#Prompt 1: Rot

[an-albino-pinetree]

LETS GET THIS PARTY STARTEEEED 🎃🍂🕷️🐈‍⬛💀🕸️🦴👁️🫀🩸💜🍬

Happy Spooky Month!! We’re kicking things off really easy, with a simple zombified Jax doodle :]

@etanow Alternate reality, where Jax was the zombie and Pomni was the scientist >>

[thegreatyin]

i don't think veils and candles were necessarily partners in the romantic sense but i do think the fact they were close is undeniable. but also i don't think it's quite as simple as friendship. or really even anything in-between those two extremes. but also DEFINITELY somewhere in-between those two extremes. but also Not. i think veils regrets nothing but is also haunted™ by everything. i think they're doomed yaoi but like in an especially fucked up and particularly evil way. i think candles walked around always dressed up in the finest silks and veils was often spotted prying wax off its claws. i think the vake sometimes brought its prey home and their fat was used to light candlefire. i think if iron was his knight veils was his casted shadow. i think candles' absence is a very deep very bloody very rancorous hole in veils' heart that it tries to ignore, fill, or replace, but the hunger remains nonetheless. i think candles thought he understood it. i think veils knew he never did. they embraced before he rose and they will never embrace again.

but also this is all over a guy who looked like This, so, y'know, maybe eaten is just upset he lost his good looks in the cannibalism and he really needs to get over it already

the god-eaters said they'd take a little. and they did. they did take a little. it's just that he's tiny and "a little" by normal curator body measurements translates to "his entire fucking body". this is the truth fbg doesn't want you to know-

[cyber-phobia]

future au where Hagakure has the most successful arrests out of the new age of heroes because of how effectively she uses invincibility

[wiredaughter]

@tropetember #11: office au

Sincerely, Adam ⛧

supernatural ⛧ adam milligan/michael ⛧ au: email support ⛧ fluff ⛧ the ten plagues ⛧ communication ⛧ words: 1878 ⛧ ao3!!

Given that he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to college with an archangel on his back, Adam really should have known trying to get a regular 9 to 5:00 was wishful thinking at best. Still, they gave it their best; checking online sites and yellow pages at the local library until he got a call back, and then an interview. A successful one too. It wasn't really anything to write home about, if either of them had at home at the moment, but it gave him a feeling of accomplishment all the same. All he'd have to do was answer some support emails for a delivery app. Granted, thanks to his 10-year stint in hell he wasn't quite familiar with any of it, but he was a quick learner and he got to catch up just in time for his first day.

Feeling Michael hum with trepidation towards the back of his head, he got off the bus and into the building, took the lift and stopped to get some coffee before going to his work station. The job was actually as easy as advertised and, even though he knew he'd have to get used to spending eight hours sitting down, it seemed like a good bargain for the skill set versus Pay ratio. And then he received the email.

The first thing that got his attention was that the text was all in bright yellow, which made it difficult to read but he highlighted it, and so he got to read a tirade against him, or whoever got it assigned really, the department manager and the company in general. No matter. Adam knew what to do. He copied and pasted the feedback spiel, changed a couple of words for simpler synonyms, then sent it back with his automated signature at the end: sincerely, Adam.

His manager did a sweep shortly after, congratulating the new hires on their handle times, then took them for a group debrief in the meeting room. All in all, it was a busy day and Adam got Michael's earlier nerves out of his mind. That is, until he found himself alone in the cafeteria later that day, and he saw his own email flash in front of his eyes. It loaded on an old desktop computer, a cube really, like he'd used for his schoolwork before the cage. That was weird enough. Then, he saw a fly plane across the room. Two more, three, five more. How many flies could you tolerate in a room before you started swatting them? He turned now towards the occupant of the room, who seemed just as bewildered by their presence as him, and let out a horrified bellow. The flies only continued to multiply to the horror of the older, bigger man he supposed was his yellow font correspondent.

'Hey, blondie!' Someone was snapping with sharp, dark nails in front of his face. 'Man, we've gotta go back in like a minute.'

Right. His break must be almost over. He shook his head and gave a smile to the girl who'd saved him a reprimand on his first day. 'Thanks, Ramona'

Michael helpfully supplied him her name, but Adam had a feeling he was only trying to distract him from the bigger issue at hand. He decided to address it when they got back home. After all, he had deadlines and targets to meet. And an email in all caps, saying something about a refund or other and then wildly jumping to the drug addiction he was sure the parents of anyone working for such a company had. Alright then, Adam hummed a Poets of the Fall song he knew Michael liked, hoping to distract him from his screen long enough to review the policies and compose the courteous denial to be issued in these cases. Sincerely, Adam.

He thought he'd succeeded but, this time instantly the scene appeared in front of him. A man in an executive bar, drinking what seemed at least his fourth whiskey of the afternoon while he held his phone close to his face as if to better decipher the meaning of Adam's reply. Suddenly, he sputtered, spilling his drink on the counter and himself, leaving a red stain. Red. The barman was already approaching with an apology and a napkin when the man started screaming and threatening whoever thought it was funny to tamper with his drink so. The employee apologised professionally, promising to look into this situation and poured him another on the house. He stayed around for a couple of seconds while the man looked his glass from every angle to make sure he was in fhe clear and then turned away to serve the other patrons. No use, as soon as his glass was raised to his lips, Adam saw the red bloom through the liquid.

'Psss. Fresh meat.' Adam jumped on his seat, turning to the guy addressing him. Not someone he knew, a cigarette hooked behind an ear and a sardonic expression in his face. 'If you idle on the email it's gonna fuck your handle time six ways to sunday.'

'What?' He was still having trouble focusing on the here and now.

'Your handle time' He sat on the desk, tapping the chronometre in Adam's screen. Shit, it was on six and counting.

'Shit.'

'Shit's right.' He laughed. 'You wanna slack you do it on the policies page, yeah?'

'Yeah, thanks...'

'Trace.'

'Adam.'

'Adam, then, got a light I can borrow?'

Adam was about to apologise when he felt one materialise in his pocket. Michael was being just a tad too helpful today. Regardless, he fished it out and handed it to Trace, who punched the air and thanked him before dashing off.

Adam made himself Focus on the present for the rest of his day. the next time he was interrupted it was only Trace who palmed him in the back before giving him back his lighter and, having realized his previous 'doze off' told him he was actually allowed to bring headphones to work. Adam thanked him, thinking it was actually a good idea and it would give Michael something to do while he was keeping down a job.

There were no other incidents until the end of his shift, when his manager asked to speak with him. Adam For a Moment had the insane feeling that he was about to go down for... what? telepathically making someone drink blood? sending an army of flies to an angry customer's house. Right. Luckily, he only wanted to congratulate him because after reviewing his outbox, he'd noticed he had had a couple difficult interactions, but neither of them had replied afterwards which gave him points for First Time Resolution. He gave him a pin for his badge. Adam smiled dryly, thinking it was probably hard to type back an angry email when you were trying to avoid getting eaten by the bloody flies.

Then he got to the sandwich part of the compliment sandwich, which turned out to be a negative survey. It was apparently on an email he had sent asking for more information about the ordering question, since it was not attached with the previous email. Adam was unfazed, but thought Michael might be interested because he had a keen sense of fairness but he was interestingly quiet. Bad sign. He nodded along as the manager explained there could have been a kinder wan to ask for the data.

He decided to walk back home, rather than taking the bus, but he hadn't covered half a block when he was transported to a studio apartment where a woman was taking a break from an essay by idly tapping on a tablet. Guessing she was the survey author, Adam didn't let himself be fooled by the Tranquility on the atmosphere, and so he heard it before her. The croaking of a frog. Frogs. Frogs in what seemed to be a residential complex. frogs, slowly but exponentially covering the floor until she noticed them. She stood up, her face a mask of disgust. 'Get back!' She demanded, to no avail. She dropped a heavy book on the nearest one, and Adam was still reeling from the wet noise it made when he registered a small hand shaking his arm. He schooled his face into normalcy before turning.

'Adam, right?' Ramona, chewing gum and giving him a quick once over. Adam nodded with a nervous sigh. 'I thought I was the only one with the stones to come in stoned on our first day.' She laughed.

Adam started to deny it, but what did it matter, really. 'Well, you certainly wear it better.'

'It's all practice, garoto. And not crashing ten metres from the entrance door too.' She winked. Then, a heavy motor made her turn around. 'Well, that's my bus. See ya 'round!'

'You let her think you take drugs.'

Michael was at it as soon as the door closed, but Adam wasn't up for it right now. 'Well, it doesn't matter, since there's no way I'm going back now.'

'What?' It didnt escape to him Michae wasn't exactly displeased with the news.

'Not after you killed precisely the three people who weren't nice to me!' He sighed, giving him an incredulous stare, between fed up and loving. 'The ten plagues, Michael, the ten plagues?'

'There were way more people who weren't nice to you. Ten wouldn't have been enough.' Michael stepped forward, completely missing the point. At first, at least. 'And nobody died today.'

Oh. He let himself fall onto the couch. 'Well, good. because you cannot smite anyone who gives me grief for the rest of my natural life.'

'Your life is not natural, Adam. It is for the rest of my- both our lives.'

Right. that's something Adam still forgot about some times. His supposed immortality. When he thought about it, whether he kept the job or not didn't matter. But it also didn't matter however many mean words anyone could fit in an email that wasn't even addressed at him. As if sensing his reticence, Michael pressed his hands on his trapezius, working the tension away. He could have been done without a single touch, but they both preferred thisz and Adam found it helped him re-evaluate the events.

'Alright, the flies were funny.'

Michael hummed, cajoling, pressing his cheek against the human's nape 'And the frogs?'

'Gross.' Adam faked a shiver but raised his hand to pet Michael's hair. 'But the arsehole at the bar probably deserved it too.'

'You like this job.'

'And you really don't'

'There is just saw many better things you could be doing with your time.' Michael straightened, hands firm on Adam's shoulders. 'These people are lowly and...'

'Well, doing this makes me feel like I'm going back to... some sort of... you just wouldn't get it.'

'No. But I get that you care.' he circled the couch, sitting next to Adam who was happy to lean on his shoulder, lace their fingers together. 'I will bring less plagues to the table tomorrow, if you go back.'

'Right. And I'll see if I can change to parttiming. If I go back.'

'Are you going back?'

'I've got, sincerely, no idea.'

[cloudwhisper23]

Oneshot who? I just wanna write oneshots, but apparently this is turning into an AU. How dare it. This was just supposed to be a lil fun thing for the Crying Child, but noooooo, it's gotta be an AU now.

[creativecuteness]

One of a Kind Vamp Chapter 1: Multi-fandom Madness

Summary: A Rainy day at White Chapel is perfect for a lazy day of watching TV and indulging in hobbies with a good friend. Or Dakota wants to know what other interests Rory has other than Sci-fi.

(I know nothing about Star Wars and Star Trek so that's why this chapter doesn't follow the full prompt.)

“Hey, Rory, what are you into?”

Rory’s focus on the TV was shattered as he turned his attention to his best friend, Dakota Natalie. It was a mundane afternoon, a calming rainy day where Rory didn’t feel like leaving the house; not even Benny or Ethan felt like leaving the comfort of their warm beds. deciding today was a perfect lazy Saturday, and for once, Rory agreed peace and quiet was a rarity in Whitechapel. It was insane that the supernatural was living under their noses this entire time, and now that they got a taste of it, it seems it’s became unable to leave them alone—not that he minded. Becoming a vampire was one of the best things that has ever happened to him; however, that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten what it’s like to be normal like today.

Watching TV mindlessly: Check.

Popcorn and other snacks nearby: Check.

A best friend by his side who loves him more than anything: Check.

Dakota recently moved into town a few weeks ago and has become glued to Rory’s side since day one. He was very well aware of the younger girl’s crush on him, and if he was being honest with himself, he was thrilled to finally capture a girl’s heart with his irresistible personality, even if there was a ton the two didn’t know about each other yet.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Dakota, who was lying upside down, righted herself and looked at him. “I asked, What are you into?”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’m a huge Star Trek fan, though Star Wars is pretty cool too.”

“Well, that I know, you and Benny debate about it all the time; I rarely hear you talk about anything else. Surely you have other things you’re into.”

Rory smiled; he knew Dakota wasn’t a sci-fi fan or a Marvel or DC Comics fan. (To be fair, she always gave the blond Magical Girl vibes. He had to ask if she’s a fan of that genre.) But the fact she was interested in knowing what he was into made him grin ear to ear. It felt amazing having a friend who generally cared about his interests, even if she didn’t hold the same opinion.

