother you're with

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Izana

🎴 Whoever hurt you must've had a death wish, you think Hanma is the grim reaper? Nothing compares to Izana running full speed at somebody

🎴 He tracks each of them down and essentially tortures them (as he should)

🎴 He refuses to kill anyone, he just beats them so bad that they wish they were dead

Kakucho

🩷 Kakucho is usually a very calm man, but as soon as he saw you, limping and covered in bruises, it was over for the bastards that messed with you

🩷 Launches a full fledged attack against the other gang and beats the shit out of their leader, then proceeds to use the leader's body as a weapon to beat the shit out of the other members

🩷 Once he's done he rushes home to take care of you, you're his top priority afterall

Ran & Rindou

💜 Whether you're with Ran or Rin, everybody knows that you have both rulers of Roppongi backing you up

🩵 So when you get jumped by a gang that has beef with Tenjiku, everyone in that gang's general vicinity knows it about to be a bloodbath and vacates accordingly

💜 They pull up on them, straightfaced and ready to pop off on whoever hurt you

🩵 Rin's putting them in leg locks and Ran's breaking faces with his baton, they're a duo at heart and tag teaming is their specialty, especially when they're standing up for you

Mochi

🍡 Shion is really gonna be calling him a gorilla the way he went apeshit (I'm sorry that was corny af lmao)

🍡 He's baffled by the audacity those motherfuckers had to put their hands on you knowing you were his

🍡 Puts every last one of them in the hospital, then beats the shit out of the person he had assigned to watch over you because what the fuck were they doing and why did they leave you alone 🤨

Mucho

💙 As soon as you call him and tell him what happened he has Sanzu pick you up and goes to take care of the 'problem'

💙 Comes home with blood on his clothes and acts like nothing happened

💙 He doesn't talk about what happened while he was gone, and you don't bring it up either. You have a shared silence about these types of things

Shion

🩸 Turns into a certified attack dog, but on the outside he tries to stay cool, calm, and collected so he can focus on you

🩸 Gives you all his attention and affection, vengeance can wait because his girl is hurting (future husband lowkey)

🩸 Once he thinks you're okay enough for him to leave you alone, he's speeding to the rival gang's hideout and bodying everybody, zero fucks given

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten @mdsbabygirl

[velvetures]

Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated! <3

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Broken Bonds

Fictober Day 1

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: the hardest part appeared to be keeping the word count under 1K and with this I miserably failed (as with some other stories too) but as much as I tried I can't find a way to cut it down so we are starting this fictober with almost a full fledged fic

Warnings: angst, betrayal, reconciliation sex, SMUT 18+

Word Count: 1,8 K

Please remember that comments and reblogs keep us writers motivated.

“Yield to me,” Sihtric demands, the tip of his sword inches from Uhtred’s throat.

Your eyes lock onto Finan and Osferth, hand gripping the hilt of your sword, yet neither of you moves. He was once a friend, a brother, even something more to some of you. Now he’s a traitor. But no one dares to draw their sword to confront him—everyone’s gaze shifting to Uhtred.

The silence is suffocating, as if the very air has thickened into water. Each breath is a struggle. Anger and resentment churn within you, like a storm waiting to break, coiling tighter around your heart like a venomous snake until it threatens to stop beating altogether.

Uhtred’s sword pokes the ground, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. They embrace. 

You see Osferth's eyes light up, a flicker of realisation crossing his face. He’s the first to shout, “They played us! Finan, they played us!”

His words echo in your ears as you notice the smile spreading across Finan’s lips. A ripple of excitement stirs among the men, their hushed murmurs swelling into a cheer. For them, the world has just snapped back into place, the chaos neatly resolved. But for you? For you, the real chaos has just begun.

Uhtred continues to press Sihtric with questions about the camp and the Danes. Though Sihtric responds, his gaze drifts across the gathered men, as if searching for someone. You can't bear it any longer. You need to get away. But just as you’re about to turn, your eyes lock with his.

A hesitant smile tugs at his lips as he watches you. Is it pride for a job well done that makes his eyes shine? Doesn’t he understand what he’s done? He’s broken it—shattered it, as fragile as it was—your friendship, your trust, your love.

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes. You can’t let him see them. Before the first one falls, you turn and run, as if a wild beast is on your heels. You push forward, deeper into the woods, until the dizziness rising in your chest forces you to stop.

Your back slams against the rough bark of a tree, your breaths ragged. Gripping the hilt of your dagger, you pull it free and press it tightly to your chest, your heart pounding beneath it. You don’t need to look. You already know whose hurried footsteps are closing in on your hiding place.

You wait, the careful shuffle of footsteps mixing with the thunder of your racing heartbeat, both echoing in your ears. You close your eyes for just a moment, and when they reopen, you find yourself staring into two deep pools of blue and brown. Without thinking, your arm shoots out, pressing the dagger against Sihtric’s throat.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even try to avoid it.

“Do it,” he whispers, his breath forming small clouds of mist in the crisp morning air, hovering between you like a fragile veil. “I know I deserve it.”

“Traitor,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your voice cold enough to make him wince.

“Do it,” he repeats, his voice growing louder, more desperate. “I’d rather die by your hand than live another moment with that cold emptiness in your eyes.”

You stand there, weapon in hand, trembling. His words pierce through the walls of anger you’ve built around your heart, the resolve you thought was unshakable now beginning to crack. His eyes, once filled with pride and defiance, now plead for release, for something more than this unbearable silence between you.

Your grip tightens on the hilt, your knuckles white, pressing the blade harder against his skin. A small cut forms, and a few drops of blood slide down the blade, like crimson tears but the weight of the blade feels heavier than ever. 

You want to hate him. You want to believe that the cold fury in your chest will give you the strength to strike. But his broken voice, the rawness in his plea, has chipped away at the resolve you clung to so fiercely.

“You think it’s that simple?” you whisper, voice trembling, not with anger but with something far more dangerous—pain. “You think death will absolve you of everything? You’re still a traitor, Sihtric. To me, you’ll always be a traitor. You left me, without a word, without anything. You betrayed my trust, my loyalty, my lo...,” your voice trails off.

He says nothing, his gaze locked on yours, waiting. His chest rises and falls with heavy, shallow breaths, but the anguish in his eyes only deepens. The fire of defiance that had once sparked between you is now replaced by a painful understanding—an understanding that neither of you can outrun the choices that brought you to this moment.

The blade lowers, your arm trembling from the effort of holding it aloft. You can’t do it. The anger dissipates, leaving only a hollow ache in its place.

“I hate you for what you did,” you say, voice barely a whisper, your words a confession more than an accusation. “But I can’t hate you enough to kill you.”

Sihtric’s eyes flicker with something—relief, guilt, perhaps even hope—but he remains still, waiting for your next move. You take a shaky step back, releasing the blade from your grip. It falls to the ground with a dull thud, a weight lifted from your hands but not from your heart.

Sihtric moves toward you, cautiously, as if fearing you might change your mind. His hands reach out but stop short of touching you. His breath is still ragged, and you can see the struggle in his face as he searches for the right words. But there are none. Not now.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. “If you’ll let me.”

You don’t respond. Not with words. Instead, you close the distance between you, leaning your forehead against his chest, letting yourself feel the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heart against yours. 

