#they can have their own tags too i might drawn them again

[lordsooga]

There was a meme going around on twitter that reminded me of my beloved Yiga Twins that I made for a rp

Their names are Kohl and Rabi

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Yandere batfamily x neglected reader

From the moment you were ten, you had sought their attention like a moth drawn to a flame. But the flame was always too hot, always too far away, and with every desperate attempt to get close, they burned you. You had been a shadow in their world, hovering at the edges of their lives, wanting, needing. Needing. That word, so simple, yet it had been the curse of your existence. You needed them. You needed their time, their care, their love. But they never saw you, never acknowledged the pit of loneliness that gnawed at you every time you begged to be included.

They had brushed you aside, every single time.

The family, your family, was never really yours.

It started when you were just a kid. “Not now, kid,” they would say. Or “Go play somewhere else.” Every time you tried to insert yourself into their lives, they shoved you away, like a toy they’d grown tired of. They didn’t need you. Not when there were bigger things at stake. Not when Gotham was drowning in its own darkness, when the Batcave was filled with the hum of machinery and the rush of adrenaline.

You were just a distraction.

You were nothing.

The words didn’t change as you grew older. They only got sharper.

When you were twelve, you tried again—this time with more subtlety. You offered to help, to be something, anything that would make them notice you. I can be useful, I promise. But no. No, they couldn’t have you tagging along. Not when there were more important things to do, more important people to be with. You were only a child.

By the time you turned fifteen, the bitter reality had set in. You weren’t wanted. You weren’t needed. They were a family—their family—and you? You were the outcast, the inconvenience they only tolerated because they had no choice. They didn’t want you, but they had to keep you around. The occasional glance from Tim, a brief acknowledgment from Dick—enough to keep the illusion of familial love alive, but never enough to make you feel like you mattered.

It wasn’t just Bruce anymore. He had become an empty figure in your life, a distant authority figure who only spoke when there was something to be done. Do this. Do that. Don’t ask questions. That was how you learned to live under his roof—like a shadow. Like a nothing.

There were moments when you thought you might be able to break through. When you thought maybe—just maybe—they would see you for who you were, someone who could stand beside them, shoulder to shoulder, not as a burden but as a part of the family.

But those moments were fleeting. They were crumbs, pieces of hope that you clung to like a starving animal, only for them to be yanked away, leaving you empty once again.

By the time you turned sixteen, you no longer asked. No longer begged. You had learned that your needs were nothing but noise to them. So, you stayed quiet, retreating into the corners of their lives. You were there, but invisible. A ghost that haunted the edges of their family but was never invited to sit at the table.

But it wasn’t just the coldness that broke you. No. It was the sharpness of their words.

The day it all ended—the day your last shred of hope died—had come like a storm.

You were seventeen when you finally broke. You had asked, yet again, for something so simple. You wanted to hang out, to spend the evening together, just for once. No work. No patrols. Just them. Just family. But Dick—always so perfect, so composed—snapped.

“Stop nagging, goddammit!” His voice was low, but the venom was there. The venom that cut deeper than any blade. “I don’t have time for this. You’re not a kid anymore. You should know better.”

And it was in that moment, when the words hit you like fists to your chest, that you knew. It was over. They will never care about you.

No more pleading. No more silence. You were done.

You wanted to scream, to break down and tell him how it felt to always be ignored, to always be pushed aside. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was stare at him, the person you had once looked up to, the brother who had made you feel like you belonged. And now? Now he hated you. He resented you. You were just a thorn in his side, something he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

The Batfamily didn’t need you. They didn’t even want you. You were just a memory in the background of their perfect little world.

And so, you left.

You packed your things and left Gotham without a second thought. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about them. You didn’t care about the lies you had told yourself for years, that someday they would come to love you. No. You were done.

You found a small apartment in a city far, far away. The rent was cheap. The food was okay. It didn’t matter. For the first time in years, you felt a strange kind of peace. No more begging. No more hoping for something that was never going to come.

But the peace didn’t last long. It never does.

Months passed, and the Batfamily went on without you. It wasn’t like you expected them to notice, but they did. They always did.

It started slowly at first. A message from Bruce, terse and businesslike, asking how you were. A phone call from Dick, his voice hesitant, full of uncertainty. Tim sent an email—just a few lines, but still. He’d written “We miss you.”

You didn’t respond. The first few days, you let it sit there, those words ringing in your ears. We miss you. The words came so easily now, but where had they been all those years? You stared at the screen, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. Miss you? They had pushed you aside when you needed them most. They had ignored you, told you to shut up, told you to go away.

Now they missed you?

You threw your phone across the room and sat down, gripping your hair, letting the quiet take you over.

It wasn’t until the second month that they started to call. At first, it was Tim—his voice softer than it had been in years, like a penitent ghost, when he called you.

“Please… just talk to us. We’re… we’re worried about you.”

You didn’t pick up.

Then, Dick. His voice cracked when he asked if you were okay. Just talk to us. How many times had you told them that? How many times had you begged? And now, they were begging you? You felt the rage swell inside you, the bitterness of those years threatening to break you apart.

And that was when they came.

It wasn’t just a phone call. It wasn’t just messages anymore. They came looking for you.

Nightwing was the first. He showed up at your door, standing there in his familiar suit, but his smile was tight, his eyes uncertain.

“Please,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “We just want to talk.”

You stared at him, the same person who had once smiled at you like you meant the world to him. And now? Now he looked like a stranger. Someone who didn’t know who you were. And maybe, in a way, he didn’t.

“Why?” you asked, your voice rough from months of silence. “Why now? Where were you when I needed you?”

The guilt in his eyes only deepened. “We were wrong,” he said, the words fragile, like he was afraid they would break if spoken too loudly. “We… we miss you.”

The anger rose in your chest. They missed you?

The words sounded so hollow. What good was their love now?

They all came. One by one, each member of the family arrived at your door, apologizing, begging for forgiveness, for your attention, your love.

But it was too late.

They had pushed you away for too long, and now you could feel it: the suffocating weight of their regret, the twisting hunger of their need.

They needed you. They needed you so badly. They would never let you go again.

It wasn’t just about family anymore. It wasn’t just about reconciliation. Now, it was about possession.

And the family would do whatever it took to keep you close—no matter the cost.

Gotham had never felt farther away, yet the shadows of the family loomed larger than ever.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to go back, to reopen that door. But deep down, you knew one thing.

They would never let you leave again.

And now?

Now, they were willing to do anything to make sure of it.

(A/n: no part 2 becuz it's a one shot 😸)

[tan1shere]

Freak

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: Oh hey ! It's tan. You know, the one who can't stick to one fucking story and never ends up finishing them anyways (I have 32 fucking drafts.) N E WAYS. I thought of this, yes another doja song. What can I say, she serves, ENJOY

Summary: you're both just as freaky.

Warnings: smut, car sex, use of daddy, riding, lowkey highkey fb billie - if there's anything else I haven't mentioned pls lmk !

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu @dollarbils @sweetcherriexs @xxangelfarrlzxx

^comment if you want to be added^

Masterlist

Parties like these were the best, dressing up as someone unrecognizable. This theme was roaring 20s for your friends 20th. Music was fitting to the time of this era. People dressed in specific outfits. Women in the iconic dresses, men in the vest, suit. Some wearing the iconic hat. But there was one female who dressed axactly like that. "Well well. Y/n." She says with a smirk. "Billie, always one to stand out huh?" She chuckles. "Why not, kinda pisses guys off and turns women on. Win win." You look at her full outfit. It honestly was turning you on. "What women?" Her brows raise. "Plenty. Heaps." You had zero clue why but that rubbed you up the wrong way. You knew she's been out with heaps of girls.

But it just got to you. Maybe cause you haven't had a piece yet. That'll change tonight, you plan to do so. You and billie always had chemistry. Having near incidents of kissing, sometimes more. But something always happens to get in the way. You were honestly drawn to her and little did you know she was drawn to you too. "Come here alone?" You shrug at her question. "Might have. You?" She thinks for a moment. "Possibly." The tension was thick, and God you just wanted to kiss her. But you keep your cool. Thinking of some form of a plan. You notice girls looking at her. "Damn, maybe you weren't kidding." She laughs again. "Do I kid, darling?" Even her mannerisms were fitting for the theme. Was it on purpose?

"Well, maybe you should go mingle." You go to turn around but she grabs your wrist. "Hey now, what if I want to talk to you." Progress. You smile. "You do? Really?" You ask so innocently. Then she comes out with something that shocks you. "Yeah. Maybe tonight there won't be interruptions like usual." Now you were stumped. So she was known to the coincidence too. She cared... "Maybe you're right." You subtly bite your lip. "Why don't we get a head start and get out of here." Your smile returns. "Sounds like a plan."

The car ride was antagonizing. But once she'd gotten to your place it was go time. So much feeling was brewing inside the both of you. And as you reach the door, followed by your room you waste no time. Your hands reach for the hat, chucking it somewhere. Her hands move to your body, letting out a content sigh like she's finally reached her life long goal. She definitely had. Her lips go straight to your own and you practically do the same sound as she did moments ago, except it came out as a moan. She had zero idea what she was getting into with you, but you had always wanted to try this with someone. But you had zero idea how she'd react. Good thing you'd enjoy it. You had moved her on the bed, watching as she sat on her elbows.

You knew Billie was dominant with the stories she told. But she had no. Idea. Just how freaky you could be. If anything she'd have more fun with this. You go to your closet pulling out some rope casually. Her left brow raises. "What you plan on doing with that?" You say nothing, moving over her. Her hand reaches for your jaw as you sutuate the restraint. "Huh?" Your shoulders shrug. "You'll see." She was about to protest but in a blink of an eye you were already doing it. Pushing her back and tying her to the bed. "Really?" She says as you giggle. "You're a fucking menace." You shrug. "Guess you didn't know how I'd be. Did you?" She looks in your eyes. "Untie me." You contemplate. She looked a little mad. Bingo. Just what you wanted. "Mmm no, Im just getting started Bils." Your hands move to somehow get some of her clothes off.

But with the way she acted before you got a brilliant idea that popped into your head. You go for your own clothing, taking of the head piece. The gloves, your dress. Slowly you did so. Very slowly, you didn't have a bra on so she was unexpectedly blessed by the sight. "Oh God." She lets out. Seeing as all she could do was use her mouth. Use her mouth... Now she, had a brilliant idea. Seeing as you weren't going to budge anytime soon. "Come closer for me." You look at her. "Why should I." "These aren't tight enough. I'd hate to just slip out." Your slow brain doesn't process right away as you lean over. Tits right in her face. Boom. "But you didn't want to escape earlier-" You say, as you tie them tighter. Stopping with realization.

You go to move but suddenly feeling a wet pair of lips on your bud. It hardening on her tongue. You mentally stop, soon after, you move again. "You tricked me." She smirks. "Like it was hard." Oops. "No, come on. Just Untie me. Cone on baby I know you want to." The name had you considering it. But you weren't done. "Nope." This only made her rage heighten. "You're a fucking brat you know that?" She didn't even say that sexually, she was just annoyed. But you loved it. You shift slightly as the words pass her lips. Then she spots it, spots why you were doing this. So she tries again. "Want to get me all riled up huh? You like being a slut." You tried to ignore it. "Go on then, keep going and you'll find out how it ends." You still had some form of confidence. Your lips move to her neck, letting your breasts rest on her chest.

This was driving her nuts. You were so caught up in giving her a hickey, you had no clue she'd escaped. "We could flip the coin." Your brows furrow when she says that. But you knew things were fucked as soon as you felt soft hands on your naked waist. "Uh oh." She smirks maliciously. Flipping you guys so you were underneath. "Yeah, uh oh's right babe. Big fat, fucking. Uh oh." You've never seen her like this. You thought the girls she's been with were exaggerating. Definitely not the case. Your eyes go wide. "How'd you-" She tuts. "So silly. Im surprised you'd try me." A split of confidence shines through. "Yeah it was fun." She laughs. And it immediately compels you. "Cute. Very cute. You won't be saying that soon babygirl. I can promise you that." You just give into her, you're desire won over. "I'll be your slave."

Her head tilts. "That's much better. More so than earlier right?" Your breath increases as her hand slowly slides down to your underwear. "Now shut the fuck up, and let me do my thing yeah?"

Your eyes shut. "Yes daddy."

"Good girl."

I ain't afraid of a little pain.

Weeks pass from that unforgettable night. And let's just say, you and Billie had been seeing eachother on the down low, constantly. Her past flings or whatever they even were would call her. Text her. And she couldn't give a rats ass anymore. Ignoring every single one of them. You infiltrated her brain entirely. Once she had a taste she never wanted to go back. But aside from the sexual, she had asked you to go out tonight. Which you had no idea wasn't the norm for her. She was definitely swoon. She honked her horn letting you know she was here. You scurry out seeing her standing by your side. Already open for you to get in. "Wow." Was all she said. "Could say the exact thing about you." You say hopping in. She was bewildered. I mean sure she's seen you dressed up. But not like this.

The night went on, it was beautiful and peaceful. She was the sweetest, conversation was filled with laughter and meaning. When you two go to leave, heading to the car. Something shifts. All of a sudden conversation was dead. Maybe it was her hand on your thigh as she drove. Her rings clod on your skin. The chunky metal clunking together as she moves her fingers around subconsciously. Her eyes were on the road but her mind was most definitely on you. Her fingers move upwards, under your tight skirt. The pad of her index touches your lacy underwear. Her teeth grabs her bottom lip, hearing you suck in a breath. She dips her finger past the fabric, touching you. Already soaked just from the tiny action. "Fuck." She says under her breath.

Her other hand still on the wheel. She swerves into an empty parking lot swiftly. The act, oddly attractive. She moves her hand out, grabbing your waist, getting you to sit on her lap. "Couldn't wait till we got back?" You pout mockingly at her. "Oh shut up, you have no clue." You grab her face. "Then tell me." You look into her eyes so sweetly. "Fucking hell." She groans, ignoring you and immediately kissing your lips. You sink into the feeling. Molding perfectly. "Need this. Now." She breathes against your lips. You just nod in reply, getting needier. She fiddles with her belt, getting the strap out. It was red, it matched your skirt. How on earth? How'd she even know- But as you were wondering you didn't even realize your skirt was bunched and underwear to the side.

You realize when the tip prods you. "Bils." You gasp, feeling it suddenly go in. Your body rising off of her, slowly sinking down. And the moan you let out almost makes her finish on the spot. "Jesus." She moans. You ride her, but painfully slow. Hearing a sound of annoyance coming from her. You smirk, slowing down more. "God you're a little bitch." Her hands grip your waist forcefully pushing you down all the way. You whimper. You moan, so caught off guard. "That fixed you huh." Your eyes shut at the feeling, feeling full of her. "Billie-" You gasp yet again, shocked at how good this specific one felt. "Chose bigger. Just, for. You." She truly was down bad. She continues her movements, hitting spots you've never felt such pleasure from before. "Daddy I want it faster." You moan into her neck as you had just moved it there. Breathing heavily.

Her hands speed up with ease, loving how your own hips would move on her. "Fuck you're so good. Might make me cum before you do." You chuckle into her skin, moving so you're facing her again. "Them bitches you fuckin with, I know they gon need some practice." She hums. "Nobody does it like you baby." Both of your lips connect again in a heated kiss, more heated than all the other ones you shared. There was something firey about tonight. Her hand moves to grab your shirt, lifting it. "Actually get to suck these without you being a pain." You giggle. "Oh come on, I know you love it." She doesn't say a word, moving her lips to the bud. Your moans high pitched. Her other hand moves to push the seat back. Having her lay down, your own hips take control as your hands move to her shoulders.

Got me like, "Yeehaw," ride it like a horsey.

Kinda like see-saw, up and down on the D.

Her lips still sucking with intense need. Your head starts to spin as your argasm encroached. Moaning incessantly. She felt like she was in heaven, she could definitely die happy. Especially with your tits in her mouth. "Im so close Billie." You sigh out, feeling your movements getting sloppier. Her mouth retracts, moving her hands to your hips once again. Speeding you up. "Mmm, so am I." She bites her lip at the way you felt on her. She could feel your walls tighten as it get harder for her to move your body. "F-fuck!" You squeak, hadn't expected it to come out as fast as it did. The way she moved you, sends your legs to shake. Her finishing soon after, watching your face intently. Your eyes roll back.

After awhile you eventually catch your breaths. Calming down. "I had no idea you were this freaky. Pegged you to be more of the shy type." You smile as you lay on her. "Ain't ever been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste." - "Think I already have." You sit up straight going close to her face. "You haven't tasted me yet though." She smirks at you. "Maybe I should do that. Right. Now."

;)

[aerynwrites]

Sacrifices

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader x John "Soap" MacTavish

A/N: sorry for posting a day late. Been busy with holiday things, work and school. Hope you enjoy! and if you do please consider leaving a comment or reblog! even if you just scream into the tags i really really do love reading your all's thoughts - incoherent or not haha. Word Count: 3k Warnings: Canon typical Violence, (attempted) self sacrifice, mentions of grenade based injuries, description of gore/injury, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, soft/fluff towards the end. Summary: The team is on a mission and quickly becoming overwhelmed. In the middle of a push through enemy lines, reader is the only one who notices the grenade that was thrown. She acts to save the men she loves.

The firefight has been constant it seems like, your entire group pinned down between sandbags and barricades and royally pissed off Russian soldiers. infiltration has been slow - almost nonexistent, your group moving forward only a few feet at a time, rushing from one barely there cover to the next. 

Your comms erupt with staticky calls of enemy movement before abruptly clicking off as gunfire takes its place.  Shouts from Price and Ghost trying to get air support and medical and god knows what else, just anything to help you all.

The mission has gone to shit. Gone from infiltrate and extract to a fight for your lives.

“Sunny, you with me?” 

Gaz’s voice fills your ears, your callsign pulling you from your own mind as you move to click the button to respond. 

“Repeat.”

“I see an opening,” Gaz says again, and you look over at him from where he sits several feet away from you, behind a concrete barrier matching your own. 