Sure, Ethan and Benny did care; they’re best friends for a reason; however, they’ve known each other for so long that they know the ins and outs about their hobbies, favorite games, favorite shows, and even music tastes. So, it was nice to indulge in his latest obsessions with someone new, plus he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in the things that caught Dakota’s eye.

“Well, you already know some of my top picks. I love sci-fi, superheroes, comic books, and video games. What else do you want to know?”

“What type of video games are you into? Shoot ‘em ups, RPG’s, racing games?”

“All of the above, really.” Rory replied, “Depends on the theme and controls, and I guess an engaging story helps too. But I’m normally cool with anything that catches my eye. What about you?”

“Well, as you know, I am a huge Kingdom Hearts fan, but I also love the classics like Mario, Kirby, and Pokémon. I never really got into Zelda and don’t like shoot-em-ups. However, I guess I’m like you; I like whatever catches my eye, regardless of genre.”

“What about TV shows? Have you ever engaged in any fandoms?” Rory wondered,

Dakota shook her head. “I lurk around at times and have dabbled in the fanfiction side of things, but I’ve never actively engaged in conversation over it. In fact, I tend to stay away from shows that have toxic fanbases. It ruins the show to the point where I can’t even touch it. As for the types of shows I like, it depends, but I prefer comedies. I hate crying in front of people, so I tend to stay away from anything that might be sad. The same goes for movies.”

“I feel you on the toxic fanbase thing; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten into arguments online over the stupidest things. It’s gotten to the point where I don’t chat on those sites anymore.”

“What about fanfiction?”

Rory tilted his head side to side, “Sort of, I wrote a few self-insert fic’s when I was younger, but I’ve never posted anything. You should see my old stuff; it’s pretty cringe I don’t think I have the skills to write anything better. Plus, all my energy is focused on school right now.” The teenage vampire looked around to make sure his mother wasn’t in earshot and leaned close to whisper, “Not to mention keeping my vampire ninja identity a secret.”

Dakota burst out laughing. She knew how much Rory loved his new quote on quote superpowers; it was fun seeing all the creative ways he could take advantage of them. Not to mention, extremely adorable.

“Hey, do you know what cosplay is?” Rory questioned, forcing Dakota to calm her laughing fit.

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard of it; it’s like dress up but more detailed and expensive; do you do it?”

“No,” he stated simply, “I wish, but money for the material is way too expensive. Plus, with the DIY aspect of it, I could never I can’t even sew.”

“Emily or Cindy could help you with that. Emily’s really good at making clothes, and Cindy’s been known to dabble with it too; she’s great at the finer details, like smaller stitches.”

“Doesn’t Emily hate me?”

“She doesn’t hate you; she just hates the fact I have a crush on you."

“That doesn’t really help, but good to know.”

“Sorry.” She smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t worry about it; hey want to head up to my room and rock out to some music?”

“Sure! Whatchu got?” Dakota sang with a wink,

“Have you heard of the band Single Tear? They’re a heavy metal band I’m super into.”

Dakota grimaced, “Oh, I know them. Emily accidentally blasted one of their songs at three a.m. She was editing her vlog when the headphone wire fell out of the jack. Scared the living daylight out of us. Can’t say I’m a fan.”

And Rory couldn’t blame her in the slightest. “Yeah, their stuff isn’t for everyone. Do you have an artist in mind? I mean, aside from Alvin and the Chipmunks, which I’ll totally listen to if it means I can see more of your dance routines.”

Dakota blushed, feeling touched that Rory was becoming their biggest fan, but there was a different band she had in mind. “There is one band I wouldn’t mind listening to. You ever heard of the band Gorillaz? Emily and I stumbled upon them a while ago, and I’m obsessed. I cannot stop listening to them; they’re so good, man!”

Rory’s eyes lit up. How could he not know them? they were a favorite of his too. “Yeah, I know them; I didn’t think you’d be into that style of music.”

“Honestly, I didn’t either. But they’re so addictive, I can’t stop drumming on my knees whenever I listen to them.”

“Well, what are we doing sitting around here for? Ready to rock?” Rory asked, holding his hand out,

“Am I?! I’m ready to rock roll and lose control, my beloved.” She grinned, taking Rory’s hand, and he led her upstairs.

Sure, the two had different interests and may not have had the most in common, but Dakota never judged him for his geeky hobbies or brushed them off as weird or a waste of time. And for that, Rory was grateful to have such a chill and easy-going bestie.

Not to mention, knowing him better gives Dakota more reasons to add to her ever-growing list as to why she loves him.

[sangunary]

Yandere Batfamily × other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: Your other family are willing to kill to have you... So is your orginal family.

>Part 1< >Part 2<

The world you have left was turned into ruins in a matter of months. Barely any crime in the street of Gotham since the so called hero's were taking that job trying to find you.

The night became more dangerous than ever since they were willing to ruin their prestige reputation to bring back their lost bird.

"Tell me where the fuck they are before I blow your brain into pieces!"

Jason threatens the poor boy with guns against his head ready to pull the trigger if not satisfied.

Amongst the family Jason was taking it the hardest, he was already violent as he was but your sudden disappearance was taking a toll on him...

"I- I don't know anything! I swear... Please just don't kill me please!"

The boy beg as wet tears stream down his cheeks.

Nobody was safe now, their hero's have turned against them.

Even the Justice League were trying to reason with Bruce but he wasn't very willing to hear them screech about what justice was.

He wasn't batman at the moment, he was a father searching for their young one that have gone astray... He wasn't going to loose his precious bird because some freaks in costume tell him to forget.

A father that could not die at peace knowing he practically left his own child to rotting from the inside.

"... Kid you really are getting on my nerves."

Jason threatens as he push the cold end of the gun into his forehead, fingers dangerously close to the trigger.

"I don't know... I promise you... I don't know anything about her... Please..."

The kid's wept harder, their face contorting into one of sorrow and desperate in one frame... Their hands trembling badly as they hold onto Jasons hands as he was holding them by the back of his shirt leaving him off the floor. If the boy weren't to be holding onto the savage man he would he chocking.

"Kids... I have no problem shooting that clown in the head for joking around too much... What makes you think I would treat you any differently?"

Jason voice was loud and clear as the boy just couldn't stop sobbing.

Yes, it is true that the Joker was killed. More than one hand were tainted with blood. The rage of a bird is intense and brutal...

Suddenly the comma began to ring, prompting Jason to drop the kid flat on their ass. As he listened to the signal carefully.

"I have a trace... Everyone at the batcave, fast"

Barbara words were demanding and seem slightly anxious which was never a good sign. Ever since your sudden disappear she could barely get herself to get out of her operation room.

You used to stroll her around all the time and she wouldn't even notice you during those days. She would rather talk to herself than to you and personally asked you to not speak so she won't get agitated. Now she missed you badly.

She have been going through thousand of files, looking through files of anyone who have a criminal records, they don't have to he a major criminal... People who are arrested for playing loud music are also under her watch..

For month's she would send them out to meet specific rodents in hope of finding whoever was responsible for your disappearance. She doesn't always sit behind large tecnology she would also go out and beat some rodents in your name.

Jason was ready to leave but not before he turns back and look at the kid who was sweating profusely... Couldn't even look at his shadow due to fear.

With a bang the kids clenched onto his left leg which was bleeding profusely after Jason shot at it...

"I marked you down so don't ever think of doing anything I won't like. Cause next time your head would be display infront of your family..."

With that said he jump off the building going towards the batcave.

Jason was being extremely out of character even he could see that. He was protective of kid's especially one that reminded of him... Excluding you.

Whenever he saw your face he just can't help but be irritated. You remind him of himself as a kid, your big guilty eyes... How excited you were and all the others... You were just like him.

He shouldn't have taken his anger out on you for being a better version of himself.

He would avoid you like the plague, make your day worse than it had to be and how he made sure you'll never get the mantle.

He hated Tim for replacing him and he despite you for being happy.

He planned for weeks on how to make sure you never get that mantle... which was also a twisted way of getting revenge on Bruce.

He had broken your leg which was on accident. He was aiming for your spine but you moved and he shot at your knees instead.

Although he realised even if he didn't shoot you, you wouldn't inheret the mantle cause you were deemed too 'odd' by your father.

Bruce was originally going to re-home you since you were not fitting for the family, but after Jason shot you Bruce realised he had to take responsibility as his son shot you.

If it were to he anyone outside the family that were to shoot you he would still have re-homed you as soon as possible. So your presence could be swept under the rug faster and alot more efficient.

Inside the cave was gloomy as usual, the lingering smell of iron was strong and the air purifier were working extra hard.

"There's a problem in the multiverse..."

Barbara started.

"Again?"

Dick asked, he was wearing his usual black and blue uniform no red stain yet the strong sense of iron was coming off of him.

"It is unlikely but there is another way..."

They all listen to her patiently, concern about your well being and what kind of dimension you are currently on.

On the flip side, you were just having the best time.

Everybody cherished you, loved you. And you definitely took advantage of that.

Your scare were slowly healing just by being with the right people.

"Aha! Caught ya' birdie!" Before you could even process some words Dick pick you up. You forgot how strong they were since you never interact with your other family.

"This is humiliating get me down!" You struggle but not enough force, he was picking you up like how the monkey from lion king did to Simba.

"Do not fling her across the room! I demand you let her down this instead Richard!" Damian spoke as there he was holding pillows from Tims room.

Duke who just entered the room just look around and sigh, stealing the pillow that Stephanie was resting her head on.

"...Oh so you want war huh? Bring it on yellow ranger" Stephanie with a smirk stood up as she instead reach for the towel which was beside her.

"That's illegal... You have a machine gun and I have a knife? What kind of war is this?"

Before Stephanie could continue somebody throw a pillow with all their strength combined towards her. She stumble and plop down on the couch as she looked at the person.

"That's... what you get for taking my coffee, you witch"

Tim stood confidently near the entrance, his arm crossed as he glare at Stephanie who smiled without any guilt knowing damn well what she did was an unwritten crime in the family. Which nobody follows.

Before Stephanie could throw the remote at him someone else throw a literal a book at him which... unfortunately land at him hard.

"I've always wanted to do that..." Jason spoke as there were more books in his hands. The book's were for children under 4... a nursery book which was given to him by Tim each birthday of his...

Unfortunately the books were thin so it wouldn't hurt him much.

"Hey! that's illegal! Ganging up and using hard material is against the law we made!"

You watched as Stephanie throw a pillow at him, headshot. You couldn't help but feel the warmth crept up your heart and throughout your body.

"I-" "Æ!".

Dick thrown you onto the couch without warning as he was getting ready for war.

"What the fuck, Richard?"

You asked as you rub your back, for being young your back do hurt like it's about to retire already.

"Don't worry little wing... This bird won't hurt you..."

Dick assured you as he picked up a pillow that was laying on the ground.

"You dare to protect me from my blood... You've chosen the wrong blood to messed with..."

Damian dramatically spoke as you couldn't help but be abit entertain. It was like watching a theater kid's role-playing free style during break hour.

"This is like claiming a vulture is related to a Robin... Eitherway birdie you won't live to see that glorious light of victory. Cause I, the gre-"

Before Dick could continue Damian throw an award worthy throw at him, he stood tall and prideful as he look down on the older brother.

"They are worthy of sharing my blood, they woll be recognised as such"

"G-"

Before Tim could finish Damian throw a devastating hurl at him which made Tim to kiss the floor again.

"You should learn to shut that mouth of yours, Timmy"

Jason suddenly decide to give Tim some word of advice but after that he just dropped all the kid's book ontop of Tim.

Stephanie too ended up throwing a blanket which she pulled out of thin air at Tim who was hugging the floor.

Beneath the perly mansion lays a secret, underneath the Wayne manor the batcave was there... Bruce, Alfred, Cass and Barbara all together.

"Cass you will be by their side at all time... We do not know when or whom will come here to take her."

Bruce spoke, his eyes still on the large computer that was set infront of him. The screen show a picture of you, dna, background and alot of personal records.

"Yes, Will protect her. At all cost"

Cass replied, she was still in her usual indoor clothing but it still made her look badass. Barbara who was sitting on her wheelchair gave Cass a quick smile to reassure her that you were going to stay.

"Those alternative version of us clearly made it clear that they won't stop at any cause to have them... They won't be so spoiled here.

Barbara continue as he gave Bruce some files... which documented every single detail of how the glitching worked and your actual family problems.

"How about the rest? We can't just not tell them"

Barbara added another thing on her curiosity list.