His rough, calloused fingers cup your jaw, and before you can protest, his lips crash against yours. The whimper you’ve been holding back escapes, muffled by the force of his kiss. It’s a kiss filled with anger, desperation, and regret—a kiss that takes rather than asks. 

Your hands find their way into his thick, curly hair, fingers tangling in the strands. Your nails scrape against his scalp as you tug hard, wanting to hurt him, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the pain he’s caused you. Sihtric groans into your mouth, his kiss raw, demanding, laced with unspoken apologies.

In a swift, rough motion, he spins you around, pressing you hard against the coarse bark of the tree. The wood bites into your skin, but you barely register the discomfort, your senses overloaded by the heat of his body and the fevered trail of kisses he leaves along your neck. His breath comes in ragged pants, brushing hot against your ear as his fingers fumble with the laces of your breeches, his frustration palpable.

“There hasn’t been a single night I didn’t dream of you,” he hisses into your ear, his voice thick with longing and regret.

Before you can respond, your breeches are yanked down in one swift motion. The cold air stings your exposed skin as Sihtric’s hand slips between your thighs, his fingers finding your wetness with a practised ease. A gasp escapes your lips when his fingertips brush against your pearl, sending an electric shock through your body. The fury that coils within you clashes with the desire that sparks to life under his touch.

“Sihtric,” you breathe, a warning and a plea all in one.

“I need you,” he rasps, his body pressing firmly against yours, his desire undeniable. “Just as I know you need me.” The sound of his belt unbuckling cuts through the stillness of the morning, sharp and ominous. Anger still simmers in your chest, the betrayal still fresh, but your body betrays you, responding to him in ways you can’t control.

Despite the rage that still burns beneath your skin, a moan escapes you, involuntary, as you instinctively push back against him the moment you feel the hard length of him pressing at your entrance. 

He groans, the sound low and guttural, and then he’s inside you, thrusting hard and without warning. His grip on your hips is bruising, fingers digging into your flesh as he sets a brutal, unrelenting pace. Each thrust stretches you in a way that only he can, a mixture of pleasure and pain that blurs the line between anger and desire.

His fingers find your pearl again, brushing against it in a way that makes your breath hitch, your body betraying you once more. You’re torn between the fury still simmering in your chest and the raw, undeniable need that pulses between your thighs.

“You are everything to me and I'll never lie to you again,” he pants into your ear, his voice breaking, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate. His hips slam into you fiercely, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the cold morning air. The flames of anger and hurt that once consumed you begin to flicker out, dimming in the face of the growing hum of desire coursing through your veins.

Your anger falters, slipping away as you release it with a loud moan, Sihtric’s name falling from your lips, soft and breathless, carried away by the cold morning air. 

“I’ll keep pleading for your forgiveness, as long and as often as it takes, until you’re ready to grant it—until you trust me again,” he begs, his voice tight with strain, growing more desperate with each word.

“Please… forgive me,” his breath, ragged and uneven, fans hot against your neck as he shudders, strangled moans roll over his lips as he spills his seed deep inside you.

For a moment, the world stands still, the heat of his body pressed against yours. He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against the back of your neck, his breath slowly evening out. You feel the trembling in his limbs, the way his body still clings to yours as if afraid to let go.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispers, the vulnerability in his voice so raw it makes your chest ache. “But I did... and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

You close your eyes, trying to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions swirling inside you. The anger isn’t gone, not completely, but it’s softened by the realisation that he’s just as broken as you are. And in that moment, you realise that forgiveness isn’t something you can give freely—it’s something you both have to earn.

With a shaky breath, you turn around to face him, your hands resting gently on his chest. His eyes meet yours, and you see the guilt, the sorrow, the regret etched into his features. There’s no denying the pain he’s caused, but there’s also no denying the depth of his remorse.

“I’m not sure I can forgive you,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “Not yet.”

Sihtric’s gaze drops to the ground, but you lift his chin gently, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“But I’m willing to try,” you add softly, the weight of those words hanging between you.

A flicker of hope passes through his eyes, and though it’s fragile, it’s enough.

[the-hopeless-haze]

I Do Bad Things With You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni

Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk

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“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.

“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”

“You just have to say that.”

“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”

“But, sir, I—“

“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”

There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.

He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.

But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.

You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”

“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”

“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.

“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”

You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.

“Hotchner, I—“

“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”

Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.

“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?

You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.

“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”

“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”

“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.

“In private?”

“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.

“Some of them are,” he muses.

“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”

He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”

“But I—“

“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”

“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”

He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.

Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.

But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

He’s still kneeling in front of you.

You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.

He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?

“Don’t be,” you say breathily.

“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”

Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.

Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Aaron?”

You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.

“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.

“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.

He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Use your words, Aaron.”

“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.

“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”

“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.

But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.

And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?

Lord help both of you.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”

“Is that to help me, or you?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.

Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.

“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”

You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.

“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”

“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”

“Mm.”

“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“Right now… yes.”

“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”

God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.

You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.

So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.

His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay, Aaron.”

“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”

“Did you know I was struggling?”

“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”

You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”

“I promise,” you agree.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”

You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.

“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”

You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.

And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.

“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.

“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”

“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.

“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.

“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.

Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”

And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”

“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.

He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.

“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”

“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.

“What’s not fair, honey?”

“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.

“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”

And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.

“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.

“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.

He doesn’t stop.

“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”

“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”

You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.

And God. Were you right.

You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.

You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”

“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.

And you can. And you do.

The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.

What a vision.

How were you ever going to get this out of your head?

“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.

“Yes,” you affirm.

Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.

“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?

You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”

“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”

With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.

“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”

“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.

“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.

“Of me?”

“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”

“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”

“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”

“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”

Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.

“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”

“How presumptuous.”

He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.

“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”

“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”

You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.

“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”

“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”

He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”

“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.

He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.

“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”

Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.

[1-ker0sene-1]

Never Just Two

Ghoap / Reader

(Wheelchair User Reader)

Chap1, Chap2, Chap3

"Liquid Courage"

Word Count: 1.7k

CW: Ghoap kinda being assholes

They thought it would be easy. Maybe you would go away in just a couple weeks, either done with your task, or hell- maybe you weren't that good and they'd get a replacement. Seems Ghost and Soap weren't so lucky. You were good at your job, damn good. You got the information they needed barely in a couple days. Laswell and the captain agreed to sign you onto the next mission, then the next.. now they were even considering making you a full fledged member of the task force.

Not only were you good at your designated tasks. But fuck. You were already acclimating well on the base, on the team. Already knowing Laswell, you came in with a good respect for eachother. You and Gaz bonded fairly quickly, apparently you briefly lived in his hometown around highschool. Not that you knew eachother deeply, just passed eachother in the halls. And Price, damn those paternal instincts, had done well taking you under his wing. Making sure things were accessible for you, making sure you didn't question your role here. You were soft spoken, he'd be damned if he let anyone on base walk over you.

You got along with everyone. Everyone except them. You definitely strayed away from the couple, slipping out of the room when they came in. If you couldn't leave you'd at least quiet down. You could meet Johnny's eyes if he asked something directly, with some brief glances away. But Simon definitely intimidated you the most, you didn't even look him in the eyes. But you were civil, speaking when spoken to, still handing them their designated information for missions. Wishing them luck just as you do the captain and Gaz. You were simply distant, as far as you knew, it was for your own good.