He gestures with his hands towards some cover a few yards up, and after a quick glance and no small calculations of your own, you think it might work.  Ghost and Soap are already there, having made the move ages ago but leaving you and Gaz unable to join them.  

If you can all get together, you might stand a chance at rushing the remaining enemies, pushing your way into the base and…

You nod.

“I’ll cover you,” Gaz says, “Then you three will cover me.”

“Got it,” you say, voice buzzing in your own ears. “As good a plan as any, at this rate.”

An all to familiar rough baritone fills your ears, and you have to fight back the smile twitching at your lips. 

“If ya quit your yapping,” Ghost says, voice firm, “You’d both be ‘ere by now.”

“On my mark…” Gaz says.

And then he’s calling out, a storm of bullets raining down as you sprint towards your team mates. the noise is deafening yet despite it all, it’s like you can hear everything. 

The beat of your heart in your chest. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The blood rushing in your ears, the sounds of your rubber soled boots hitting the cracked concrete. 

Thump, thump

The rush of air in and out of your lungs.

Thump, thump.

The all too familiar gentle jingle of a grenade pin. 

Thump, thump,

Two more breaths. Too long, you think. 

Thump, thump.

The sound of metal clattering against concrete. 

Thump. Thump.

No one’s seen it, the rattle of gunfire too loud, their focus too drawn in by the enemy. 

Thump, Thump.

It’s close to Soap and Ghost, just behind them - too close-

“Grenade!”

Your voice is barely audible over the chaos, the sound that your heartbeat was drowning out crashing over you all at once as you throw the entirety of your body weight forward. Soap had heard you just as your fingers dig their way under the straps of his tac vest, shoving him forward and down, right on top of your startled lieutenant who sees what you’re doing much to late to change the course of events. 

“Sunny, no-!”

Soap collides with Ghost - bodies toppling onto crumbling concrete, unable to keep their feet underneath them as you fall on top of them. You wrap your arms around Soap as the grenade explodes, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you try your damndest to shield him and Ghost from it. 

It happens fast - faster than you’d ever imagined something like this happening - faster than your sprint over here. There’s a flash of light, burning heat, shouts cut off by a deafening blast as searing pain shoot through you.

Metal on your tongue.

More gunfire. 

You think your comms are going off but your head feels like its spitting open, ears ringing and you feel like your burning and freezing all at once. Teeth chattering and adding to that blasted ringing in your ears-

“-get out of there now!”

That you hear, along with the warnings of in coming air support. 

Instinctively you go to move, but pain blinds you, ripping a scream from your throat as pain shoots from your side up to your arm and down to your very toes. 

Soap is above you then, eyes panicked as he looks from you down your body then back up at Ghost.

“Lt! What the bleedin’ hell are we doin’!” He yells, fighting to be heard over the gunfire. 

You take this moment to look around, chest heaving as you struggle to breath, mind desperately searching for context. 

Ghost is up again, gun pointed over the concrete barrier as he continues to lay cover fire. You’re vaguely aware of Gaz just behind you, yelling into his comms about a man down and needing medical immediately and ‘we have to move!’

Your eyes then fall down to assess yourself, only to feel complete and utter fear pin you to the ground beneath you. Your side - the little exposed below your tac vest, your hip and your leg-

You have to look away to fight the vomit fighting its way up your throat. It’s a bloody mess - literally.nSoaps hands are covered in the viscous liquid as he put pressure on the gaping wounds, trying to stem the blood pouring from your leg.  You think you saw bone-

Black seeps in at the corners of your vision and you are only kept from the creeping darkness by a warm hand on your face as Soap’s own appears above you, and - why is it wet?

“Hey! Hey lass, none of tha’ now-” he gently taps your cheek. “Now why did you go ‘an do something right stupid like that?” He asks, trying to force that teasing lilt into his words but failing as the panic overrides it. 

Your mind is turning to mush, tongue heavy in your mouth as that coldness from earlier starts to slowly creep forward, starting at your fingers and moving ever upwards. 

“Do…do what?” You ask, fighting against chattering teeth.

Ghost turns then, speaking between breaks of gunfire as the telltale sounds of jets appear in the distance. 

“Use yourself as a fucking human shield is what!” He bellows, and even in your delirious state you can see the wrath in his eyes as he shoulders his gun once again, pointing at Soap. “Get her up, we have to move now!  Or whatever heroic bloody deed she was trying to commit will be for nothing-”

Gaz speaks now, glancing from you to Ghost.

“Lt. I don’t think she’ll-”

Ghost lunges forward then, gripping Gaz’s vest in his hands so tight you’re worried. 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Garrick,” Ghost bites. “No man left behind. Ever. Now move!”

Soap barely has time to mutter an apology before he tying something around your leg and yanking you up from the ground. 

The pain is all consuming. You think you scream but can feel it being cut off as something wet comes up on a cough. That all too familiar metal taste flooding your tongue.

It hits you then, with the taste of blood in your mouth and the tunnel vision closing in..

You’re dying. 

The world shudders around you as Soap runs full speed with your team, trying in vain to keep you as steady as possible as Ghost and Gaz lay cover fire for your retreat. 

Your head lolls backward, knocking against Johnny’s arm with every step, and you just manage to see the vapor trails of fighter jets above you, the white wispy clouds left behind giving you an odd sense of comfort in this moment. 

Johnny looks down at you as the earth shakes beneath his boots and he barely even stumbles. 

He always was the most agile of you all, Ghost the strongest - both of them protective. Even now you can feel Johnny’s arms tighten around you, can hear Ghost’s commanding shouts- although you can’t make out what he says. 

You’re too far gone for that.

Your fingers grip weakly at the various pockets and straps of Johnny’s tac vest as he starts to slow to a stop. You’re in the forest now, the towering tops of the trees creating a vast circle in your ever narrowing vision. A clearing? 

Wow...the sky is pretty too. A very faint pinkish hue dusting the sky behind the fluffy clouds. It must be approaching evening, the sun moving to sink below the horizon…

Night time…sleep sounds really good right about now. You’ve been fighting it -  the pain being your main focus, but now it’s all you want to do. Even the pain is starting to fade-

“No, no - “ another tap to your cheek and your eyes flutter open weakly. 

Johnny’s face is above you again, and you realize he’s kneeled down on the ground again, your legs outstretched in front of you as Gaz works quickly to try and do something about your injuries. 

Ghost is there too, and he’s no longer shouting, just breathing hard into his mask as he gazes down at you - that earlier anger replaced by…is that worry? Concern…fear?

“I must…” you trail off,breathing a herculean task. “I must be pretty…pretty bad if you’re scared, Simon.”

Ghost flinches at the use of his real name. It was an unspoken rule to never use it in the field. Never use it outside of you and him and Johnny together. Never use it unless if was just you three or in more intimate moments. 

Yeah. Simon is fucking terrified. Feels like his heart is about to plummet into the dirt. Feels like his whole world is crumbling down around him-

“Why did you do that?” He finally asks, voice losing its rough edge as he reaches up to wipe at something on your cheek. Probably blood. “Why?”

You smile then. Despite everything, you smile. 

“Couldn’t…” another wheezing breath in, “Couldn’t let them get…my boys.”

Soap breaks then, a broken sound ripping from his chest as he reaches up with his free hand to grip onto one of your own, bringing it up to press chapped lips to bloodied knuckles. 

You can’t feel the tears when they fall onto your skin, but you see the tracks they leave in the crimson stains. Follow them as they slide from the valley of your fingers over the back of your hand before disappearing beneath the sleeves of your uniform. 

“Don’t cry,” you whisper, before choking on another cough. 

The wind picks up now, and you can see the tree branches quiver violently. 

“Evac’s here!” Gaz calls, and you can see the hope that sparks in their eyes as the blades of the helicopter come into view. 

Soap looks down again, another kiss to you knuckles before he’s moving taking you into his arms as he stands. 

It doesn’t hurt at all this time. 

“They’re ‘ere, bonnie,” he says, voice cracking. “Gonna fix you right up-”

You don’t hear the rest.

The thrum of helicopter blades drown him out and then, just as you see a team of medics jump from the interior, darkness finally consumes you. 

At least they’re safe.

It was all worth it. Just for that.

———

Waking up is like trying to wade through knee deep snow. It takes all of your energy, and every moment feels like an eternity with little to no progress. But you keep pushing, snippets of voices and small sounds urging you forward. 

Two voices in particular. Familiar. Warm. Scared. 

“I never thought I’d be the one by your bedside.” Ghost. “A bloody idiot you are. But our idiot, so don’t,” is he crying? “Don’t you fucking die on me.”

You hear Johnny next, it’s the only other voice your brain seems to register in this thick fog of unconsciousness. Along with the feather light brush of fingers in your own.

“Still cannae believe ya did it,” you can’t find it in you to be sorry. “Please, wake up lass…please.”

You eventually do - Wake up that is. 

And what a bloody nightmare it is. Blinding lights, the deafening beeping of a monitor in your ear, people shouting but only two of them are familiar, fighting to stay in the chaotic room as Doctors rush about an shine lights in your eyes and ask you all kinds of questions and then-

It’s over. 

It’s over and you have a flimsy plastic cup of water being shoved into your hands and fingers carding through your hair and lips pressed against your temple before two sets of eyes fix on you. One chocolate brown and the other a piercing blue as they look at you expectantly.

It’s a stand off for longer than you anticipated. Neither Johnny nor Simon speaking and you trying to catch up with how fast your brain is moving. Eventually you move to speak after taking another sip of water, a few drops slipping past your lips as your hands shake slightly. 

“I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Simon throws his hands up, a scoff slipping passed his masked lips, the sound muffled by the black surgical mask adorning his face. 

“Of course that’s the first bloody thing you say-”

“Well I’m not!” You argue, frustration bubbling up in your chest as the heart monitor slowly speeds up. 

Johnny tries to step in. “Lass, we dinnae expect an apology-”

Simon cuts him off.

“Speak for yourself,” he steps closer to the side of the bed, gripping the side-rail in a white knuckled grip. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? Throwing yourself in front of us like that?”

You have to fight back the tears you feel burning at the back of your eyes. Anger, frustration, guilt all bubbling together in your chest in a confusing mix of emotions. 

Why is he giving you the third degree? 

“It’s not like I planned it Simon, I didn’t think-”

“You’re fucking right you didn’t think!” Simon roars, voice reverberating off the walls of the small hospital room. 

Johnny reaches out then, hand firm on Simon’s shoulder as he tries to pull him away from you. “Simon, that’s enough-!”

He shoves his hand away, turning to pin the sergeant with a fiery gaze before turning his attention back to you. 

“No Johnny,” he bites before addressing you again. “Did you know you died?” 

The words shock you, making you physically flinch back into the bed as Simons stares you down. And it’s in this suffocating silence that his statement brought on that you finally see it. The fear in his eyes. The fear that wavers just beneath the watery lash line of the eyes you’ve come to find solace in. 

You shake your head softly. 

“I…I died?”

Johnny nods, sniffling softly before swiping a hand down his face. 

“For five minutes,” He says softly, finally moving to sink into one of the chairs by your bed. 

“You died,” Simon repeats, voice having lost its angry edge. “And you could’ve stayed dead. Then you would’ve been six feet under with nothin’ but a fucking medal an’ a picture on the wall and-” he chokes. “And where would we be? Where would we be without you?”

Johnny takes your hand in his own - the familiar calloused warmth soothing to your battered mind and body. You close your eyes for a moment, breathing in and out in measured beats as you try to digest this information. You’re only brought out of it when another hand takes your free one - this one also familiar in a slightly different way. 

It reminds you of why you did it in the first place. You love them. Both of them in their own unique way. Johnny is big and all consuming and loud and boisterous but gentile and just slightly soft around the edges when he needs to be. His hands are calloused and warm but smoother on the palms. 

Simon is…he’s somewhat opposite. He’s quiet and reserved and frankly quite intimidating on the outside. His words are few but meaningful. He’s large and imposing and can scare the living daylights out of someone when he wants but when he’s with you and Johnny…he’s different. He’s all gentle words and soft touches - as if you’re made of fine porcelain and he’s the bull in the china shop. His hands are cooler than Johnny’s but still soft in places and still just as comforting. 

“I love you,” you finally whisper, eyes peeling open to look at the men by your sides. 

“I…I can’t apologize because I love you,” you explain. “And if I had to do it all over again, I would. It was just…instinct.”

They’re both silent for a moment, your words sinking in until Simon lets out a rather uncharacteristic sniffle. He tugs down his mask, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyes before bringing your hand up to his lips, pressing a feather light kiss to your knuckles. 

“Yeah, well…” his voice is thick with emotion. “Leave the sacrificin’ to us in the future, okay love?”

He doesn’t say much more, never being one to talk much about how he feels, but you understand what was left unsaid. And so does Johnny, apparently voicing what your shared partner can’t.

“He’s right, lass,” he agrees, lips tugging up in the smile you’ve come to adore. “We just got somethin’ good. Too good for the likes of us. Cannae go losin’ it now.”

You send both of them a smile of your own, but it’s damped by the tears that finally spill over. Not sad ones necessarily, but tears created out of love and pure adoration for the men before you. 

The tears don’t make it far before Simon is reaching out, cradling your face in his hands, thumbs wiping them away before pulling his mask down just enough to press his lips to your own. You return the gesture, squeezing his hand when he pulls away. 

You then tug Johnny towards you, sniffling before giving him a quick kiss as well when he leans in. Then before you can move two sets of arms are wrapped around you, careful of your wounds but holding onto you fiercely. Whispered ‘I love you’s’ are murmured into your skin, fingers carding through you hair as you all finally relish in each other’s presence. 

For now you were all alive - alive and able to hold one another. 

And that would just have to be good enough. 

[xxchumanixx]

Hey can you do one where reader (reader is Nyla rookie) is secretly engaged to Tim and Nyla starts to ask the reader questions about who she’s engaged to because the reader forgot to take her ring off before she got to work, and it’s plain clothes day and reader pulls Tim over on his day off because he was speeding ( he was doing something for his sister) and Nyla doesn’t know that is was Tim in the car until the next day when he comes back to work and Nyla and Angela starts to put two and two together

Elephant in the room

Tim Bradford x fiance!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a little angst

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! It was really fun to write and I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy!

She just wouldn't stop.

Ever since she saw the glittery and shiny engagement ring on your finger - of course it had to be one, 'cause it was just so shiny - she wouldn't stop asking questions.

Asking questions was an understatement, though - for someone who barely talked about her private life herself, she was really good at squeezing every bit of information out of you.

You had forgotten to take if off before heading to work, not even noticing until it was too late.

It was plain clothes day, she wasn't even supposed to talk, yet Nyla freakin' Harper wouldn't shut up.

Jaw clenched you tried to ignore her, until she threatened to make you fail.

"Wait what?" you almost screeched, parking at a sidewalk to turn towards her in your seat. She was smirking to herself, a shit eating grin that told you 'I have your future in my hands'.

And damn it, she had.

"I'm engaged." you pressed out through clenched teeth, trying to act nonchalant about it with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Do I know him?" she pressed further, and you bit your cheek.

She in fact did know him, but you would never tell her. At least not now, not when you were still her rookie, having promised Grey and Tim not to talk about it, until your training was done.

Which it would be in two weeks.

But the look she was giving you, gave you the sense of feeling that she'd give you a hard time, until you'd finally crack and tell her.

Which you couldn't.

Damn it.

Her brows rose, urging you to answer her question.

"No...?" you answered vaguely, and her head tilted with a pointed look. She didn't believe you for a second.

To be honest, you wouldn't have either.

"Do I?" she questioned, leaning closer. She tried to analyze you, see if you were lying to her.

"I mean, maybe you've met him at a grocery store, who knows?" you tried to shrug it off, heart racing in your chest, threatening to burst out of it any moment, at the look she was giving you.

If she wouldn't have been your TO, she would have made a good friend - whom you might have told, but she wasn't.

Yet, you hoped. She was a great person, and you could only hope to stay on her good side for the rest of your days.

"Mhhmmm..." she made, the sound drawn out, as she leaned back in her seat. "Maybe."

You breathed a sigh of relief inwardly, as someone sped past you on the otherwise quiet street.

Huffing to yourself, you turned on the siren, following the car as you motioned for them to turn over, though thankful for the distraction.

Only then did you notice what car it was - or rather whose.

Cursing under your breath, you had no other choice than to get out of the car now.

Approaching the car you were grateful it was plain clothes day, which meant that Nyla was staying near the shop, not having any sight into the car.

"Hello, do you know why I pulled you over?" you greeted, silently pleading he wouldn't act strange now.

"Driving too fast?" he guessed and you huffed to yourself again, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.

Never would you have thought you'd pull your own fiancé over.

Nodding, you took a step closer, almost crossing the line of getting too close; trying to ignore Nyla's boring gaze for the moment.

"Where are you heading to?" you asked, brows furrowed. "Everything okay?" He nodded at your second question, sending you a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, baby. Was heading to my sister's, she needs something done in her new house, but she has to work in an hour." he explained, biting his lip.

His sister had just recently moved to LA, after divorcing her now ex-husband.

"Tim, you know you should stick to the speed limit, even if you're late!" you quietly scolded him, brows drawn together. "What about being a good cop and all?"

He sighed, chuckling under his breath at your words and you couldn't help but split a smile as well, before clearing your throat, suddenly aware again, that Nyla was watching you.

"I'll let you go this time, sir, but please try and not drive too fast again." you spoke louder, knowing she'd hear.

He laughed quietly at that, blowing you a kiss.

"I love you." he told you, sending you a smile. "Thank you."

You nodded, smiling back. "Love you too. See you later."

Patting the rolled down window, you bid him goodbye, watching as he drove away.

When you returned, Nyla looked at you suspiciously. She knew the car, it seemed oddly familar, but she just couldn't place where from. Your behavior though, she was able to place.

"That your fiancé?" she shot straight to the point, as you two climbed back into the shop. Swallowing, you took a deep breath, stalling.

"Yep." you then announced, fingers nervously drumming on the steering wheel. She hummed, nodding. "Well then, good you didn't give him a ticket." she mused, brows wiggling. "Who knows, maybe he wouldn't want to marry you anymore if you did?"

Rolling your eyes, you started the shop, shaking your head with a smile.