"They're well aware, they'll stay her one way or another... And get rid of those ungrateful heros..."

[bi-writes]

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY b's masterlist

MASTERLIST KEY

strikethrough ⏤ work in progress ⭐️ ⏤ personal favorite

ONE-SHOTS

The Lamb Experiment ⏤ undercover!reader (ao3)

mercenary!reader x ex-husband!simon

slasher!ghost

Attached ⏤ zombie apocalypse au (ao3)

One and the Same ⏤ slasher?reader (ao3)

Polarity — dark!ghost x sunshine!reader (ao3)

LIMITED SERIES

Anatomy of Us ⏤ alpha!ghost x omega!reader (ao3) PART 1 ⏤ PART 2 ⏤ PART 3 ⏤ PART 4 (final)

The Arrangement ⏤ arranged-husband!dark!ghost (ao3) ⭐️ PART 1 ⏤ PART 2 ⏤ PART 3

A Hand for a Hand ⏤ knight!arranged-husband!ghost (ao3) A Hand for a Hand ⏤ An Eye for an Eye

Johnny's a Package Deal ⏤ ghoap x reader PART 1 ⏤ PART 2

COLLECTIONS

bestfriend!roommate!simon (hiatus)

mercenary!ghost (ao3) ⭐️

the time rot collection (ao3)

simon's mail-order bride ⏤ arranged-wife!reader (ao3)

DRABBLES + PROMPTS

simon thoughts collection

IMPORTANT NOTES

Not all of my works have every content warning or tag. Read at your own discretion.

You do not have my permission to repost these works or use them elsewhere (ai included).

You can receive notifications when I post something new at @bi-has-written.

[yourownutopia]

Shadowborn [Jin Woo x !Shadow !Fem Reader]

When the Shadow Monarch adds you to his ranks, he has no idea what he's in for. Not only are you uncontrollable, but you also harbor a secret that even the System keeps hidden from him. As he searches for a way to bring you under control, it becomes clear that your existence exposes a flaw in the perfect structure of the shadows—one that no one could have foreseen. Why don’t you yield to his will, and more importantly, why doesn’t the System want you to remember?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Chapter Index :

[Prologue ʰᵉʳᵉ], [1] [2] [3]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Song: Shadowborn - Hiroyuki Sawano

Calm before the storm - It's me they all are coming for Be my shadowborn

We're back to take the pain - My soul is indestructible

I steal you from the grave - So cursed to be a slave

»»———-»--•--«———-««

Enjoy the prologue!

Note: I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes or if I sometimes use incorrect words. Please feel free to send me corrections so I can continue improving my skills! 😊

[Prologue] “Arise.”

The Shadow Monarch’s voice reverberated through the room, deep and commanding, shattering the silence like fragile glass. Clear and resonant, his words echoed off the stone walls, lingering as though the air itself sought to hold onto them. The sound was low and powerful, vibrating faintly, giving the room a brief sense of life before the quiet crept back in.

A translucent window appeared in the air, the oppressive dark aura blanketing the ground retreating like mist. Once again, the extraction had failed. [Soul Extraction failed. 1/3 attempts remaining.]

Jin-Woo’s cold gaze flickered down to the lifeless figure lying on the ground. He exhaled deeply, raising his hand again.

“Is this truly where you wish to meet your end?” he asked, his eyes beginning to glow faintly. His voice was the only thing animating the desolate room. Vines crawled up the cracked stone walls, fractured beams of sunlight piercing through the shattered ceiling above. It looked like an abandoned boss chamber—ancient extinguished torches lined the walls, weapon gouges marred the hard stone—but there was no trace of life to be found. Not even the body before him radiated vitality.

So why couldn’t he extract her shadow?

Had it been too long since this monster’s death? Monsters decayed, yet her body showed no signs of rot. Only the deep lacerations across her skin, the missing heartbeat, and the faint, oppressive aura around her gave away the truth—she was dead.

“What a pitiful end,” he murmured. Jin-Woo didn’t expect a response, but something about her unnerved him enough to speak aloud, as though testing the air for answers.

“Arise,” he commanded once more, his hand tightening into a fist as though he could will her soul to obey.

The black smoke coiled around the lifeless body, intertwining with the tendrils rising from her chest. Slowly, the shadow took shape. Jin-Woo’s lips curled into a victorious smirk as the dark form solidified into the outline of a woman. Her glowing white eyes locked onto nothingness, the telltale mark of a newly risen shadow.

The system window popped up again, prompting for a name. Jin-Woo glanced at his latest recruit, who now knelt before him, one leg folded beneath her and the other bent upright. Her gaze remained forward, never meeting his.

“You belong to my Shadow Army now,” Jin-Woo declared, lowering his hand. “From this day on, you will serve me and obey my commands.”

He pondered briefly, then began typing a name into the prompt. Just as his finger hovered over the “Confirm” button, the window glitched, flickering erratically before closing. The chosen name replaced by another. [Y/N]

“No.”

The voice was so faint it barely registered. Jin-Woo paused, convinced he must have imagined it. Yet, before he could dismiss the notion, the shadows surrounding her physical body dissipated, retreating into the darkness along with the lifeless form on the ground.

“What?” His voice was sharp, his composure slipping for an instant as the word lingered in disbelief.

“No.” The second time was louder, firmer. The shadowy figure began to rise, her form shifting. The darkness coating her crumbled away, replaced by color. Her eyes, once glowing white, now gleamed a vibrant shade of [E/C], locked onto his in defiance. Her hair, [H/C], shimmered with an unnatural vitality, stark against the bleak surroundings.

Jin-Woo’s usually impassive expression flickered with subtle astonishment. A shadow capable of speech? Only Beru had ever displayed such an ability.

He cast his gaze toward the floating information above her:

Name: [Y/N] Level: ???

He couldn’t read her level. And she already had a name.

A tense silence filled the space, his dark aura intensifying until even Igris, his loyal Blood-Red Commander, shivered. Yet, [Y/N] stood unflinching, her jaw tight as she met Jin-Woo’s penetrating stare. Despite the icy dread running down her spine, an unyielding resolve kept her rooted. She refused to kneel.

“I refuse,” she ground out through clenched teeth, watching as the black-haired man’s glowing eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Her voice was thin but steady.

Before she could react, he had grabbed her chin and leaned down toward her; after all, he was a good head taller than she was. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey his dominance. His hands were icy cold. Could shadows even feel such sensations? His face was mere inches from hers, and his piercing gaze sent a cold shiver crawling up her limbs.

[You are forbidden from harming your master.]

The window that briefly popped up caught her eye for a moment before her gaze returned to the Shadow Monarch’s icy stare.

“What was that?” he asked in a deep voice, as though his physical intimidation and the flicker in his glowing eyes could compel her to reconsider her defiance in light of what he was capable of.

“Say that again,” he growled, his tone icy and measured, daring her to reconsider. He was giving her one more chance to retract her initial refusal and do what—at least in his mind—was the only correct thing. [Y/N] stared at him for a moment. Her irritation over the situation gradually gave way to anger, which settled heavily in her chest. Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think she was? ... Who was she?

But there was no time to dwell on that thought, as the Shadow Monarch grew impatient. He made this clear with a brief but painful squeeze of his hand. But her defiance didn’t falter. “I. Refuse.” The words were deliberate, slow, and unwavering.

For the first time, Jin-Woo felt something beyond annoyance—curiosity laced with disbelief. Never had a shadow disobeyed him. His dominion was absolute. So why did she stand so boldly against him?

“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” he said, his voice low as his violet eyes flickered dangerously. “Do you even realize who I am?”

Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “When you’re dead, titles lose their meaning. Honestly, nothing really matters anymore.”

For a fraction of a second, Jin-Woo’s stoic mask slipped. Her words, blunt and logical, were disconcerting. Yet his pride demanded he reassert his authority.

“If you won’t obey me, I have no use for you,” he declared coldly. “I’ll kill you again a second time”

“Go ahead.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her expression challenging. “I have nothing to lose.” Something in her tone—half daring, half resigned—made Jin-Woo hesitate. The tension between them crackled like static, thick enough to choke. Shadows coiled at his feet, thick as ink, creeping toward her like serpents. Yet, as they reached her, they paused, lingering for a moment as though recognizing her as one of their own before retreating.

Even Jin-Woo couldn’t deny what he had just witnessed. Releasing her chin, he let out a heavy sigh, his energy dissipating as the oppressive weight in the room lifted.

This was no ordinary shadow.

The shadows retreated as quickly as they had appeared, his eyes returning to their cool gray, and the immense energy he exuded vanished entirely.

He couldn’t simply let the chance of having a powerful shadow slip away, even if her lack of respect infuriated him to no end. The fact that he couldn’t determine her rank and that she didn’t yield to his will suggested she must be strong.

[Y/N] exhaled in relief; the whole ordeal hadn’t left her unscathed, but she was incredibly fortunate that the black-haired man hadn’t killed her on the spot. Despite her earlier words, she really didn’t want to die again.

His cold expression remained unchanged, but his gaze lingered on the [H/C]-haired woman, who stared back at him blankly.

Her appearance was human—different from his other shadows. She had color, glowing eyes, and if not for the name and lack of rank floating above her head, he wouldn’t have even guessed she was part of his army.

“Let me put it another way: as the one who revived you, you don’t have a choice but to follow my commands. So stop being so stubborn and just obey,” he said, his voice slicing through the silence as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stubborn? Me? Does he even listen to himself? [Y/N] thought.

“Clearly, we’re both stubborn,” she stated , rubbing her chin, which still bore faint pressure marks from his firm grip.

She didn’t notice the faint flicker of concern in his eyes. Did he hurt her?

“If you’d stop being stubborn and accept that you can’t just go around resurrecting people and making them your slaves,” she retorted, earning another angry glare from the black-haired man. He at least seemed to accept that physical intimidation wasn’t going to work on her.

Jin-Woo turned slightly away from her and opened the window displaying the current number of his shadows.

“I revived you for a reason. You are now part of my army and will serve me. End of discussion.”

[Y/N] laughed humorlessly—a cynical laugh. He still didn’t get it.

She rolled her eyes, though there was that peculiar feeling in her chest—a strange connection that had been there since her resurrection. It felt more like a tether pulling at her core, drawing her toward him.

But she didn’t feel compelled to obey him—so why should she?

“Nope, as long as you act like an asshole, I’m not even going to consider it.”

The Shadow Monarch froze mid-movement, shooting her a deadly side-eye.

Did she just insult him?

His frustration grew with every passing second. No one had ever defied him like this, especially not someone he had revived.

“And why should I be nice to you? You’re the one defying me here. You’re the one refusing to obey me. What have you done to deserve my kindness when all you’ve shown me is disrespect?” he said.

[Y/N] responded without thinking, “You reap what you sow.”

Yes, he was an asshole, and she couldn’t stand him, but her reaction wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker either. Besides, they were both in a pretty crappy situation, and it wouldn’t get any better if they kept clashing.

Plus—what choice did she have? She had no idea who or what she was, where she was, or where she was supposed to go.

A resigned sigh escaped her lips, and her tense posture relaxed a little.

“Maybe... just maybe, we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, her voice softening slightly, almost innocent—though theatrically so.

The Shadow Monarch was once again surprised by her words. She had personality—and plenty of it, apparently.

He could insist that she was his shadow and that he was therefore superior to her, but what would be the point in the end? Perhaps it was time to swallow his pride and admit he might have been wrong.

Maybe he had simply spent too much time alone, consumed by his role as the Shadow Monarch, losing whatever social skills he once had.

His expression remained cool for a moment longer before his features softened slightly, and he scratched the back of his head. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered, reflecting on how he was almost the cause of her second death. [Y/N]’s eyes lit up slightly. Had she just detected a hint of humor in his voice?

His tone had lost some of its anger, which gave her a bit of relief.

“Okay. What am I even supposed to do, and where the hell are we anyway?” she asked, glancing around the room and taking it in. She knew she had seen this place before—clearly, it was where she had died—but it didn’t feel familiar. Jin-Woo, still a bit taken aback by her sudden cooperation, followed her gaze.

“We’re in a dungeon,” he said matter-of-factly. He really didn’t share more than he absolutely had to, did he? As for what she was supposed to do? Well, his shadows usually fought for him, but what about her? She had no weapon and didn’t seem magically inclined—at least he couldn’t sense any significant mana coming from her.

“Follow me. That’s enough for now,” he finally said, turning on his heel. His cloak lifted slightly with the abrupt movement before settling back down.