They couldn't deny their part in it. Simon directly threatened your life, Johnny did too- just having the slightest bit of subtlety about it. At first, with your growing kinship with the team, they were sure you were going to give them away. Not to mention, you saw Simons face. God did it make his spine itch, those he trusted saw him unmasked, he certainly didn't trust you. Simon is ashamed to say he tampered lightly with your computer in the first week, with little hope that you'd fuck up and be transferred. He knows it's low. He knows it's a bastard move. But you were a threat, a threat of losing Johnny. This little stunt didn't work, you completed your task without a hitch. Not even mentioning the clear tampering, you never reported it.

It was the second week that they stopped any sabotage towards you. The fact that you surprised them was an understatement. They made a mistake, one of the recruits saw them wander out of a room in the barracks together- looking.. out of breath to put it lightly. They were sure this was it, caught red handed, they'd be pressed on the subject and eventually the truth would come out. But you, just as Price questioned them, lifted your head and piped up.

"They were just helping me-"

Both Gaz and the captain blinked at you. You barely spoke to the pair, so you asking them for help was news to them.

"You? .. With what?"

Price questions with a raised brow, hand rising to paw at his own beard lazily. You shrugged.

"..I uh.. Had to move some furniture in my room in the barracks.. I can't push the dresser by myself sir."

All that day guilt swarmed in the two men's stomachs. Maybe they were being too harsh. So far you kept your promise, more than that really. Johnny's lips pursed once it was just him and Simon in his room.

"We cannae keep doin' this. Felt bad 'bout it before, now it's damn right cruel."

He mutters, dragging his nails over his scalp through the thick fur of his mowhawk.

Simon stayed silent but nodded in agreement, leaning up against the wall.

"Can't get rid of her now."

He mumbles in confirmation. Johnny scritches at his stubble slightly, which earned a light push on the wrist from Simon- Johnny had a habit of nervous ticks. Whether bouncing his knee or lightly scratching, either way the Lieutenant was trying to break him of it.

"Maybe we shouldn' have tried t' all."

Johnny grumbles. Regret weighing on him. They jumped to conclusions. Now feeling like a right arse. They quite literally were picking on a disabled woman in the workplace, looking like fucking idiots while doing so too. Especially considering that woman just helped them stay out of prying eyes.

Tonight the group was going out to celebrate, it took you some convincing from Gaz to come along with them. Teasing that you had to come since the mission wouldn't have gone well without you. Now you didn't believe him in the slightest, but praise had always been your weakness. So here you were, trailing beside them as they entered the old building. Price walking behind you, despite you saying you didn't need his help pushing the chair, he liked to remain close just in case you changed your mind.

The bar was nice, Gaz had told you it was the groups favorite. Cheap liquor, good music, and fairly empty most of the time besides regulars. You didn't mind the place either, the warm lighting soothed your nerves. Sinking a little into your seat comfortably. Heading over to the table with the rest of the guys. Gaz slides away a bar stool, letting you pull up your chair in the spot instead.

"Thanks Kyle."

You smile warmly, crossing your arms and leaning your elbows on the tabletop. The group moves to sit down. Gaz on your left, Ghost and Soap across from you, Price at the head of the table. Purposely sitting in the back so the bartender couldn't catch him lighting up a cigar as they waited on their usual drinks.

"Damn lucky this time boys."

The captain mumbles. Soap gives a cheeky grin and bumps shoulders with his Lieutenant beside him.

"Y'know I'd prefer ta call it skill Captain."

While idly chatting about the mission, drinks were slid onto the table by the bartender. You couldn't help but stifle a laugh into your hand as Price was being scolded for the smoke in his hand. Gaz however openly chuckles. Ghost huffs in amusement under his balaclava. Soap grinning ear to ear.

"No captain here Price, that lass is tellin' you off like hir own bairn-"

"Shut it.."

The older man groaned, tossing his hat on the table.

Sipping on the bourbon in your glass you watch with a quiet smile as the four bicker playfully between eachother. You sunk willingly into their background, not minding it at all. Honestly, you found comfort in it. So when Gaz proposed a game of pool over to the middle of the bar, you politely decline, deciding to nurse your drink at the table. However you swallow thickly as all four leave. Except one.

Simon stays seated across from you, making you shift uncomfortably in your chair. Looking down at the liquid in the glass, tracing your fingertips along the rim. You wanted to say something. Anything. Frustrated wasn't quite the word you felt with this man. Well, both of them. You open your mouth, glancing up you find the masked brute is staring right back at you. Closing your lips, jaw clenching. You notice him take a breath, before lifting his glass- slipping out his words right before taking a drink.

"You're awfully quiet."

The words come out of him, as if he isn't one of the reasons. You blink at him, brows furrowing. At first you wonder if he's fucking with you, being sarcastic. But it doesn't matter for your answer. You look down at your cup again, picking it up.

"Not really. We just don't talk much.."

You mumble in return. He's still watching you. You can't help but glance towards the other three, well mostly the two you feel comfortable with. But you find that Price is focused on the game and Gaz is most definitely busy teasing him for it.

There's another long moment of silence. You're glaring at the wood of the table. You both want to speak now, but the words are difficult to find. Hiding instead in frequent glances of distrust. You throw back the glass and down your drink, letting the liquid burn down your throat. Looking Simon straight in the eyes you say sternly.

"I know you have an issue with me. The both of you."

It's Simons turn to blink at you. He's not going to deny it. He's showed it rather clearly in his opinion. But. He does feel the urge to explain. It wasn't personal. He wants to say. He just can't lose Johnny. You were a risk. You were a risk he just wasn't willing to take.

"I don't care."

These are the words that catch him off guard. You stare at him in defiance. You're gripping your glass tightly with both hands.

"You don't have to like me. You can hate me if you want too. But I'm not going anywhere."

You say sharply. Simon hasn't heard you speak like this before. Usually you can be rather meek.

He shifts, opening his mouth to speak.

"We-"

"I know you were on my computer too."

Simon swallows his words instantly. His eyes were cold, he's gripping his glass just as hard as you are. Taking a long drink. You continue, he doesn't interrupt.

"I care about this team. I care about Price. I care about Gaz."

He expects that to be the end of it, but by the look of determination and the flush on your face, he's wrong.

"And whether you like it or not. I care about whether you and Soap get back from each mission too."

You take a deep long breath, your shoulders sinking slightly. You just wanted it off your chest, your eyes soften and you glance away again.

"You can be as terrifying as you want. You're not going to take this job away from me."

You say. Looking up at him slowly.

"So if you excuse me- .. I'm going to go lose horribly at pool."

You say with an unreasonable amount of confidence. Pushing back from the table to roll towards the group of three. Leaving Simon at the table with your outburst and a half full drink.

He can't help but stare holes into the back of your head. Downing his drink in one gulp. He underestimated you.

{ugh! Feels good to be writing again! Apologies this series will have chapters around this length, not too much longer than 2k at the most. This is kinda a mini fic for now. However! ♥️ Will be taking requests! And if anyone wants on the tag list for this, lemme know!}

[coallise]

New daughter

Young Vaggie kills her first sinner and Carmilla takes pity and promises she will never have to kill another. @korrasamiswan

I had another idea on how this goes but I wanted to get a quick one out for your request. I don't know if I'll try to make this a fully fledged story but if anyone gets inspired tag me.