She really was one of a kind.

_____

"Oh my freakin' sweet Jesus!" Nyla exclaimed quietly, eyes wide as she stared at the car that was parked a few feet away.

It was the same you had pulled over yesterday.

Angela, who was walking beside her, stopped as Nyla did, confusion etched into her features.

"What's up with you?" she wanted to know, stiffling a yawn, not feeling quiet ready for a demanding conversation at this unholy hour in the morning.

"When I was on shift with Y/L/N yesterday, she told me she's engaged. Pulled that car over and guess what: it was the fiancé she refuses to tell me the identity off!"

Angela's eyes widened, nearly dropping her coffee as she stared at Nyla, who's brows knitted together at her look.

"That's Bradford's car!" Angela exclaimed in a hushed whisper, suddenly wide awake. Nyla's eyes could have competed with dinner plates at the size they became at the information.

And realization.

Tim Bradford was your fiancé.

Your fiancé was Tim motherfucking Bradford.

Nyla's mouth opened and closed like a fish's, not quiet grasping the words she was searching for, as her eyes went back to the truck.

No fucking way.

"That little-!" she exclaimed, staring at Angela in shock.

She was as equally as shocked as her friend, though she soon started to grin. "Who would have imagined?" she quipped, taking a sip of her coffee.

Nyla's head shook, still trying to wrap her mind around the information.

Oh, you were definitely in for something.

And you were.

You should have known something was up, when Nyla brought you a coffee, even smiling at you like she did when she was pregnant and couldn't control her hormones, scaring everyone.

You really should have known.

Especially when she offered to drive.

"Had a nice evening yesterday?" she asked with a smile. "After pulling over your own fiancé?"

She chuckled heartily at that, and that's what should have made you jump out of the shop, take your legs in your hands and run for your dear life.

Yet you were dumb enough to step right into her trap.

"Yeah, he wasn't mad, said he was glad I didn't spare him just because he was my fiancé and pulled him over nonetheless."

She hummed to herself in agreement, nodding along to it.

"And what did he say was the reason he was breaking the speed limit?"

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't question her. "Wanted to help his sister fix something over at her new house. She just moved here."

Nyla nodded again, lips pursed.

"Bradford's nice to help his little sister that much."

You stiffened at her words, thoughts crashing to a halt. She caught you - but how?

She smirked to herself, a dangerous one that told you not to lie to her now, or else you would regret it for the rest of your life.

Biting your lip, you sank further into your seat with your cheeks ablaze, praying the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

"I mean I get it." she spoke, eyes fixed on the street. "But lying to your TO? Nuh-uh."

"I'm sorry." you apologized, gaze fixed on your entwined hands, that started to sweat profusely. "But I had to promise Tim and Grey not to tell anyone."

She huffed, chuckling under her breath.

"Well, I'm a detective - and a good one." she told you, sending you a pointed look. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

That she only did with Angela's help, she didn't mention. She wanted to see you suffer, at least a little bit. That didn't mean she wasn't happy for you, though.

You were a lucky one with Tim Bradford as your soon to be husband.

"I expect an invitation for the wedding, of course."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed.

"Please, as if you wouldn't have been invited anyways." you retorted, sending her a pointed look.

She smiled at that, failing to hide it.

"Good."

_____

"Harper knows."

"Angela knows."

"Wait, what?" you both made, brows furrowed.

"Oh my, really should have expected it." you sighed, shaking your head. "Somehow, Nyla found out about it. I bet her and Angela did together."

Tim nodded at that, biting his lip. "Figured."

Sighing, you took off your jacket, before hanging it on the clothing rack. You didn't even get to greet him properly, having to get the news off your chest first.

He crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around you as his eyes met yours. "Should have expected that to happen." he said, lips pursed and you nodded.

"Yeah, they're detectives - and they're good at it." you repeated what Nyla had said earlier, causing Tim to chuckle. "Yeah, 'course she said that."

He leaned down and kissed you, tongue brushing yours, as your hands locked behind his neck.

"Not long and we can tell everyone." he promised, forehead leaning against yours. "And I'm glad when they finally know. Hate lying to them."

You nodded in agreement, pecking his lips again. "Me too."

He walked you backwards, lips brushing yours. "I love you." he murmured, blindly navigating you, and you sighed happily. It still felt like the first time, whenever he said it.

"I love you, too."

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@augustvandyne @RookieTrek

@dhunhdchrih @nachofriess

[novaursa]

hi!! could i request a targaryen! reader x jacaerys velaryon.

reader is daemon and laena velaryon daughter, she’s the epitome of daemon when he was in his prime (crazy daemon) but got her mothers looks. she’s betrothed to jace not baela. the scene when the dragonseeds meet jace and ulf blatantly disrespects jace, she enters the room and steps in. she looks down on him like someone below her to remind him his place, both jace and her do. especially threatens that her dragon (maybe oc dragon of balerion or cannibal) has a particular diet of eating his own kind, she’ll turn a blind eye when her dragon starts eating silverwing, leaving ulf back being a dragonseed in the slums where he belongs. then the dinner scene too!, not to forget hugh too, even though he doesn’t do anything just a mere threat. not addam though loves her uncle 🫶🫶

you can choose however you want it story to be structure you have full autonomy🫶🫶

Wayward Daughter

- Summary: When Ulf disrespects Jacaerys, you remind him of his place.

- Pairing: cousin!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: The reader is Daemon's and Laena's oldest daughter, she is bonded with Cannibal.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind howls as you stand with Jacaerys atop the rocky outcrop of Dragonstone, your gaze drawn toward the towering peaks of Dragonmont where the dragons circle high above. The skies are turbulent today, a reflection of the tension that hangs in the air. Jacaerys stands beside you, his posture straight, though there’s a flicker of unease in his dark eyes. You feel it, too. The Dragonseeds—those commoners and bastards who claim Targaryen blood and now seek the right to mount dragons—have arrived. And with them, comes trouble.

The Cannibal stirs behind you, a deep rumble vibrating through his massive chest, his black scales blending with the stormy sky. The others might flinch in his presence, but you’ve known him all your life. He’s wild and uncontrollable to anyone else, but you’ve forged a bond with him like no other. His dark and dangerous energy is a mirror of your own, a reflection of what it means to be Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter. Where Jacaerys holds the warmth of his mother’s love, the steadfastness of duty, you are a flame lit by a different fire—wild, unpredictable, fierce.

Ahead, the Dragonseeds approach, two of them standing out from the rest: Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. Ulf’s silver hair shines under the fading light, but it is his swagger that grates on you. There’s something in the way he carries himself, a man too confident for someone who spent most of his life in the slums of King’s Landing, now reaching for power he has never earned. Hugh, on the other hand, stands a little to the side, his dark eyes flicking between you, Jace, and Ulf, as if he knows trouble is brewing.

"Your Grace," Ulf greets Jacaerys with a smirk that barely conceals his contempt. He steps closer to Jacaerys, reaching out as if to touch him, to invade his space. "Such fine hair you have, my prince," Ulf says, his voice dripping with false admiration as his fingers graze the edges of Jacaerys’s dark locks.

The brazenness of his gesture sparks a fury within you. Jace’s jaw clenches, but he remains still, trying to hold his composure. You, however, are not one to allow such disrespect to go unanswered.

Without a word, you step between them, placing your body protectively in front of Jacaerys. The look in your eyes is one of warning, as sharp as the point of a sword. Ulf’s smirk falters when he meets your gaze. He may think himself bold, but he hasn’t yet faced the fury of a Targaryen woman with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins.

“If you ever touch him like that again, Ulf, I will feed Silverwing to Cannibal piece by piece,” you say, your voice low and venomous, yet steady as steel. “And when there’s nothing left but bone, you will be sent crawling back to the slums of King’s Landing where you belong.”

The threat hangs in the air like the scent of wildfire. Ulf blinks, his smirk wiped away, replaced by something like fear as he glances at the looming shadow of Cannibal behind you. You don’t move, holding his gaze until he looks away, defeated. He shifts uncomfortably, taking a step back, the bravado drained from his face.

You spare a glance at Hugh Hammer, his hands open in a gesture of appeasement. Unlike Ulf, Hugh is no fool. His eyes meet yours, and he inclines his head in a small nod, acknowledging your warning without the need for words. He knows Ulf was out of line, and he has no desire to provoke you or Jacaerys further.

“I meant no harm,” Ulf mumbles, his arrogance melting under the weight of your stare. He steps back again, his hands raised as if to show he’s harmless. “Just a jest.”

“There is no jest in disrespect,” you snap, still holding your ground. “Jacaerys is your prince, and you will show him the respect he deserves, or you’ll answer to me.”

Jace’s hand brushes yours lightly, a silent gesture of gratitude. His eyes flick to you with a look that says more than words ever could. Though he could stand up for himself—and does, more often than not—there is something deeply satisfying about the way you step into the fray for him. He is your betrothed, your equal, but in this moment, you are the one with fire in your blood, unafraid to burn those who dare disrespect what is yours.

“Enough,” Jacaerys says at last, his voice firm as he steps forward, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t need to say more; the point has been made. Ulf and Hugh both bow their heads, though it is Hugh who seems more genuine in his respect.

As the Dragonseeds shuffle away, Jacaerys turns to you, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

You shrug, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe not,” you admit. “But I wanted to.”

He chuckles, the anomasity of the moment easing. “I’m beginning to think I should fear you more than I fear Cannibal.”

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “You’re learning.”

The two of you stand in the fading light of Dragonstone, the storm clouds swirling above. 

And anyone who dares to come between you will face your wrath.

The hall of Dragonstone is filled with the low hum of conversation as you enter, your eyes scanning the room where the Dragonseeds have gathered. The flickering light of the hearth casts shadows across the ancient walls, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingering in the air. At the head of the table, Jacaerys sits beside you, his gaze steady, though you can sense the tension in his posture. This dinner is meant to solidify alliances, but with men like Ulf the White at the table, it feels more like a test of wills.

You take your seat beside Jace, your attention briefly drawn to Addam of Hull, who sits across from you. His eyes are sharp, observant, but there’s an easy manner about him that sets him apart from the others. Addam is different. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, a reflection of his true lineage—though unspoken, you know well enough that he’s Corlys Velaryon’s son, a secret that sits heavy in the air between you, though neither of you have ever addressed it.

Ulf sits a few chairs down, his posture languid, as if he believes himself the lord of this table. His pale eyes flick toward you, and you can see the resentment simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that Ulf has never forgiven you for the way you put him in his place earlier. Good. You have no intention of letting him forget it.

The conversation is polite, if a bit strained. Rhaenyra, seated further down, makes an effort to engage the Dragonseeds, offering words of gratitude and hope for the future. But your focus shifts when Ulf, with that insufferable grin of his, leans back in his chair, his goblet of wine raised as if he’s already claimed a victory.

"Seems the prince and his lovely bride-to-be have more fire in them than I thought," Ulf says, his voice carrying just enough weight to draw attention. His eyes flick to you, lingering just a little too long, the implication behind his words hanging in the air. "Targaryens always were a fiery bunch."

You feel Jace stiffen beside you, but you remain calm, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You relish moments like this—when men like Ulf think they have the upper hand, only for you to remind them who they’re truly dealing with.

“Oh, Ulf,” you say, your tone light, almost playful, “it’s not just fire we have in our blood. It’s power, something you seem to misunderstand.” You pause, letting the words sink in, then take a sip of your wine. “But perhaps that’s why Silverwing tolerates you. She must sense the need for something stronger in your bloodline.”

The remark lands as intended, and you see the flicker of irritation flash in Ulf’s eyes. His hand tightens around the goblet, but he doesn’t respond right away, perhaps knowing better than to provoke you any further in front of the gathered company. Instead, he shoots a sidelong glance at Hugh, who remains silent but clearly uncomfortable with the rising tension.

“Careful, Y/N,” Ulf says, trying to keep his voice steady, though you can hear the edge to it. “Not everyone at this table shares your sense of humor.”

“Good,” you reply, raising your goblet in mock toast. “I wouldn’t want to be misunderstood. And let me make myself perfectly clear, Ulf, if you think for one moment you can match me in wit, let alone in power, you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed.”

There’s a low murmur from those seated nearby, eyes flicking between you and Ulf. But before the tension can escalate, Addam speaks up from across the table, his voice calm, cutting through the growing unease.

“Ulf,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind, “let’s not forget why we’re here. This war requires unity, not division.” He glances at you briefly, a knowing look in his eyes. There’s no fear or contempt in his gaze, only understanding. Addam is smart enough to recognize what’s at stake, and perhaps that’s why you find it easy to respect him, unlike Ulf.

You give Addam a small nod, acknowledging his attempt to smooth things over. There’s something about him that you can’t help but admire—his steady demeanor, his quiet strength. It’s no wonder Corlys holds him in such regard, bastard or not.

“Of course,” you say, your voice softening as you turn your attention to Addam. “We’re all here for the same cause, after all. It’s not every day one has the chance to fight for a true queen.” You smile at him, the warmth in your tone genuine. Unlike Ulf, Addam has earned his place here.

Addam returns the smile, though his eyes remain sharp, ever watchful. “A true queen indeed,” he replies, lifting his goblet in a respectful toast. “To Rhaenyra.”

The tension at the table eases somewhat, the air growing lighter as the others follow Addam’s lead and raise their goblets in agreement. But even as you join in the toast, your eyes linger on Ulf, watching him closely, waiting for any sign that he might try to push you further. He says nothing, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, though you can still feel the undercurrent of his resentment.

The rest of the dinner passes without incident, the conversation flowing more easily now, but you keep your focus sharp. Ulf may be cowed for now, but men like him don’t forget slights easily. You’ll be ready when he tries again.

As the meal winds down, you lean closer to Jacaerys, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “We’re surrounded by would-be dragons, but not all of them are worthy,” you murmur quietly, your gaze shifting toward Ulf, who is still sulking in his seat.

Jace follows your gaze, his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “I trust you to remind them of that,” he says, his voice low, only for your ears.

You smile in return, feeling the weight of the moment lift slightly. If the Dragonseeds—or anyone else—wants to challenge you, they’ll find themselves facing not just one dragon, but two.

[ghostgirl101]

Hi!! Loved your post about Oliver Quick being obsessed. How about Farleigh being obsessed with you 👁️👁️👁️

Dating Farleigh Start Would Be Like This...

A/N: Pffft his face here is a whole mood 😭 I got a similar request for Felix too, so he's next 🙃 Dating headcanons coming right up, with a side order of freaking obsessive, naturally:

⚜️• I don't know what to say about this guy that isn't already shown in the pic 😏 he's a cocky, rude, arrogant flirtatious player who takes every opportunity and advantage to use to his best. Once something's caught his attention, it'll play on his mind and he'll get to it in his own way, because that's the Farleigh Start we know and love.

⚜️• You'll meet him at Oxford, maybe hanging out around his friends with Felix and the rest, maybe not. I think he'd be very much drawn to someone who's not like the girls he sees always running after Felix or trying to make him jealous when they don't have his attention. You be you, and when he uses a very bold and seemingly smooth line on you, give him a look of amusement and slight confusion, and he'll be stunned that you didn't fall all over him for his charms like he's used to.

⚜️• Farleigh just watches you leave for a solid minute in bewilderment and intrigue because the guy got kicked out of every school because of how he is, but apparently, you're not that easy? This is new...?

⚜️• Don't think Farleigh's just some rich prick playboy who has to pick on the smarter kids to stay in college though, because he's surprisingly smart, which wouldn't be a first guess based on the way he acts around people and mocks anyone who isn't anywhere in his circle of friends and social class with Felix. If you saw him reviewing essays and stuff with Oliver and the teacher near the beginning of the movie, you can see he knows his terminology and how to study to get good enough grades in class. The only reason he kept getting kicked out of schools was for messing around with the teachers. It's not like Farleigh's stupid, not at all, but there's no way he's going to work harder than he has to... which isn't that hard at all.

⚜️• So when he saunters over to you yet again with his familiar arrogant smirk and charm, offering you a drink while his eyes unsubtly trail up and down your figure in intrigue, and you smile in amusement and casually turn him down... 😑😐 (his face) and then realises that okay, he might have to work harder than he usually does, because there's something about you that's made him curious, Farleigh has to rethink for a second before trying to get you to tag along with him and his friends more often.

⚜️• If Felix doesn't ask you over to Saltburn for the holidays, Farligh will nag at him to do it, with seemingly no other reason than "you're hot" and "why not have a new face?" and whatever else he thinks up on the spot that's half earnest and true, and also because a big manor out in the country with private gardens is just the perfect place to take this person he's been mildly obsessing over for the past while to draw them in... Felix, say yes now, because boy won't take no for an answer.

⚜️• During the course of your stay and hanging out around Farleigh, you'll come to realise that he's actually not a total jackass and snob that fools around with any girl he thinks is hot enough. His ties with the Cattons are pretty fragile and complex, and there's a lot more to him than he'll ever really show. There's a lot of pressure in fitting in and matching Saltburn's aesthetic and definition, but if you're someone who's not completely used to all the wealth and standards and makes him feel more relaxed and accepted without a facade everyone seems to wear, you'll see more and more of what makes Farleigh, Farleigh.

⚜️• So well done to him for discovering that there's more to an aspiring relationship than just the sex and passion, there's communication and actually getting to know each other too 👏

⚜️• As you get properly closer, you'll see that the dude gets ridiculously jealous when any other guy or girl shows an interest in you that goes past platonic in his eyes. He's started arguments and fights before about lesser things, so don't think he won't tense up and his eyes won't narrow into an annoyed glare at whoever it is that's taking up too much of your time. Farleigh will probably finish it off by humiliating them in some way, smirking in amusement from his seat as he watches his efforts pay off, and shrug with a faux innocent look when you call him out on it.

⚜️• If Oliver Quick happens to be Felix's guest at Saltburn too, Farleigh's jealousy levels and possessiveness will spike too, along with a hint of protectiveness. Since he basically thought right from the beginning that there was something weird about Oliver - maybe not to the realistic point that's revealed, but enough to not have one friendly or lighthearted word for him - Oliver going to you for friendship or most likely something more will only motivate Farleigh to exclude him as much as he can from the rest of the group.