Jin-Woo didn’t look back, his footsteps silent on the cold stone floor. The young woman hesitated for a moment, but the invisible force seemed to nudge her forward, almost pushing her to follow him. She let out another frustrated sigh. “Okay,” she said, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him, though she stayed a few meters behind. “I’ll follow you,” she said after a brief pause. “But I won’t follow your orders blindly. If a command seems pointless to me, I’ll refuse,” she added—a compromise she could live with. Jin-Woo stopped abruptly, nearly causing her to bump into him. He paused, processing her words. For a moment, he hesitated. With a sigh, his expression softened slightly. “Fine. I’ll accept your compromise,” he said, reluctantly agreeing to her terms. “But if your reason for refusing seems pointless to me, don’t expect my mercy,” he added without glancing at her and continued walking. Though he was satisfied with this for now, there were limits—even for her.

What had he gotten himself into? ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Thank you for all your support! likes, reblogs & commentsor just reading <3 .'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x READER ) [ Final Part ]

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon Targaryen x Little Sis! Reader prompt: Aegon would do anything, if it meant killing every ratcatcher or gold cloak in the city, he'd so. word count: 1, 000+ words

You wept and wept. Aegon feared that you would never be able to stop. Helaena was no better, locking herself up and shutting down. The two of you spiraled into madness and tears. It only made him drink and rage more. He hated to see you cry. You were supposed to be the happy one out of all of your siblings.

Aegon was the drunken mess, needing to be put in line. Helaena was the odd one, in a dream-like state. You were the perfect little angel, his perfect little angel. Aemond was the brooding one, face pulled into a stupid brooding look. Daeron was the forgotten one.

Now you were the broken one. Rhaenyra has stolen your smile. Rhaenyra had stolen his perfect little angel from him. She took the good from you, leaving him with a broken mess. A mess he wasn't sure of how to repair. So, he was going to do what he did best. He was going to get even.

If Rhaenyra wanted to take the one good thing he had in his life from him. He was going to burn everything she cared about to ash. Even if it made him a monster in the eyes of his own Court. Because you were worth burning the world down.

Blood and Cheese. Blood was one of his men, or now a former man of the City Watch. Cheese was a rat-catcher. That's how they knew how to get into the Red Keep. They were paid to kill Aegon's son. The worst part of all it had to be the fact that your son was "just in the way". They had no reason to kill him. He wasn't the one they had been paid to kill. They just killed him because he was in the way of things.

Blinking back the tears in his eyes, Aegon stares at the club in his hand, the metal rusted and jagged. Blood's words confession ringing in his ears. They killed his son for a debt, but yours because they thought of him in the way. Collateral damage. That was your son was, fucking collateral damage. Nodding his head for a moment, he thought of not killing the man, just leaving him to rot. But, another part of him truly wanted to see him bleed.

"You killed my son. You killed my sister's whole world." Aegon states, his voice cold. "My sister's loved their son's. And you just killed them."

"The Seven will never forgive you for this." Blood blubber's out, "To kill me.."

"Ah, yes, but the Seven aren't here, now are they?" Aegon mocks, adjusting his grip on the club.

Motioning around the Black Cell's, there was nothing but the rats and darkness there. No one to hear Blood's screams. No one there to help. It was just Blood and Aegon. Alone. Looking at the jagged end of the club, Aegon brushes his thumb over it, seeing it was sharp enough to cut. Though it would not be smooth or painless.

"You can fuck with me all you want. You can beat me. You can mock me." Aegon states, "Do as you please to me and I can endure it."

Blood sobs, the chains around his arms and legs clanging and jiggling loudly. Mercy was below, Aegon now. Mercy was not shown to his son or yours. Why the fuck should he show it to Blood?

"See, my friend. The thing is, you made my sister's cry." Aegon's face goes deadly cold, "I don't like bastard's that make my sister's cry."

Bringing the metal club down onto the man's head, he doesn't stop, unable to stop thinking of you. The way you wept, sobs full of heartache. The way you clung onto him, the blood on your nightgown seeping into his own clothes. The way the bastard made you cry. The way the bastard made you feel so unsafe in your own home.

The way the bastard made you doubt him. The way the bastard made you think he was a liar. Feeling a hand grab onto his forearm, he's pulled out of his daze, now realizing the man was now dead. His head caved in a bloody mess. Dropping the club, he takes a step back, licking his lips. He can taste blood on it, though it was not his own.

A son for a son. A son for a son. A son for a son. They got there son. Now a debt was now owed, on behalf of your son. The cycle repeating over and over again. Lucerys died, Jaehaerys died in payment. Your son died, now Rhaenyra would die in payment.

"Your grace?" A kingsguard asks, "What shall we do with the body?"

"Feed him to the pig's. I have no desire for time or a hole to be wasted upon him." Aegon spits at the corpse for good measure.

Hearing the door to the chambers open, you couldn’t find the strength to get up from bed, clinging onto the blanket. You could still smell your son on it. He smelt of lemon cakes and mud. He always loved to steal the frosting off the lemon cakes, just like Aegon did. He was just a boy. He was innocent. Why him? Why? Feeling tears bubbling up, you did not wish to ponder on your son’s death. It forced you to think of the sounds of a head being sawed off.

Feeling the bed dip for a moment, you look over to see Aegon there, his doublet and breeches soaked in blood. Blood’s blood. Sniffling softly, Aegon leans over to you, tucking back a strand of hair from your face. It was comforting to be touched and tended to like this, like you were still a child and not a woman grown with responsibilities and duties. Like everything was still okay.

"It is done." He whispers, nodding his head.

You don’t say anything, not being able to find the right words. Even if you could, what would you say? “Oh, that is so amazing to hear from you, dear brother.” or some other bullshit. 

"You have my word, I swear it upon my life. I will burn everything down that Rhaenyra loves." Aegon pledges, "From her favorite tailor to her favorite child. I will avenge your son, sister."

"Aegon.." You croak out, trying to find your voice. 

"I will kill her myself. I’ll fucking feed her to my dragon.” He vows, “No one will remember the name Rhaenyra Targaryen, when I am done.”

“Aegon..” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. 

"She'd be a fucking myth. She'll be a fucking ghost of the Red Keep. No, no, not even that. I won't even let her haunt the Red Keep."

He doesn’t hear you, clearly swept up in his plots and plans for revenge on your behalf. His words left not a drop of comfort.

“I will do anything that you ask of me. Just tell me what it is that you wish and I shall do it. I’ll kill whoever you wish⎯" He rambles on and on. 

"Egg." You whisper, tears bubbling up.

The childhood nickname falling out of your lips naturally. You did not wish for grand words, for grand promises, or grand actions to be done in your name or favor. That was meaningless. Mayhaps when the grief dimmed, you would wish for revenge for your son. But, for now, at this moment. You just wanted your big brother to hug you. You wanted things to be back as they once were. Here you were just Y/n and he was just Aegon, your big brother. Not the King.

Feeling the tears bubble up more and more, you sniffle, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. You watch through teary eyes as he goes deadly still. You did not regret saying his old nickname. You just wanted to feel as safe and happy as you used to be in your childhood. You wanted to escape from the crushing reality that your son was dead and war was invincible now. Mayhaps it was childish. But, you wanted to be okay once more.

"Y/n.." He whispers, his face crumbling.

"Just hold me like you used to do." You whimper out, “Please.”

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

@lexi-anastasia-astra-luna 

[parkersbliss]

A Domestic Life | S. Riley

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x female reader

warnings: none just some fluff bc I don’t see enough for him :(( maybe OOC

synopsis: just some fluffy headcannons about the infamous ghost and how he treats relationships

a/n: there is not enough tooth rotting fluff for this guy and I’m gonna fix that starting now

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for ghost!

—

sleeps like a log. the guy sleeps on his back, pointed at the sleeping and when he’s out he’s OUTTTT that boy does not sleep on the field so in an actual bed? he’s comatose. of course if you have a nightmare you can wake him up anytime. he’ll be a little confused at first but he’s got the spirit

enjoys cuddling but not in his sleep. he overheats so easily bc of how big he is so you guys keep your space. he is happy to hold you before bed though while watching a movie or scrolling on tiktok

he’s a DRY texter oh my god. it’s like your biggest pet peeve. “how’s your day” “fine” “made any progress?” “no.” you’re working on improving his skills but he’s just like that. you asked a question, he answers. besides he doesn’t frequently have time to text you long detailed replies

obviously ghost loves his mask, and it makes sense for him to conceal his identity but he doesn’t when he’s back with you. he likes to keep his identities separate. ghost and the mask for the field, regular simon at home. it’s not like anyone would know they were the same guy, except you of course.

on the off chance he’s home for halloween, he doesn’t use his mask as a costume (just in case anyone could connect the dots) but does keep the skeleton theme

his favorite holiday is christmas and he always makes sure he can have it off

he LOVES to cook. he doesn’t eat good when deployed so he loves coming home and cooking himself up exactly what he wanted. don’t get me wrong, he loves if you cook too but there’s something about not being able to control what you eat and then having full control and making homemade pasta for him

wears beanies all the time in winter. the dudes got a buzz cut, standard, so his heads cold. he loves when you wear a matching one with him

wakes up at the ass crack of dawn bc his body is just used to it after so many years

when he retires, he plans on having a small farm for even fresher homemade ingredients like eggs, milk etc. and he’ll wake up early to do the farm chores

again with the shitty food thing, he only likes gas station coffee. he’s so used to a crappy cup of joe that he can’t do the fancy shit. then again, he’s more of a tea guy anyway

loves his alone time but he likes you there, if that makes sense? like he loves reading a novel and not talking but just having you also read in the same room

likes just sitting on the couch together and watching a movie

It took him a while to adjust to physical touch after it being 1.) mostly abuse or 2.) enemies after him but he is not completely against it. he knows it’s important in relationships so he tries his best and eventually learns to love it

a sucker for slow dancing in the living room. bonus points if it’s with the christmas tree lights and music. he loves swaying around and the occasional stepping on feet and your giggles

his most prized possession besides the guns and you is a le creuset tea pot you gifted him for christmas. it’s bright blue with a gold handle and perfect.

he has a tea collection on display and is always trying new flavors from around the world. his green tea is imported from japan ONLY. always makes two cups for himself and you

loves to do any picnic dates or apple picking or farm style dates. the man loves food as FRESH as possible.

his bucket lists consists of food places around the world he wants to try and go with you.

including fugu from japan. you are totally opposed because of the whole life or death thing associated with it, but simon’s used to risks and he’ll do his research ofc.

he’ll never admit but he wants to go to america just to try the fast food there. he knows it’s bad and the opposite of what he stands for but the chinese in britain is ASS and doesn’t canes, in n out and chick fil a look SO good?

bicep holding >>> hand holding

he needs routine. simon needs to wake up at the same time, make breakfast for you guys at the same time, have his quiet time on the porch. watch the morning news with you and the tea. always at the same times. he tries not to but he can’t help bringing some of his military life home

his crew knows he has a wife but that’s it. ghost keeps simon separate and you are married to simon.

plus he can never be too safe when it comes to his work. the only name you went by when he’s deployed is “my wife” or “mrs riley”

doesn’t even carry a photo of you bc he’s that paranoid

you guys actually get married within 18 months because it just makes life easier. as soon as simon knew he wanted to marry you, he did.

it’s just easier in the military bc of pay, benefits, deployment, etc. and ofc he loves you and was locking that down ASAP

sends you recipes when he’s deployed for you to make and rate

when he can’t sleep, which is often, he just lays next to you not touching and contemplated how it is after all the bad he’s done, how he got it so good.

and he makes sure you know how appreciative he is

[kleptomaniakrow]

hi, i'm back on my brain rot bullshit! so you know what time it is... B^)

hear me out, (some) KorTac men (specifically König, Krueger and Nikto), dating an artist.

normally, i often see most drabbles and other thoughtfully crafted pieces delve down the writer route (go figure)! this prompt fucking possessed me whilst i was working on some art, so i'm imposing this idea into the ether for all of you to see!

kept it gender neutral! but there might be one femme-leaning pet-name + the use of "little one" for Nikto's bit! i am not a russian-speaking native so i hope the one i grabbed is gender neutral as well (feel free to correct me if it isn't)!

personally i'm run with his government first name being "Andre," this is not canon btw!

if they're a little ooc? uh... i'm still figuring out how to write these three idiots (affectionate)!

this barely proof read so if you see typos? uh... no you didn't.

enjoy these little pebbles of purely sickeningly sweet, silly fluff under the cut!🖤

♚ König. . .