Carmilla ducked behind a pillar. She heard the wing beats of the exorcists. Two of them landed, one wearing the normal uniform, tall and proud throwing a sinner down at her feet. The other was tiny, it reminded Carmilla of her daughters when they were younger. She didn’t have a mask so her short gray hair and gold eyes were on display. The little girl clutched her spear tightly to her chest.

“Go on, Vagina, kill him,” The older one ordered.

“But-” Vagina quivered.

“Kill him or else,” the older one threatened. Carmilla gripped the pillar tighter. Vagina sniffled and stabbed the sinner. Tears pouring out of her eyes causing her to chock.

“Done,” Vagina rubbed her wet eyes. The older exorcist smacked her to the ground.

“Crying over the damned? Pathetic. I expect you to kill ten more by the end of the night. Bring proof or I won’t let you return to heaven,” The older exorcist flew off and Vagina hiccuped and reached for her spear.

“I’ll be taking that,” Carmilla grabbed the spear and then picked up Vagina, “and you two. How about I bring you home? I have candy.”

“I would like some candy, but not for too long. I got to do my job,” Vagina sniffled as she rested against Carmilla.

Carmilla snorted. They ducked and dodged threw the buildings until they reached the safe house. Her daughters still sleeping peacefully as Carmilla made the young exorcist some food and gave her candy.

“Thank you, miss, but I got to go now,” Vagina smiled and went to get off the table but Carmilla grabbed her again.

“Hmm, no,” Carmilla bounced her as she brought Vagina to the bathroom where she started a bath. A nightgown already sat on the counter, “I think I’ll keep you. After all, you don’t want to kill right?”

“No, but I have to,” Vagina frowned as Carmilla undressed and started to bathe her. Getting every speck of blood and grime off the child.

“If I remember correctly, the other one said that if you don’t kill ten more, then you stay in hell. I quite like that idea, you staying in hell with me and my family,” Carmilla scooped up some bubbles and blew them in Vagina’s face.

Vagina stuck out her hand, “Adam told me how demons work, you like deals. If I stay with you, do you promise to take care of me?”

Carmilla smiled and took her hand, “like one of my own daughters.”

The deal was sealed and it was as if a weight was lifted off of Vagina as her gold eyes turned white on red to match Carmilla’s.

“I will tell you right now, I’m renaming you. How about Vaggie?”

“Vaggie works, love you mama,” Vaggie yawned and Carmilla finished the bath. Drying her off and putting her in bed with her other two daughters that subconsciously wrapped themselves around her.

////////////

Lute paced in front of the portal. It was time to go and there was no sign of Vagina anywhere.

“We are so fucked,” Adam huffed, “we have to go.”

Lute nodded and went into the portal. For his credit, Adam tried to hide it. But when Peter came to babysit he noticed one less child and told Sera, who checked the orb to find the kid in hell playing boardgames with her new family.

“I told you a million times that you can not bring the children to hell! They have to be at least sixteen!” Sera growled.

“We can just go there and get her back, no big deal,” Adam tried.

“No we can’t, she made a deal with her new ‘mama’, we can’t break it. I tried calling Lucifer and he laughed saying he would never even think of trying to take one of her children,” Sera said.

“Well, nothing more we can do, huh?” Adam shrugged.

“You are on sewer duty for the next five years.”

also @tanema123, thanks for helping

[buddiebeginz]

I was talking to a friend earlier and it got me thinking about something.

B*mmy stans project all of the stuff they do onto us to an extent I've never seen with any other fandom discourse before.

They call us homophobic for not liking B/T or T*mmy. Yet they hate on people for shipping Buddie or seeing Eddie as queer. To the point of harassing people for including Eddie and Buddie in pride posts. Continually harassing the 911news account and even trying to dox a journalist for posting about Buddie.

They call us delusional for having watched two men love and support one another for 6 going on 7 years and for thinking there could be something more than friendship there. Even though Oliver, Ryan, and Tim have all said they see what we see. Yet they've seen Buck kiss a guy twice, have very minimal screen time or development and they headcanon that they're in love and will get married in the coming season.

They say we fetishize Buddie. Yet most of the time when our fandom is discussing our ship we're talking about the emotional connection between them. Or how we want to see them finally be together in a canon romantic relationship or as a full fledged family (with Chris). Or have their first kiss. Meanwhile most of their posts are the kind of sex they headcanon Buck and T*mmy have. Hell after that that dinner scene tons of them changed their urls to something with daddy in it (referencing the out of place daddy kink joke). To be clear there's nothing wrong with headcanons about fictional characters sex lives. But the main reason most of us ship Buddie is not just because they're two hot guys who we want to think about f*cking, it's because we're invested in the story of their life together. The same can't be said for B/T.

They say we feminize Buck for Buddie:

Meanwhile most of their fics/art/headcanons involve T*mmy being the big strong protector rescuing the "damsel in distress" Buck. They constantly talk about how hot it is that T*mmy is this big older "daddy" firefighter who can take care of Buck and guide him in what it means to be in a m|m relationship.

They say we've made Buck's coming out all about Buddie but 1. Eddie and Buck's feelings for him were heavily included in Buck's bi awakening ep. 2. They have made T*mmy synonymous with buck's coming out to the point of saying Buck wouldn't have even realized he liked men without T*mmy. They've even said that if T*mmy and Buck were to break up in s8 that it would ruin Buck's coming out story.

They accuse our fandom of being mean and of harassing the actors including of sending death threats to Lou. Of chasing Lou off of social media and being the one who caused him to stop his cameos. They say we're the reason Oliver chooses not interact with Lou or anything B/T related online. When there has been no proof of any of this. Meanwhile there is proof from their own fandom that Oliver and Ryan have blocked some of them. They have repeatedly tried to pressure Oliver to interact with B/T posts and Lou. They were also leaving comments on the the video of the podcast Ryan did (with Tommy DiDario) where he talked about his s*icide attempt, telling him he should have finished the job.

They call us a cult or BoBs (Buddie or Bust) yet they dress up like Lou and would still be paying for his videos if he was still willing to put them out. They prioritize Lou/T*mmy above any other character on the show. They talk about how T*mmy should get a begins episode. How T*mmy should be a main character. They defend everything T*mmy has ever done including when he was racist and homophobic to Chim and Hen. They harass anyone who has a negative word to say about their ship or Lou or T*mmy much like a cult would protect their leader. They to this day act like everything Lou ever told them in his cameos is the gospel truth.

911 fandom has grown increasingly toxic ever since B/T became a thing and I honestly just can't wait for the day we either find out T*mmy isn't coming back or when his last ep will be. I mean in some ways our fandom won't ever be the same after this. I've seen a lot of ugly sides to people who I had followed for years as Buddie shippers.

It will never not confuse the hell out of me that some people who were big time Buddie shippers for years not only dropped Buddie but turned completely against the ship and our fandom. And all for a ship that is seriously underdeveloped and one that it's clear the show is telling us in flashing neon lights isn't meant to last.

[radioisntdead]

How about reader who's a powerful sinner and joined the Hotel as Charlie's muscle (Vaggie had to convince her to get an enforcer) and basically escorts Angel to and from Valentino's and to make sure he gets out on time and unharmed. When Angel leaves one day late and with a black eye, reader goes in and either puts the fear of Satan in Valentino, or just straight up beats the piss out of him before bringing Angel back to the Hotel.

(This may or may not be a frequent power fantasy of mine.)