⚜️• I feel like Farleigh would grow to quickly love what it means to be in a committed and official relationship, when before he turned his nose up at the idea of being restrained to only one person instead of a fling, and not having to worry about telling each other things that go too deep. It seems to all come naturally with you, and he loves it; being a loud and gleefully obnoxious supporter when you're doing whatever club or sport or anything at all with half a crowd watching from the sidelines. Proud, smug boyfriend right in the front row taking an unnecessary amount of photos to put up on a wall in his room.

⚜️• Farleigh makes simping look good. 😎

⚜️• He'll take advantage of the money he gets to buy you as expensive things as he can get, smirking proudly when he remembers you talking about something you like to get you. Farleigh can absolutely be romantic if he tries, mostly when you're alone and he makes sure he's the first one to tell you he loves you, it'll be surprisingly heartfelt and sweet and vulnerable, and then you've officially, one hundred per cent, seen Farleigh Start for everything he really is, which isn't all bad at all.

⚜️• Big-time pda, and if you're not into that, tell him now, right now, because he's fairly shameless and won't think twice before showing off to his friends by making out with you at uncalled moments, or being more subtle and sweet by having his arm naturally around your shoulders when you're watching a movie or at some social event. Big handholder as well; walking to and from class, alone, in public, doesn't make a difference to him.

⚜️• His jealousy factors into his affection outside sometimes, not that he doesn't trust you, but Farleigh definitely isn't the only player around, and when you're at Saltburn with Felix, he might find himself being frustratedly insecure that you'll be drawn to him because... well, it's Felix, and everyone loves Felix. So when you show that you're not interested at all and it's Farleigh you're dating, duh, he'll chill out a bit after being clingy for a day or two.

⚜️• I will say that even though I don't write smut, it's gotta be obvious that you'll have more than enough going on behind closed doors, because it's Farleigh, and he likes you a lot, so... yeah, brace yourself 😏

⚜️• All I'm gonna say, though, is watch out for Oliver Quick, who's most likely watching it all with that familiar longing and envy of having such a close and strong relationship with someone beautiful and unique, who seems to fit in with the rest of the family just by being you. He's going to. want it, really want it, and whether he gets it or not is a matter of luck and dark fate.

[heylittleriotact]

⚰ＷＩＰ ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings. 

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?” 

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her. 

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her. 

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”  

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk. 

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her. 

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts. 

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs. 

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted. 

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.” 

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy. 

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter. 

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late. 

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars. 

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips… 

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more. 

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit. 

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain. 

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.” 

“It feels so good though…” 

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.” 

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness. 

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

[lunarmothim]

lines in the sand - simon riley x gn!reader

Ghost is the first to draw back. He always is.

word count: ~700 tags/warnings: just some garden variety mild angst, mild hurt/comfort small descriptions of wounds, minor shit talking of florida.

hi friends have a lil angsty drabble i decided to finish instead of focusing on my other responsibilities that is all :)

The jungle is hot. The air is humid, damp and swampy, a wet heat that has sweat pouring down the back of your neck even in the shade of the safehouse with the sun long below the horizon. It's gross- it kind of makes you think of everything you'd ever heard about Florida, not that you'd ever been. Not that you ever wanted to go.

Still, it's a thought that distracts you from the fire in your arm, the burn of the graze wound Ghost is currently cleaning out for you. Thinking about the last place on earth you'd ever want to visit keeps you from thinking about the way your knees are stretched to fit Ghost's hips between them, standing far closer than he really needs to with one large hand wrapped around your bicep, the other swiping antiseptic-soaked gauze over the wound. It doesn't hurt much, the local anesthetic he'd injected doing its job to numb your nerve endings.

"Got lucky," he says quietly, shadowed eyes fixed on his work, trading the dirtied gauze for a fresh one. His hands are gentle, cautious, like he's afraid you might break. It's a pattern of his, you've noticed, something you've only ever seen him do with you. "It's superficial. No stitches."

"Good." You watch the swipe of his finger through the shallow wound tract, the antiseptic leaving a wet sheen on the blue nitrile gloves from his med kit. The colour looks strange when you're used to seeing him in skeletal-patterned black. Your breath catches when his fingers flex, tightening slightly before relaxing again, your voice wavering slightly. "Thanks."

"'Course." Your gaze tracks up to meet his, finding him staring down at you. His mask does nothing to hide him from you.

How many times have you done this now? Too many, you think, looking between guarded brown eyes that have refocused on his task and the gentle way he handles you. Always dancing on the edge of something neither of you are quite sure how to name, something you're not sure either of you are ready for. One wrong choice away from something you can't take back.

Your hand closes over his before you can really think too much about it, closing your eyes when he inhales sharply. His thumb smooths over the edge of the bandage he's just secured over your arm. His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to the crown of your head.

It's the closest thing you'll get to an acknowledgement from him, the closest he'll ever allow himself to get to the narrow line you're both walking. The line he'd drawn himself almost a year ago now, in a similar safehouse in a different country while you frantically tried to keep his blood in his body, begging him not to bleed out on you.

You'd told him you loved him that day, sobbing the words between shattered pleas and promises you weren't sure you could keep. A cliché uttered when you thought he was dying; words you should have said sooner, words you shouldn't have said at all. Words you'd meant and refused to take back.

And you know he loves you too, in his own way- he hasn't said as much and you know he never will, but he doesn't need to. You see it in the way he looks out for you on ops, always searching for you in his peripheral to make sure you're okay. You feel it in the tenderness of his hands when he patches you up, the way he lingers for a moment too long before letting go, the violence of war so deeply ingrained in him entirely absent in the way he touches you.

You feel it in these moments, his breath warm on your forehead even through his mask and the way he stays close, just listening to you breathe.

Ghost is the first to draw back. He always is, closing himself off from you again. The nitrile snaps as he pulls his gloves off, cleaning up the mess he'd made patching you up.

And as always, no matter how much it kills you inside, you let him go.

dividers by: @/gildui

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sparkling Bright

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You are set to meet your betrothed but find yourself unexpectedly detained.

Character: Heimdall

Day Nine of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - *hand on forehead* oh gosh, your burning up! 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your mirror as you adjust the gem dangling right below your collar bone. The topaz shines in the lantern light, gleaming like gold. You admire its beauty, a stark contrast to your own gaunt appearance. You don’t know when you grew so drawn. Lately, you’re noticing these things. More than your appearance, you feel the weakness in your bones. 

You have to resist from rubbing your eyes. You’ve already lined them and it took so much effort to do so that you don’t think you could do it again. You’re doubtful you’ll even make it through the night you’ve so diligently prepared for. 

Your hand falls away from the necklace and you lean forward to sift through your jewelry chest. You should find a bracelet or ring to go with the gem. Maybe even a pin for your hair. You pluck out a golden band but put it back. You suppose it needs no compliment after all. 

You yawn and roll your eyes back as fatigue burns in your lids. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. It’s such poor timing too. You are to meet the prince tonight and putting it off is not an option. 

There’s a knock at the door. You check your reflection then stand. You go to open it and muster a smile for the figure on the other side. Heimdall is tall and stoic, his eyes as bright and golden as the jewel at your throat, and his shoulder broad and strong. Like all Asgardians, he is formidable. 

“Princess,” he says in his placid tone. “You are nearly due to depart.” 

“Yes, I know it, sir,” you say and take another long blink. “Forgive me, I’m only touching up.” 

His sparkling eyes lower to meet your gaze. A line forms between his brows. He hums, in that way that he does. In the way that speaks doubt. 

“I only need a shawl and we might leave,” you suggest. 

“A shawl. In this weather,” he peers out the tall arched windows. The curtains stir in the breeze. 

“Yes, your Asgardian climate does not agree with me, I think,” you say. 

He looks back to you and tilts his head, “it is not cold.” He raises a hand without pretense and you wince as he touches your forehead. His touch is like fire. “You are alight.” 

“Sir,” you step back at the impropriety of his touch. 

“A fever. No doubt, your travel has weakened you. Made you susceptible to ague.” 

“An ague?” You utter, “but no, I must meet the prince.” 

“The prince. For once in his life, he can wait,” Heimdall insists. 

“But, sir--” 

“And what would he say of me if I allowed his bride-to-be out in such a state. He will understand. If truly he means to be a good suitor,” he argues. “I know these things, princess. I see them as I see all.” 

You look up at him. You are far too weak to argue. Only standing there has you swaying. He gestures you away from the door. 

“You must rest,” he girds. 

“I...” you begin and smother the yawn that rise. “I think you are right.” 

Your shoulders slump as you turn. You’re wobbly on your feet as a shiver crawls over your sweat-beaded flesh. You go to the bed and he follows. You sit and feel yourself leaning forward without meaning to. 

“Princess,” he catches you before you can fall off the mattress. “Oh, your grace,” he takes you by your arms and holds you up. His palms have you sweltering. He looks you in the face with worry. “A living bride is much preferable, I’d say.” 

“Yes, I’d...” you begin but trail off, your head lolling on your neck. “Oh, I feel... rotten.” 

He hushes you and suddenly, you’re sprawled over the bed. Your head is on the pillows as the dark figure works over you. A shadow without features. You blink several times before you see Heimdall clearly. You say his name as he folds the blankets at your waist. 

“The prince is aware of your condition. He sends his well wishes and hopes you will recover soon,” he says. He turns and reaches into the basin at the bedside. Water stirs noisily and trickles as he squeezes out the excess. He lays the cool cloth over your brow. “And you will. You only need to adjust to this place.” 

“Oh I hope,” your eyes close as your daze deepens. 

When you look again, he is there still. In a chair near the bed. He reads a book as if nothing worries him. You watch him for a while before you drift off again. 

The next time you stir, he is sat on edge of the bed once more. He wipes your brow delicately. The soft light suggests the night has passed and morning will soon be there. You moan and lean into his touch. 

“Heimdall, do I worsen?” You croak. 

“You remain as you were,” he affirms. “I have cleaned your face as best I can and you did sweat through your dress.” 

“Oh...” you cringe. 

“It is nothing I haven’t seen, as I’ve seen you before you even came here.” 

Your lashes flutter, “you did?” 

“Yes, certainly, my eye is often drawn to the most shining beacons,” he intones. 

You don’t reply. It is rather sweet of him to say. Norns, you feel utterly ruinous. 

“Do not trouble yourself. It will not aid you,” he brings his hand down to cradle the stone around your neck. “You must reserve your strength.” 

He squeezes for a moment before he lets it rest on your chest. It is hot, burning like red iron. You shiver and close your eyes. When they open again, it is still morning. You frown. 

“Has the day not come?” You ask. 

No answer comes. You peer around at the vacant room. Heimdall appears through the door and replies all the same, “another, yes. You’ve been abed, Princess.” 

“I... have?” You wonder. 

“Time is the best medicine,” he says calmly. Something about the way he speaks is so reassuring. He doesn’t seem as if he could ever tell a falsehood. 

“Will you tell the prince I am most regretful for my absence?” You ask. “I think tomorrow I might feel better.” You try to smile, “I think already I feel myself flourishing.” 

You wipe the sweat from your neck and your hand trails to the necklace. That’s odd. You tug on it. 

“Will you take this off?” You ask. 

“It was a gift from the prince. You shouldn’t...” he peters off. “But if you insist.” 

“Oh, no, no, I suppose it is good to keep him close to my heart.” 

“I will brew some tea, it may help,” he suggests. 

Heimdall goes again and returns with a crystal mug of tea. The brew is so vibrantly purple that it almost seems to change colour. Or perhaps it is the fever causing hallucinations. He helps you sits up and puts the brim to your lips for each cautious sip. 

When you finish, warmth flows through your body, from your fingertips to your crown to your toes. A new sheen of sweat rises and you push the blankets away from your body. The incessant cold that’s plagued you for days dissipates into an equally unbearable heat. 

Heimdall watches you without reaction. You fan yourself as the flames burn an itch into your skin. You wipe your face and the sensation of your own touch makes you shudder. You can’t help but drag your hands down your neck and along your chest. You moan as your mind tickles with a peculiar urge. 

You cup your chest and groan again. You push your thighs tight and bat your lashes at the man perched beside you. His expression is cryptic as he gazes at you as if he were watching the sky. His eyes narrow as yours widen. 

“I feel...” you breathe as a sultry sweetness bleeds onto your tongue. “I feel...” you rub your thighs together. “Everything.” 

“But you feel stronger?” He reaches to pinch the topaz medallion between his fingers. When he lays it back, it feels lighter. “You feel... needy?” 

His hand sits on your leg and you stare at it, teething your lip. Your confusion washes away with the tides of your desire. You nod eagerly. 

“Yes, yes, I am,” you latch onto his hand and whine. “I need... I need something.” 

“Mm, yes, starling, you need delight,” he curls his fingers to caress you, “you need tenderness,” his touch creeps up beneath your skirt, “you need diligence.” 

You hum and shake your head through the fogginess. You clutch the necklace and whimper as a surge rolls over you. You twitch as the rippling force swelling within you. His other hand wraps around yours and draws it away from the stone. 

“You don’t want to break it,” he warns as he puts your hand to his cheek. “You want me, don’t you?” 

You blink. You should say no. He is not the prince, not your betrothed. Yet that coiling inside of you screams otherwise. It is more than desire, it is desperation. 

“Do not fear, starling,” he says. “You will be safe, as I have kept you thus.” He leans in closer, “the prince is much too distracted with the ladies of his court. He does not deserve a princess so precious as you.” 

You cling to him even as your despair rises. What does he mean? You have sworn yourself to the prince, as he has. He is the watcher of the realm, the protector of Asgard, and you are to be its queen. Yet here you are, getting closer and closer, and you cannot not stop. You will not. 

“I can see even your fear, starling,” his lips brush yours as he slips his hand around the back of your head. “But I can see too that you needn’t be afraid for no one shall ever take you from me. Not even the prince.” 

[everythingelseisextra]

David and Goliath

Part Sixteen: Cain (Tommy's POV)

Description: Tommy fucks up. :) Warnings: references to rape, references to suicide, language, minor self harm Word Count: 3490 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @Majesticcmey  @Optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat  @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist

Arrow House sits in silence, only half sane. The ghosts of the Shelby family haunt the entrance, their shouts echoing in your ears. The commotion in the entryway reached you, even as you sat in the master bedroom, and Polly’s cries and Arthur’s yells and John’s indignant roars fill the quiet room. You close your eyes, and you can imagine the police, Moss in their midst, forcing them into the darkened, freezing cells that you yourself sat in only a few days ago. And Tommy at the edge of it, watching his family taken from him as a consequence of his own actions, an unforgivable choice he made. 

You expect him to join you when he’s ready. It tugs on you, the sense that you need to protect him from himself, but you have to trust that his ability to fight his own mind will hold out. You trust that your presence in the house is reason enough for him to keep the gun in its drawer.

You think that this will be another thing he buries so deep that he forgets there’s anything underground. This will be too painful for him to keep in his hands, and it will trickle out between the cracks of his fingers until there is nothing to hold. His family is his core, the glowing ember of warmth that lives next to the heart he likes to pretend is stone. Now, he’s lost them. Now, all he has is you.

It’s some time before he enters the room. He doesn’t look at you, just sweeps past, heading into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and water runs softly from behind it. You wait in silence, leaning back in your chair and closing your eyes, listening to the impure silence. The water stops, the door creaks open, and his footsteps slowly walk across the room. You open your eyes to find him heading towards the door, eyes set on the wooden floor in front of him. Your eyes narrow. There’s a hesitation to each step he takes, a slight pause, a tilt of his head. You’re waiting for him. He’s waiting for you. 

“Tommy.” You stand and walk over to him, your bare feet cold on the wood. Part of you wants to inject some playfulness into your words, but the rest of you knows that, after something like this, that might be his breaking point. “Hey, come sit. Take a second to talk to me.” 

His gaze stays on the floor, but, almost imperceptibly, he nods. You step back and lead him over to the chair you’d been sitting in, in front of a small desk that you’d claimed as yours the past few days. You sit on the bed, facing him, hands on either side of you. Soft light flows from the window next to you, and the sunrays seem to gentle your gazes on each other, creating a sort of barrier. It’s warm on your face and reflects in his eyes, which refuse to look at you.

“I would give you a pep-talk,” you start, nervousness slowing your words. “I would tell you that you’ve had high highs and low lows, and that the pendulum will swing back up again, but I won’t. I respect you too much for that. You and I both know that life tends to kick you while you’re down. We know that there’s no such thing as rock bottom, it’s always possible to go lower. So, all I’ll say is this; I’m here. I’m not leaving. As complicated as I’m learning your life is, I’d like to try to be simple together. If you want to be alone, that’s okay. If you don’t, I can be with you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing. Exhaustion tightens his skin over his bones, his face drawn, his eyes a little glassy. “You’re not leaving.”

“No.” You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would I?”

“My family is gone. My boy is back. I’m a new man.” He slides a small metal container from his pocket, opens it, and pulls out a cigarette. “I have no room in my life for a woman who sets no store for a man’s needs.”

You nod slowly, almost incredulous. “You’re telling me that, after all this, you want me to leave because I won’t fuck you.”

He inclines his head, reaching out to offer you a cigarette. Your jaw clenches and you ignore his hand. Your next words are clipped. “My horses are literally in your stables. I’m not sure what kind of crisis move you’re making here, but it feels like one that’ll be… how should I say this in a way you’ll understand? Bad for business.” 

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. He speaks on the exhale. “Bad for business is a woman I can’t explain living in my house. You’re not a whore, you’re not my wife, you’re not the mother of my son.” 

You chuckle. “So you’re telling me I either become your whore, marry you, or become a nanny for Charles.” 

“I’m telling you to leave.” 

“And then, months later, hear that you’ve blown your brains out, because no one, including me, would pick up the phone.” 

“Curly will start moving your horses in the morning. I’ve covered the cost of transportation.”

“How kind of you.” 

“In the meantime, you’ll pack. You’ll prepare yourself to leave.” He wiggles his cigarette at you, eyes dull. 

“And what if I say no?” You lean forward, almost mocking. 