✦ he would fucking love to see your drawings i will die on this fucking hill! this fact about you was one of the most exciting thing he ever learned about you! by god was this man like a child in a candy store witnessing all of your art pieces, new or old! ✦ this big, burly man gets so soft and proud seeing your sketches become finalized pieces. the art of creation is always such a wonderous marvel to behold in his opinion! seeing you tune out the rest of the world, when you fully submerge yourself into the motions is remarkable sight to behold. he's privileged that you let him be a witness to it! ✦ honestly, let's be real. he would take this chance to just stare at you (affectionately). because you're too deep in your own little world—likely with headphones on or music playing—perhaps even a podcast of choice! consuming your audio of choice as you pen your ideas to paper, be it on actual paper or on a more digital medium! ✦ if you ever, and i genuinely mean EVER, take the time to draw his portrait (with or without his face coverings)? just know this man would full-on bawl like a baby. pathetic snot dribbling from his nose, horrendously tearful but it's all for good reasons, please don't worry! ✦ "Mein schatz..." / "Do you like it?" / "I've no words that would do it justice... it's... incredible, maus." ✦ i bet fucking money he'd save that to his phone, keep a copy of it in his pocket of a kevlar vest. something tangible that you earnestly made for him with intents of capturing your muse onto parchment. between photos of you he keeps to himself, little traces of your existence just make his heart sing. parchment long since creased from how many times he's opened it and closed it, weathered and worn but it's something you made for him to keep. these items that were made or owned by you are invaluable, no amount of money could every buy these off of him. you, as well as anything you make, are treasures he'd protect indefinitely. ✦ in the sense of a long-distance relationship be it for deployment or otherwise, you'd often share what you're working on. be it still images or (stable internet, be willing), you lull him to sleep with delicate humming a tune you're listening to whilst sharing your screen, he'd watch you work on projects you're determined to see to fruition if he couldn't be home to observe you himself. ✦ if you're ever insecure about your work, this big ass goof (affectionate) would stumble over his words but he'd want nothing more than for you to constantly be up his ass about what you do, side-hustle or hobby otherwise. ✦ König is your number 1 supporter, he'd sooner turn in his premature grave before he'd ever slip up on an opportunity to let you think otherwise. even if you find your talent lackluster by comparison, he'd perish atop mountains shouting how talented his beloved Schatz is! the way you breath life into such fictitious subjects always drew him in. especially with how you drew eyes and expressions! (when he noticed you often mimic the facial creases yourself when focusing on expressions, but he'd never tell you. it's too precious to point out so brazenly). ✦ frankly, if this passion of yours is important to you? it's important to him, and he will not budge on this. what sparks you joy will be a wonderous experience for him too, and what partner would he be if he wasn't supportive of your interests, hobbies or line of work?

♜ Krueger. . .

✦ see, Sebastian would be a bit interesting because you'd think at first he'd pay little to no mind. ✦ his steps are so quiet around the house that half the time you're just ignorant of his presence for several minutes. a comedically long while before the inkling of someone behind you ever crossed your mind. ✦ it's not that you'd mind (not unless he scares the proverbial piss out of you, of course) but he just can't help but be curious. maybe he's not one for the modern arts (perhaps more classical?) but... you're his darling little liebling, he isn't so much as a fool to be ignorant of your interests. ✦ however he's not too partial to being separate from you; Krueger gives me the impression he's partial to physical touch... when he wants to be that is (frankly he's no better than a cat in my eyes). ✦ "Schatzi?" / "Hmmm~?" / "Come, bring your little drawing things with you if you must but I need you here," ✦ he now fully sees a character design you've been working on and admittedly... curiosity does get the better of him and he begins inquiring what you're working on whilst your form settles into his. ✦ "Oh! This is a commission for someone who paid me illustrate a character for their indie game!" he just nods along, allowing you space to involve him into this little world of yours. revealing to him the various concepts tossed back and forth between you and your client. ✦ Sebastian is (quietly) fascinated by how your creative little mind works. keenly taken notes, exhibiting your perceptive attentive to rather pedantic details―it's so (annoyingly) endearing. he's come to find himself enamored, entertained even, by your eccentric interests. your fixations are ones that vastly differ from his, but these are distinctive traits he's come to adore you for. ✦ he jokingly threw out the idea of how he'd look in such a world of whimsy given your subjects of focus is often fantasy. oh boy, he shouldn't have said that because now you have ideas and that is dangerous to give one's partner with only their imagination as a limiter. ✦ he'd be physically unable to admit to it, but he'd likely have saved the drawings that poured every ounce of love into. utterly taken by your imaging him in a knight's garb rather than tac pants and kevlar. the thought of you seeing him as such a regal-looking protector... he struggles to give name the feeling a name most days. the one that makes his stomach feel light and fluttery, his heart feel like a frantic bird caged by bone instead of metal. that same one makes his cheeks and ears warmer than normal.

♞ Nikto. . .

✦ see, there's just something about Nikto that gives me the impression he wouldn't even ask. however, don't mistake this as disinterest! baby boy is so fucking curious what his little one is doing! he's just unsure how to articulate such a.. loaded question(?) and you seem so focused on what you're doing! ✦ i kinda see him doing that animal-thing. y'know, the one where he just quietly observes every subtle movement, noise or expression that catches his eye‒you two more often than not just kinda "co-exist" together in the same shared space. not always needing to talk verbally. finding comfort in peaceful, silent company is more than enough between you two! this life led with tranquility is more than he'd ever dare to ask for. ✦ instead, i can see him bringing you sustenance and fluids, you're keeping yourself so, so busy! but you need to eat and drink at some point! things he knows you like! things that he's memorized by heart! it's always the quiet bitches like him (affectionate) who have an internalized backlog of information when it comes to you. it took quite the adjustment period when you made the off-handed remark that you like a specific blend of tea, and he ensured you'd never run out. ✦ little did he know, you were working on a passion project of the indie development. working along side a few other individuals, and you were the one designing characters for a game jam! intending to make a concept a protagonist who's build you're not exactly familiar with drawing (bulky, trained, fit. think professional dead lifter types which distantly remined you of Nikto). ✦ he couldn't help but notice that the usual focus is now tightly knit with frustration. the quiet, concerned glance he shot your way went unnoticed, far too deep in your own thoughts to really pay any heed to the brewing worry. he had to say something... anything to snap you out of this mental limbo that deafened you. ✦ "любимый?" ("beloved?") / "Huh?" / "Something troubles you...?" / "Trouble me?— oh! No, no I'm okay!" / "Your expression tells me different... will you allow me to listen? To.. help?" ✦ eventually the big brutish bear cuts through your thoughts to source the root of your worries! frankly, it'd cause you to wrinkle far earlier than you mean to! as prompted, you're airing out your grievances with this project being out of your comfort zone. it's hard to come up with a concept that you're happy with and you've deadlines to meet. he listens to you diligently, he may not understand the full weight of your plight; it matters to you, then it matters to him. ✦ you don't know how exactly, but eventually, somehow, you ended up enlisting Nikto's assistance! his figure is close enough the concepts the head of your team posted onto your inspiration board! ✦ somehow, that incorrigible art block just... magically vanished, it was mind boggling even to you. Nikto didn't really understand given all he did was slide you a few photos or posed for your creative use. but the creases on your brow line were softer if not gone entirely, so he'd consider his intervention a success. ✦ you find yourself looking at the game's protagonist (whom you coyly suggested he be named "Andre" for no suspicious reason at all), and you're elated! proud of it, too! it's evident that he bears Nikto's likeness in more than a few aspects aspects! aside from the build, of course. Nikto has been watching you work your magic, manifesting such artistry from nothing but your own thoughts. finding himself in awe watching, left only with silent reverence upon seeing you in your natural habitat of creation was... breath taking. however, he couldn't help but notice his heart thumping against his ribcage a little harder seeing his likeness in something you made. it was... flattering? is that the word he's feeling? seeing how you took characteristics that elicit hardship or grief but you captured his image with calm, quiet confident air. was this how you saw him, truly?

[mejaemin]

also if possible could i do prompt 1 with mark😞🙏

mark + neither of them raise their voice—a love so gentle and kind that it makes your teeth rot

warnings: so fluffy !!! and a lot of references to the firstfruit an: this is not who i had in mind when i chose this prompt, but there couldn’t have been a better person to pair it with 🤍 i’m so in love with this and ofc annie made the perfect choice

you’re mark’s everything. you make him feel so high, so free in the best way. you’re his oasis, you give him a kind of love that gives him confidence, makes him feel like he can do anything. you’re his sweet, precious girlfriend, and for him to treat you as anything other than a fragile piece of glass, he’d better be imprisoned.

that’s why he’s always so sweet to you, so kind and gentle. you genuinely can’t think of a time where he’s been angry at you, nor a single time where you’ve fought. any time things get tense, he’s keeps his voice level, so calm as he works things out with you. he loves you so, so much, too much, and he’ll never ever let you feel otherwise.

outsiders looking in on your relationship sometimes consider if you’re even actually together. it’s so normal to fight, they tell him, you don’t have to lie about not fighting. he’s so confused at this because.. really? how can you be so casual about hurting your partner’s feelings? it’s not okay at all, he thinks, and unlike with you, his voice gains a little bit of attitude, some negative emotion when he explains how easy it is to communicate and avoid getting to that point.

he loves you fully, with no limits, spending all your days with gentle forehead kisses and soft hands loving your entire being. neighbors are lucky to have you next to them, your home so tranquil. he wakes up next to you every day, smile bright and oh so adorable as he leans in with a kiss, greeting you good morning and asking you “is there a special place you wanna go?”

of course there is, it’s in his arms, in his heart, your love so gentle it’s permanently engraved in his memories with a pink, loving filter over it all. you make his whole heart, he’ll never treat you as anything less than special.

[airosuiren]

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱’𝔰 𝔏𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔖𝔢𝔢 𝔜𝔬𝔲

A/N: This part right here? This is where the story shifts from pain to power. Where [Y/N] stops chasing apologies—and starts building empires. This isn’t about them "realizing your worth." It’s about you realizing you never needed their permission in the first place. The applause is hollow. The recognition comes too late. And our girl? She doesn’t reach back. She rises. Get ready to watch them mourn the ghost they made—and realize too late that survival looks a lot like greatness.

Thank You @arislia for this Idea!

@bunniotomia, I AM SORRY FOR NOT TAGGING YOU, ILY.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 2

The moment the League put their survival in your hands, something shifted. Not in them. In you.

You felt it when Bruce didn’t interrupt you. When Diana called your analysis “brutal and brilliant.” When Clark told you he trusted your judgment more than the AI system they'd built.

Suddenly, everyone wanted to listen. Wanted your insight, your damage control, your vision.

Funny how people only see you when you become useful.

The plan worked. Your strategy went live—waves of disinformation, fake leaks, public interviews. You weaponized truth like a scalpel. You peeled back the hysteria and made it bleed your version of the story.

And it worked.

Gotham didn’t burn. The League wasn’t outed. The world stayed intact.

But nothing in you celebrated.

Because the price wasn’t paid by the League. It was paid by the kid who sat at the edge of the Batcave years ago, hoping for a word. A nod. A chance.

They gave you credit now. Applause. Praise.

Too late. It was always too late.

Tim said he was sorry. Dick offered to reconnect. Damian looked like he wanted to ask how you’d done it all—but couldn’t bring himself to.

And Bruce?

He said, “You did good.”

You wanted to laugh.

You did great. You saved their world. And it still felt hollow.

Because part of you was still in that Manor, starving for warmth. Part of you still remembered the cold shoulder, the locked door, the day Alfred stopped checking if you came down for breakfast.

The world could sing your name. The League could hand you titles, roles, endless offers.

It didn’t matter.

Because you weren’t theirs anymore.

You walked away.

From Gotham. From the Manor. From the past.

You accepted the Kents’ invitation. Helped expand the Queens’ foundation. Took over policy initiatives that reshaped cities.

People called you a visionary.

But you were still just a kid who survived being forgotten.

And that pain? It never leaves. It just sharpens you. Refines you. Burns everything soft out of you until all that’s left is brilliance and bite.

You didn’t need them to love you.

You learned how to do that yourself.

And that?

That was the scariest thing they ever saw.

EPILOGUE (DARKER VERSION): The Ghost They Built

Years passed.

You didn’t return for funerals. Or birthdays. Or anniversaries. You sent flowers once—anonymous. Bruce knew it was you. So did Alfred.

You never answered their calls.

They watched your life unfold through screens. News cycles. Feature articles. TED Talks and awards and photos of you shaking hands with world leaders.