Good evenin' my dear! I did this in a headcanon way because I couldn't write it into a full fledged oneshot, I hope you don't mind!

Hazbin hotel x Security guard! reader headcanons

Going to hell had it's pros and cons, mostly cons but one big pro was you becoming positively RIPPED.

Like superman, batman levels ripped and you didn't have to do the work to obtain them! You did on the other hand have to do the work to maintain them.

Despite your rather buff physical appearance, you were rather wholesome and craved redemption and that's what brought you to Charlie's redemption hotel, or rather the Hazbin hotel!

It was a rather lucky coincidence that the day you came to the hotel, Vaggie was trying to convince Charlie to take more security measures after extermination day more sinners were coming to the hotel and at the same time more sinners were targeting the hotel for some reason.

It was odd being both a guest and technically a staff member but you handled it well! You got to wear a shirt that Charlie made that read 'Security', you got a nice room to sleep in at night, you made friends, etc etc

You didn't have to do much since Alastor and the literal king of hell hung around the hotel but you did check the food that was delivered there, wander the grounds at night, and escort the hotel guests as they do whatever they did when they weren't at the hotel, like Angel dust.

You'd walk him to the studio, hang around outside wearing noise cancelling headphones and playing on your phone until he was done and escort him back to the hotel.

He wasn't thrilled at the fact he was basically being babysat during the walk to and from the hotel but the two of you eventually grew close, enough to call each friends.

Sometimes after his job the two of you would go grab something to munch on, like ice cream or a actual meal and shit talk his boss, or chat about stuff, before returning to the hotel.

You surprisingly didn't have any incidents during the time you had escorted Angel, that was until something happened, you didn't know what since Angel dust wouldn't tell you but you did know that your friend had bruises and a black eye given by none other then that purple headed grape lookin' ass moth man gave it to him.

You knew exactly what you had to do, so you did your job, you bought Angel dust an ice pack, and then walked him back to the hotel.

Then you grabbed yourself one of your hoodies, covered yourself and walked yourself back to the scene of the crime, and waited until Valentino walked out of the Vee's tower.

And just tackled him, now he may have had the height advantage and more arms but you had the muscle strength to TEAR HIM APART.

Now I can't exactly describe it because I don't really want to write gore at the moment but I can give a censored version with gifs!

Violence was enacted!

After beating Valentino to a bloody mush, you waltzed back to the hotel and took a well deserved nap!

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed these! Lowkey imagining the reader as one of those buff biker guys that have like a little baby kitten, I want a baked potato rn, anywho As always thank you for tunin' on in, I hope you all have a wonderful night!

Psst! You should join the discord

[nerdynarrator28]

Storm of the Heart-Tyler Owen’s x Reader PT. 3

Synopsis: Being a sister to one of the notorious storm chaser crews online was a lot, You were Boone’s Sister, you have always heard stories from him and watched all the videos when they were live storm chasing. One Day your Brother invites you to go Storm Chasing with him and the crew, what will happen during that time? Will you and a Certain Storm Chaser get close to each other?

Pairings: Tyler Owen’s x Reader

Word Count:667

Author Note: Thank you Everyone! Who has made my story an Hit! And for everyone enjoying it! I have decided to write a part 3 ❤️🤗 Enjoy!!

Six months had passed since you and Tyler officially became a couple. Your relationship had weathered its fair share of storms, both literal and metaphorical. Balancing your regular job with your growing passion for storm chasing – and Tyler – wasn't always easy, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

Today marked a significant milestone: your first major chase as a full-fledged member of the team. You'd finally taken the plunge, quitting your job to chase storms full-time alongside Tyler and Boone.

As you prepped the equipment, you felt Tyler's arms wrap around you from behind. "Nervous?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear.

You leaned into him, smiling. "A little. But mostly excited."

"You've got this," he assured you, planting a quick kiss on your cheek before moving to help the others.

Boone approached, a mixture of pride and concern on his face. "Ready for your big debut, sis?"

You nodded, determination setting in. "Born ready."

The chase was unlike anything you'd experienced before. A massive supercell was spawning multiple tornadoes, keeping the entire team on high alert. You found yourself working in perfect sync with Tyler, calling out observations and helping navigate through the treacherous conditions.

As you tracked a particularly large tornado, Tyler's voice crackled over the radio. "We need to get closer for better data. Y/N, you up for it?"

Your heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Let's do it."

You maneuvered your vehicle closer to the twister, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The wind howled around you, debris flying past in a deadly dance.

Suddenly, a violent gust rocked your car. You fought to maintain control, your training kicking in. "Tyler, I'm losing grip here!"

"Hold on, I'm coming to you!" His voice was tense but steady.

As you struggled with the wheel, a memory flashed through your mind – Tyler teaching you emergency maneuvers, his hands guiding yours, his voice calm and reassuring. Drawing strength from that memory, you managed to steer the vehicle to safety.

When the storm finally passed, you sat in your car, hands shaking slightly. Tyler's vehicle screeched to a halt beside you, and he was at your door in seconds.

"Y/N! Are you okay?" His eyes were wild with worry as he helped you out.

You nodded, still a bit dazed. "I'm fine. That was... intense."

He pulled you into a tight embrace. "You were amazing out there. I've never seen anyone handle a situation like that so well on their first major chase."

Boone's voice interrupted the moment. "If you two are done with the romance novel scene, we've got data to collect."

You both laughed, the tension breaking. As you worked alongside the team to gather readings and assess the damage, you felt a profound sense of belonging. This was where you were meant to be.

Later that night, as the team celebrated another successful chase, Tyler pulled you aside. "I've got something for you," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

He handed you a small box. Inside was a beautiful pendant – a silver tornado with a tiny diamond at its heart.

"Tyler, it's gorgeous," you breathed.

He took the necklace, gently fastening it around your neck. "I wanted to give you something to commemorate your first official chase. And to remind you that no matter how chaotic things get out there, you'll always be the calm at the center of my storm."

Tears pricked at your eyes as you kissed him, pouring all your love and gratitude into the gesture.

Boone's voice once again broke the moment. "Alright, you two. Enough mushiness. We've got another system forming tomorrow, and I need my best team well-rested."

As you joined the others, Tyler's arm around your waist and your new pendant resting against your heart, you knew you'd found your true calling. Life with Tyler and the chase team would never be predictable or easy, but it would always be thrilling, passionate, and deeply fulfilling.

The road ahead might be fraught with dangers, both from the storms you chased and the challenges of balancing love and career. But with Tyler by your side and your newfound family of storm chasers supporting you, you were ready to face whatever cyclones life might throw your way

[tobernaut]

Did you like the first chapter? I'm pretty intrigued so far, though I have to say Ratau's personality was quite surprising considering how he is in the game. I have a feeling that maybe he will be the one to betray the Lamb considering that change. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Spoilers for COTL comic chapter one below! I will be tagging "cotl comic spoilers" from now on. Please block this tag if you don't want to be spoiled!

Spoilers include plot/character talk and a singular image.

Did I like the first chapter???? Did I LIKE THE FIRST CHAPTER??? I've been going through it with a fine toothed comb and loving EVERY MINUTE OF IT!!!

Ahem.

So, I love this characterization of Ratau.

In the game we already saw hints that he maybe had a little bit of trouble letting go of the red crown. The fact he wears one made of paper is weird enough, but the fact he has the same paper crowns filling his house and on his shrine hints at this imo. I know game cannon ≠ comic cannon, but I had the idea Ratau may hold a little jealousy even before the comic because of this, so I was really excited to see the idea play out.