“If you say no, then, unfortunately, I may have to get the authorities involved.” 

“‘Yes, hello, I’d like to report that a woman who I said I’d protect and invited to live with me is living in my house. Has she committed a crime? Yes, she won’t fuck me when I want, because I’m a teenaged boy who needs to get off every thirty minutes.” You let anger slide into your voice, let it bite. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.” 

He blinks blankly at you, then rises with a soft groan. “There’s work to be done. Please collect your things.”

“Thomas.” You stand, hands curling into fists, then relaxing. “You send me away now, you’re sending me back to the life I used to live. If you understand that, you’re as bad as the men who sold and raped me.” 

His eyebrows raise in an infuriatingly bewildered expression, then he shakes his head. “I am. I apologize if that wasn’t clear from the start.” 

—

Night falls. Fog fills the air around you, rises from the warm bodies of the horses. Unlike your own barn, Tommy’s is lit, and you can see the confused, wide, liquid eyes staring at you from within the stalls. Draco nickers quietly, throwing his head. He’s been your rock, your shoulder to cry on, the only comfort to you on nights where your body felt as battered and broken and abused as it had during those awful years of horror. 

It’s not him you stand with, though. It’s not his mane you bury your tears in, not his warm body you lean against to carry your shivering weight. Iris had one more month of recovery before he would be able to be ridden again, and now, you have to apologize to him. You have to apologize to all of them, in time, for being unable to care for them. For forfeiting the safety you thought you had. For failing. 

You would be brought back to your own property in an hour. Your horses would trickle in after you. You’d feed them, slip back into the routine of caring for them, and the timer on your life would start to count down. You could fight. You would fight. You’d fight tooth and nail, use every bit of strength built up over years of manual labor, shoot straight and fast and confident, and still, you know you’ll lose. 

Iris turns his head to blink at you as you stand by his side, leaning your weight on his shoulder. You wipe your face of tears and draw yourself up, pulling your shoulders back and squaring your legs to your hips like a soldier. You stand strong. Right now, you’re a survivor. Your quiet claim to life is that you fought for it. Like David with Goliath, you stood against a gargantuan opponent and managed to live to tell the tale. And, here you are, with your bags packed, ready to walk yourself back to that Goliath and allow him to smash your skull. You have no slingshot. You have no rock. There is no God on your side. 

Your fingers gently pull through the knots in Iris’ mane. You should be angry. There should be a burning anger in you that threatens to overwhelm. You should feel it in your bones, in your heart and veins, and you should act in some sort of way on it. You should set fire to his garden, release his horses to the wild. 

Truth is, you don’t know how to be angry with someone. All your life, you’ve been taught to stand down, to take whatever comes without question, and to continue despite it all. You’ve been trained to cower, to take each hit without protest. A cornered animal will always bite, but an abused pet will flinch away, fearful, all the teeth beaten out of it. You weren’t meant to fight as hard as you do. 

You close your eyes, and like Tommy said for you to do, you prepare to leave. 

Your body has a master and it is not you, and it is not God. Caged by a twisted form of humanity, you will be an animal at a zoo. You will gawked and stared at, poked and prodded, and, behind the scenes, you will be used for all your worth. This body you were born in ripples with scars from the years of prostitution and mental torture, and it’s a cold sort of hell. So much touch and so little care. You are only worth so much. You know the literal price of your life. You know how much this body of yours sells for. 

When you open your eyes, the world is in black and white. You will not see the blood they rip from your veins. You will not see the color of their bare skin. Your hand moves from Iris’ mane to your upper arm, and you press down on it, your fingernails biting into your skin. There’s an echo of pain somewhere in you, but your skin is so thick that it’s separate, a step away from your consciousness. You will not feel the penetration. You will not feel the hands grabbing at your flesh, you will not feel their bodies pressed against you. A horse calls and the sound bounces away from you, not quite touching you, and you take a deep breath. You will not hear their moans or the heated lies they tell you in the dark. 

This body that is all you have will no longer be yours. It is only a matter of time. 

The rest of the night crawls past you as a blur. You know you are steady. You know that you step with purpose, your head held high, with no connection with what you feel or how you will survive this. You lift your suitcase and walk down the elegant, well-lit stairs, the portraits of Tommy’s late wife staring down at you with a gaze that tells you that you are lesser. You haven’t seen him since he left the master bedroom. There’s a murmur of emotion in you when you think of him, but you brush past it in your mind. There is no room for you in his life. 

A car waits out front for you. You take a deep breath and look up at the stars. When you were younger, before the world turned against you, you thought you would reach out and touch them even if it burned. Now, you know you could, and the fire would eat away at you, and you would feel nothing. You thought you’d been as close to death as you could be without dying, but this emptiness in you, this blurred vision, this hollow chest is proof that you can stand hand in hand and not die. Maybe, you think, maybe you would rather die than become a commodity once again. There is a gun in the kitchen drawer. 

You slip into the back seat of the car, and, at least, it is warm. The driver glances back at you in the mirror. He says something that washes over you and away, and you turn to look out the window, then twist to look back at Arrow House. A single light shines from the drawing room, the curtain pulled back, and you know he is watching. Despicable and traitorous, he watches you crawl back to a life you said you would never live again. 

You turn back as the car begins to move out of the driveway. You close your eyes and a tear rolls out. You sit in the darkness and shrink into your mind, sitting in the back of it, watching through as your body breathes and shifts and lives apart from you, without you. You wipe the tear and, eyes still closed, you melt into the atmosphere and become nothing. 

The car jerks to a stop and you open your eyes. The driver lets out a slow breath and glances back at you, then looks back through the windshield. 

Lit by the headlights in sharp relief, Tommy stands, breathing hard as if he’d run to stop you. You watch him, expectation in his eyes, and you see a spoiled little boy who enjoys playing games. 

“Keep driving,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Ma’am, I can’t. He’s—”

“Go around.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Hesitantly, the driver inches the car forward, turning to move around Tommy, who’s eyes widen slightly. 

He reaches underneath his coat and pulls out his gun, pointing it at the driver. 

“Ma’am, I—” Panic fills the driver’s voice. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay. Stop the car.” 

He does as you say, and, slowly, you open the door and step out into the night. 

You stay where you are in the darkness, letting Tommy stay in the light. You wait for him to speak first. 

“You forgot something.” His voice carries over the sound of the engine. 

You cross your arms, trying to warm yourself from the cold. “Oh, did I? Please, enlighten me.” 

“Come into the light, and I’ll show you.” 

“No.” 

He looks up at the black sky, then steps out into the darkness, coming within a few feet of you. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small square box, rounded corners, velvet wrapped. Your heart goes cold. He opens it and holds it out. A sleek, silver ring glints in the light from the headlights, golden highlights sparking. You shiver and look up at him. 

“Not a whore, not a mother.” He smiles faintly. “Yet.”

You slap him. Not hard, but enough to make your point. Then, without a word, you turn and walk down the long driveway back to the house. In your periphery, you watch him reach up and touch his cheek where you hit him, then slowly close the box and place it back in his pocket. 

—

He waits an hour before he seeks you out. You’re curled in the fetal position, lying in one of the spare bedrooms. You stare blankly at the wall across from you. There’s no color to your vision. The pillow has long since dried from your tears. 

He knocks on the door, waits a full minute for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he quietly lets himself in. His footsteps are bare and light. He sits on the opposite side of the bed, sighing, and you close your eyes again. You’re not sure you want to hear what he has to say. 

“I’m not a good man.” His voice is quiet, almost shameful, and he speaks to the ground, faint to you. “I’ve made that clear tonight. You never heard about me cause you were never in Birmingham. If you had, you’d know, I’m not a good man.”

You clench your jaw and stay quiet, wait for him to say what he thinks will make up for the pain and terror he’s caused. 

He clicks his tongue, almost wincing. “Lost my family today. Decided that meant I needed a fresh start. Needed to move away from all this— this Peaky Blinders shit and focus on more gentlemanly matters. I felt possessed to get away from it all. From any reminder of it. That included you.” He takes a slow breath, sighing it out. “You reminded me, as you should have, that a better man would never send you away. I would be sending you and your horses to death or worse. It took me far too long to remember that, and for that, I am sorry.” 

You open your eyes, blinking hard, trying to stop tears from rolling out once more. 

“You saved my life. I can’t return the favor, not in the same way, but I can preserve yours. That I will do. I won’t try to send you away again. I understand now how misguided that was.” You feel his gaze on your back and you try to smooth out your breathing, steady yourself so he can’t see that you’re human, that you’re affected by him. 

He’s quiet for a moment, then, voice weak and childish, he manages two words you never truly expected him to say. “I’m sorry.” 

You sniffle and croak out a short, shaky sentence. “Am I worth anything to you?” 

“Yes.” His response comes immediately. “You are.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” 

“I told you that first night. Something in me has been broken since the war. Maybe since my mum. I don’t have the words for it. You’ve seen it, now. You’ve seen it.” 

You nod shakily. “You were ready to watch me drive off to my death.” 

“I would never have let you leave the driveway.” 

“But you let me think you would.” A tear leaks out and you angrily wipe it away. “You let me think that you cared so little about me that you would watch me go back to a life I couldn’t survive.”

“You know what I think?” He shifts towards you, turning his body so he faces your back.. “I think that you’re the first person to see the fucking rotten part of me and still stay in this house.”

“I have nowhere else to go, Tom.” Your voice breaks. “You realize that. I have nowhere else to go, and you can’t decide whether you want me or not, and I’m worthless unless I sleep with you or marry you.” 

His voice drops to a mere murmur. “I want you.” 

“You didn’t an hour ago.” 

“I told you I was sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” You sit up, fully crying now, and face him. “You fucked up, and I don’t know where there is to go from here.” 

“I do. I know where to go.” He reaches back into his pocket and pulls out the ring box. “I—”

“Stop! Stop with the fucking ring! I don’t want to belong to you, I don’t want—”

“Listen. You can say no. Just fucking listen.” His hand shakes slightly as he holds it in his lap. “I’m not a good man. I try to be, but I’m not. But you— you make me think I can be if I try. That’s a rare fucking thing. You will never belong to me. You will never belong to anyone. It’s a shot in the fucking dark, and things like this come and go as they please, but if I can, if I could, I’d like to be that shot in the dark. If it’s up to me, it’ll be us in the end. I’m not a good man, but I promise, I will be good to you and for you. Love is far, far away, but it gets closer when I’m with you. So, I’m asking you, because I need you with me, to look past the way I hurt you and see that I do care for you. I do think you’re worth something.” He reaches out and gently wipes a tear from your cheek, hand trembling. “I’m asking for a selfish thing. I’m asking for you to see the blood on my hands and love me anyway. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

He is broken promises and shaking fists, and you know, he did not mean to be cruel, but that doesn’t mean he was kind to you. So, you take a breath, trying to stay steady, and you open your mouth to reply.

[redislazy]

Deadly Attachments, Chapter 04

<< Chapter 03　|　Chapter 05 >>

[EVENTUAL SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader

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Summary: As a skilled mercenary, you've navigated countless high-stakes missions—until one job puts you in the crosshairs of Task Force 141 and the elusive "Ghost." Now forced into an uneasy alliance, you’re drawn into a dangerous game of shifting loyalties and hidden motives. But as the stakes climb higher, one question lingers: how close can you get to the man who was meant to be a shadow in your path?

-

Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Slow Burn, Will add smut-specific tags later as the story goes

“You’re too visible,” Ghost mutters, his gaze flicking around the bustling street as if expecting someone to spot you at any moment.

The morning finds you and Ghost out on the streets of Istanbul, moving through the crowded alleys with a practiced air of detachment. Your mission is straightforward: gather intel on Aegis’ recent operations in the city without drawing attention. But of course, nothing about working with Ghost is ever straightforward.

You scoff, sidestepping a group of merchants with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. “You’re the one in a hoodie and gloves on a warm day. I’m blending just fine.”

“It’s not just the look,” he snaps, voice kept low. “You’re not exactly subtle. You walk like you’re ready to start a fight.”

“And you don’t?” you retort, matching his tone. “You look like you’re one wrong look away from putting someone through a wall.”

He doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he focuses on the crowd ahead, though you catch the way his hands clench at his sides.

You both fall into tense silence, but it doesn’t take long before friction flares up again. Behind a corner stall, you spot a group of suited men exchanging cash and information—a telltale sign of Aegis dealings. As you prepare to move closer, Ghost’s gloved hand snaps out, gripping your arm.

“Hold up,” he mutters. “Too close. You’re going to tip them off.”

You pull your arm from his grip, irritation flaring. “I know how to do recon. I’ve been watching these types long before you came along.”

“Oh, really?” His tone drips with skepticism, gaze challenging. “That must be why Aegis still has your scent like blood in the water.”

You glare, resisting the urge to fire back with something equally cutting. “We’re supposed to be working together, or have you forgotten that already?”

Ghost’s voice lowers, edged with warning. “I haven’t forgotten. But you have a habit of thinking you know best, even when you’re out of your depth.”

Biting back a frustrated response, you feel the tension between you crackling like a live wire, ready to snap.

He shakes his head, muttering to himself before speaking again. “Just try it my way, for once. You might learn something.”

You grit your teeth, but against your better judgment, let him take the lead. The irritation simmers beneath the surface, but you swallow it, forcing yourself to focus on the mission.

You’d barely moved on from that exchange before the situation escalates. You’re trailing one of the Aegis informants when he glances back, his gaze sharp and sweeping over the street. In a heartbeat, he spots you, his eyes narrowing. You curse inwardly, feeling Ghost tense beside you, his own posture giving away the threat.

Without missing a beat, you seize the moment, reaching out to wrap your arm around Ghost’s waist and pulling him close. Before he can object, you slide your other hand to his chest, fingers splayed against the tough fabric of his jacket as you tilt your head toward his. “Just go with it,” you murmur, barely audible.

Ghost stiffens, his entire body practically vibrating with resistance. But the Aegis man is already watching, scrutinizing. There’s no time to argue.

Putting on the most convincing smile you can muster, you laugh softly, pressing closer into Ghost’s space. His arms instinctively come up to your shoulders, tense but holding steady, though he’s clearly as uncomfortable as he is caught off-guard. You lean into him, your voice dropping to a low murmur. “Act natural, Ghost.”

His gaze snaps to yours, and for a split second, you see a flicker of something unreadable there. You’re close enough now to notice the small flecks of blue in his otherwise dark eyes, and the way his jawline sharpens with each clenched muscle. With his mask on, only his eyes are exposed, but that alone is enough to assume what he's thinking.

He inhales deeply, and you feel the subtle shift in his posture as he settles into the role. “Fine,” he grits out, voice barely a whisper. His hands fall lower, resting on the small of your back, his fingers digging in as if grounding himself in the contact. His touch is firm, unfamiliar, and entirely too steady for a man supposedly uncomfortable with this.

Your heart pounds in your chest, an unexpected thrill coursing through you as you look up at him. You allow yourself to soften into his hold, your free hand lifting to trace over his collar, a gentle, intimate gesture meant to sell the image. His breath hitches, and you see the strain it takes for him to stay calm.

From the corner of your eye, you catch the Aegis operative slowing, still watching, his attention caught by your impromptu performance. Your pulse races, and to make it even more convincing, you tilt your head, voice lowering to an affectionate murmur.

“Just try not to look like you’d rather strangle me. Couples don’t usually do that, you know,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, feigning the tone of someone playful, someone familiar.

Ghost’s jaw flexes. He leans down just a little, his mouth closer to your ear than is necessary. “Can’t say I’m in the mood to play games right now,” he mutters, each word laced with irritation.

The Aegis man watches a moment longer, then, with a brief shake of his head, turns away, apparently losing interest in what he assumes to be just a random couple visiting as tourists.

But you keep up the pretense a few moments longer, just in case, pressing closer to Ghost, letting your fingers graze his neck as if you’re brushing away invisible dust. The contact sends a jolt through you, each point of connection between you two heightened, charged with an intensity that has nothing to do with the mission.

“Next time, try using your head instead of whatever ridiculous impulse that was.” Ghost murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, and you can’t help but notice the tightness in his tone. The moment stretches, awkward, as neither of you pulls away immediately.

You finally break the silence, letting out a soft laugh as you step back, creating a bit of space between you. You let your arms drop, barely holding back an eye roll. “My idea worked, didn’t it? If we’d gone with your tactic, he’d have already made us as threats.”

Ghost glares, unimpressed. “I don’t need advice from someone who thinks ‘blending in’ means making a spectacle.”

"Spectacle?” You snort, crossing your arms. “You think you’re subtle in that oversized hoodie, towering over everyone? Real covert, soldier.”

He leans in, his voice a rough whisper. “At least I’m not drawing attention by acting like we’re in some damn romance novel.”

You let out a mocking laugh, hands on your hips. “Don’t worry; I’m well aware this isn’t some romantic setup.” You can’t resist adding, “And trust me, you’re not exactly my type.”

He grunts, unimpressed. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting attached.” With that, he steps forward, refocusing on the mission with the same cold, detached focus that somehow, despite everything, remains perfectly intact.

He nods down the alley, motioning for you to move along. You don’t miss a beat, following his lead. But as you both move forward, the feel of his steady hand, even in that begrudging moment, stays with you—far more than you’re willing to admit.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You return to the safehouse in the city’s outskirts, the atmosphere thick with the scent of stale coffee and remnants of the last mission’s gear piled in corners. Price, Gaz, and Soap are gathered around the table, studying a large, folded map of the city as you and Ghost enter.

Price looks up, raising a brow. “You two look cozy. What’d you find out?”

Ghost’s jaw tightens, and you give Price a half-hearted glare. “Turns out the Aegis boys aren’t too hard to track. But they’re running tight security around their informants. We nearly had to dodge one who got suspicious.” You hesitate, shooting Ghost a sidelong glance. “But we managed.”

“‘Managed’? She practically threw herself on me,” Ghost mutters, half under his breath.

Soap snickers, unable to resist. “Didn’t know you were one for grand gestures, mate,” he drawls, clearly reveling in Ghost’s discomfort. “What was it this time? Arm over the shoulder, little peck on the cheek? Need details.”