You were a household name. A force. Gotham’s own myth—not for crime, not for tragedy. For power.

Sometimes, Bruce would sit alone in the cave and reread your strategy dossier. The one that saved them all. The one they never framed or displayed.

Sometimes, Damian would stare too long at a photo of you and quickly look away.

And sometimes, Alfred would make tea for two. Out of habit.

But you? You stopped looking back.

Because ghosts don’t haunt the places they escaped.

They haunt the people who let them die there.

𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔲𝔰 (𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂𝓮𝓭)

(Based on this prompt link)

You stayed.

You stayed in the Manor even when it rotted you from the inside out. You stayed on patrol even when they benched you emotionally. You trained harder. Longer. Not because you were loved. Because you were angry.

Angry that no one cared. Angry that you had to prove you were worth breathing their air.

You became a ghost in your own home. A silent weapon in the background. They forgot you were there—until they needed a soldier.

And when the new threat surfaced—a dark coalition of villains—Justice League level—you fought beside them. Bleeding for them. Dying for them in slow, unnoticed ways.

And they didn’t even notice when you were missing.

It wasn’t even a complicated plan.

A misstep. A call that went unanswered. An empty alley. A chloroform cloth and no backup.

The "League of Villains" (or whatever flashy name they called themselves) didn't want you because you were powerful.

They wanted you because you were forgotten.

Because what better bait than the child no one even remembered was missing?

It played on every Justice League screen.

Static. Then—clarity.

You tied to a chair. Wrists shredded against restraints. Bombs wired around you like a grotesque necklace. Mouth taped. Muzzle strapped tight.

Blood dried at your temple. Your body slumped but alive. Barely.

The Joker stood behind you—grinning like a nightmare.

He pointed the camera down, zooming in on your eyes.

Eyes that looked too much like Martha Wayne’s.

"Look familiar, Batsy?" he crooned, fingers digging into your cheeks like a puppeteer. "Missed one of your little ducklings. Tsk, tsk. Family man, my ass."

He laughed.

Then leaned in closer to your face.

"They don't even remember you're missing, do they?"

You blinked. Once. Twice.

And in that moment? Everyone watching saw it.

The brokenness. The hollow, aching scream you couldn't make.

They tried.

Diana. Clark. Barry. Bruce.

Every satellite. Every lead.

Too late.

Always too late.

The last thing you saw was the red digital countdown reflected in Joker’s laughing eyes.

The last thing they saw was you— looking directly into the camera.

Unblinking. Silent. Waiting.

Boom.

The screen went dark.

There was no body to bury. No last words. No goodbyes.

Just ashes. And guilt that swallowed them whole.

They forgot you when you were alive.

They remembered you only when you were dust.

You didn’t haunt Gotham’s alleys.

You haunted them.

You became the silence between their victories. The guilt behind their smiles. The graveyard stitched into every mission they survived.

You were their second Jason.

But this time?

There would be no resurrection.

𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓴'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

The conference room smelled like panic and sweat.

The Justice League stared at the blackened monitor—the final static-flicker of the explosion still burned into the air like a brand.

The chair she had been strapped to was gone. She was gone.

And Clark Kent—the beacon of hope, the man who once believed in second chances, in forgiveness, in the good in everyone— stood like a storm barely contained.

His fists clenched. The windows trembled. The concrete under his boots spiderwebbed with cracks.

And no one spoke.

Because they knew. They knew he had warned them.

Two weeks ago.

"Where’s [Y/N]?" Clark’s voice had been calm then. Mild concern.

Bruce hadn’t even looked up from his work.

"Fine. Busy," he muttered.

Clark pressed. "I haven’t heard her on comms. Haven’t seen her in patrol rotations."

"Training elsewhere," Bruce clipped back. "Focus on the real threat."

Clark’s jaw tightened. He looked to Diana. To Oliver. To anyone.

But no one moved.

And Clark? He let it go. Because he thought—surely—they would notice if something was wrong.

Surely they loved her enough.

Now.

Clark turned, slow and deliberate, facing the Bat.

"You left her," he said, voice low and dangerous.

Bruce stood silent, fists tight at his sides.

"You forgot her," Clark growled. "You forgot your daughter."

His hands slammed the table. The entire room shook.

"Superman—" Diana started.

"No." His eyes burned. Blue ice. Wild rage. "Don’t ‘Superman’ me."

He pointed at Bruce.

"You left Jason to die. And now you've done it again."

Bruce's mouth tightened. He said nothing.

"And you," Clark spun to the others, his voice cracking with fury. "All of you—you let it happen."

No one spoke. No one could.

Because there wasn’t a single excuse in the world that could erase the truth.

Later, Clark would stand alone at the remnants of the transmission room.

The place smelled like burnt ozone. It smelled like regret.

He knelt—slowly, reverently—at the last place she had been seen alive.

And in the quiet, he whispered the only words he had left:

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have fought harder."

But the dead don't hear apologies.

And Superman— Superman would never forgive himself.

Not for this. Not for her.

Not ever.

A/N: This was never about being chosen. This was never about being welcomed back. This was about surviving what they did. About becoming something so sharp, so brilliant, so unstoppable — they could only watch from the outside. They didn’t lose you when you walked away. They lost you the day they made you feel like you had to earn your place at all. You didn’t become a ghost because you wanted to be feared. You became a ghost because they left you no other way to live. And now? Now you are the silence after the storm. The blade they forgot they forged. You are what they buried — And what will outlast them all.

—Your still-proud, still-scorched, always-rising author 🖤🔥

Taglist: @feral-childs-word, @trashlanternfish360, @astro-girly1, @suneaterscape, @thatcatladywrites, @arislia, @kittzu, @ottjhe, @tinybrie, @wpdarlingpan, @ryuushou, @simpingpandas, @lettucel0ver, @moonxmio, @kneelforloki, @sirenetheblogger, @xzmickeyzx, @ironsaladwitch, @lithiumval, @starsdotalk, @fortunatelydifferentqueen, @ocean-mochi

Let me know if I missed someone!

[starwrighter]

1/?? Halloween prompt

I’ve got brain rot for creepy Deadserious content but only when it’s only seen as creepy by outsiders. (I know I’m writing a fic with a similar plot but it’s different I swear! Also my grammar is shit because I’m getting dental work done tomorrow and I’m nervous) Tw for stalker behavior

So Damian has a crush on Danny and immediately goes about acting on these feelings much to onlookers horror. Danny is swooning because someone made the effort to do a background check on him. Danny thinks Damian doing this is really smart because, he could be a serial killer for ancients sake why would you risk that? Others say this is a horrible invasion of privacy.

Damian not realizing he's being creepy (being liminal and being an ex assassin, turned vigilante wasn't doing him any favors) Plus Danny also not realizing it's creepy unless you relay Damian behavior towards him with different names.

Damian's just being a textbook stalker, breaking into his house and shit and Danny's all like "awwww he likes me" because this is just normal ghostly courting rituals! His dormroom isn't his lair so Damian breaking in doesn't feel like he's violating any sort of boundary. To him it's like a friend showing up at the coffee shop you work at to say hi.

Danny's had stalkers before, he's very cautious of his behavior to insure he never stalked anyone. Being stalked back in Amity was a horrific experience for him. From cameras in the locker rooms at school (wes) to cameras in his bathroom and bedroom at home (Vlad)! He couldn't feel safe anywhere! To Danny Damian's not a stalker, he's his protector. Nobody seems to understand when he tries to explain this though they just look at him like he's lost his mind.

Damian’s not subtle at all and Danny’s kicking his feet like a lovesick school girl who found out her crush likes her back. Overall it’s super cute from their points of view Damian’s planning an official confession to ask him on a date while Danny’s trying to figure out if Damian actually likes him or is just being nice. They’re just doing normal couple things but people just jump and attack Damian’s character while painting Danny as some kind of brainwashed victim.

The thing is… Danny’s become very good at appearing normal while Damian refuses to pretend to be a bumbling idiot like the rest of his family. He also refuses to dull down his personality for anything other than secret identity reasons. For these reasons since their relationship had become public, Damian had been painted by the media as a creepy possessive boyfriend who threatened Danny into a relationship. This infuriates Danny, the only one doing any kind of possession is him god damn it!

They want to be around each other all the time and that’s normal behavior for ghost/liminal couples! They live much longer than regular humans do they’re like elves, their perceptions of time are messed up. They still spend time apart they still have hobbies and an independent life, people just get hung up on the amount of time they do spend together. It’s normal behavior for them to know mountains of information about each others interests to the point they almost know more than each other. It’s normal to know each other’s schedules and background check the people they associate with. (The realms are very dangerous with shapeshifters and manipulators like spectra and Desiree who can ruin your afterlife in a matter of minutes) Their relationship is creepy to those who haven’t gone to extremes to survive.

Damian has taken to ignoring the reputation press has given him. He’s dealt with paparazzi and tabloids before it’s just frustrating to deal with. It’s when people start accusing him of hurting his beloved that really pisses him off.

(Bonus if Danny’s the one frothing at the mouth to maul a reporter while they try to paint him as a poor innocent victim)

I’mma end the prompt with this so everyone understands why Damian specifically being targeted by press. The more liminal you are the more creepy/uncanny you appear to other people and the more effort you have to put in to hide it. It’s why the bats are more believed to be Eldritch creatures than actual humans in suits. Surprisingly becoming a Halfa completely changes this effect to do the complete opposite. It’s easier for the human brain to look at a halfa and think “Innocent or normal,” Vlad and Danny were morons when it came to actually hiding their identity’s it was only their statuses as halfa’s that prevented people from comprehending them being anything other than normal.

In short Damian’s too dead to be perceived as normal while Danny’s too alive to be perceived as anything other than normal.

[killerpancakeburger]

PULL ME CLOSER

SUMMARY: After a mission gone wrong, Soap narrowly cheats death. When visiting him in his hospital bed, overwhelming relief emboldens you, making you do something you regret. So you flee, resolved to avoid Sergeant MacTavish until the end of your days. 

But Johnny is done letting you slip through his fingers.

Part 1. Part 2.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (reader has boobs, that's it)

TAGS: A pinch of angst, then tooth rotting fluff, Civilian!Reader, Anxious!Reader, Depressed!Reader, inexperienced!Reader, Desperate!Soap, Soft!Soap, mutual pining, first kiss, confessions, dirty talk, making out. Bit of a chase, but it's fluffy. Protective!Ghost bordering on controlling but he works on it. Swears, blood mention, injuries, miilitary inaccuracies, suggestive content.

WORDS COUNT: 5.6k

A/N: aaaAAAH F I N A L L Y! ITS KISSING TIME BABEYYY 💋 For @glitterypirateduck COD Vacation Mode challenge, prompts 32 with Ghost and 58 with Soap.

"Hey author, this is Soap x Reader, why is Ghost there...?" Because he just! Won't! Leave! 🙃 *you can now picture me trying to push him out of the room with all my meager strength but he doesn't budge an inch* 

As you pace around the office for the umpteenth time, you can tell from the glint in Ghost's eyes that he's seconds away from telling you to take a seat and stop writhing uselessly. 

When did you become so accustomed to the taciturn Lieutenant's expressions - or more accurately, lack of -, that you could figure out what was going on behind the mask? You couldn’t remember.

He's been keeping his gaze on you since you've sat down after learning the harrowing news; or, more exactly, since he's sat down and you've been fidgeting relentlessly.

You're feeling like a shark - to stop moving won't kill you, but it will cause the whole world to come crashing down. It will allow reality to become clearer, sharper, inescapable.

The arrival of Price in the room captures his lieutenant's attention before he can scold you. Gaz follows close behind. He offers you a reassuring smile before his captain addresses you.

“He's going to make it.”

Relief overwhelms you with just those five words; a colossal wave close to sending you tumbling down. Ghost's mask fails to hide his own calming.

Price sets his hands on his hips. His voice is gruffed but composed.

“All he needs now is rest… and some blood.”

“I'll do it,” you blurt out resolutely, taking a step towards your boss.

“No,” snarls Ghost, tone adamant.

You snap around to stare at him in shock and disbelief. He never raised his voice at you before. And, most importantly, he never tried to dictate your behavior. 

“Who do you think you are?! I'm not one of your fucking recruits-”

Price loudly coughs in his fist.

“Easy there.” 

He raises both hands in appeasement. “We don’t even know if you're compatible.”

“I'm a universal donor,” you counter immediately, determination unaltered.

“Course ya are,” scoffs Ghost derisively.