But if you look at it from his point of view, it kind of makes sense.

At least in the comic so far, it seems that Ratau is incredibly devoted to TOWW. He's offended that The Lamb is taking Narinder's mission so lightly, that they are seemingly attempting to ignore his orders in order to go on their own revenge quest.

This makes sense, because as a past vessel, Ratau is bound to know well the honor that that sort of job brings. Seemingly, he would be eager to take The Lamb's place, but knows he can not. He's managing someone doing his dream job, and they're just there for the paycheck. It's got to be infuriating!

Especially since he's seemingly older and wiser than the lamb (Though I don't think his or TOWW's use of the word "child" is literal. I think it's more in the same way The Mystic Seller calls The Lamb an infant god.) I can definitely see his frustration. I think that The Lamb is going to kind of "sober up" after Leshy's defeat and finally gain sight of the mission.

Speaking of The Lamb, I really like how they were characterized! A lot of us, including myself, were pretty sceptical of turning a silent protagonist into a fully fledged character, but in my opinion all is looking really very well so far!

I especially the love the sort of cognitive dissonance they have in the beginning. It sets them up to be this wimpy pushover. I know a lot of people may find it hard to believe that someone in those circumstances would be so calm, but as someone who's had a number of near death experiences I thought it was pretty realistic! A sort of humorous disassociation sprinkled with a confusing mix of denial and acceptance. (Though, please note it's been a few years since the last time I've nearly died. My data is a bit outdated.)

Regardless, I like how they are now. It makes a lot of sense, after all, to be a bit peeved at the circumstances. Their dialogue is super witty, though really sad if you think about it, and I have a feeling that when they stop focusing on revenge they're going to crash and feel a lot of things they've suppressed since their death.

But all in all I'm super excited to see where this little lamb goes!

Finally, can we get some Nana appreciation?? Sure she had a small role, but for a first non-game character, she made a really good first impression!

She seems fleshed out with her own little past, backstory, and personality. The traumatized sceptic in me is a bit worried she'll end up as a love interest, but I doubt it. If it does happen, I doubt it'll be in a typical way. This is a game where you're encouraged to marry with multiple people, after all. I don't think that's the case, though. I think I'm just used to old 80's comics where the first female introduced was the main love interest and nothing more 99.999% of the time.

Whatever is done with her, I'm eager for it. So far the writing seems really really good and she made a great first impression as a follower. She makes me EXCITED to see future follower interactions. If they're all written like her, then it's going to be a super enjoyable part of the comic. We love Nana here.

Finally I have some other random thoughts and things I noticed but can't really format in a way that works, so here's a bullet point list.

Apparently wool is very valuable. Now it's not said weather this is because of the lambs becoming less and less or if it was always valuable. Either way, it's and interesting little fact. I wonder if it'll be important later or if it's just trivia. I like to think things like that aren't added for no reason.

I like that they used the real term, 'Endling,' to describe the last of a soon to be extinct species. This knowledge, though, and the discussion with the cultist, implies this has happened many times before with other species. I wonder if they were always driven to extinction through genocide, or if natural factors ever play a role.

The Lamb was sold out for 30 gold coins. This is apparently a lot. It costs almost that much (converting coins to Dollars. Not perfect, I know.) to buy the ingredients for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich where I live in the US. Either there's not much inflation, or The Lamb was sold out for some PB and J.

I believe the thirty gold coins is a reference to the 30 silver coins Judas was given in exchange for selling out Jesus in Christian lore. If so, I like that detail! Very neat.

It's implied that the bishops are making life hell for EVERYONE while they drive off the lambs. This is interesting, and also a reflection of real life. Bonus points.

Does The Lamb really count as a non believer if they clearly believe in the bishops existence?? I mean they see them right there with no surprise.

Kallamar is shiny. Knew it. He also has tentacles.

It could just be the perspective, but Leshy seems taller than the other bishops.

BAAL AND AYM!

Let's all appreciate how well TOWW's chains and restraints were drawn. All those different perspectives must have been hell but it looks so good.

Chubby cheeks Narinder :)

Sharp teeth lamb! Possibly due to the crown??

So no head??

You. Me.

So no head?? x2

The lamb has guilt and second thoughts about the killing they must do to achieve their goals. Nice.

Cultist roles have hierarchy to them. Neat.

The Lamb's eyes water upon seeing light for the first time in who knows how long...sob.

Again, beautiful art.

There's lots of focus on The Lamb's fangs. Are they important or just stylistic, I wonder??

The crown seemingly has a mind of its own or is watching.

It's implied The Lamb has some sort of death powers already

So no head?? x3

CLAUNECK. MY BE FUCKING LOVED.

Needless to say I have so many THOUGHTS and can't wait for the next chapter. Happy reading, you guys!

[mysticalsoot]

dadbur hc's to feel something

a/n; I am struggling to write full fledged fics rn so I let the brainrot win and I've now done...this. don't ask. also, thank you to lilly and elliot for decided what hc's I was meant to write, y'all are awesome and I love you both dearly<3

warnings; not much!! mentions of pregnancy, health issues (just general idea), pain mentions, this may worsen baby fever, sorry not my fault, blame wilbur.

reader is gn but in some cases afab!! (it's optional to read those parts, dw!)

masterlist (requests are open btw!)

—★—

- absolutely hated children as a teen and early 20-something

- babysat one baby of his friends and it was over for him

- absolutely adored that little baby and nearly cried when he had to leave them

- now as a husband, he wanted a kid so bad

- constantly gushing when he passes by baby shops or just melts when he sees a baby

- horrible baby fever. sorry to you.

- won't ever push the issue, but still mentions it and communicates clearly that he does want kids but he especially wants kids with you. heart melted

- if you don't want kids at the moment, he will absolutely respect that and will definitely do his best to shut up during bouts of baby fever

- I mean how could he not!! they're so adorable!!

- once you do actually have a kid, regardless of what way—he's doing anything and everything he can to prepare.

- he's buying parenting books; how to create healthy habits with your baby, how to raise a compassionate child, what to do and what not to do when becoming a parent

- he bought soo many baby outfits and onesies—all the way up to a year old. even grabbed some premie sizes, just in case.

- the nursery was set up almost immediately, a nature theme. he suggested a Minecraft theme but you shot that down immediately. there was pouting involved.

- but, you came to a compromise; dark green walls, light yellow accents, browns, etc. you even let him make Minecraft bees out of those wooden blocks and you thought they were the cutest thing ever. there were also stuffies of Minecraft animals scattered on shelves and on furniture. (please take Amazon away from this man, it's so dangerous).

- in the case of pregnancy; he was very insistent on being sure that both baby and you were in perfect health. and he never let you do more than he thought was appropriate.

- dishes? nope that's a father's job. going down the stairs? right by your side, watching your every step and yes, will make you hold his hand.

- to most others he was overbearing—but he was always like that and the whole pregnancy thing just enhanced it

- Wilbur is anxious and he never does well with medical or health things at all, his mind constantly running wild with various possibilities. it was scary for him.

- so yes, you'd get off dish nights and would be chaperoned down the stairs.

- but he also made sure you had your medicine on time, he documented every pain and complaint you had.