Ghost gives him a deadly look. “Keep talking, and I’ll show you a ‘grand gesture’ you won’t forget.”

Ignoring them, you focus on the map and tap a finger at a cluster of marked points. “The recon confirmed Aegis is coordinating with locals here. Saw at least two exchanges. Money, files, maybe even weapons, though we couldn’t get close enough for specifics.”

Gaz nods thoughtfully, eyes tracking your finger on the map. “Did they look like they’d clocked us?”

“No, we kept it under wraps,” you say. “Though,” you add with a smirk, “someone here nearly blew our cover trying to look intimidating.”

“Funny. As I recall, it was you who nearly got us both caught,” Ghost retorts, crossing his arms. “Might want to re-evaluate your recon methods.”

Price interrupts. “Enough. We’ll stick to the task. Any idea where they’re taking these resources?”

You shake your head, but Ghost speaks up. “Not yet. But we saw a couple of their men make tracks toward a secondary site on the south side. Could be something worth checking.”

Soap rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “So basically, you both spent the day playing Romeo and Juliet and still didn’t find the main stash?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, we found something. Next time, maybe you’d like to take point and see how smoothly it goes.”

“Alright, enough of the bickering,” Price interjects with a sigh, rubbing his temples. “We’ll head out tonight to follow up on that lead, split up to cover more ground.”

Gaz cracks a grin, nudging Soap. “Maybe Ghost’ll take you this time, eh, Soap? Sounds like he’s warmed up to the partner routine.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow, a ghost of a smile in them. “Sure. But don’t expect the same cozy treatment. I’ll let you walk into trouble yourself.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Soap laughs, clearly enjoying every second of the ribbing.

Despite the banter, the team settles into a steady rhythm, dividing up roles for the evening recon. Price directs the team with his usual calm disposition, and as each person takes their assignment, the lighthearted tone fades into something more serious, each man’s focus sharpening.

Before long, you find yourself catching Ghost’s gaze again across the table, the memory of the ruse flickering briefly in his expression before he looks away, expression unreadable. In the space between words and plans, you can feel the unuttered pull linger, only slightly overshadowed by the next mission at hand.

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As the team disperses, you find yourself paired with Soap for the night, assigned to the district near the south docks. It’s surprisingly quiet for Istanbul, with narrow streets bathed in the faint glow of streetlights as you both slip into the shadowed alleys.

Soap grins, giving you a quick once-over. “Don’t worry, I’m a bit friendlier than Ghost. Might even share a laugh if you’re lucky.”

You smirk. “That’s a relief. I was starting to think everyone on this team was required to be at least half as grumpy as he is.”

Soap chuckles, the sound low and easy. “Ghost? Aye, he’s got a mood for every shade of the alphabet. But he’s solid. Can’t imagine anyone else at my back.”

The way he says it sparks a curiosity you hadn’t expected. “So what’s he like? Beyond the scowl and the tactical gear?”

Soap raises an eyebrow, as if surprised by the question. “You want the classified or the censored version?”

“Whichever one you’ll actually tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Alright then. Ghost, he’s… complicated. Not the easiest to get along with, but he’s got this way of lookin’ out for people. Might not say it, but he cares. You wouldn’t believe how many times he’s pulled me out of a tight spot.”

“So he’s… what? The ‘quiet, brooding protector’ type?”

Soap’s eyes light up with amusement. “That’s a bit generous, don’t you think? Nah, he’s more like… well, imagine a guard dog that bites first and doesn’t bother with questions. But when he trusts you, he’s loyal to the bone.”

There’s something about the way Soap talks about him, a deep-rooted respect, maybe even admiration. You hesitate, glancing down the street. “He doesn’t exactly make it easy for people to trust him back.”

“Aye, well, Ghost’s been through more than most of us,” Soap says, his tone softening. “You get the mask, the armor—hard to know what’s really under it, even for us. But he’s there when it counts. Saved all our hides more times than I can count.”

You nod slowly, piecing together the fragments. “Sounds like he’s more than just a soldier to you all.”

Soap looks at you, a bit of that playfulness gone. “To us, he’s family. You’re the closest thing to safe when you’ve got Ghost on your team, even if he doesn’t show it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words. The contrast between Soap’s easy camaraderie and Ghost’s guarded presence feels stark, and something tugs at you—a strange curiosity about what lies beyond Ghost’s cold exterior.

Just then, Soap’s gaze shifts, his eyes narrowing as he scans the street ahead. “Heads up. Movement near the docks.”

Falling silent, you follow his line of sight. Two figures, both Aegis operatives, are talking by a dimly lit warehouse door. Instinctively, you both duck into the shadows.

You and Soap move quietly, slipping into the darkness along the side of the building. The Aegis operatives are deep in conversation, oblivious to their surroundings. Soap nods to you, indicating that he’ll loop around to cover the back while you hold position. With quick, soundless steps, he disappears down the alley, leaving you to observe the scene from the front.

As you crouch by a stack of crates, your earpiece crackles. “Eyes on the pair?” Soap’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Got ‘em,” you reply, watching as one of the men takes out a phone, glancing around before making a call. “They’re definitely up to something.”

The Aegis operatives’ conversation is too low to hear, but their gestures hint at something urgent. One of them hands off a small, sealed package, and your pulse quickens, recognizing it as intel worth retrieving. You lean closer, straining to catch any detail.

Suddenly, a third man appears at the entrance to the warehouse, looking straight in your direction. Your breath catches, and you press yourself further into the shadows, heart hammering as you resist the instinct to reach for your weapon.

But just before you’re forced to make a move, Soap’s voice comes over the line again, casual and unbothered. “Don’t s’pose I could take the package off yer hands, lads?”

The operatives whip around, their focus now diverted as Soap steps into view, looking every bit the cocky, unbothered soldier. He flashes them a grin, hands held just loose enough to suggest he’s armed.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you slip around the crates, circling back toward the men from behind. Soap, in his element, keeps their attention fixed on him, holding their gaze as he strikes up a casual banter, his voice carrying just enough to keep them engaged.

“I’ll have you know,” Soap is saying, “my mate here’s got a keen eye on what you’re holdin’. Might be wise to hand it over.”

With perfect timing, you appear behind the nearest operative, reaching around to pull the package free from his hand just as Soap gives you a slight nod. The men realize too late what’s happening, and by the time they spin around to catch you, both you and Soap are already slipping back into the shadows, disappearing down the narrow alley.

Once safely out of sight, Soap breaks into a triumphant grin. “Nice teamwork back there. Not too shabby for a last-minute operation.”

You laugh softly, catching your breath as you glance down at the package in your hand. “Guess we make a good team after all. Might just get used to this.”

“Don’t go gettin’ sentimental on me,” He teases, his grin widening. “One mission at a time, yeah?”

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With the intel in hand, you regroup with the rest of Task Force 141. You share the intel with the team, presenting the package to Price. He inspects it carefully, eyes narrowing as he pieces together the implications. The atmosphere in the room is serious, with everyone focused on the potential fallout of what you’ve just acquired.

“Good work,” Price nods, glancing between you and Soap. “You two made quite the pair out there.”

Soap feigns offense, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. “Are you sayin’ we’re a couple now, Captain?”

“Only if you keep makin’ those silly faces, Johnny,” Ghost mutters from the corner, his tone low and steady. The mask he wears obscures his expression, but you can almost feel the eye roll behind it.

Soap snorts, turning to you with a conspiratorial grin. “See? Even he can’t deny our chemistry.”

“Right, because nothing says teamwork like you flirting your way through a mission,” you retort, crossing your arms with a smirk. The banter lightens the mood, a brief distraction from the gravity of your task.

As the team gathers around the table in the secure room, Captain Price steps forward, wearing a pair of black gloves to maintain the integrity of the evidence. He carefully sets the package down, the anticipation palpable in the air.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Captain Price says, his voice steady but laced with focus. He flicks open the package, the sound of tape tearing breaking the tense silence.

He reaches in and pulls out a hard drive, holding it up like a trophy. “This,” He says, “could hold encrypted communications. We need to run this through our systems ASAP. If it contains the right information, it could expose Aegis’s entire operation.”

He sets the drive down on the table with a determined expression. “This is a potential gold mine. We’ll analyze it and figure out our next move. Well done, team. Let’s keep the momentum going.”

The room buzzes with renewed energy as the team begins discussing their next steps, the weight of the mission settling in as they prepare to crack open the drive.

The meeting wraps up, providing you some time to rest. You can’t shake the feeling that this might be a turning point, not just for your mission but for your place within the team. The challenges ahead seem daunting, but with Task Force 141 proving themselves to be solid allies, you feel like you can ease up a little.

Late into the night, the dim light of a single desk lamp flickers against the walls of the operations room. Papers are strewn across the table, and the glow of a computer screen casts an eerie illumination on your tired face. 

Inside the hard drive, you uncover a maze of encrypted files and fragmented data—a chaotic assortment of documents, names, transaction logs, and surveillance footage. Aegis hasn’t left all their secrets in one place; instead, they’ve left a collection of clues, each file holding a piece of something larger, but almost impossible to make sense of at first glance.

The files range from heavily coded communication logs between high-level operatives to bank account information buried behind layers of false accounts and international wire transfers. Some documents reference specific locations—safehouses, abandoned warehouses, private airfields—but they’re listed under codenames. Without context, they’re nothing more than cryptic coordinates. There are also brief dossiers with incomplete profiles of known mercenaries, possibly detailing recruits Aegis has had contact with, though their roles remain murky.

As you sift through this labyrinth of information, you realize the enormity of the task ahead. Just decrypting these files will take time, but making sense of the connections—figuring out who these people are, how each transaction feeds into Aegis’s broader operations, and what they’re building toward—feels like piecing together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Bloody hell…” you mutter under your breath, scanning through what looks like one of many altered account logs, noting how Aegis has buried its dealings under layers of bureaucracy and false names. This kind of data will need more than just brute force; it’ll require teams at the main SAS base, with analysts who can cross-reference against other intelligence databases and put everything in context.

You lean back, rubbing your temples. It’s maddeningly complex and deliberately fragmented. You have a hard drive full of secrets—but until you get the proper resources and time to decrypt and analyze it, you’re left with more questions than answers.

For now, all you can do is wait for Price to send it off. And in the meantime, you know every passing day gives Aegis more time to cover their tracks, complicating the hunt even further.

The faint sound of footsteps approaches, and you barely notice until a shadow falls over your desk. You look up to see Ghost, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“Still at it?” he asks, his voice low but firm.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t help it. There’s too much at stake here. We need to figure out what Aegis is planning. If we miss something—”

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “But you’re going to wear yourself out. You can’t do this on fumes.”

You shrug, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “What’s the point of sleeping? Aegis betrayed me over one failed mission. They’re not going to let that go. They’ll come after me, and I can’t just sit back and wait for them to make their move.”

Ghost’s gaze narrows slightly, and he tilts his head as he listens. “I know it’s rough. But pushing yourself isn’t going to change what they’re planning. You think you can outsmart them just by burning the midnight oil?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a mix of annoyance and determination. “It’s not just about being smart. It’s about being ready. Aegis is ruthless. They’re not going to stop until they’ve made an example of me. I can’t let that happen.”

Ghost’s expression softens slightly, but he keeps his tone even. “You’ve got every reason to be pissed off. But don’t let that drive you to exhaustion. You need to keep your wits about you if you’re going to face them again.”

You lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly. “I know what I need to do, but I’m not going to stand by while they plot against me. I can’t afford to be blindsided again.”

“Just don’t lose sight of yourself in the process,” he says, his voice steady. “It’s easy to let anger take the wheel. You don’t want to make any reckless moves.”

Finally, you let out a short laugh, albeit without humor. “Thanks for the unsolicited advice, Ghost. I’ll keep that in mind while I’m trying to keep my head above water.”

He gives you a faint nod, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment of your sarcasm. As he turns to leave, you feel a strange sense of resolution settle over you. You don’t need his encouragement, but having him listen—even with that no-nonsense approach—makes a difference.

“Try to get some sleep,” he says over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway. You don’t know if you’ll actually follow his advice, but you feel a little lighter, as if you can face whatever Aegis has in store for you, one way or another.

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“Oi, you look like hell,” Soap says, grinning as he nudges your arm. “Didn’t catch much shut-eye last night?”

You roll your eyes, gripping your coffee like it’s a lifeline. “I got enough,” you mutter, giving him a glare over the rim of your mug.

“Enough to sleepwalk, maybe,” Soap teases. “Just don’t trip over yourself when we’re in the field, eh?”

Price leans back in his chair, looking between you and Ghost. “You two done givin’ each other grief yet?” he says with a slight smirk.

“Can’t help it if she’s stubborn,” Ghost grumbles, arms crossed. “Or if she insists on overworking herself.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. “As if you’re not constantly brooding somewhere with no regard for sleep.”

Gaz chuckles, glancing at Soap. “Think they’ll ever get along?”

Soap shrugs with a mischievous grin. “Nah, that’d be boring. They’re more fun like this.”

“Right, because fun’s what we’re here for,” Ghost deadpans, shooting Soap a pointed look.

Before Soap can come up with a retort, a loud beep echoes through the room, cutting the banter short. The team goes silent as Price taps his earpiece, eyes narrowing with focus.

“This is Price,” he says, his voice all business now. He listens intently, and his expression grows darker with each passing second. “Understood. We’ll move in immediately.”

He looks at each of you in turn, his jaw set. “Just got word from HQ. Aegis movements reported on the eastern front of the city—some high-profile targets involved. Intel suggests they’re gearing up for something, but details are thin.”

Gaz straightens. “So they’re here, then? What do you reckon they’re after?”

“Could be retaliation, could be more intel grabs,” Price replies. “We won’t know till we’re in there. But this is what we’ve been preparing for.”

Ghost gives you a sharp look, his expression unreadable. “Looks like you’re gettin’ your wish,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone.

You meet his gaze, unflinching. “Good. Maybe I can finally get some answers.”

“Save your vendettas,” Price interrupts. “We go in sharp and leave nothing to chance. I want recon and support in teams. Soap, you’re with Gaz. Ghost, you’re with her.”

Soap gives a mock salute, grinning. “Guess it’s date night for the both of you again.”

You and Ghost shoot him equally exasperated looks, but the levity is brief as the weight of the mission settles over everyone.

“Alright, gear up,” Price orders. “We move in ten.”

The team disperses to prepare, the air thick with tension and purpose. But you can’t shake the feeling of anticipation, your mind already running through scenarios as you prepare to face Aegis again.

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You and Ghost are in the heart of the city, navigating through narrow alleyways toward an abandoned building where Aegis is rumored to be holed up. The air is thick with pressure, the sharp scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, and the faint hum of activity just out of sight. The team has dispersed into their positions, but you can’t shake the heavy feeling of anticipation pressing down on you. Aegis is moving fast, too fast, and you didn’t think they would strike this soon.

You spent all night huddled over your desk, scanning through endless intelligence reports, piecing together a fragmented picture of Aegis’s operations. You thought you had more time. You thought you could afford to burn the midnight oil, believing that if you could just connect the dots, you could prepare for what was coming.

Had you known they’d be on the move so quickly, you would have rested. You would’ve prepped your body, gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. But now, as exhaustion clings to you like a second skin, you feel every bit of it catching up. Your head is heavy, your limbs sluggish, and your focus is just a fraction slower than it should be. You can feel your grip tightening on your weapon, but it’s not enough to stave off the creeping fatigue that clouds your senses.

You take a sharp breath and push through. You can’t afford to slow down now. But as you step into another narrow passage, your foot catches on a loose stone. The stumble is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough. Before you can react, a figure emerges from the shadows, and a flash of movement pulls you back to reality. Your weapon goes up instinctively, but the delay is just enough for the figure to get a shot off.

“On your left!” Ghost barks, urgency in his voice.

You squeeze the trigger, narrowly avoiding disaster as the enemy drops to the ground. The tension in your chest refuses to ease, but Ghost isn’t letting you off the hook.

He spins toward you, fury simmering in his gaze. “What the bloody hell was that? You’re slipping. Again.” His voice is low, but it’s thick with anger, his arms crossed as he towers over you. “You think you can keep pushing yourself like this, running on fumes? Is that what you’re trying to do, get yourself killed?”

You bite back the sharp retort, feeling the weight of his anger digging into you. You’ve made a mess of this, and the guilt is clawing at your chest. “I didn’t expect them to move this fast,” you say, your voice tight. “Had I known they’d be ready, I would’ve prepared better. But I thought—”

“Enough!” Ghost interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his glare intensifying. “You think this is a bloody game? Aegis doesn’t wait around for you to get your head on straight. You can’t afford to be careless. You’re not invincible, and I’m not here to babysit you while you burn yourself out.”

The sting of his words lands harder than any bullet could, and you feel your chest tighten. His anger isn’t just frustration—it’s something deeper. You know you’ve crossed a line, and it makes your throat constrict as his words hit harder than you thought they would.

“Ghost…” You start to respond, but the words catch in your throat.

“You don’t get it, do you?” He takes a step closer, his gaze unrelenting, the edge of his voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re not just risking your life. You’re risking all of ours by pushing yourself like this. And I’m sick of watching you burn out, thinking you’re going to win this on your own.”

You can feel his anger radiating off him, thick and palpable, and it makes your stomach churn. You’re fully aware of your mistakes now—of your failure to rest, of your exhaustion clouding your judgment. The weight of it presses down on you, but you don’t dare let it show.

Your lips tremble slightly, fighting the wave of emotion that threatens to overwhelm you. You know he’s right. You fucked up, and there’s no denying it now. You stay silent, swallowing the rising lump in your throat, trying to compose yourself.

“Don’t you dare make this harder than it already is,” Ghost growls, his voice harsh, but there’s something else in it now—something that sounds almost… worried. “This mission is too important for your pride. Now pull it together, or I swear to God I’ll drag you out of here myself.”

Your head spins with a mix of frustration, guilt, and exhaustion. But before you can respond, the quiet night air is shattered by the sound of gunfire. The ground trembles beneath your boots as Aegis reinforcements surge from the shadows. The mission has officially kicked into high gear.

“Stay sharp,” Ghost orders, the anger in his tone giving way to focus as the team goes on high alert.