You glare at him with open animosity. What the fuck is wrong with him!?

“What is that even supposed to mean!?”

You throw your arms up in irritation.

“Enough! Both of you.”

John's tone extinguishes your shout with redoubtable efficiency. He's already not someone you would dare cross on casual days, but hearing him raise his voice makes you sheepish.

Nonetheless, you turn towards him, outraged and betrayed. "Both"!? Why both!? I'm not the one being an asshole for no reason!

“You've done this before?” the captain asks, looking at you.

You nod vigorously.

He indicates the door with his chin.

“Fine, then. Go see the nurses to set you up.”

You bolt out of the room without further ado, determined to not let Ghost get another word in. But you can still hear one last sentence as you hasten.

“As for you, Simon…It is none of your business.”

Giving blood has never been a walk in the park. Every time, you have to actively handle your nerves; resort to trusty relaxation methods, such as focusing on your breathing, or counting the tiles on the ceiling.

The stab of the needle is unpleasant, to say the least, but the wait between the jab and the removal is almost as challenging.

Nonetheless, you've done this before, you succeeded, and for Johnny, you'd be willing to do it for hours.

Power of will doesn't compensate blood loss however, and when you get up from the bed, you feel dizzy, your bandaged arm sore and stiff. The idea of meeting with Soap shortly helps you power through, and soon enough you’re sitting at a table in the canteen, empty at this hour of the day, stuffing your face with whatever snacks and drinks have been put aside to aid your recovery.

With nothing but concern for Johnny busying your mind, you end up eavesdropping on a couple of nearby cafeteria employees.

“You think that's really him?”

“Ain't that many guys going around with a skull mask.”

“I heard he killed a man with only a pen…”

Your eyes widen at the mention of a mask, and you groan in annoyance before turning around to see where the staff is looking.

Near the entrance, casually leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Ghost is watching over you like an overzealous bodyguard. He finally swapped his mission outfit for his trademark black hoodie and grey sweatpants. 

Exasperation flashes through you and you proceed to fling at him a cake wrapped in plastic. Your aim's never been anything to be proud of, but he's large enough that you manage to brush his shoulder.

“Get away from me, you creep!” you yell loud enough to be heard by him.

He gives you an inscrutable gaze before leaving the room, probably settling right on the other side of the door, not one to admit defeat so easily.

Minutes later, you leave the room to visit Soap, and observe with spiteful satisfaction that you were right - Ghost adopted the same position as before, against the corridor's wall. You glower at him as you pass by, and of course he remains unfazed.

You scoff with irritation before deciding to ignore him and focus on Johnny, accelerating the pace.

“Wait.”

You halt with a vexed sigh.

“If you intend to berate me again, I'm not gonna stand there and take it.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

You pivot to face him, exasperated by his sibylline remarks. He moved away from the wall and approached you while you had your back on him.

“Once again, what is that even supposed to mean?”

His cryptic attitude makes your blood boil with anger, one that could almost mask the feelings of hurt and betrayal he begets inside you. At some point, you've genuinely started to believe that you two became some kind of friends. Turns out that you've been naively imagining things this whole time.

“The whole self-sacrificing bullshit.”

You stare in incomprehension, searching his concealed features vainly for a clue, wishing you could rip that stupid mask off his face.

“I'm not sacrificing myself. It's just a bit of blood.”

He crosses his arms.

“We have stocks for that. And it's not just that. When he got into trouble with Price for making you skip work, you tried to take all the blame.”

“He did it to cheer me up-”

He keeps talking like you didn’t intervene.

“And when he pummeled that officer, you pretended it was all your fault.”

“I-”

“Luckily for you, Price's no sucker.”

You wince with distress.

“I just wanted to help. I hate being… feeling useless.”

“That's my problem. I swear it feels like you’d slash your own wrists if you thought it would ‘help’.”

You grimace but do not contradict him. It's actually kind of scary how much he figured you out.

“Let him take responsibility for his actions. He may look impulsive most of the time, but he knows what he's doing.”

Arms folded, you gaze fixedly at the floor in silence, not knowing what to add.

“I’m sorry.”

He talked loud enough to be understood, but the content of his sentence makes you doubt what he said as much as if he whispered. You stare at him with wide eyes, speechless. It's not that you categorically believe Ghost incapable of self-reflection, but at the same time, he's always striked you more as the type to never admit any weakness - except maybe in front of a trusted superior and longtime friend like Price.

“Shouldn't have tried to boss you around. Only made things worse. What happened with Johnny… made me…”

He acts like articulating an apology out loud has on him the effect of enthusiastically biting into a lemon - an irresistible temptation to annoy him emerges inside you. No harm in a little well-deserved payback.

“On edge? Touchy? Cranky? Irrita-”

“That'll do. Go, now.”

You turn away with an amused smile on your lips.

Witnessing the wounded sergeant in a hospital's bed is like a punch to the stomach. Maybe an actual punch would be more merciful.

Inside you, gratitude for his miraculous survival battles against sorrow caused by his pitiful state. An impressive bandage is wrapped around his head, one arm secured in a cast, the other bearing a couple of compresses. His face is littered with scratches and contusions.

When he notices you, frozen on the threshold, he beams.

“How's my little firecracker doing?”

That nickname. That damn nickname. He started using it after he caught you red-handed giving the middle finger to a rude officer who was leaving your office just as Soap was entering it. You tolerated it until you realized it was a reference to his love of explosions and all things blow-able, which made you ridiculously pleased, yet self-conscious all at once.

Your legs were already unsteady, so the complimentary alias almost finished you off. 

“That's my line, you Scottish bastard.” you retort, voice devoid of hostility despite the insult.

Closing the gap between you two with a few strides, you stop at what you consider a respectable distance.

“Why, I'm alive and kicking. No need fer ye to look so dejected.”

You scoff, both annoyed and moved by the attempt to console you. It's unbearable to see him so shattered and yet so upbeat, while you don't have a scratch but came so close to breaking down.

“I hate you,” you mumble.

“Ye love me.”

If you only knew… you wouldn’t dare to joke like that.

You smile ruefully, despite yourself.

“I'm serious. For a moment I…I really thought you… you weren't going to… shit.”

You furiously blink to get rid of the rising tears stinging your eyes, looking away shamefully.

“Hey, hey, hey, c'mere.”

He pats one side of the bed with his free hand invitingly. You obey, positioning yourself near the mattress close enough to touch. He grabs one of your hands and gently squeezes it.

“M sorry.” 

His tone is gruff, maybe a bit abashed. A pang of culpability pierces your heart. 

“What could you be sorry for? You were doing your job. I need to get over it.”

You’re not mine to lose.

“Fer makin’ ye cry. I hate it.”

Why does he have to be so kind?

You persist in trying to prove that you’re the one in the wrong here, not him.

“I shouldn't be crying. You’re the one who went through hell.”

He snorts.

“What's so funny?”

“Not funny, just… Ye didn’t even shed a tear when that bastard jumped ye the other day. Yet here ye are, crying over my sorry arse. Yer somethin’ else.”

The compliment takes you aback, and as his eyes sparkle with nothing but honesty, you fiddle with the bandage you received from the blood donation in a desperate effort to collect yourself.

“What’s that? Ye hurt?”

The concern in his voice warms your heart, even if it is unnecessary.

Soap rises from his pillow to some extent, pain obvious in his restricted movements. You react immediately, clicking your tongue in disapproval. Before you can think twice about it, you set your hand between his pecs and push him back, careful to not harm him, but firm.

“I didn't give you my blood just so you could spill it right away!”

He shouldn't be so easy to put back into his place, even with his wounds. Yet he goes down smoothly, docile under your imperious touch as if he was the unassuming civilian and you the imposing soldier.

His eyes linger on your hand before setting on you, the intensity and the heat of his gaze taking your breath away. His expression is one of surprise, but not of annoyance or revulsion, or at least that's what you hope from what you can read on his face.

Sinking into the lagoons of his eyes, you stare back in a daze. You can feel the rhythmic motions of his well-defined chest under your palm, rising and lowering as he breathes. Suddenly the contact becomes intolerable as your cheeks catch fire. You begin to withdraw but he grabs you just in time.

“Ye gave me yer blood?”

The urgency in his tone takes you by surprise, and so does his expression, one that's contemplating you like you've just announced that you've run in front of a truck for him.

“Price said you needed it-”

“Yer. Blood. We have a stock fer that!”

“I know, I just- I was there and I wanted to do something.”

“And they just let ye?”

“I asked real nicely.”

“Would have liked to see that.”

There's a challenging spark in his eye that you choose to ignore.

“It's just blood,” you mumble, shying away from his gaze, embarrassed by his reaction. You didn’t do this in the hopes that he would express eternal gratitude, nor that he'd be admiring of you.

“It will reconstitute on its own.”

He scoffs, unconvinced. Yet he doesn't sound too mad. There's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and he's looking at you like you hung the moon.

“Let's talk less about me, and more about you, ok? How are you feeling?”

“Parched,” he retorts while reaching for the water bottle on the nearby tray table.

Of course he's not expanding further. Johnny's the kind to dramatically whine over a paper cut for fun but somehow when it comes to serious, life-threatening injuries, he becomes stoically reserved, almost stingy with words.

You almost throw yourself at the bottle when you notice the slight wince of pain in the line of his mouth - despite his efforts to conceal it - and hand it over to him.

“Just ask me if you need something.”

“Oh bonnie, ye dunnae know what yer getting yerself into with promises like that.”

You openly roll your eyes. If he can make that sort of comment, surely he's not in that much pain after all.

“Let me guess: you’re gonna ask me to kiss your boo boos better.”

You regret your jibe the second you finish talking. You were supposed to only think those words, not pronounce them. He's the gorgeous individual who can take the liberty of flirting with anyone, but you… you’re not.

His only reaction is a chuckle.

“Hmm, what if ah did? Ask fer a kiss?”

His tone is provocative, his pout sultry and his eyes pleading.

You stare at him in thoughtful silence, cogitating your answer. 

He misinterprets your lack of response, and backpedals, stuttering while doing so. He starts to apologize, plainly, apparently convinced he went too far, ashamed by his own conduct.

You let him stew in his embarrassment a bit, not out of sadism but curiosity, rarely being granted the opportunity to see him so insecure.

This could be the chance to put an end to his flirting for good. The chance you've been waiting for. It's what you should do.

But there's a part of you that is fed up. Fed up of this pretty man and his pretty words, of this blue-eyed casanova that must see you as another conquest and nothing more. You’re sick of passively enduring his quips, his seduction, his winks, his smirks. So yes, you could ask him to stop.

Or you could give him a test of his own medicine.

Lifting his hand towards your face, you lock eyes with him to be certain he's watching, then tenderly press your lips to each of his scarred knuckles.

The ensuing quiet is deafening.

He half-opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. You never saw him so flustered. Is he… is he blushing?

Somehow, seeing his flush sets your own face on fire. The reality of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Panic surging inside you, you deal with the situation the way you know best when no other solution comes to mind - you flee. Pretending you don't hear Soap calling after you, you scramble out of the bedroom like the devil's on your heels. Ghost, settled on a chair in the hallway, throws you the closest thing he must have to a bewildered gaze in his repertoire as you storm off by him, gaze that you ignore vehemently.

The following weeks are spent visiting Soap only when he's asleep. Kyle is nice enough to let you know when that's the case. You can tell by the interrogative way he looks at you that a bunch of questions rush on the tip of his tongue: what happened, why are you not simply seeing his teammate when he's awake with the rest of them. But he's either kind or polite enough to not formulate his concerns out loud. Or maybe he thinks it's a private matter between the two of you.

Either way, you’re grateful, and you repay the favor any time you can, filling the break room with his favorite snacks, making him tea or ensuring his gear gets maintained first.

At some point Ghost half complains to you, half reprimands you - since Soap is one part of his current problem and you another.

“Fuckin’ hell, never been easy keepin’ Johnny in medical, but since ya visited him he's worse than ever. Care to explain?”

“I fucked up,” you confess, without adding anything else.

“Fucked up how?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He curses loudly, dragging a gloved hand over his face, appalled by your demeanor.

“Why the fuck not?”

“I'm taking my secret to the grave. All I can tell is that I made an absolute fool of myself, and therefore I can never appear in front of Johnny again.”

He half sighs, half groans, and rolls his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You dramatic little…”

Soap eventually gets released from medical.

You spend a couple of weeks avoiding him to the best of your abilities, even though you can tell that Ghost is frankly sick of your antics, Price is five minutes away from berating you, and even Gaz starts to look at you with something that resembles disappointment. 