- he had already learnt the face you made when you were in any sort of pain—so he was right on top of it almost immediately.

- asking what hurt, what number of pain, how he could help, etc.

- he is an absolute sweetheart all of the time, but his softness was brought out by the entire experience.

- when the baby was born, or rather adopted—whichever way it happened—he cried. he cried a lot.

- he held the little one so gently, but so tightly in his arms

- he was insistent to not push gender roles onto the kiddos, but he did have two names picked out for a boy or a girl (or rather you picked them out and he agreed with them before you told him the reasoning)

- Willow for a girl and Spencer for a boy

- you didn't tell him until after the name was finalized that both options were after him

- he was so flustered and jokingly scolded you, but in reality, he loved it

- he felt so happy and so proud

- so joyful that you felt he was worthy enough to indirectly name a child after him, your child, his child.

- he was an absolute sweetie to the little one, and they took very quickly to him as well—immediately grasping onto his fingers as soon as they had the ability and cooing any time they saw him

- it melted his heart each and every time and it never stopped

- when the little one was older, they often took up the habit of grabbing at his hair or his glasses and sometimes his ears

- you found it to be the cutest thing ever and so did he he cried almost every time

- they absolutely adored their father, and if you didn't know better, you'd say they liked him better than you!

- when it came time to go back to work, to back to gigs and shows with Lovejoy

- Wilbur took off two weeks of work entirely beforehand, just to spend with you and the little one

- obviously he'd been on some sort of break since the baby was born/adopted/etc, but he still did things here and there, streamed a couple of times, went into the studio occasionally, etc

- but now that he was going to be physically gone a lot more, he knew he had to spend it wisely. and wisely did he spend it.

- most of the time was spent lying in bed with you on one side, him on the other and the baby lying on their back between you too.

- you'd both coo at them, tickle them, and talk to them

- oh did Wilbur love to sing to them, anything at all!

- he even came up with a few lullabies for them

- you'd watch from the door of the nursery as he'd rock them to sleep, humming a tune or singing the lyrics he came up just for them

- it killed you and totally didn't make you want another

- he was overall the sweetest father, and it became more evident when he had to leave for a while

- he'd call every morning, lunch and dinner as long as he didn't have anything

- and he would be so so sure that it was that time for you, it didn't matter what time it was for him as long as it was that time of day for you and his little baby

- he may have FaceTimed you and the baby during a few soundchecks, shh don't tell Dave!

- he would smile so big at the camera and wave at your little one

- he'd show them off to his band mates and they'd all coo at the little one, talking about how much alike they look like you and wilbur

- you personally thought they looked most like their father, his eyes, lips, ears. they might as well have been a spitting image of him! you looked at baby photos too

- Wilbur, on the other hand, begged to differ. he was very very insistent they looked just like you and nothing like him.

- it was most likely perception and bias that caused you both to think this way, but neither of you really cared all that much

- on days he couldn't call, for whatever reason, sometimes you'd play one of his old streams on the TV.

- the little one always responded to his voice and it seemed to calm them, usually into a sleep

- so just chatting streams and ycgma were go tos for sleepless nights lovejoys stuff kept them up and giggling

- when he was there for sleepless nights, he'd walk them around in his arms and talk about the most random things until they fell asleep

- he even offered to baby wear a lot more than most fathers did

- he just wanted to be close to them, and it always gave you a break, so he thought it'd be a double deal

- and it was! you'd get your nap, and so did the baby and Wilbur would just be gushing over his little one a few tears always shed

- he would sit with the baby on his leg when he was at his desk working, one arm snaked around them and his other on his mouse or keyboard

- at first, working was very cumbersome with the kiddo but he eventually found a work flow that worked and bouncing them on his knee helped keep things calm

- you were both hesitant to show your child on the internet and you didn't for a very long time, while people knew of them, it wasn't like photos were posted or they showed up on stream

- until, when the kiddo was about 2 or 3, they decided they missed their daddy and went running into the office when you weren't looking (I'll be using Willow as an example)

"Daddy!" Willow yelled or rather screamed out in that typical toddler way, running over to her dad's office chair.

She didn't know her father was live or working and she was much too young to understand it anyway—and the color drained from Wilbur's face when he realized. It was much too late now, chat was already spamming "Dadbur?!?" and "Baby Gold!!!"

Willow did her best to climb the side of her dad's chair before he sighed, a big smile on his face and he lifted her up by her armpits and placed her on his knee, first facing him so the camera didn't see.

"You wanna be on camera, sweetie?" He asked, realizing now how much trouble he may get in with you—but the giggle from his daughter and the smile on her face was so worth it, he didn't care.

"Yeah! Yeah!" And so he turned her around to face his PC and the camera.

"Wave to chat, lovebug!" He snaked his arm around her waist and waved with his own hand, his head dipped down to watch her. He had the softest, most loving smile on his face. He loved his little girl so so much, and he knew how it showed.

Willow waved and giggled, "Hi chat!!" and chat began spamming; "Baby Gold, hi!!" and "WILLOW!!"

It was the cutest thing he had ever seen.

And he desperately hoped he wouldn't get in too much trouble.

He spent the rest of the stream talking to chat, but mostly looking at his little girl as he conversed with her.

- it was over by then, and the little kiddo would make an appearance as much as you would allow

- and you were far from angry—you cried when you saw the clips—you were just frustrated he didn't go to you first yet you realized, he couldn't. your kid was much too like his father and much much too like you. stubborn and energetic.

- they only got more sassy and opinionated as they grew, and they most definitely became a spitting image of wilbur

- maybe #2 would look more like you

- oh, and don't let him wear plain tshirts unless you want more kids, that's all I'm saying

tags; @lillylvjy @lvrboysoot (if you want to be on a taglist thing, just send an ask and I'll add you!)

[modanisgf]

7. DAHOOD CONNOISSEUR.. (HALF WRITTEN)

wc: <1k

danielle woke up to the ringing of her phone, turning in her bed to answer.

“hello?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“DANIELLE?!” a voice who she assumed to be hanni yelled, making danielle wince.

“could you be any louder?! i just woke up.” danielle says, getting out of bed to get ready.

“you have criminals after you and you didn’t tell us??” haerin says, presumably being with hanni.

“it was gonna come up some day.” danielle shrugs.

“mo jihye.” minji warns, “you could’ve died yesterday!”

“hello, are all of you there?” dani asks.

“yes, we’re waiting on you outside.” hyein replies.

“waiting on me? OUTSIDE?” dani says, before the phone hangs up.

she peeked out her blinds to see none other than her entire friend group standing on her front porch, the four of them constantly looking around probably in fear of dani’s enemies coming to visit.

danielle sighs, but continues to get ready regardless and makes her way outside. her eyebrows furrowed at the backpacks they all had on.

“were none of you gonna tell me i needed to pack a bag?” dani asks, to which hanni responds.

“oh no you’re okay, just come on follow us.” she says, the rest of them start walking hanni and danielle trailing behind.

the five of them pass yn’s house, dani staring at it as they passed. she missed you dearly, and wanted to apologize for the past week. maybe she’ll do it on the way back.

—

when danielle’s friends made her leave and walk somewhere, she didn’t expect it them to go to minji’s house. why couldn’t they have just called her driver?

“minji, why couldn’t we have just gotten your driver to take us here?” danielle asks.

“he’s on his break right now.” minji shrugs.