You don’t have time to argue. You push past the knot in your stomach and focus. Gunfire rings out, and before you know it, you’re thrust into the chaos—bullets flying, shouts filling the air. You move with purpose, your instincts kicking in, but the exhaustion never truly leaves. Your movements feel sluggish, slower than you want them to be, and it shows in the way you miss a few too many shots.

Ghost moves beside you, covering your blind spots, keeping an eye on you as you both push through the streets. The mission has become a blur of adrenaline, but you know the stakes are high. The pressure mounts with every passing second.

Then, just as you’re about to make your next move, you hear it—a footstep behind you. Without thinking, you spin, ready to fire. But the attacker is quicker, his blade flashing toward Ghost, and you only have a split second to react.

You throw yourself forward, shoving him aside, feeling the sharp sting of the enemy’s blade graze across the back of your shoulder as you land. The pain is immediate—burning and sharp—but you fight it down, keeping your focus.

You hear Ghost curse as you roll to your feet, weapon still in hand, and fire, taking down the enemy in a single shot. But you’re not focused on that. You can feel the blood soaking through your shirt, the warmth of it trickling down your back, but your body is still running on pure instinct.

Ghost’s hands are on your shoulders before you can fully process what’s happening. “For god’s sake, are you trying to die out here?” His voice cracks with frustration, his fingers gently pressing against your wound, but you barely register it through the haze of pain.

“Twice now,” you mutter under your breath, trying to steady yourself as your vision swims. “Guess I saved your ass again.”

For a brief moment, Ghost falls silent. His gaze lingers on your back, then moves to your face. You can’t look at him. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. He doesn’t say anything, but his gloved hands are firm as he checks the wound, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. The silence between you both feels thick, heavy with everything unsaid.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” he finally growls, his voice low but not without a trace of concern buried deep beneath the frustration.

And as he helps you back to your feet, his hand on your shoulder, you know that despite the weight of his anger, he’s still watching your back.

The pain in your shoulder is sharp, but you can’t afford to think about it now. Ghost’s grip on your arm is firm, steadying you as you stand. You can feel his gaze on you, but you avoid looking at him. There’s nothing left to say right now. Not when the mission is still in full swing, and Aegis is still out there.

You take a quick breath and focus. “I’ll be fine,” you mutter, biting back the wave of dizziness that threatens to pull you under. You reach for your medical kit, the sharp sting of your wound only registering as you unstrap it, cursing under your breath.

“Don’t get stupid,” Ghost mutters, but his voice is lower now, tinged with a quiet frustration that’s almost a comfort in the heat of the moment.

You tear off a piece of cloth from the sleeve of your jacket, quickly applying a makeshift bandage to your shoulder. It’s not much—a temporary fix at best—but it’ll do for now. You can feel the blood seeping through your clothes, but the pressure should at least slow the bleeding.

With a quick nod to Ghost, you signal that you’re good to go. The pain is still there, pulsing with each movement, but you’ll push through. You have to.

“Let’s move,” you say, your voice a little steadier than before, though it cracks slightly. You don’t wait for his reply, already moving forward with your weapon in hand, eyes scanning every corner for Aegis.

Ghost doesn’t hesitate to fall in step beside you, his eyes on high alert, always watching. His earlier anger is still simmering beneath the surface, but there’s a silent understanding between you now. He doesn’t trust you to keep pushing yourself, but he’s not about to leave you behind.

The streets are eerily quiet as you advance, the only sounds being your footsteps and the occasional distant crackle of gunfire. You’ve lost the element of surprise. The enemy knows you’re here, and Aegis has always been good at covering their tracks. You can feel it in the air—an overwhelming sense of dread that tightens your chest.

As you reach the center of the abandoned district, the team regroups, spreading out to cover every possible exit. There’s no sign of Aegis yet. The trap is set. But as the minutes tick by, doubt begins to creep in.

Nothing. No sign of movement, no reinforcements rushing in. It feels… wrong. Your stomach churns as the silence stretches on, your nerves taut as you wait for something—anything. But the longer you wait, the more your instincts start to scream at you.

You glance at Ghost, who’s scanning the horizon. His jaw is clenched, eyes narrowed in concentration. He senses it too. You feel a growing unease, that something isn’t right. Aegis shouldn’t be this quiet. They should have come to fight.

Then, the realization hits. They’re gone.

“Shit,” Ghost growls, slamming his fist against a nearby wall in frustration. “They slipped through our fingers.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. The bitter taste of failure is heavy on your tongue. Aegis has outmaneuvered you again, leaving nothing behind but empty streets and the echo of your own mistakes.

You’re not surprised, but the sting of it cuts just as deep. You push down the urge to lash out, to blame yourself for not being more prepared, for not being sharp enough, for still feeling the burn of the wound in your shoulder that’s distracting you.

“Price is gonna love this,” you mutter, your voice a mix of bitterness and exhaustion.

“Focus on getting back,” Ghost snaps, though there’s no real malice behind the words. It’s just a statement of fact. No time for self-pity. “We’ll regroup at the base, figure out what went wrong.”

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The mission was a failure, and the weight of it sits heavy on your chest as you make your way back to base with Ghost. His presence behind you is unyielding, and there’s a quiet tension in the air that neither of you speaks of. You know you fucked up. You should have rested, you should have been prepared, and now Aegis is slipping through your fingers again. Ghost’s gaze doesn’t leave you, his silence louder than any words could be.

Once inside the base, Ghost grabs your arm without warning, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Ghost, what the hell—?” you start, but he doesn’t let go.

You’re about to say something, but the words die in your throat. It’s not until you reach his room that he stops and turns to face you, eyes hard as he surveys your face.

“Take off your shirt,” he orders, voice rough, brows drawn in frustration.

Your heart skips a beat, and your stomach drops. You freeze for a second, not understanding, trying to make sense of his words, but it’s clear he’s not going to back down.

“You heard me,” he growls. “Off. Now.”

You stand there, blinking in shock, your mind struggling to process his demand. “What?” you sputter, cheeks flaring as the words sink in.

His gaze doesn't waver, not even a flicker of understanding or amusement. “The wound on your back. Take off your shirt so I can see it properly.”

“Oh.” You blink, realizing what he actually meant, and feel the embarrassment rush in, hotter and sharper than you’d expected. “Right. Of course. The… wound.”

Despite your best efforts to keep it casual, your hands fumble at the hem of your shirt, and you can't ignore the faint, traitorous flush creeping up your neck. Ghost doesn't seem to notice—or if he does, he shows no sign of it, his focus locked on the matter at hand.

But the command still makes you tense. You feel your cheeks flush, your breath hitching in your throat as your mind races. You’re caught between being embarrassed and feeling the sting of humiliation. You haven’t let anyone see you like this—vulnerable, injured, exposed. And now Ghost is making you do it.

You look up at him, and there’s no softness in his eyes. He just stares at you with a hard, unrelenting gaze, waiting for you to comply.

“Do it,” he repeats, and his voice is a little tense this time, almost like a command for your own good.

Reluctantly, you pull your shirt over your head, revealing the fabric of your bra. The cool air of the room hits your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how exposed you are, how vulnerable it makes you feel. Your breath hitches, and you quickly turn your back to him, feeling the heat rise to your face.

“Just… patch it up,” you murmur, trying to make the moment less awkward. The thought of standing there, half-undressed, feels like a lifetime of embarrassment.

Ghost stays silent for a long beat. When he speaks again, his voice is low, almost measured, as if trying to hold back some frustration.

“You’re a bloody idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no anger in his tone now, just a soft edge of concern that you wouldn’t have expected from him. “You push yourself too far. Didn’t I warn you?”

You feel your heart race in your chest, not from fear but from something else—something that’s hard to place. Maybe it’s his words or maybe it’s the vulnerability of the moment, but it makes you feel more exposed than you ever have before.

“Ghost, I—”

He cuts you off, gently moving to stand behind you. You feel his hands near your shoulder, and you tense instinctively, but he doesn’t make any sudden moves. Instead, his fingers hover just over the wound.

“Don’t make me regret letting you keep going like this,” he says, his voice softer now. There’s no anger, no frustration—just something else. Almost an apology without the words. It makes your breath catch. “You saved me back there, and I…”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t finish his sentence. The silence in the room stretches, thick with something you don’t quite understand. Ghost’s hands move to gently tend to the wound on your back, the pressure light as he dabs at the injury, cleaning it carefully. It stings, but you don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

As Ghost finishes cleaning around the wound, his hand stills for a moment, lingering against your shoulder. His gloved fingers trace gently over the outline of the injury, almost as if he’s memorizing the line of it, and the silence stretches between you, deep and drawn out. Your breath hitches, the tenderness in his touch starkly at odds with the fury he showed earlier. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before—one that feels cautious, almost hesitant, and something deep inside you stirs—a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and uncharacteristically solemn. “Thanks,” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His fingers linger a fraction longer, tracing the area surrounding the wound with a kind of reverence that surprises you. “For what you did back there.”

The words hang in the air between you, raw and genuine. You can tell it costs him something to say it, to admit he appreciates what you’ve done—even if he hates the risks you took. You swallow, feeling an unexpected warmth settle in your chest at his words. It’s rare to hear him offer any gratitude, and the vulnerability in his tone catches you off guard.

“I… didn’t do it to impress you,” you reply, voice steady but soft.

Another silence falls, more loaded this time. His hand shifts slightly, his thumb barely brushing against the edge of your shoulder blade, and the gentleness in the touch has your pulse racing despite yourself. He seems to be struggling with something—some inner hesitation that makes his grip falter, his fingers tensing slightly against your skin.

“Still,” he murmurs after a long pause, his voice so quiet you barely catch it, “you don’t have to do it like that. Don’t throw yourself in harm’s way just because of me.”

“If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same, I hope," you reply quietly.

Ghost’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t deny it. He lets out a slow, measured breath, his fingers lingering on your shoulder one last time before he pulls his hand back, the warmth of his touch disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Doesn’t make it any easier to watch, though,” he says, almost to himself, his tone somewhere between exasperation and resignation.

The two of you stand there in silence for a beat longer, the unuttered words between you thickening the air, and for once, neither of you breaks it. 

For the first time since you two met, you feel like you're beginning to understand the kind of person he is.

[navstuffs]

A moment forever ago

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: In an elevator, a moment forever ago, Leon might have found the love of his life. But it was over forever ago.

Warning tags: SONGFIC, PAIN PAIN, ANGST, hurt/some/no comfort, in italics are the song lyrics, happens during an elevator ride, love in first sight

Author's Notes: song fic 100% based on A Moment Forever Ago from the show called Central Park. my recommendation? you should read this fic as you listen to the music that inspired! every time i write angst fanfic i wonder if im going to outdo myself (creep, emptiness, ghost of you, the tragedy of leon s. kennedy) and honestly, i always try to break everyone's heart. you be the judge if i did it worse (or better)!

my leon's masterlist

It is hard to say if love at first sight exists. Some say it is pure bull, a stupid idea, whereas romantics try to find theirs on every street corner of a supermarket aisle. Leon Kennedy is neither of those. He doesn't have time for the whole arrangement of being a couple and ardently in love with someone.

He was probably destined to end it alone, which was a better deal for everyone, especially himself. But life happens to everyone, and even Agent Kennedy isn't immune to that.

"There was a moment forever ago

That keeps me up on quiet nights

And flickers like a pilot light"

It happens during a stupid elevator ride, during which nothing important ever happens. Leon is on the 28th floor of a hotel, returning from another exhausting mission, thinking when it is finally time to give up, change his name, and run away to some forgotten island in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find him. He could change his name to Lucius Kelly. He would let his hair and beard grow, live peacefully with a farm and tons of chickens and pigs, and never return to the city, instead drinking coconut water and getting tanned the whole day.

The elevator door opens, and Leon finds himself face-to-face with you. You stand in the middle of the elevator, more to the left, not lifting your eyes as he enters. You are too focused on your thoughts, in a distant point of this reality. Leon stands on your other side, trying to give you the privacy not to stare, but he looks at you again with a sudden interest.

Staring at a fixated point in the elevator's doors, not acknowledging his presence. You don't seem the kind who will strike up a conversation or ask about the weather, nothing like that, which generally Leon didn't like. With a blank expression, you stare at the doors, which shouldn't intrigue Leon as much, but it does.

There is just something about you, and he can't quite place it.

The elevator bell dings and Leon's attention is momentarily drawn to a businessman walking in, ignoring both of you and standing near the door, too busy on his phone closing deals. When Leon quickly gives you a look, he glimpses your head, quickly turning to the wall on your side. As if you are caught staring back at him, too.

"A moment forever ago

That makes me wait through memories"

You are probably thinking he is a creep, Leon thinks. Exemplar behavior from a US agent, Mr. Kennedy, goggling at someone like that. But he can't help himself to look again, noticing you playing with the sleeve of your hoodie, a slight movement to someone who isn't paying enough attention. But Leon is. He figures it is a tiny nervous tick you develop to cope with stressful situations. You are enigmatic, ordinary to common eyes, but not to him. Beautiful in your own way. The elevator's door opens again, and a couple walks in, smiling and occupying the space in front of Leon. Leon gives them extra space, bumping his arm against yours. He quickly apologizes, but you don't seem to care, simply looking at your shoes. 

"But when I look back, all that I can find

Is that moment forever ago

Was it over forever ago?"

Elevator rides shouldn't take more than two or three minutes, but this one is surely taking longer than it should. More people enter the elevator (was there a convention of some sort in this place?), causing Leon's body to get closer to yours, his arm touching yours. He no longer apologizes, maintaining his eye on the door, hoping it can open. That's when he feels the light brush on the palm of his hand.

"Now that moment forever ago

Is home to more than one regret

A recurring sad vignette"

Or was it all his imagination? Maybe just a phantom feeling of a warm touch, a deep desire from his chest. It had to be your touch; it had to be because no one else was so close to him right now. Feeling his face burn and acting like his young self, Leon is ready to listen to your apology that never comes. He looks at you sideways, but still no reaction. He can't figure out your expression. It could have been just a figment of his imagination, desperate for human comfort. Jesus, Leon is miserable. Pitiful, an idiot.

It is the 10th floor now, and Leon suddenly sees himself asking for your name. Your phone number. He imagines your voice, the sound of your laugh. What are your hobbies, your passions, your favorite songs? The one you scream so loud from the bottom of your heart, the one who makes you cry like a baby. Leon sees him wanting something for the first time in his miserable life since Raccoon City, something that could change his life, something that only he, Leon Kennedy, could have. Something that could be his and only his.

"And that moment has taught me to know

That I can't let this one slip by me"

The elevator door suddenly dings again, and everyone starts leaving, you and Leon are the last ones. You give him a quick look as he stands his arm, letting you pass, and you exit as he follows right behind you. As Leon directs to the reception, you walk toward the exit, side by side arms brushing each other, a way to prolong this moment as long as you can. When it's finally time to depart, you look at him straight into his eyes. 

"I—" His "I" comes out so soft, so low you could pretend not to hear it.

Silence. No word comes out of your mouth, and no word comes out of his mouth. There is no one around you two. The world stops spinning, just you and him, and he can't bring himself to speak, as do you. A long moment passes, during which Leon waits for you to say something, anything, and you wait for the same. Leon wonders if you are imagining your future with him, as he imagines his with you. And Leon knows you do the same because your eyes are getting wet, and you finally stop playing with your shirt sleeve.

The moment passes, and you turn around, leaving the hotel, not looking back.

Leon doesn't follow you. He watches as you leave; probably the last time he will see you. He knows he shouldn't drag anyone into his life, his mess. Leon sighs. Maybe the romantic idiots aren't such idiots, and love at first sight could exist, who knows? Perhaps he isn't so cursed at all, he realizes with a tiny hint of a smile, walking towards the reception to check out. Because if it happens once, it could happen again, right?

"Or else it's sure to also be

A moment forever ago"

[sulumuns-dootah]

8. 10. Cosplay - Paimon

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

    ༺☆༻

“Y/N~! Come outtt!” the cheery demon calls out to you over the curtain, separating you from them and the rest of the shoppers prying eyes. All the nobles in Gehenna got invited to a Halloween costume party that Satan decided to throw. So far you knew what Ppyong, Zagan and Amy will wear, but your own costume was still a mystery to you. Or at least it was, until Paimon came along and insisted that the two of you go in a matching costume.

So now you're in a slightly decrepit changing room – if you could even call it a room. Everything in the store seems makeshift last-minute. The mirror is cracked in a few spots and at first, you felt a bit uneasy, that someone might be filming you from the other side, but then again, the lighting above you is so bad you can barely see yourself clearly in the mirror so the camera would have even harder time.

“I-I'm not sure about this one, Pai...” you call back. The store seems to specialise in more adult versions of the many costumes out there. You've yet to see on the racks a set which doesn't include something made out of lace or reveal a bit too much.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you can't help but feel a bit too exposed to your comfort. Paimon suggested you two wear some new models, inspired by what's popular in the human world. Out of the few options, the colorful demon chose a green, ivy-covered lace bodysuit, clearly inspired by Poison Ivy. To match yours, they picked out the Harley Quinn one, whose tag even specified it's inspired by 'Vultures of Food'.

Taking a deep breath, you slide the heavy, dusty curtain aside to see Paimon excitedly wait for you. As soon as you're in their view, you can see their colorful eyes scan over your whole form, from the green knee-high boots to the most crucial spots covered by ivy leaves, wrapping all around your curves.

“Awww... Y/N~, there's no reason to be shyyy! You look amazinggg!” they light up even more and start bouncing on their feet, the fringe on their tiny coat making them look like a cheerleader. Maybe that's what you need, actually – a cheerleader.

“Are you sure? I-it's kinda out of my comfort zone.” you can't help but feel weird. Even just standing in the store makes you feel exposed and oogled at.

“Serouslyyy... You look good! Maybe you need a bit more convincingggg?” the bright demon giggles and pushes you back further into the changing room until your back hits the mirror. As soon as the disgusting curtain is drawn back behind the two of you, Paimon's lips are on yours and their hands are roaming – adoring – your natural curves and how the delicate fabric feels against your body.

    ༺☆༻

Shhh... The prompt for tomorrow is Rewards ^^

[inkyu]

Do you have any old art or comics you gave up on?

I have been given the power to go on a super yap... :happy: :happy: :happy:

I have a lot of stories I gave up on because I had too many (20 if I recall right), but the ones I've kept/survived from my middle school story purge were Two Over A Kind, and Shadow Killed. However I have other stories that came after those two after I entered high school such as Mandela's Requiem, Backyard Thursday, Never So Norm, Collidests, and Rose Burnt, (yes I have a lot of stories, but they're not lore heavy so they might seem short/fast)

Although the only official rendition of a comic out right now would be Mandela's Requiem but I want to re-draw it in a different format similar to my ask blog @ask-the-druggieverse and what Homestuck uses because it's easier and I can gather all the images I draw and upload it YouTube for people to read

As for old art? oh geez I have a LOT of old art....

I'll put it under a read more and separate them by year U_U

Also blood warning (gore maybe too? not sure what to label it-) and huge and tiny spoilers for Mandela's requiem!!! (I just felt very proud of those drawings and I also can't help myself but show the future plans I have for MR's story!!) (and also characters that will appear in MR's epilogues!)

Part 2 Post

(Also if you see this in a fandom tag I.E Undertale, The Last Dimension.... Dream SMP. (neutral) then that's why (This was back in 2020 and I was still in 7th-8th grade at this time (I'm a senior right now) so don't judge me(I only drew beeduo and Michael so don't worry it's not those creature (IYKYK)))

(And no, I don't plan on drawing any DSMP in the near future, maybe if requested and the person isn't problematic (I.E Ranboo, Tubbo etc etc) however for the problomatic ones they will get heavy re-design/name change so they don't resemble their og character/persona to seperate the two more because I don't like looking at them knowing what they did. (Especially C!Wilbur, I view him looking different/being named something else)) (sorry if I keep yapping about this I know people hate the DSMP so much and I don't want to get attacked again (I've been attacked before in the past for liking it back in 2021-2022 on my old TT account (deactivated, my current TT account is dead and I never want to return to TT again.) so just mentioning DSMP on my main blog scares me a bit I hope you understand!))

2025 (Hey!! this Year!! :D)

some of these you've seen I'm guessing, I haven't drawn a lot of stuff yet but it's still the first month of 2025 ^w^, as for the first image It's still a W.I.P as there's other batches I need to complete! (If you wanna see them feel free to ask) I'm also gonna change it so that Cream is the son of Nicecream guy because when designing Cream I had the intentions of him being an OC and not an AU, Nicecream guy legit had 0 part to play when making him

Same goes for Hamburg, Calliope, and Basil as they're based of existing OC's mainly and not undertale OC's when they were supposed to (crazy)

Image Order:

1st: Fiddletale mini batch No.3

2nd: A Backyard Thursday trio!

3rd: Consent!Sans

4th: An ATDV Panel

5th: Someone needed help drawing beards so I made a ref to help U_U

2024

None of these I bet anyone has seen unless they're in discord servers I'm in

Anywhos, these are mostly oc's and 1 MAU I've talked about before (slice of pie verse)

Image Order

1st: My first drawing of 2024!! it's for my my OC story "Never So Norm" I was trying to find a design for Aliza AKA Ty's mom!, I'm gonna re-deisgn her again later because I don't see her as skinny anymore but a little more chubby U_U

2nd: Mandela's Requiem's epilogue characters! for any creepypasta fans out there yes... MR is like super/heavily inspired off of CRP characters, plus Ben Drowned was free game sense no one owned him (Nintendo technically own's this character legally but hey, fuck it we ball), and as for Casey I think you can guess who she's a walmart version of (Rina is completely original, I only added the "the killer" part cuz I thought it would be silly)

3rd: Backyard Thursday god silhouette list! I haven't fully drawn them out and needed some silhouette's to see how they would all look like!

4th: Mandela's Requiem epilogue Chester character sheet! I haven't touched this specific character sheet in a LONG time and need to come back to it as this story is one of the very few stories that has a small cast of characters to work on!!

5th: Slice Of Pieverse unified!Nightmare hehe ^w^ tiny spoilers: In SOPV fusion is a thing after the calamity happened (it's a split timeline of Underverse where Bill!Sans is a bit more important) although this isn't a "fusion" form, families (either blood related or adopted) don't fuse, they unify (essentially they can use each others abilities/their abilities become stronger)

2023 (oh geez, the in-between era of my old and current style..)

All of these are oc's (that includes the DGRP oc)

Image Order

1st: MY SILLIES FROM TWO OVER A KIND!!! ILY GUYS SMMM The main character isn't there but eh, these were re-designs ish as some of them changed from being half-vampire to full human (Duke & Jackey) and some just needed color palate changes or design changes (David & Luu)

2nd: I think my 3rd or 5th attempt at lineless? I don't know but I remember struggling a lot to do lineless so I just kinda just gave up, but hey! Look at me now! I really love lineless art now!!

3rd: My Danganronpa OC Yaku Unmei (or just Unmei) for a cancelled DGRP roleplay (I do not support the creator of the old roleplay. She intentionally or not has groomed minors into being desensitized to NSFW (I was already desensitized to it from the past but it's still fucked up) and wrote proship stuff.(I don't fucking care if it was for "accuracy" that shit was clearly a fetish. I can't believe your friends made me think for a second you weren't a groomer all because you have autism that's fucking insane.)) On a different note because I'm still not over that whole situation and person. (trauma response sorry) Unmei while being the ultimate unlucky student is one of the survivors of the killing game! If it was still ongoing... now she's just a DGRP OC that I might implement into one of my main stories

4th: More Never So Norm doodles! This time of beta-Terezi and Samy interacting! not too proud of how I drew Samy but hey... this is the inbetween era... :3

5th: Our lord and savior Jake Murdalinn who's also from Never So Norm, I love you Jake Murdalinn, my favorite ghost hunter and SFX crew guy

2022 (oh man the nostalgia is kicking in guys) (this folder and before it are so disorganized I cannot tell you which drawing I did after my first one in order U_U)

Oh geez... t h a t e r a... the era where I would just create create create and procrastinate a lot, I'm thankful for all of the characters that came out of it though

Image Order

1st: my Frist drawing of 2022, aka my OC 0-Riguren or Origuren (twas my mash mash words = name era as well), he's from TOAK (and needs a HEAVY re-design and STAT.)

2nd: Fanart of Phillip from the last dimension on webtoon! Also tiny fun fact! Phillip was the other inspiration for my OC Danny (I haven't drawn him yet but I have an idea) (Although the main inspiration was yet again, Karkat Vantas (Homestuck is one of my special interests so I have a lot of stuff inspired from Homestuck))

3rd: a TOAK height chart line up, and my second time trying to make one! my first time was.... augh... heavy note on making a height chart, there are going to be a lot of characters being similar in height and there's no need to worry about that (I worried about it my first time around...)

4th: Ah yes, Fiddletale... and.... Bartertale. (NOTE: Barter is no longer a sans or an AU, he's just an OC that's in BT along with Fiddle(long story but after Fiddletale ends It's no longer an AU however people can still claim it as an AU IDC bc everyone's gonna get re-designs for BT so essentially they're separate characters in a way)), some changes between Bartertale!Barter and Backyard Thursday!Barter: AU: Cis Man, A Sans, Skeleton, Out!Code BT: Trans Man, Half-Human Half-Skeleton no undertale involved, just a regular citizen trapped in a country in a forever winter Also Fiddle and Barter are husbands in BT <3

5th: The very first drawing I've done for Collideists... Also fun fact: This story would have never been made if I never joined an event in a discord server I'm in where everyone was making these species called "Shadow Creatures" I chipped in and created a "Light Creature" concept and things went on from there

2021 (OH HELL NAW JIGSAW GO BACK GO BAAACK :sob: :pray:)

Do you SEE how different my style was back in 2021!? oh lord... I'm like- super proud of my development... heh...

Image Order

1st: Amari Feng, She's from my given up story called "A Fantasized Beginning", I gave up on this story because I had too many stories and this one just had too much stuff going on (In short: It's basically RWBY and MHA mixed into one, kids go to school to become pro-hero's in outer-space because an evil group known as "the dark entropy" were colonizing/taking over planets and the heros had no idea how they kept doing it, and then BOOM!!! PLOT FUCKING TWIST!!! the number 1 pro-hero was the one conducting the evil groups plans all along and the hero get's stopepd by the MC's, although the colonizing and taking over doesn't stop as more villains pop up and hero's continue being hero's but this time the hero's have a easier time saving everyone) I made this story when I was in middle school along with many others, although after I did my story purge the only two stories that survived were Shadow Killed and Two Over A Kind (TOAK had a massive story overhaul and is not like it's OG plotline) I don't have plans to go back to this story, however I might if I complete all of my stories before I die, which I'm sure I will because I'm shortening a lot of them, and if I do I will DEF shorten AFB by a lot because middle school me planned like 16 something seasons (jesus.) (Also Amari was not the MC but an antagonist that later becomes an MC and was heavily inspired off of Himiko Toga(Can you tell?))

2nd: Heh... My first attempt at lineless art.... This is also back when Blipthyn was blue and was named Blueprint, I do not like TOAK's 5th rendition of a story as I was going through a hard time and heavily trauma dumped the shit out of that specific rendition of TOAK and just scrapped a lot of it, only a few things I liked survived in the current 6th? 7th? version of the story and I plan to keep it that way unless it becomes too long in my eyes

3rd: THE CTT!!! CHAOS TIME TRIO!!! Also my fist art/was around the time I met my friends Keter and Geno in the lunime discord server! we all loved undertale at this time and formed this group, a lot of things changed about each character so these are their old/beta designs, however this piece still has a place in my heart because of how special it is to me :hearts:

4th: I'm gonna be for real with you I have no fucking clue who this was for These aren't my characters nor do I remember the person who created these OC's, I do know I was very proud of this drawing because I made the other person super happy, I just dunno who it was so if by any chance you're the creator of these characters hi!!! :3

5th: Heh... Hello Swap <3 ILY <3

????-2020 (I don't know if all of this art was from 2020, all I know is that I shoved a bunch of art in this folder because I didn't wanna loose it XP) (also this only has 4 because I reached the 30 image limit so I will make a part 2 of my yap session U_U)

HEAVY NOTE: I do not support the problematic creators of the DSMP. I am a firm believer in separating the art from artist(s) to an extent. If both the art and Artist are problematic they can't be separated (I.E TCOAAL(I hate this game and creator.))

I do not support Dream, Wilbur Soot, ETC ETC, Even though I don't talk about the DSMP on this blog often I will refer to the roleplay characters with different names to help further separate the RP characters and person I.E: Wilbur: Wynter(Or Winter)(Sorry but ever sense the Shelby stuff my brain magically imagined a different guy in C!Wilbur's place)(i'm being so fucking fr rn, every time someone mentions C!Wilbur I think of someone different same goes for the others too), Dream: Delusion and Ambition(For DreamXD), George: Cogs ETC ETC (In fact I encourage anyone still in the DSMP fandom to do the same cuz Dream is getting a little too close to his DSMP character rn...)

Image Order

1st: Laim! he's also from another cancelled story called 12-15-22-5, or also known as 12-15-22-5 Project: Life this story was a romance between a resurrected angel heading and a human, the resurrected angel's goal from the company he was revived from was to find a way to break someone's heart/love to the point of dying so that they could kill a god (for some reason?? my middle school self never really specified why) However things backfire as the resurrected Angel falls in love with the love interest (heh... not straight BTW...) and other resurrected angels are sent after him and his friends because it'll "sabotage" their plan, I never planned an ending for this story but I do remember that this story was inspired off of HXH and Four Leaf on webtoon

2nd: I'm gonna be so fr I don't know why I made this character (his name is Phrog)

3rd: Ian and Damien's first ever design <33 And also Shadow Killed's first ever concept art! their designs have been changed by now so yeah :(, in fact this art was made back when I was beginning to feel happy again, although that died out because Middle School was super rough for me.

4th: Ah yes.... DSMP.... Beeduo.... and... MICHEAL!!! (This was back when the DSMP was at it's prime from my knowledge... augh...) I'm gonna so fr with you I never saw Michael (Beeduo's adopted child) as white I'm so sorry, I always viewed Michael as black I don't know why I did I just did XP, no hate to anyone who views Michael as white, I just never saw it myself This isn't ship art btw. You will be blocked if tagged as ship. (Not Threatening/Serious)

Part 2 Soon (Mainly for the comics because I reached the photo limit and I wanna show some old comic panels now :( )

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Who warms your soul

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 21

Prompt: Snow

Rated: M

CW: nudity, sexual innuendo; monsterfucking (implied)

Tags: Fantasy AU; King!Steve; Dragon!Eddie; established relationship; soul bond; bathing together

Notes: Set in the same universe as Hic sunt dracones.

🎶⛄Do you wanna see a snow dragon?🎶⛄ And also Steve in a cozy poncho and gorgeous winter berry crown??? The amazing @house-of-the-moving-image has you covered. Give them some love, I adore them!!!

Winters in the kingdom of Hawkins are harsh - especially around the solstice, when the nights are longest and the sun a pale and weak thing. Whoever can stay inside does, huddling close to the fireplaces. 

Which is why one morning, some five months into his reign as king, Steve is surprised to wake up to voices and laughter wafting up from the castle grounds. His first thought as he pokes his head from the blankets is that it's way too bright outside, and for one panicked moment he thinks he overslept. Then his vision swims into focus and it clicks. 

"Snow!" 

He rushes over to the balcony, but it's covered in a thin white blanket and he flinches back as soon as his naked toes make contact. Down in the courtyard, a small crowd is already gathering, scooping up snowballs. 

Steve whips around, smile wide and giddy.

"Eddie, look, it snowed!" 

Dark eyes glare back at him from under a cocoon of furs and blankets. A black, scaled tail is poking out at the other end, swishing annoyedly. 

"Beautiful," his mate deadpans. "Fantastic, even. Now come back here." 

The laugh that has been building in Steve's chest bubbles out. 

"Aw," he coos, crawls back into the nest and peels the blankets from Eddie’s face. "Is the big, bad dragon scared of a little snow?"

"'m not scared," Eddie reluctantly lets himself be coaxed from the nest with kisses and caresses. "Don't like it. It's just frozen water, what's so great about it? It's cold, wet, sticky, it gets everywhere…"

"Clothes might help with that."

Eddie scowls at him. Steve can feel how their soul bond quivers with his own mirth. Finally, his dragon groans. 

"You really wanna go out there, don't you?" 

Steve is already shrugging into his warmest clothes. 

"Yup. There's always a big snowball fight on the first day of snow. I was never allowed, but this year I'm so in!" 

"Shame your parents are dead," Eddie grumbles as he trails after him into the castle halls. "I feel like killing them all over again, simply for putting me through this." 

*

They've hardly entered the courtyard when the first snowball bursts against the side of Steve’s head. He yelps and laughs while bits of it get stuck in his hair and under his collar. Eddie actually hisses and shrinks back against the wall, where Joyce is watching the mayhem with a fond smile. Steve gapes at him in mock-affront, but whips around when another projectile hits his back. 

"Got him," Dustin cheers from somewhere, then ducks for cover behind the nearest wall.

"Oh, you're dead," Steve growls, grabbing a fistful of snow as he goes. His fingers sting and go numb with it. It feels glorious. Like freedom and being alive.

"Yeah?" Robin pokes her head out from a snow palisade. Her face is flushed, eyes manic with glee. "You'll have to get us first, dingus!" 

The kids shriek and wrestle her back to safety. Her smile is so wide it looks painful, and his heart swells with the knowledge that it matches his own. He loves her, loves all of them so fucking much. He's grateful every day to have them all here. Safe and warm and together. 

Home. 

His gaze flies across the courtyard, guided by the invisible tether that is the bond. Eddie is talking about something or other with Joyce, wings furled tightly around himself, shoulders drawn almost to his ears - but when their gazes lock, his eyes light up and the connection glows with warmth, in spite of the cold.

And then another snowball hits him in the chest and he spends the better part of the morning chasing Robin around the courtyard to get his revenge. 

*

"You want me to what?"

Eddie wrinkles his nose at the steaming water like it's something gross. 

Steve laughs and splashes him with his foot. 

"Come in with me. Nothing like a nice, hot bath after a snowy day. It'll chase the cold right from your bones." 

Eddie bristles. "I'm a dragon, I don't get cold bones. What does that even mean?" 

"You sure?" Steve cocks an eyebrow and stretches, lets the candlelight glisten of wet, flushed skin. Eddie’s eyes flash gold and the bond shivers with desire. "Because right now, you seem more like a disgruntled cat, getting scared of a little-" 

He doesn’t get any further. There's a snarl, and a splash, and then he's faintly aware of water sloshing to the floor as he's crowded against the wall of the tub and kissed breathless. 

They stay like that for a while, trading breath and touch and whispers, and Eddie actually lets himself be wrestled into position for a backrub. Steve grins as he starts to purr softly. He really is like an oversized cat, sometimes.

"'m not." 

Steve chuckles, hands wandering down, to the scar tissue at the base of his dragon's tail. Eddie shudders and melts into the touch.

"Good?"

A blissful huff, bodies slotting together in the hot water. "Always so good to me, my king." 

Steve sighs, rests his forehead against a scaled shoulder. 

“Thank you.” 

For finding me, for saving me. For the sacrifices you make for me. For putting up with the dark and the wet and the cold, all for my sake.

Eddie hums and twists around so that he can pull Steve into his lap.

“You were the one who found me though, my love. And what’s a bit of snow when you get to be with the one who warms your soul?”

Steve is about to protest, but Eddie kisses the bite mark on his shoulder, and his hands slide down, and he forgets what he was going to say.

“And now,” his dragon mumbles over the sound of his first moan, “let’s get you out of this tub and into our nest. I can think of a million other ways to chase the cold from your bones.” 

I've always hc'd dragon Eddie as hating snow. 😅 This is before he re-learns how to fly - in the winters after, he defo snatches Steve off to somewhere warmer for a few days at least. 💕

All my holiday drabbles