You actively despise yourself for ruining a perfectly good friendship. Especially because of a five seconds long action decided on a whim and carried out out of spite. You find yourself on the edge of tears a couple of times, yet unable to cry. Familiar rooms and corridors feel empty and awkwardly silent with his absence.

There are a bunch of close calls, and the base, or at least the part of it that you’re accustomed to, suddenly feels cramped.

But you hold on. 

Until you don't.

You're caught completely unaware, entering the break room as usual to get some coffee.

Only to freeze on the doorstep. Johnny's right there. Barely two meters away. It's the first time you lay eyes on him in what feels like forever. You can’t help but drink in the view.

He's sitting at a table, elbow leaning on it, cheek resting on his closed fist. Your eyes linger over the blue cobalt shirt he's wearing, your favorite of his, and his black fingerless gloves, which you've always had a weakness for. The corner of his lips are down, his eyebrows lightly frowned. Staring into space, he seems sullen.

Your heart tightens at the sight.

However you barely get the opportunity to indulge into your guilt, because next thing you know, your gazes meet. He perks up, eyes widening in surprise. You tense like a deer in the headlights, holding your breath. Dread swells inside you. You’re no braver than last time.

You turn around and decamp.

It's fine, you can come back later. You just need to unearth a hiding spot for now. The object of your affliction - on top of your affection - will probably be vexed enough by your reaction that he won't seek to confront you.

Yes, everything is just fine, you assure yourself - for no more than a handful of seconds.

Without warning, brawny, familiar arms close around your shoulders from behind, pinning your back against a muscular torso.

“Gotcha.”

The word is barely above a whisper, more a growl than anything else, enunciated right into your ear, sending shivers all over your body. You don’t find anything to do but clutch with both hands one of the tanned forearms pressed beneath your collarbone.

Fighting him off doesn't even cross your mind. It's not that you think you'd fail - you trust him to let you go at the first stern summon. You just don't want to forgo his embrace. He hasn’t hugged you since that time you've been mugged and one moment was enough to make you realize how much you’ve missed it.

“Dunnae whether to be upset ye ran away again, or to find it cute that ye thought ye could actually outrun me.”

You gulp, heart pounding and cheeks heating up.

“Johnny…”

A host of pitiful excuses accumulates behind your lips, but somehow none manage to make its way out.

He briefly tightens his hold, but the gesture feels more like a hug than a restraint. Did he… did he just squish you? Like some kind of… cuddle toy?

“Got nothin’ to tell me?”

The question is a taunt as much as a hint at reconciliation.

You try to pace yourself, and think logically about this predicament of your own making. You need to devise a strategy to come out - more or less - unscathed of this.

Soap sounds more smug than mad, but still, passably angry. Maybe there's a way to fix this. Be friends again like nothing happened. Maybe he can forgive you.

First, do not worsen things.

Two, apologize. Properly.

Three, keep your fingers crossed …?

“I'm… sorry?”

He chuckles darkly.

“Gonnae take more than that.”

You try to resist the effects this sentence, his husky voice, his proximity, his laugh have on you, the way they make your stomach twist in apprehension and… indisputable arousal. Resist the temptation to close your eyes so you could focus on his voice alone, on the warm breath brushing your skin, on the lips so close to your ear; to let go in his arms, lean with your whole weight on his body.

Focus, damn it, you admonish and beg yourself all at once. On something else. Anything else.

You’re about to argue that he cannot possibly expect you to succeed in making amends when you’re in this compromising position, but you don't get the time.

Johnny hauls you away inside the nearest room. In a split second, he flicked the lightswitch on and nearly slammed the door behind you.

Cleaning products and exiguity surround you, illuminated by a cheap light bulb.

A closet, helpfully supplies your mind. 

You barely have time to digest this information that Soap cages you against the wall, resting his forearms over your head. He contemplates you with a mix of melancholy and longing that renders your knees weak and sends a pang in your chest.

“Been going bloody mad with thoughts of ye.”

His voice is smooth like silk, tone sweet like honey, caressing your ears, warmth dripping inside your chest, making your head spin; or maybe it's a result of his closeness; or a consequence of his cerulean eyes boring into you.

“Ye got any idea how it felt to see ye leave without being able to do a bloody thing ‘bout it? Wanted nothing more than to rip off the tubes, get up, grab ye and lay back in bed with ye in my arms.”

He's intoxicating. He has to be, with how high, euphoric you're feeling, all your problems swept away, insignificant.

“Tell me to fuck off.”

You blink in incomprehension. Drunk on him, you may have lost track a little.

“I'll back off fer good.” 

Bliss makes way to horror.

“Look me in the eye and tell me ye hate me. Tell me I disgust ye. Tell me ye wish ye never met m-”

“No!”

Your shout has the merit to make him stop, even if you didn’t mean to yell. Your scream disconcerts him for a second before an exultant grin stretches his lips. His smugness is back with a vengeance.

“So ye do like me.”

“How could I not,” you mutter, capitulating, but avoiding his gaze.

He refuses to let you, and cups one side of your face to make you look at him. As you meet his eyes again, his thumb tenderly strokes your cheekbone. You feel your insides melt at the gesture.

“I like ye. A lot.”

He licks his lips, as if to grant himself some time to mull over his next words, and you automatically follow the motion.

“And I want to kiss ye. A lot.”

His hand slides from your cheek to your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

“Can I?”

It takes a moment for you to regain your voice. When you woke up this morning, you most definitely didn’t expect to receive a confession from John Mactavish. Your brain goes into overdrive.

Is this real? Am I dreaming?

“Johnny, listen…”

The gaze he's aiming at you glows with hope.

“You don’t want to be with me. I'm…” 

What? A shell of a human being? Broken?

“…a mess.”

Expectation is replaced by resolve in his turquoise pupils.

“I know exactly what I want. And it's ye. Wouldn't be here otherwise.”

His patience seems to unravel with each passing second, as he stares at you with something akin to desperation written on his face.

“Want me to beg? S’that it?”

“What? No-”

“Cause I can. Beg real pretty. Bet ye'd like that. Saw how ye looked at me the other day when I got on my knees for ye-”

He keeps babbling sweet and filthy nothings that set your face ablaze. He saw how you looked at him? Mortification briefly flares up inside you before you notice the amusement in the corner of his lips, the playful glimmer in his glance, tangled with the neediness - he's joking around. You adopt a stern expression to chasten him but quickly realize he's way too busy staring at your lips to get the message. So you grab both sides of his face to get his attention - two can play this game.

The sheepish, sad puppy face he gives you in return barely makes a notch in your firmness. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, right before diving into the unknown.

“Yes,” you profess - and before he can tease you for clarification - “You can kiss me.”

But as he leans forward to obey, an incriminating detail surfaces in your mind.

“Wait, wait…”

You cover his mouth with one hand. Then immediately regret it, with how his eyes devour you the way his mouth can’t, not helping your flustered state at all.

He gently grabs your wrist and removes your hand, before pressing a kiss into your palm, your wrist.

“Now, better say something, or I'm gonna kiss my way up.”

He hums pensively.

“Scratch that, I'm gonna kiss ye everywhere.”

Pleasant tingles travel your whole body at that. He looks up from your hand to stare at you, and there's a devious glint in his eyes that tells you he caught sight of it.

“I have never.. done this… before.”

This confession means a lot to you. It's a well-kept secret, as long as people don't already deduce it from your lack of social skills. You’d rather it stays this way, but you don't see how you can start a relationship while withholding this truth.

All you can hope now is that Soap will react in a manner you consider appropriate. If he judges you, if that fact makes you go down in his estimation, or if he starts seeing you as some sort of innocent, naive individual that he could get off on corrupting, you’re not sure you'll be able to recover from it.

All playfulness deserts his face. He observes you with a mix of solemnity and compassion.

“Oh, bonnie… I don't give a shite ‘bout that. We'll go as slow or as fast as ye want, aye?”

Stirred beyond words, you nod your assent.

Not wasting any more time, he presses his lips to yours. They're soft and warm. You expected a surge of unbridled desire, but he takes his sweet time with you, to become acquainted with your mouth. 

It only lasts a moment though; as he seems to gain in confidence and deepens the kiss, his motions fill with fervor, turn frantic. Hunger rivals devotion.

They say the greatest pleasure possible a human being can experience isn’t, well, pleasure; it's the end of pain - and he's kissing you like he's been aching for it, for so long, and he's finally getting relief. He's clinging onto you like the separation of those past weeks put him in severe withdrawal.

You probably would have let him continue if you weren't compelled by the imperative need to breathe. You turn away, panting.

Not interrupted in the slightest, he simply latches onto your neck instead.

Floating in a daze, you absently close one hand on the back of his shirt, and fondle his mohawk with the other.

“Hold on to me.”

The instruction takes a ridiculously long time to reach you. Thankfully, Soap picks up on that and grasps your hands to place them on the back of his neck. You only understand his goal when his fingers slide behind your thighs and he lifts you up effortlessly, wedging you between the wall and himself.

Once he gets his fill of your throat, he sneaks one forearm under your rear and lets go of one of your thigh, somehow managing to keep you in the air one-armed, to tug at the opening of your top.

Seeing him struggle to open your blouse one-handed, you reach down to assist; but just as you do that, he grabs one side of the clothing between his teeth, and pulling the other with his free hand, he rips off the first three snap fasteners in one go. Your eyes go wide, your mind torn between finding the gesture arousing or risible. 

You settle for a fond scoff.

“You animal.”

The name feels all the more appropriate because when he looks up at you, releasing the cloth, the hunger in his eyes is striking, and the wolfish grin he grants you is the one of a ravenous predator.

“You could have just asked-”

“S'faster,” he shrugs, at least as much as possible in his current position.

You barely notice the staple of your bra opening; he hauls you slightly higher, bringing your chest to mouth level, and dives between your breasts like a man starved. The contact makes you tilt your head back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your sensitive skin makes you coil: your fingers grasp the back of his shirt and his hair, pressing his head impossibly closer, your thighs clench around his torso, your toes curl.

“Fuck, Johnny.”

He moans your name in response, albeit a bit muffled. He sounds as afflicted as you are, if not more. The idea turns you on terribly.

You look down to see him, and the vision of his face feverishly pressed to your skin is almost unbearable.

Suddenly he recoils, eyes meeting yours, and opens his mouth to stick his tongue out, right in front of your nipple, holding still in silent question. Your crotch throbs with arousal and you bitterly regret your earlier assessment - this view is much harder to endure, by far. The deep, honest eagerness in his gaze, coupled with the absolute submission to your will he demonstrates…

That doesn't stop you from frenetically nodding your head in agreement. His lips close around your nipple and the flick of his tongue against it draws a whine out of you. His free hand softly squeeze your other breast.

If he wasn’t holding you, your legs probably would have given out.

A faraway ringtone painfully pierces through the torpor you’re deliciously lost in. Your ringtone.

Johnny swears under his breath and blindly gropes your ass to silence your phone lodged in your back pocket.

Your eyes snap open in horror as you abruptly emerge into reality.

“Shit, shit, SHIT! Put me down!”

You repeatly hit Soap's shoulders to get his attention and convey urgency, without putting real force behind it. He complies immediately.

Your soles barely reached the ground that you’re already whiping out the device from your pants. Your coworker's name is displayed on the screen. Turning your back on Johnny, you pick up the call in a panic.

“Hey… yes. Yes, I'll be there in a minute. …They're not here yet? Thank fuck.” 

As you sheepishly reassure your colleague that you’ll be there soon for the meeting that should have already started, you feel fingers fiddling with your blouse. Your first instinct is to bat Johnny's hands away, before grasping that he's actually putting your snaps back in place.

“Hm? Oh no, nothing bad. … I, uh… I just got held back. Anyway, see you soon.”

You hang up with shaky hands and a weary but relieved sigh.

The Scotsman's arms wrap around your waist from behind and he lovingly nuzzles his face against yours. His stubble prickles your skin, but the gesture is too endearing for you to spurn him.

“No more running away, aye?”

He exudes peacefulness, every muscle in his body content and relaxed. Where did Ghost's vicious attack dog go and who's this teddy bear?

“No more running,” you acquiesce.

“Good lass,” he purrs.

Normally, you would have gotten back at him for that patronizing comment, but you still feel bad for the way you treated him, so you just grunt.

“We'll pick up where we left off, hmm?”

Your cheeks burn furiously as you realize what he's referring to - his kisses wandering lower, to fulfill the “everywhere” part of the pledge he made earlier.

What the hell did you get yourself into?