“maybe if someone had their license we wouldn’t have to rely on her driver.” hanni says, earning a side eye from minji.

“i don’t have time for drivers ed.” minji says, rolling her eyes.

sometimes danielle forgot that minji was truly a rich girl, moments like these proving it. minji unlocked the door, and the five followed her as she led them to a room.

the room was extremely closed off, the window on the door being covered by a black paper and caution tape being attached to the front side of the window.

“was this really necessary?” haerin asks, her eyebrows furrowing at the exaggerated precautions minji had done.

“yes, nobody else can get into here if we want to keep this secret.” minji says.

“wouldn’t this just make it obvious it’s something secret?” hanni asks.

minji sighs, choosing to ignore the question and opens the door. the door revealing a full fledged lab, gadgets and more all around.

“how the hell did you get something like this in your house?” danielle asks, her jaw dropping.

“i have my connections.” minji shrugs, walking in to let her friends follow behind.

“we’ve all known about this except you dani, we were sure you would’ve told us to not get involved.” haerin explains.

“but we want you to be safe, so minji designed this so we could make you things that can help you whenever you’re out and think someone’s after you.” hyein says.

“well by we, mainly haerin and minji. more on that we thought about it, since you’re probably gonna be fighting those guys— why don’t you fight crime like the comic spiderman?” hanni says, recieving a look from danielle.

“i barely even know how to use my powers? wait— don’t tell me you guys made a suit..” dani says, getting nervous smiles from all her friends except minji.

she clicked a button on a remote, revealing a spider suit inspired by the comics altered to fit danielle more.

“you guys are crazy.” danielle mumbles, too busy being in awe of the suit.

“me and haerin are still making adjustments to it, but it should be done and ready for you in a couple days. just stay on the down low for a bit alright?” minji says, to which danielle nods.

“anyways, we need to train you if you agree to this being your side job.” hyein says.

“and how are we doing that?” danielle asks.

“connections!” she replies.

“we found someone who’s willingly to teach you some martial arts, but that’s not until tomorrow.” hanni says.

“so go hang out with yn or something for now, we’ll let you know our schedule soon.” haerin says.

“are you guys like my bosses now?”

“do you wanna die?”

dani sighs, taking her leave. she could not believe her life had taken this sharp of a turn.

prev | next | masterlist

a/n— hey yall….

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN): @jayjj7 @haerinsloverr @mxl633 @hrjunluvs @kissablening @mah4u @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @xen248 @dexthzone @kaypanaq @multiliker @addorations @edenzeepy

[steddieprompts]

Ok so this is more of a full fledged story than a prompt but work with me here (sorry for typos, i wrote this quick):

Medieval Steddie and possible ronance au: Eddie is a bard who has been banished from the castle. He functions now as a guide to adventurers, having completed a fair few adventures himself. He'll take any wannabe knight or reward seeking peasant anywhere in the kingdom and beyond for a price.

Steve, or Stephon really, is the Prince of the same castle Eddie was banished from. His friend, Robin of House Buckley, a rebellious young linguist, has disappeared in Goblin country. Steve has to save her, not only because Robin is his closest friend, but because his father has vowed to banish Steve if he doesn't do something with his life.

Steve finds Eddie and is somewhat disguised in light armor with no crests from the castle or opulent furnishings. Eddie, in truth, doesn't recognize Steve at first, just clocks him as someone of status. Eddie isn't a huge fan of high status knights taking up for-reward jobs (and there is a reward for Robin, she comes from a respected science house and her parents are worried). Why not leave these jobs to people who need the dough? But he takes Steve on as a client because even if Steve doesn't need the money, Eddie sure does.

...........

They start their adventure off in terse interactions. Eddie doesn't like this pompous rich guy and Steve doesn't like how Eddie keeps giving him the side eye. Steve finally asks him one night what his problem is. Eddie makes some remark about how people who obviously already have a patron (is that what you call people who hire knights?) shouldn't be taking on stand alone quests. They already get enough benefits from being an employed knight. Steve scoffs as soon as he hears it.

"I'm trained, but I'm not a knight. And I didn't take this quest on fir the money. Robs is my friend. I told her not to go out there alone."

Eddie eases up after that, still a little suspicious about Steve's background, but if he isn't lying about being friends with Robin, then maybe Steve is ok. Eddie had done some side work for the Buckley house before and they were fine people in his book.

They keep going, this time on more amicable terms, even branching towards friendly, but Eddie can't seem to shake the feeling that he knows Steve.

They are a day at most from Goblin country when Eddie finally places it. Steve is prince Stephon. They argue and it blows up. Why would Steve hide his identity? Why wouldn't he at least tell Eddie? Is he doing this for Robin or just to secure a place on the throne?

Eddie revokes the quest, says Steve is on his own, and storms off... but he realizes Robin is still in danger so he backtracks. The thing is, Eddie was mad about Steve's secret identity, but he was more mad at himself that he had grown attached to Steve... maybe had feelings for him.

He doesn't catch up to Steve until they find Robin, who has somehow convinced the Duchess Nancy from the Wheeler fiefdom to help her in her quest, doing battle with a fuck-huge troll (Nancy is in armor BTW, she is very fetching). Steve busts in in the nick of time but three people still aren't enough to take it down. Enter Eddie, running and yelling like he does in the show to turn the tide of the battle and they defeat the troll.

Robin and Nancy explain there is something much more sinister than goblin unrest happening and that they have discovered a necromancer by the name of Vecna who is stirring up trouble.

They continue the quest to find and defeat vecna and along the way Eddie and Steve have a heart to heart and are friendly again; flirting even.

When they finally find vecna and do battle, they win, but Eddie is grievously injured. Steve rushes him to a hermits house that he knows of on the edge of goblin country where the two hermits Sir Jon and Sir Argyle nurse Eddie back to health with their strange herbs and medicine. Steve doesn't leave his side. When Eddie wakes he divulged his undying love for the prince and he and Steve become hermits themselves, watching the goblin boarder for any sign of Vecna.

Nancy and Robin take Steve's place and rule over a happy, healthy, well educated kingdom.

the end.

[nitewrighter]

Reading the Elric Saga on your recommendation. Just got done with Sailor on the Seas of Fate and, uh, I’m not complaining but Elric really just seems to be going a la John Mulaney: ‘I guess this might as well happen, my life is already so goddamn weird’ through the whole story. Stuff just keeps happening and he’s doing a decent job of just rolling with the punches.

Sailor on the Seas of Fate is literally the "This might as well happen" book of the whole series. You can tell it's kind of an episodic hodgepodge of a lot of semi-formed ideas that couldn't all be expanded into really more fully-fledged short stories/novellas. You kind of get whiplash heading into Weird of the White Wolf because like, that one opens up with The Dreaming City, which incidentally is the first Elric story I ever read and the first Elric story ever written, and it's actually like... honestly if you're going to read any Elric stories just for the sake of getting one off and calling it quits immediately after, I do recommend The Dreaming City because even if it's not that polished, it does a good job of immediately hooking you into the world and it's just WHAM WHAM WHAM of all the melodrama and spooky worldbuilding. But since you've also already read it, the first book, "Elric of Melnibone" is also very worth a read because it's a more polished Moorcock coming back to basically set everything up for The Dreaming City before sending Elric to fuck around in Sailor on the Seas of Fate, haha.

Elric basically has two reactions to anything: